KC from Paris to Pinas

incomplete
by audiovideomagix in youtube

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Kulit Co. : Getting physical in Paris

First posted 05:21am (Mla time) Oct 23, 2004
By KC Concepcion
Inquirer News Service

Editor's Note: Published on page D1 of the October 23, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer

IT IS madly liberating to be getting into the habit of substituting Metro with Bus, reducing the number of times of having to see the underground sights of Paris, which include graffiti, homeless individuals who should really be on their toes instead of on the ground, and, rather thankful that they still get paid a certain amount by the government as unemployed citizens, and the wide variety of commuting characters whose quirks, fashion sense, unique 'scents' and musically deranging tones of voice, one can still manage to draw inspiration from. And although it is starting to get chilly again, the city's charm has undeniable grown so much more lovable with each day that came and went. It might be a result of the dominantly peaceful and 'holy' nature of Ramadan (I have made some awesome Arabic friends here), but the four seasons have now become a really interesting reminder that although things change, some things just stay the same. Like my love for the tropical heat, and all the sun, skin, and rock and roll... Or the fact that when a freeze breeze hits (winter HAS officially started), you just have to think of the pleasure in having a huge, gigantic air-con in the middle of Edsa traffic... Or even the fact that I keep losing weight and gaining it all back!

So yeah... the cold does have a way of bringing in a lack of enthusiasm with the outdoors, jogging past stoplights and running around gardens to break into a good ol' sweat. These days, sweat isn't coming easy, which may explain what seems to be a 15 percent inclination rate of depression among certain warm-blooded locals, like me, whose bodies have decided to have a healthy tendency of storing unwanted fat to satisfy our natural demand for insulation. At times like these, you need... exercise! And since this is my column, I have the freedom to ask the question "Am I getting any [exercise]?" Well... today was a day of revelation. I looked in the mirror, walked away, munched on a bag of chips and realized this! (Pay close attention to routine.)

Exercise I got in the past 2 weeks:

Monday
Upper body workout
Rock music, live at le Nouveau Casino (props to Biffy Clyro for making me shiver with goosebumps non-stop)

Tuesday
Lower body muscle training
Elevator is stuck in front of my face on fifth floor

Wednesday
Biceps/Triceps
Urgent grocery shopping, 12 bottles of water and toilet disinfecting products prove to be heavy

Thursday
Breathing exercises
While visiting the Sewer Exposition appropriately located beneath the streets of Paris where they exist

Friday
Finger exercises
Piano class demands basic Bach

Saturday
Aerobics
Belly dancing all night long at club/restaurant to hot Arabic beats

Sunday
Rapid Eye Movement
God said "Let there be rest." In other words, "Colored dreams."

Monday
Upper body workout
Assembled new dining table, no manual (flew out the window)Kids, don't try this at home.

Tuesday
Lower body muscle training
Rushing to class. Rollerblading in the winter rain, avoiding cobblestones (highly strenuous, as virtually impossible.)

Wednesday
Biceps/Triceps
Carrying my boss' huge stack of signed contracts (which could actually be useful for the "Triangle of Life" idea, if, for any reason, that earthquake creeps up on France)

Thursday
Breathing exercises
Taking in the sight of modern gym-goers as they seduce poles and strip for aero class

Friday
Finger exercises
Type-delete-type-delete as French keyboard amuses me, though drives me nuts (this is where Q is A and ; is M)

Saturday
Rapid Eye Movement
Doing Nothing, Really.

Sunday
Full body workout
Don't be surprised about the household chores. I am nothing but a second rate, trying hard Cinderella copycat!

Monday
That's it.

I decided to go to the gym.

I may be a late bloomer, but I am maturing into a woman who is not afraid to come to terms with the fact that she has been in absolute denial of living just 50 steps away from an actual, functioning gym. My new friend, Club Med, with 17 branches all over the city, can get this butt back in shape and save me a whole season of running from stoplight to stoplight, which shouldn't be top priority on the workout list for three reasons:

1. Running the risk of getting madly wounded by a slick, little Vespa scooter.
2. Maps ruin momentum. I-get-lost.
3. Each year, more than 600 people are admitted to the hospital after slipping on dog poo in the streets of Paris. Thousands more have minor catastrophes.

Now, other options of getting rid of this winter fat are the following:

a. S.O.S. elimination of all image-distorting mirrors in apartment
b. S.O.S. elimination of all food items currently hibernating in refrigerator
c. S.O.S. elimination of the government's expenditures of E1.5 million annually on cleaning up after dogs (they have actually created crap-cleaning moto-crottes), which is clearly virtually impossible if you want things to happen in the next few days.

If you agree that a gym membership is the best way to go, throw your hands in the air, wave 'em like ya just don't care and say HEYOOO! Life is like a bowl of pancit. Ya never know watcha gon' get, but ya gotta take big bites anyway!

Copyright 2006 Inquirer News Service. All rights reserved.

Kulit Co. : F-KC Connection (Part 1)

EXUDING joie de vivre while enjoying the Parisian sun.

First posted 06:23pm (Mla time) Sept 10, 2004
By KC Concepcion
Inquirer News Service

Editor's Note: Published on page D1 of the September 11, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer

WHEN I got my first big paycheck, I treated my best friend to her first big shopping spree. But she didn't know about it until the day ended. While waiting in traffic on some road in Makati, I grabbed my phone, scrolled down to her name, and when I heard her voice on the other line, after a ground-shaking "Happy Birthday!" I asked her to choose a number between 5 and 12. After blurting out the first number that came to mind, she, of course, demanded to know that was all about. She had just established our budget for the day but she didn't know it until we got to the clothing store of her choice.

Here's a picture of celebration, feel the joy, feel the rainbow! I finally received my Carte de Sejour [legal student/resident visa] after one full year of waiting.

It's always a plus to have the chance to choose what you want in life but sometimes we need to leave things to fall into their proper place and happen the way they were supposed to when we least expect it. Paris has been a breeding ground for some firsts. French has been the first foreign language I could actually converse in, which led me to getting my first little Parisian home, and achieving my first year of college education (grace a dieu).

WORKING CLASS KC. Completing some errands while finishing this Super! column.

The city has taught me to succeed in my first jay walk, wear out my first pair of knee-high leather boots (they kept my feet warm while I tried hard not to get hit by a Continental GT Bentley), drop down to a size 26 (yes, that's a first!) that allowed me my first pair of European jeans (although I'm still too short for them) and my first time to run out in the summer sun with the size still ON the jeans, which is something I would be careful not to do again unless I find myself dropping down to a size 20 (not happening in the near future).

In the same way that all of these firsts came flying from all directions, sometimes happening exactly as planned, and sometimes not, I was quite clueless that a new job was waiting just around the corner. At the same time, I just couldn't wait to get my hands dirty in the mud for an opportunity like it!

To say the least, it was quite a delight (this is a word I never used to say--not until I started getting into the habit of afternoon tea at an English tearoom near work) to receive a call from a certain Monsieur Bourasset, telling me the dates and times that I was to report to work in the role of secretary. Apparently, this girl was hired! Needless to say, M.B. was My Boss.

The CV I never told anyone I sent out happened to fall into the right place. Now that I'm finally done with my first month of employment for a desk job that I never thought I could get, the same 3-man secretarial team has been rehired (grace a dieu) for the next European Union-related documentaries that the European Commission has funded Propager TV to produce. Quel bonheur!

Copyright 2006 Inquirer News Service. All rights reserved.

Kulit Co. Back in Bohemia

First posted 07:16pm (Mla time) Aug 27, 2004
By KC Concepcion

Editor's Note: Published on Page I1 of the August 28, 2004 issue of the Philippine Daily Inquirer
JUST left the Philippines, the islands that I love!

I'm back in Bohemia and the neighborhood of kings. I believe the time has come for another one of my mildly entertaining updates. Many asked when my next Super! essay was due. The gap was something I did not anticipate at all. However, in the course of my absence I landed in Tim's Yaparazzi almost every week (there is a reason for everything)! And because both Paris and Manila restlessly and effortlessly churn out never-ending tales, nothing can stop my hands from typing away as they're doing now, as though this were a personal blog (is that still the word used?).

So fret not. And thank you, Inquirer, for this very public private space that allows me to reach out to the world with hopefully informative and in-depth randomness. My pursuit of excellence involves eliminating the definitive art of selective hearing, selective thinking, and selective Saturday-Super-ing. Let's give a big kiss to all of life's imperfections, celebrate happy thoughts, and smile. This is my way of thanking my dear readers for their loyalty. it's great motivation to know you are riding along!

Turbulence

Still on the road to discovering my Personal Legend. It is strange that, embarking on the journey away from life changes so quickly, and quite drastically, from point A--curfews, gated neighborhoods, bodyguards--to point B-"Bahala ka sa sarili mo!", "Gumawa ka nga ng sariling diskarte."

I must admit that plane rides are starting to get scary. I think traveling alone quite a bit these days is making me even more paranoid that the more often I ride a plane, the more chances of some mishap taking place.

Just before I got into panic mode, the smell of peppermint oil permeated the cabin. This either distracted me or calmed my senses. Having transited through Bangkok, where people seem to become more and more laid back, nature-loving and soul-centered, I was pleasantly culture-shocked to find a Parisien couple seated three rows in front of me. Girl had her feet up, baby chuckles filling the air as Boy gave her a (presumably) free, if second-rate, Thai foot massage. The peppermint oil!

It got me thinking: there are times when we get sucked into the typical, the scripted, the routine. Until one little thing happens that makes us see through a child's eyes again. For Girl, it was forgetting urban stresses, kicking off her shoes and indulging in a simple pleasure. For me, it was realizing that I was on the upper deck of a plane for the very first time in my life, having had to climb a little stairwell to get to my seat. It was, I suddenly remembered, something I always wished to do as a child.

During take-off-hands shaking stupidly as a result of an irrational phobia for flying that was never there before--I managed to pull out a letter from my parents. It could be only one of two things, I thought: a literary masterpiece constructed to reprimand, or the usual parental love letter filled with wisdom, advice and all the mushy stuff that make children cry. I realized I didn't fear flight turbulence as much as I feared being freed again. As a defense mechanism, I started being afraid of acknowledging, and appreciating, the support and love that comes only from family. Ay senti!

48 hours after
Two mornings after the landing (yes, the plane did touch down in one piece, phew!), a sucker for sunlight couldn't possibly be disappointed. It was nice and warm and even more beautiful in the city! Surprisingly enough, things were slightly slower-paced, since most Parisiens had gone out of town. I must say it was sooo good to see that even this highly stressed society knew when it was time to take a break, and come back tan and happy!

On my way back home from the supermarket G20, I spotted a print ad at the bus stop which said, "Paris-The City That Protects Love (Paris-La Ville qui Protege L'Amour)." The first 20 weeks that I lived here, I wasn't sure that this place wasn't too harsh for me. The next couple of months were more like, okay, people seem lonely here, and they find it suspicious when you smile. When April came, apart from the fact that my heart melted after 13 of my newest friends threw a fabulous surprise birthday cruise for me down the River Seine, I knew that things would get better as soon as I came to terms with, and then thrive on, my love for new worlds, eclectic people, languages, the arts and the fact that I am living where many artists came to be inspired.

The first year of being alone was like being put under construction! So many things had to be learned, that my heart and mind were taking such big bites at life. No rest, no room to taste and enjoy everything that was coming my way as a teenager discovering life as part-tourist, part-local and full-time college student. But, one carries on like the rest of the populace! The ad was comforting despite a cheesy quality to it that could make people squirm. But then, that's Paris. Either you take it or ya leave it!

Ooh la-la
Time to do some household chores. I noticed that my neighbors were doing their own home-improvement thing. The lady in the apartment across mine just let out a melodic scream. "Ooh la LA!" She probably crushed her thumb from too much hammering. The French manage to make even hard times sound sing-songy. It was also like being a kid again, to learn to laugh in certain situations and take things with a grain of salt, to get things done no matter what, and move on. Here I shampoo my hair and scrub the bathtub at the same time (Scotch Brite on one foot does the trick), or answer the door while brushing my teeth because someone just popped up or sent a giant FedEx box. Which reminds me, I have something frying in the kitchen! Catch ya Saturday!

"Sail on the wings of a cloud where to well nobody knows
And cry, cry if you want them to see, die every day to be free,
Be proud, to wear the colours that you call your own
Be loud, speak out when you want the world to know
Be strong, hold the flame for everyone to see
Be weak, if you want to love" [portion of lyrics of "Light and Shade," Fra Lippo Lippi-INQ7.net ed]

Copyright 2006 Inquirer News Service. All rights reserved.

Kulit Co. Wearing the sun

Posted: 10:58 PM (Manila Time) Feb. 20, 2004

THERE is something about the month of February that pulls me right into the thick of the new year. January in Paris ended with a four-day mosaic of rain, hail and snow, leaving me unable to stabilize my moods, which fluctuated daily with the indecisive weather. Warm, tropical, extremely sunny Manila welcomed me with open arms when I came for a three-week holiday. It was just what I needed.

I felt my life was on auto-pilot as I floated through the city, surrounded by all the things I considered home. This was especially important to me; the past five months had been quite overwhelming as I went through the process of what the wise like to call character-building. True independence surely is attractive, especially because nothing about it comes on a silver platter.

One bright yellow morning, after a grueling period of discovering the different aspects of living alone, a professor in one of my classes randomly mentioned the Stress Growth Dynamic. He must have been a mind-reader, and I might have been sending him some sort of quasi-negative energy from the middle row.

Essentially, the theory is: to be comfortable with what I discover about myself, I should go through a time of high stress. This refers to a period when I don't like what you are seeing, and I just can't take it.

The professor enumerated several steps in the process of shifting paradigms or perspectives: Moving offers the excitement of being transported to a new world. Next comes a phase where I drown in an odd state of mind, picking out things about a certain culture and hating them simply because they are unlike home.

This sounded so familiar. I had never been so afraid to face reality. I took comfort in being assured that people who underwent the most stress after moving to a new country, adapted best in the end. Adapting was hard, particularly because some people tried to convince me that the only way I could do it was to let go of the Philippines entirely. Nobody knows how long it takes to finally integrate with oneself, much less to a new environment. I realized that knowing where I'm from and making it a big part of who I am is liberating. I was freed by Pinay pride.

Paris has thus become more than just a nice place to live in, alone, at 18. In fact it is surreal. This is definitely a place that allows for the total absorption of art. I am proud to say that I have mastered the art of composing myself after sorting out the mail and finding a rather horrific envelope stamped by the French Government; and the art of regaining equilibrium after a tiny vacuum cleaner bursts into flames because the cheap transformer from a mysterious, unnamed store failed to work. Did I mention the art of kicking myself out of my old apartment, hoping to find another in two weeks? The best one yet is the art of living within a student budget, which, for amateurs like myself, may be a little tough at first. By the way, this leads to yet another form of art -- being broke and surviving.

I have experienced subsisting on tap water and hard bread as a result of costly irresponsibility-blowing the budget at three-storey music stores, on phone bills, papeteries, or furniture. Clearly (and sometimes literally), art can be worth a few cents or a couple of millions. I've been told that its value depends on the effect that it has on the person engaged in it. We've all heard the saying, "Charge it to experience." Well, this is one other subtle art I've been dabbling in. On my seventh month in the City of Light, and having learned quite a lot in such a short time, life has gotten sweeter.

Although the sunrise is such a typical cliché for a new beginning, new beginnings do count, and everybody craves it. As the band Aztec Camera says, everybody wants to see the sun, feel the bliss. I used to reject the saying, "No man is an island." Even the Bible would laugh at me for protesting! Three words: KC hits insanity. When I change, I take from others, often without realizing it. Whether or not we try, things shift; nothing stays the same. Life gets hard for everyone, and no matter what the obstacle is, it's good to pull through. It's cool to be humble, to know my strengths and accept that, at times, I'll just be plain, well, crap. Really. Then I will know what's so good about having the sun against my skin.

Kulit Co. Paris on a cold Monday

Posted: 11:23 PM (Manila Time) Nov. 14, 2003

DOES anybody out there know how to prepare tuna adobo?

I spent half of my last few days in Manila trying to convince the cook to teach me all the Filipino recipes that she had mastered through many years of experience. For some odd reason, that was when she started cooking them only when I was out of sight. Afterwards she would feed me first, and then discuss the recipe.

I'm on a six-hour break between classes. It is a cold Monday afternoon; the sun is pretending to be warm. I'm beginning to miss the good ol' islands! I heard about the major multimillion-peso cleanup that made parts of Manila look super brand spankin' new. I wish I had been there to experience it, because that (sadly) doesn't happen every day! Should we invite important foreign personalities more often? Maybe then we could sustain such a positive attitude and finally jump off the top of the list of the world's polluted cities.

A PEEP into KC’s life.

At this point, I am attempting to thaw my lungs with every inhalation of heater air. It is very difficult to be slumped in one of these velvety couches with a book or a music player, pen and paper, or a Kir Royal in hand, and not be transfixed. Parisian cafes are far from being overrated. Many of them are as breathtaking as they are touted to be. I'd dragged you out for some tingly thé à la menthe (hot mint tea) or chocolat chaud (hot chocolate), if you were here. Spending quiet time like this stirs up my senses. I daydream about sparkling Philippine beaches, and laughter that bubbles up from the belly, something Pinoys do so effortlessly but is almost impossible to hear in these parts.

I am hard-pressed to imagine being a traveler in Paris in 1789, during the run-up to the French revolution. I recently read up on the unfair tax system at the time, the uprising against royal rule, shortage of cheap bread and beheading of guilty nobles. Even so, the thought of seeing the city from a hot air balloon, getting from place to place in an old-style stagecoach or on a piggyback ride that you could pay a "gutter leaper" for, excites me. Yes, I mean more than hopping into an expensive Mercedes cab that often comes with a chauffeur, in itself a mini-adventure.

Paris is a truly beautiful city, with cobblestone streets that have the power to make you randomly click your heels in the air. Although poodle doodle seems to be a pedestrian staple around here, this place is meant to be seen on foot. When my feet are resting, however, I must say I still get to have the most interesting conversations with Parisian cabbies. I've had discussions ranging from the nearest and best chocolate shop in the area, to the global issue of terrorism, to corpses of local senior citizens found in their apartments after the recent heat wave.

There was this taxi man who told me about his life story. He was married to a Frenchwoman, but they divorced after he cheated on her with a beautiful Filipina that he met in Thailand. At that moment, I didn't even bother divulging my country of origin, or what I thought of Frenchmen. I had been warned not to smile, and that was exactly what I did (not). The French find smiling "for no reason" strange and suspicious, so that was rule no. 1. Sure, they have the habit of staring. But rule no. 2 is that you should never stare back, unless you want to respond to a pickup. Also, I had been told to maintain a very neutral facial expression. In addition to this basic lesson in deportment, I have learned a little French, including PG-13 phrases-and this, my dearests, I don't need to elaborate on.

TWO KCs are better than one. KC Concepcion with KC Montero.

Before you begin to think that I casually take a cab ride home everyday, let me tell you that I have learned to take the public transport. And before you say, "O, ngayon? Okay lang, Paris naman e," ... stttoppp! Things get interesting here! People say if you can survive in Paris, you can survive anywhere in the world. Impossible? Believe it. No other form of commuting can beat the lovely Metro experiences you can get here for free (when you get the chance to pay less or nothing at all, take advantage). Since I arrived in Europe three months ago, I have had several risky, but extremely amusing, commuter encounters. I just know I will one day get arrested for carrying a pepper spray, which is illegal here (a friend from Kuwait thoughtfully gave me one).

I once came home after an evening Math class with a leg drenched in rhum after drunken Arabic-Italian men rammed each other against the doors of the train and launched into a fit of little-boy wrestling matches that didn't quite end on a very wholesome note. Although there is usually no need for the spray around here, I must admit I am enormously relieved each time I step into the little dollhouse that I call home! Yes I live alone, and to that I say have faith in terrain unknown.

Today is a good day. God sent an abundant supply of extra doux tissues to help out with my cold, and although I was a little bit deranged this morning (I almost placed my shoes in the refrigerator), I was certain there would be, as there always is, something magical in the city that will help me get through the day. My most cherished girlfriend told me over a long-distance phone conversation: "Happiness is not because of; it is in spite of."

So, in spite of the spirit of Manila being vacuum-packed inside me, I am happy that it is there at all. Manila it was that first taught me to smile, to love, to connect, to embrace people and laugh with them. And it's what makes it warm in here, especially on days like this one, when I feel my head is right about to freeze up and snap off my neck.

'Til another Saturday then ... here's to Truth, Beauty, Freedom and Love!

SHARON AND KC IN PARIS

YES! Magazine, June 2002 MARCH 22, FLIGHT TO PARIS. Sharon and KC left Manila for Paris in a cabin suite. The last time they went out on a girl-bonding trip was 1999 when they flew to San Jose, California.

At Place de la Concorde. To her right is the Champs-Elysées.

Inside their hotel room, mother and daughter ended the day with a "tight squeeze." KC at Coco Chanel's first store At Castle Café near the Eiffel Tower where they sipped hot chocolate and Viennese coffee.

MARCH 23, EIFFEL TOWER. Mother and daughter arrived in Paris at 5:10 a.m. Obviously, they took turns having their pictures taken at the foot of the Eiffel. Says Sharon, "KC and I wanted to go up but they were servicing the other elevators, only one was working, weekend kasi, punong-puno ng tourists.

MARCH 24. "Kami," says Sharon, " we're so mababaw. Actually we just breathe in and take in all that's happening around us. There wasn't much to buy because it was really cold and, you know, she does stuff for Human... that she passes on to Mama, and some, Mama is still waiting to fit into. And you know, I have so many clothes in my movies. There's no need for us to really go out and buy clothes like crazy. "Diner with my baby." They had dinner in Costes, a restaurant near their hotel. "Everyone makes a ceremony out of dining, out of a meal, so kahit kape lang 'yan o ano. Hindi sila fast food masyado. French sila e. We just wanted to take that in 'coz we couldn't do these things in Manila or anywhere else. Mag-sidewalk cafe, puro pollution, hindi ba? Doon uso, doon naggaling. So parang we just wanted to experience all those things that we can't really do here." Sharon told KC: "You have to see how cute those stores are, they sell crepes off the streets." When KC finally saw one, she screamed, "Mama, crepes!" Says Sharon, "Happing-hapi kami." KC ordered strawberry crepes and Sharon, who describes herself as a "chocolate girl," had banana nutella.


MARCH 25. Facade of the Louvre Museum A gentleman was kind enough to take their picture on the River Siene. KC buys postcards for her collection. Sharon and KC posing in front of Venus de Milo.
Mother and daughter at Place Vendome before going to Louvre.

MARCH 26, REST DAY. Playtime with jasmine flowers following dinner at Le Reconfort. Mama Sharon is thrilled her daughter speaks French with, say the natives, "good accent." But she is even more thrilled whenever KC says "she's my mother" in French and everyone within hearing distance gasps in disbelief. Not-so-small-baby-KC with Mama. The French provincial decor of this hotel so attracted Sharon, she had her picture taken by the amused owner.

MARCH 27. Last day in Paris. Sharon and KC finishing their Cappuccino Steak Frittes and Banana Split at La Coupe D'or St. Honore´&e;. They were scheduled to leave Paris for Bangkok at 10:44 p.m.