Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros

Ang Pagdadalaga ni Maximo Oliveros
(The Blossoming of Maximo Oliveros)
Directed by Auraeus Solito
Written by Michiko Yamamoto

It was enough of a challenge to just sit through and watch, especially when I knew I could be watching Glee or something equally entertaining instead of torturing myself with substantial life lessons. The grainy visuals and the not-quite-cleaned-up sound were just as much representative of the truth as they are part of the charm of independent cinema. Truly, independent cinema is unlike anything else.

The film hit closer to home than any other—perhaps for the obvious reason that it was, in actuality, closer to home. Where else would you find star shaped plastic lanterns and Christmas lights you know—you just know—someone went through bulb by bulb to find the loose one and bring the entire set back to life after finding it in someone else’s trash? There were other familiar scenes, of course: a poster of Claudine Baretto and Vilma Santos, neighbors betting daily in jueteng or Lotto, yellow and green striped taxicabs, tabo and balde baths in the morning, and the sign of the cross before family dinner.

For a movie about a twelve-year-old, it was heavy. It was dark and slightly depressing. It dealt with morality, poverty, desperation, hunger (and not just the kind that the scarcity of food fails to fulfill), death, responsibility, sacrifice, family, loyalty, betrayal, and the blurred lines between right and wrong. Oh, and a tiny tinge of sex, but only in little hints.

Maxi Oliveros needed to grow up fast, as dictated by the circumstances (a late mother and the need to scramble around for money to survive), but within him is still a young, innocent child, who has yet to learn so much.

It’s confusing for the viewer who needs clear cut lines. The stereotypical hero isn’t, and the family that seems to have such skewed values formed only through intense rationalizing. But then you’re also forced to realize that these values come about as a result of real need. Towards the end, even the very straight (and not necessarily in terms of sexual orientation) police man fails to hold on to the values that the silver crucifix perpetually hanging on his neck reminds him never to let go of.

This was difficult.

Hard Love

Hard Love
Ellen Wittlinger

I was a dependent twelve-year-old when I picked up Hard Love in the bookstore and handed it to my mother for her to skim and scan through the pages and ultimately determine whether or not the book was fit for me to read. She concluded, from what she saw, that the book was mostly about the character’s relationship with his parents, and was therefore safe for twelve-year-old me to read. Also, it was multi-awarded, with Michael Printz Award for Excellence in Young Adult Literature on a silver seal printed on the cover.

The book is also a winner of the Lambda Literary Award, which not many people know is given by a foundation that pushes for “raising the status of openly lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered people throughout society by rewarding and promoting excellence among LGBT writers who use their work to explore LGBT lives.”

Hard Love cover

Ellen Wittlinger writes the book for everyone whose first love was a hard love—and really, whose wasn’t?

Each member of the very diverse group of characters (who have nothing in common except for their passion for writing what they call zines) has his or her own set of personal issues revolving around dysfunctional family, sexual identity, and strangely enough, names.

You have a pair of very understanding, supportive parents on Marisol’s side, and another two parents who you really couldn’t call a pair, extremely distant and unable to communicate, on John’s.

Interspersed with excerpts from the characters’ zines, Ani DiFranco lyrics, letters, and poetry, is a story of how John falls in love with Marisol. John is not particularly interesting in comparison to Marisol Guzman, Puerto Rican Cuban Yankee Cambridge, Massachusetts, rich spoiled lesbian private-school gifted-and-talented writer virgin looking for love.

And it’s hard love, because you can’t blame anyone for why it just can’t work out. He can’t help who he fell in love with (and they say you’re not supposed to help it, anyway), and she can’t help who she can’t fall in love with. They’ve both had their hearts broken, but they aren’t meant to be the ones to mend the other one.

It’s not a happy ending, but you understand why it just can’t be.