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For someone who traffics heavily in the realm of love lives, Marcelo Santos III rues the fact that he doesn’t have much of one. The 22-year-old first-time novelist and online video sensation says he doesn’t have time for romance, no matter that his surprise best-seller is titled “Para sa Hopeless Romantic.”
I first met him when I was about 6 years old, this stern British gentleman who smelled so good, but looked so forbidding when he found my disarray of Barbie dolls, Chinese checkers, Old Maid cards and stack of clothes fashioned into a tent blocking his way.
She just can’t help herself. Within five minutes of meeting her, Bebang Siy will make you laugh. She’ll take her...
Jose Rizal is cool again. Once upon a time, it seemed, he was hopelessly passé. Generations of blind idol worship by old men in funny hats had turned young Filipinos off the pride of the Malay race.
Last night, my wife began the ultimate journey of her life. I can only imagine the marvellous things she is seeing right now. My life with Clem has always been marked by journey, travel, adventure, and exploring. While we both grew up in Manila and studied at the University of the Philippines, we met in Mindanao where she was pioneering a hotel institute and I was working with the Mindanao Regional Development Project.
A one-time four-month summer break! For some students of the University of the Philippines, the unexpected long vacation was the biggest boon resulting from the sudden change in the school calendar, from June to March of previous years, to this schoolyear’s August to May time frame.
When you listen to Dean Francis Alfar and Angelo R. Lacuesta talk about the short story, it seems like it’s a precious metal that’s grown increasingly rare and harder to mine.
Not many can pull off the rock star look at 60, but Pinoy rock pioneer Gary Perez—best known as the lead guitarist for Sampaguita back in the peak years of Pinoy rock in the late 1970s, early ’80s—manages it, barely.
His detractors in the debate over the controversial Reproductive Health bill might have mentally consigned him to hell for his...
This coming October, I am sad to note, the Sunday Inquirer Magazine will no longer be a weekly habit but a monthly experience. It’s like the magazine will be converting from Catholic to Presbyterian and instead of receiving the body of Christ every Sunday, the honor and privilege and joyous experience will be limited only to the first Sunday of every month. Having gotten used to the weekly habit we developed in 2006 (with Alya Honasan as then editor in chief), I am having premature withdrawal symptoms. And massive flashbacks of issues past.
