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On the way to watch a play, Gabriela, I met Kiko in Vargas Museum in UP Diliman for KUHANG MARINO.

I had a bizarre opportunity to get my arms twisted to attend this two-part exhibition, but hell, it was well worth it. (I'd say, here's the other arm, twist it again.)

It was really a big F for Effort to go to Vargas Museum - which, by the way, you have to walk to for a few minutes from the Academic Oval since the week-long carless oval at the University was being implemented. I hate walking - I take cabs from UPCSWCD to Bahay ng Alumni for a cup of coffee. But yesterday - again, walking a few minutes to get to the exhibit was indispensable. (I did try to harass the cab driver to go a few more yards to get to the nearest point, but it was of no use.)

As I entered the museum where I spent a semester during my undergraduate degree for a course in Museology, the warm face of the guard reassured me that my gasping from walking (and self-abusive drinking session of the night before) was going to be well worth it.

Hopping on from this melodramatic ranting of my anti-walking sentiments, I climbed the stairs and entered the exhibit area. There was a big picture on a tarpaulin of a grease filled face of a Filipino seafarer while he was deep in some kind of a cylinder in an oil tanker somewhere at sea.

The first part of the exhibition is a photo documentary by Johannes Ode, a professional Dutch photographer who was commissioned by the Philippine Seafarers Assistance Program (PSAP) to capture the lives of Filipino seamen in some of the world's biggest ship. I learned that photos onboard are rare because generally ship managers do not allow it and also because of the seafarers busy shipboard schedules. (Exhibit text)

He smiled at the camera, taking a second off from work in a look that seemed to me that of hope that he was smiling to his family, telling them he's okay at work. Probably, he is - was - okay at work. He earns more - in dollars - compared to others in the labor force at home. The dollars - which he will not earn in a regular 8 to 5 work in the Philippines - neatly seated in a cold room in the world of Yuppies - all cloaked in plain colored polo in hues of blue with printed neckties and black slacks. The dollars that will provide more than the basic needs in a family of five or more - a good house, cars, education in high end schools, techno gadgets, in fad dogs, flat TVs, full-packed fridge, and everything else that more and mere money can buy. All for the financial comfort in exchange of a life in absolute desolation, the sacrifice of time, and the yearning for your child's smile - everything now seemed priceless.

Immediately, Tito Ricky and Don came to mind. They are probably the two closest (in a sense) people who I know worked/work as seamen. Both of them, in different periods and circumstances, went aboard to work on a luxury cruise. Tito Ricky, Don's father, is now retired in their family's house in Sorsogon and attending to Don's son, Gian - after years of being a seafarer. Don, on the other hand, is bound to leave for his new contract on March 23rd, aboard Royal Caribbean.

Unlike his father, Don couldn’t see himself working as a seaman up until his bones turn weak from old age. In a conversation over the phone, he told me that he didn’t want to be like his father – after retirement his savings was used to renovate their home and build an extension to the house for his children. Now Don is left to support the family. After a few years or so when he has saved enough for him and his family, he planned to start a small business that will be enough to send his kid to school and support the family’s needs.

The big photos of unnamed faces were glossy and bore contradicting realities. Each picture looks back at you as you look at it. Figuratively speaking because it was such taken in a way to speak and move people and literally because of the gloss you look at an unfamiliar seafarer's face with your own reflection staring back at you.

For me, it was an hour tour of the largest ships, introduction to faces without names, loading myself with knowledge of seamen's job onboard, visual representation of the life stories I heard from the seamen I met and known, and a symbolic override of my personal 'onboard' conceptions and misconceptions.

The second part of the exhibit shows the photo's of seamen in their travels abroad and the poetry they have written. My personal favorite was a poem entitled Salungat sa Agos by Ed R. Labao. It speaks of the hard work that seafarers subject themselves to while they fight the social stigma that they were in it solely for the money defying their sense of Nationalism; and the sacrifice of being away from their families for a long time. Some of the poems were published in PAROLA, the newsletter of PSAP. (The poems will be published by Vargas Museum in the coming months.)

The visual and literary component of the exhibit provided the texture to which it was aimed for - I believe so. So when one of the guests asked me how I find the exhibit, he assumed I would say: MAGANDA 'no?. It took me a while to gather my thoughts in an emotional overload. In an impression that I couldn’t find the exact words to describe the exhibit, he started to tell me stories of how happy life at sea actually is – beautiful women in every port, financial stability, change in status of their families, et cetera. It is undeniably a good life, a linear mode of thought I told myself, but I answered in two words: absolute desolation. His face gave an expression of awe, I explained to him that the pictures reflected the sad faces of many Filipinos who were taken away from their families in the optimism that somehow their lives will be better in the future. (May whoever is up there grant them that.)