The Tour

I am dearly sorry for the late redirect. I have set up shop and now 'sell my wares' over at the new site. Please update your bookmarks and follow my new blog. Please click the graphic below to go down the rabbit hole, so to speak. Many thanks!

And before the day ends, allow me greet you all a merry Christmas.

Leap of Faith

Due to my decision to not finish my master's degree, I will most likely be teaching part-time (if at all) this coming second semester. I was in no way blindsided about this soon-to-be-fact; I was made perfectly aware that this would be the consequence of my inaction and I am gladly accepting it. Truth be told, if I was given another 'reprieve', I would adamantly refuse such an offer.

I will take my knocks and move on.

But the Finish Line Is in Sight

A lot of people have already lectured me on how little I have left to do before I get my degree, and the most common analogy used in these talks is that of a race. I'm nearly at the finish, so why not call on one last second wind to get myself to cross the line?

I am not arguing the validity of the comparison, but I must question their perspective. Whatever people tell me about how they can relate to this specific part of my life, I must remind them that no one ever can. The same way that I can't claim to know what other people are going through based on their career decisions or the kind of shoes they wear. If I were to offer my own analogy it would be that of a person drowning his sorrows in alcohol (which I have quite some personal experience with as well) looking at the last remnants of liquor in the bottle, and then asking himself whether he should just go ahead and gulp it down.

Would the same people espousing the race analogy still call it a waste if the bottle was left unfinished?

Mr. End meet Mrs. End

I realize that this will pose a number of problems for me and my wife financially, but I don't plan on taking any days off come October. I will be using the time to launch a photography business that has been in development for the past few months. I will be actively engaged in portfolio-building personal projects over the next few months and will be promoting my best work to potential clients wherever and whenever. I also realize that I will not earn anything from this venture right away, but my Susan has firmly assured me that we can do this and that she is with me every step of the way. I count myself blessed to have such a lovely and strong woman in my life.

I am also very fortunate to have the support of a select number of family and friends who have been rooting for me from the beginning. And of course, I always appreciate you, my loyal readers, for embarking on this journey with me.

That Sinking Feeling

I once heard one of my college classmates bemoan the fact that he felt his whole life was on the brink of falling off a cliff over water. I always thought that cliffs are just geological formations that signal where the land ends and the sea begins. Why should I continuously shuffle my feet near the precipice when I can cannonball into the cool water that awaits below and rewrite life from hereon in.

There is definitely more to come...

Changing Places

Some people are just irreplaceable. Their very absence leaves a void that most often can never be filled. I witnessed such a vacuum firsthand when I came to the university to teach. Our department was nearing the end of its golden age and the Atlases who once held it up were gone. The load that they carried for decades was passed on to the shoulders of those who were left. A colossal task that could have been made bearable if everyone only took on a part of the yoke.

I realized late that the 'love' people unabashedly declared for their profession was not absolute. There was no clear-cut standard for the many shades of this so-called love. Well, self-aggrandizement and self-preservation, maybe. There was now a gaping maw from where the department was and where it ought to be. In a nutshell, the bridge was out, and people weren't exactly as eager to fill this gap than to cross it at all costs. It became clear at that stage that it was time to rebuild, but it became apparent as the re-edification process wore on that some parts were missing and that some were unfortunately 'decorative'. I (as have others, albeit behind my back) have found myself to be lacking, yet I could not completely comprehend for the life of me why I threw my body to the span.

As of today, the bridge stands unfinished. It is held together by a few determined parts that have now been stretched too thin from wear and tear, holding on due to some misplaced sense of duty and familiarity. But for as long as these parts hold, the span that will once again carry the department to its renaissance will never get built. Not until people stop waiting for the next Atlas to come along, not until they search their souls for the meaning of the word love, and not until it is allowed to fall.

It has been over ten years since I first nervously stepped into a classroom full of students. Each semester since has passed by in a dreamy blur. Each new year brought its share of new faces, new stories, and old endings --- my life as a teacher became episodic. And it seems that even though nothing seemed to stay the same, everything that mattered was at a standstill.

For what has seemed like an eternity, I can again finally smell change in the air. And before the year ends, I am writing a new ending to one last episode.

Perseverance Pays (in Kind)

A few days back as I was waiting in vain (like the song) for some Perseids love, I had to contend with a zealous moon. I couldn't keep the shutter open for too long because Luna would wash the sky out.

I planned on an elaborate method of using moon-shaped ND gels held by a black piece of wire to selectively underexpose the moon. It's easier to do a composite in Photoshop, I know, but I can't afford a license for that yet. (Lightroom more than suffices for my current processing needs anyway.) But since it was around 4 AM and my brain did not have its daily dose of caffeine yet, I decided to use my finger... to surprisingly good (for me, at least) and funny results.

This is probably as close to 'compositing' as I will get.

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This post was originally shared on my Google+ stream. If you have a G+ account, please feel free to add me to your circles (here's a link to my profile - gplus.to/jrlocaylocay). If you're not on G+ yet and you're experiencing Facebook fatigue, then you can sign up for one here - https://plus.google.com/

Looking Back

Quite a number of people who both know me and my brother, Jonas, well often make observations about how different we are. In many ways, there is truth in their comments. As children, I would sit happily with very few friends (or even a book at times) while he would be off 'directing' most of the neighborhood kids as to what game they should play for that afternoon. My yaya, at some point, may have contemplated putting a bell around my neck just so she could tell if I was in her vicinity, while my brother's minder may have thought about plugging her ears with cotton. I was quite the young diplomat but ended up in a lot of fights with my brother because he somehow dragged me into the ones that he had already unintentionally started. Good times.

Now that we're both into our 30's, I have come to realize with each passing year how much alike we are. We both like to be among our closest friends, although their numbers may differ. We both speak up to make a point, although the volume of our words may vary. We both stand up for what we believe is right, although we've given up the use of our fists to do so.

My brother and I will always have our differences and similarities. But for me, what's important is the realization that we have shared such a wonderful relationship despite them.

Happy birthday, Jon.

Speaking Up

What kind of pictures would you like to shoot?

Is the first question, I believe, that one should answer before embarking on the pursuit of photography. In fact, it should even come before deciding on what camera to get. Although I arrived at my answer to that question by trial (and a lot of ) error, I gather that I have found my place in the vast of sea of pictures that make up an ever-changing photographic tapestry.

I will reiterate that my passion and greater interest has always been shooting pictures of people, and telling their stories in the process. However, I have come to realize that if I am to sustain myself in the business of photography, then I have to exhibit some degree of versatility when it comes to the work that I can produce.

Allow me then to present a sample of how I shoot (and in most cases, light) the following subjects:

*Click on any of the images to view it larger in a light box.

Furniture

Food

Flowers

Fashion

But at end of the day, I find my home in making pictures of people where... well, allow me to quote a touching testimonial from one of my favorite subjects and best friend, Maricel —

"I can testify that you have a way of capturing images of people not in their 'usual self', but in 'what they are capable of'."

With that being said, allow me to present one of the ways by which I make pictures of

People

I am Joel. I am a photographer. 

What kind of pictures would you like me to shoot for you?

__________

If you're interested in commissioning my services, please refer to my contact details in the 'Contact/Bookings' tab under the site title above. 

The Daybreak Diaries (3)

Rebirthing Pains

Choosing a path that is altogether different from the one that you're already on is a daunting decision in itself, but I found out that it is unfortunately just the beginning. I had spent most of my energy swimming in circles in the choppy seas of an aimless life, and I now find myself struggling against the countercurrent of a past existence that I am trying to escape from. There are certainly times when I wonder whether I have the strength to see this course change through.

The path less traveled is full of doubt and nearly devoid of the very people who once populated my old life. I have also discovered that many of these persons have made the assumption that my identity is inextricably bound to the previous path that I was on. I was typecast into a role in their very own lives. And sadly for most of these people, their 'scripts' will not accept rewrites.

I played a number of roles for too long — the obedient son, the responsible brother, the dutiful nerd, the gracious doormat, the phenomenal failure, the eventual pariah — that the masks that I had swapped out for various acts had become glued to my face. Even I no longer knew who I really was before the curtains on this life went up. Prying all these masks off will be incredibly painful, and there will even be occasions where I will be tempted to put them back on.

The need for acceptance and belonging can be very compelling, but I must remind myself that I clawed myself back up from the darkest depths of my psyche and although I maybe gasping for breath, it is free air that is now sustaining my ragged soul.

If you share in similar trials, know that these can only make you stronger. And I truly believe that life will get better. Don't give up.

On My Father's Shoulders

I have encountered many pastry recipes that listed a pinch of salt as one of the ingredients. At first, I found this quite peculiar. Why add salt to a mixture that is supposed to come out sweet? But after taking a bite off the first treat that comes out of the oven, I begin to understand the reason for the 'odd' instruction. Sugar is sweet and we expect it to be so; but, who would have thought that it is the few grains of salt that give the sweetness something to contrast with, essentially adding a layer of flavor to what would otherwise be saccharine monotony.

I would like to believe that the same can be said of physical strength. Sinew and power are only truly underscored when they are used to perform the most gentle of acts. As a young child, I would constantly bear witness to my father's daily feats of strength: moving heavy furniture around the house, swinging my book-laden school bag into the trunk of the car, and carrying my younger brother to bed when he would fall asleep on the living room couch while watching TV. When one is little, it would seem that there is nothing that one's father couldn't do. I remember 'flying' out of the theater, while precariously perched on his shoulders, after we watched Superman. Not once did I ever consider the possibility that I would fall.

Last Sunday, January 8, my father celebrated his 64th birthday. His step is a lot less sprightly and his once mighty shoulders have drooped with age. I find myself battling with the thought that there will come a time that he will have to lean on me for support. And if the cruel fates should conspire, I will be the one carrying him off to bed. I dearly hope not. Yet, at the same time, I am thankful for having had the chance to sit atop his shoulders that day at the theater because in that very moment I learned the true meaning of strength.

Happy birthday, Pops.

The Daybreak Diaries (2)

Like a Ship without a Rudder

I spent most of my life doing what other people expected me to do. When I was younger, I would accept the word of elders (and even peers) as irrefutably right because this was what good young boys did. I would get anxious at the slightest hint of disappointment that I developed an 'apology reflex' – I would say sorry even if none of it was my fault (you would know this if you bumped me on the street then). I stowed my dreams and hopes away to protect them from thoughtlessly being picked upon by others –

Is this your idea? This is clearly not the way you think.

That course of action is too impractical.

You, an artist? You're just pulling my leg, right?

This is just a phase. You'll get your head straight on in no time.

Do you really think you have what it takes to do what you're setting out to do?

I realized almost too late that living your life according to the not-so-subtle prodding of societal 'norm' set me up for that one fateful day when I would look myself in the mirror and not recognize the person in front of me. It is a daunting realization to have. Here you are too far along the course of your life following a map that people, who claim to know better, have thoughtlessly scribbled on. Wresting back control of your life and knowing all too well how much more difficult it is going to be to plot your own route and stay on it is downright frightening. I found myself disheartened on numerous occasions because I would choose the status quo over life-altering change.

Fortunately, it is a choice that is offered to us more than once. We are given many opportunities to take the wheel and seize control of our life. Yet, we are only given so many chances. Seemingly, each turning point follows a pattern for me: a long-awaited moment of insight followed by a brief period of clarity and serenity, and finally the everyday struggle that is the rest of my life. One would think that struggle would be too harsh a word, but in my experience, it is quite apt. And I believe that it is at this point that we get tempted to relinquish control. But, we have to stick with it.

It is true that the day-to-day labor of setting your heading and avoiding the cliffs and rocks along the way is a task that requires you to be fully present (I believe the word toil was coined to encapsulate the experience). Yet, I also believe that when you find yourself where you ought to be, the pains and aches of all that toil will all melt away.

If you find yourself too far away from the course that you initially charted, know that you can always turn back, but you would have to turn... now.

The Daybreak Diaries (1)

The dawn lost its promise of hope. I hadn't slept a wink, but I so desperately wanted to unshackle myself from the pile of pillows and blankets that were strewn on the bed. Without warning, a cold indifference seeps through the covers and into my skin. And just like that, I lie frozen in a constrictive cocoon as the rest of the world goes on with their lives.

Depression affects more people than most would believe. And even those who are afflicted are often trapped in a limbo of denial. All too often, it is left undiagnosed and dismissed as the product of an individual's overly developed sense of drama.

As a result of the social stigma attached to depression, many people choose to suffer in silence. On most days it requires less effort to smile and say 'I'm okay.' rather than have to unburden yourself on someone – a person who may genuinely care for you, but will fumble around with the how (because at this point you don't even know what would help) or a person who may have just asked 'How are you?' for the sake of being polite.

All too often one shuns the opportunity to stand up and share the turmoil that is brewing inside when you know that yours will be the only voice that will stir the comfortable silence. However, I have realized that  it takes but one soul to stand up and speak, so that the rest can be heard. I do not claim to understand depression in any professional capacity. What I share here are all culled from my personal experience with it – the crippling melancholy, the grueling daily struggle and the occasional small victory.

I do not pretend to have any answers. I am merely sharing accounts of everyday battles in a war that I have to wage until I draw my last breath. I am not even sure what I hope to achieve, but I strongly believe that this debilitating disease loses a part of its hold on you when you open up about it.

These are my daybreak diaries.

The Observer Effect

The observer effect (and allow me to borrow the definition from physics) is the change brought upon by the very act of observation on the phenomenon being studied. This influence is not only prevalent when one is studying the very small, but scales quite nicely into the macroscopic world as well.

In photography, there is also the question of candidness. When a subject is unaware that her picture is being taken, one can argue the point, that the resulting image is genuinely candid. Whereas another could question its authenticity by presupposing that the subject of the photograph could very well be an actress who is very good at having her day-to-day activities 'candidly' captured. I, on the other hand, would like to propose that from the moment we became aware that we existed on this world, surrounded by all sorts of people and objects, that all our actions have been altered in some way by the knowledge that at any given time there is the possibility that we are being observed.

And it's not just the case of adapting a public demeanor because even when you are 'alone', you find yourself performing actions that seemingly require an audience (e.g. singing in the shower). My inference therefore is that none of our actions are truly ever candid because if you are reading this in a less-than-private place, you are probably looking over your shoulder to see if someone is standing behind you.

__________

*A larger version of the above picture can be viewed here.

A Light in the Dark

Just last week, my good friend, Queenie, wrote a short piece on finding kindred spirits on one's journey through life. I only hope that we all could be so lucky to find these people who can empathize with our plight and give us the strength to persevere through the darkest of days. I, for one, am grateful to be blessed to have such people in my life.

Thank you, P're, for being one. And happy birthday. :-)#

Shooting Friends

Social networking services have severely diluted the word friend. Personally, I do not only find it grammatically uncouth to use it as a verb, but I am also mildly disturbed as to how it is thrown into the same stew of words as acquaintance and associate.

Every Day

For a good part of my life, I navigated the dark and turbulent seas alone. When all one knows is struggle without ebb, it is not only unexpected, but quite uncommon to have someone offer solace and warmth. Yet, even in the safety of this person’s harbor, one gazes upon the brewing tempest in the horizon as if there was a part of us that longed for the unrest . Too many times I’ve forgotten that I don’t have to brave the turmoil of life by myself or that if I found myself at the mercy of the fates, I now have someone in the same boat with me.

Thank you, Ga, for not only reminding me, but showing me just that.

Age is Just a Number

Today, I turn 34. I’ve heard from a couple of close friends that I should at least write something about this very occasion or even myself (Perish the thought!) . I’ve never been comfortable with self-promotion, so I’ll conveniently divert the topic towards humanity’s preoccupation with age, and time in general.

We give these numbers too much power over our lives.

The years we’ve existed on this earth. The days that lie between a long day and the weekend. The hours we spent waiting for someone to show up. The minutes we wasted nervously pacing in worry over the most inconsequential things. And I could go on and on about how an arbitrary measure of a moment’s passing has taken over the way we live.

I’m not saying that numbers aren’t important. In fact, they are one of the most important tools that have been made available to us. But, they are just that — tools. And in that perspective, we are letting a tool dictate the run of our day.

And all too often we end up waiting. Waiting for the right time, the right moment. We then conveniently cocoon ourselves in the comfort of old reasons and rationalizations. We wait for the New Year to resolve our issues. We wait for the right time to talk to someone. We wait for our next birthday to finally do something about our dreams. The years go by in a blink and we’re still waiting.

I fall into the same trap over and over (as do nearly all of us), but I’ve learned to cope with it by convincing myself that there is no such thing as perfect timing. There is no meter that runs down, reminding us of how long we have left. We jump from one fleeting moment to the next, hoping that we land on our feet. The life that we’ve so neatly measured in occasions and events could very well end in an instant. And just so I don’t forget, I woke up today telling myself —

Happy birthday, Jo. Today a helicopter could fall on your head while you think of how many minutes it might take for the rain to fall. Make the most out of it.

5 Out of 5

The semester is winding to a close. Crap Papers, yet to be graded, are stacked high on my desk. The inutile clearance sheet makes its annual appearance. And evaluation forms spring up like fungi after an electrical storm. There’s often such a mad dash to the finish that the filling up of these forms takes on a mechanical, almost rhythmic, pace. A four here, a three there…

In the department, faculty members are asked to evaluate selected peers and their immediate administrators. Most often, the numbers that appear on paper barely do justice to the work that has been put in. I, for one, would like to put into words (and even these may not be sufficient) my deep appreciation for our assistant chair, Maricel.

Let me introduce you to a world without overtime pay after the jump.

Musings of an Unquiet Mind: Getting Unstuck

Photo: Queenie Maquilang

It’s been a while. No scratch that. It’s been a really long while. Every so often, I get caught in a state of stasis. It feels like I’m furiously pedaling a bike and life (at least the nastier parts) is smiling as it lifts my rear wheel off the ground.

It’s sad how dreams are left to gather dust when one spends so much time clock-watching. The days move on without you, and you just feel like you’re — well, stuck.

So, how does one get unstuck?

Musings of an Unquiet Mind: Why a Brownout is a Blessing

The title of this particular category came from the title of my first blog ‘Musings of an Unquiet Mind’. The content of this particular section can range from my theories on why it’s harder to get a ride when it’s raining to the consequences of suppressing ‘the shiver’ after peeing just because there are other men on either side of you. I may use photos to illustrate my point and inject a little poetry here and there, but the whole point of the exercise is to regurgitate ideas and thoughts that have overstayed their welcome in my head; so take everything with a grain of salt. You’ve been warned.

The Martians are coming!

Last Thursday, August 5, power went out at our place. This localized phenomenon is what is referred to as a brownout. If you look it up, it’s defined as an incomplete blackout. Does this mean it aspired to be, but didn’t quite reach the standard needed for a full-blown blackout? All I can say is that it didn’t seem like it failed to reach such a standard for those of us who were left in the dark.