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Line of Volcanoes, Borneo 7s 2010. Jon, Ned, Andrew Evro, Patrice, Wolfie. Photo by JZ.

geekwad: Do you like reading books? Is it cool for men to read books in public places? I always get odd glances when I prop open a book while waiting in line or riding public transportation. People should start realizing that the best place to carry a book around is Manila, because there is always traffic and you have to wait in line for everything.

Jon: I love reading. My longtime friends make me promise not to read their books in the shower before they lend them to me because I’m notorious for returning them in awful shape. Manila seems like the perfect place to bring books around because of all the standing around you have to do but I’ve found the MRT is so tight that it’s hard to turn the pages and the roads are so bumpy and the traffic so stop-and-go it’s hard to keep your eyes focused on anything less than size 30 font.

Is it cool for men to read books in public places? My theory on cool is: If you’re cool, you’re cool no matter what you happen to be doing. And if you’re not? All the trendy short-brimmed designer hats, slick hairdos, and false bravado in the world are not going to make you cool. In the end I think ‘being cool’ comes down to self-possession and self-awareness: knowing who you are, the things you enjoy, and then doing those things confidently because you enjoy them and not to project an image or for acceptance. I think people can sense that sort of self-possession that radiates out as confidence (and prickly defensiveness is not the same thing. It’s just the surly flip side of searching for acceptance) and will eventually come around to appreciate that no matter who you are.

A modicum of fashion sense, personal hygiene, and social skills helps too, though. Just a drop.

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Jon Morales works at the Asia Foundation and is taking his master’s in development studies at UP. He is the captain of the Nomads football club and is a member of the Philippine Volcanoes national men’s rugby team. Jon majored in economics at Brown, where he was captain of the rugby team. Before moving to Manila last year he lived in Beijing.

Got a question for our straight guy columnist Jon? Post it in Comments.

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While trying to make sense of our files we found a bunch of photos of a match between the Philippine Volcanoes squad bound for the A5N tournament in India (which they won) and the Nomads rugby club with a new member, Jon Morales. The photographer happened to take several of Jon getting grabbed. . .

by Oliver Saunders (L-R: Rupert Zappia, Kit Guerra, Ollie, Michael de Guzman (hidden, in the green socks), Jon, Ronald Fong, Phil Abraham, Kenzo West, Austin Dacanay, a Nomad.)

(L-R: A Nomad, Kit Guerra, Ollie, Michael de Guzman (hidden, in the green socks), Jon, Ronald Fong, Phil Abraham, Kenzo West, Austin Dacanay, a Nomad.)

by Gareth Holgate. (L-R: Raf Zappia, Gaz, Jon, Harry Morris (back), Michael de Guzman, Ronald Fong)

“All that I know most surely about morality and obligations I owe to football.” Albert Camus, goalkeeper. (It is not true that he wore the #1 jersey for Algeria, but he was very cool.)

Photos of Neil Etheridge from the Fulham FC site.

Jon on not eating, not drinking, and not being merry.

The latest from our straight guy columnist Jon Morales.

Warning: This is a harrowing tale.

listbonne: It’s December and most young, single people I know are starting to go broke. Have you ever gone through something like this? Any advice to them?

Jon:

In July I was tight. Real tight. One meal a day tight. Counting my peso coins like cigarettes and waiting for payday like rain tight.

Since I’ve moved to the Philippines I’ve lost 50 pounds, 10-15 of them in those last two weeks of July alone. The thing was, I knew I was going to be tight so I started marshalling my scant resources and looked ahead thinking, “I only have to make it two weeks,” scoured my room, gathered up all the loose change accumulated in the dirty laundry which I couldn’t afford to have washed and under the mat I sleep on, and figured I could make it.

The thing about being broke, and I mean real broke, like Henry Miller Tropic of Cancer type broke, is that you go to bed every night hungry and you wake up every morning even hungrier. Food dominates your thoughts. I woke up every morning and the first thought on my mind was “Where can I hustle some free food?”

I made it through most of the two weeks alright, got to the last Saturday, two days before the last payday. Since payday was so close and I had grown a bit tired of bananas and rice (I had cut out the soup for flavouring the rice by that point due to budget constraints) I decided to treat myself to an eight-peso hard-boiled egg. I was supposed to go to class that morning but had done the calculations and realized that MRT and jeepney rides back and forth to UP from Pasig would cost me a total of 44 pesos. Considering that I had only 20 before I bought the egg, that was clearly unacceptable.

So there I stood in the sunshine happily nibbling and savoring the eight peso hard-boiled egg in my left hand when someone drove up on a scooter and asked for directions around my neighborhood. As I began to tell him I gestured with that left hand and felt the disastrous and sudden lightening of the hard-boiled egg in my hand. Mid-sentence I came to a dead stop and looked down in utter shock as I watched the quarter-nibbled yolk come to a rest on the street in front of me. I’m not sure how much time passed, not much I think, as I stood there staring, eyes like dinner plates, at my yolk lying so tragically in the gutter.

The guy asking me for directions took one look at my face, paused and said “I’m sorry” and motored off. I didn’t even look up. I kept staring at the yolk: “Is it that bad yet? Is it that bad? Am I going to pick this thing up with my neighbours standing around me and eat it shamelessly out of the gutter?” “It’s not that bad yet, not yet.”

I walked home still reeling from my lost protein. I perked up when I remembered I had a bag of chichacorn on my counter that I’d been given as pasalubong a few months earlier. As I opened it ants started pouring out of the bag. I examined the bag and it had been on my counter so long that the ants had actually chewed a tiny hole through the plastic and invaded the chichacorn. “Is it that bad yet? The ants are just sort of extra protein…. right? No… No it’s not that bad yet.”

Only, it was. As I squatted next to my mat and recounted my 12 lonely little pesos I started to panic. “I’ve got no load on my phone, not enough money for more than a single jeepney ride, can only get so far on the MRT, and I only have enough money for two more bananas until Monday if I buy nothing else.” I couldn’t get anywhere, I couldn’t even get in touch with people who could help me. I was going to have to go until Monday, already famished to begin with, having eaten nothing but egg white and drinking nothing but unfiltered tap water for two days.

I’ve never felt worse panic in my life. All I could think over and over was, “My god when am I going to eat?! When am I GOING TO EAT!!!!” The thing about panicking though, for some strange reason, is that it makes me really really sleepy. Can’t keep my eyes open sleepy. Narcolepsy just took a Valium type sleepy.

So that’s what I did at 11 am Saturday morning on an empty stomach: fall dead asleep. I woke up at 6 PM and had the brilliant idea to search through my winter clothes that I hadn’t worn in 7 months for money. And there it was, in my ski jacket that I had no use for in Manila. Andrew Jackson, you were an awful and racist President who oversaw the Trail of Tears. You are the most beautiful man in the history of the world. As I cashed that 10 dollar bill at EDSA Shang I had a new refrain ringing in my head: I’m going to make it! Sweet Jesus I’m going to make it!!

When I finally got back on my feet I saw a friend who I hadn’t seen in about a month and she remarked, “Wow you look really good! Have you been working out?” No, not at all, just ran out of money and couldn’t afford food for a while. “Oh, well poverty suits you, you look good.” Thanks dear. Thanks.

Here’s my advice to people facing the same predicament and with too much pride or too few friends: Bananas. Those little unappetizing ones they sell at sari-sari stores. Through careful sampling and trials I have come to the conclusion that bananas have the highest satiation-to-price ratio of any food available in the Philippines. They taste like cardboard. But you feel full.

The other piece of advice: kawawa face. There’s nothing quite like the pressure of not eating to really give your acting skills that extra oomph of emotional sincerity. My kawawa face is unbeatable. My kawawa face could melt the glaciers and convince them to sell me some bottled water on credit. Swear to god I’ll pay you back as soon as I get paid, Ate.

1. The still photo setting on my pocket video recorder is a little tricky. Please email me your photos of the Meet & Greet with Jon.
2. Jon is way cuter in person than in photos.
3. I am a midget.

Thanks to listbonne, Elle, ifrico, Jeffrey, Ruth, jules, Watermalong, the chronicler of boredom, brewhuh23, atomic_bum, and Jon for coming to the Meet & Greet at La Cuisine.

Jon has just been named captain of the Manila Nomads rugby team.

Momelia, you were sorely missed. (I didn’t read your message until I got home so we figured you’d stood us up because you were horrible haha.) Apologies to the two who didn’t join the group (I tried to murder their books), but the point of the meet & greet was for the readers to mingle, not have the waiter summon me for a private signing. It takes effort to plan these things you know.

Cacs, bomberman and winespirits, you can pick up your orders at La Cuisine.

Random matters discussed at the meet: Favorite death scenes in movies.

listbonne: John Travolta’s in Phenomenon
brewhuh23: Obi Wan-Kenobi in Star Wars
Me: Boromir in The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring
Jon: Satine in Moulin Rouge

Meet & Greet with Jon, photo from chronicler’s camera.

Favorite Jon stories:

The Hard-Boiled Egg
The 3 Jerks Theory of Rugby, feat. “I thought _____ was a dick.”
Advice from a parent who went to UP to a son going off to college
Kazakhstan rugby
Beijing jejemon accent
Getting tackled by 2 Saunders brothers
Vision problems

Thanks to brewhuh23 for the 3 pairs of camera stud earrings! Here’s one on my giant head.

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tehanu, dibee, jeffwar314, Neogorbash, jouvs, jake, roseanna: We just got the shipping costs; the delivery charge will be about P150. Please check your email early tomorrow morning for the bank details. Thanks.

Bulletin of the Jake Letts, Letts Hug It Out Fan Club, Volume I, No. 1

Jake Letts, photo by JZ.

There’s an article on the national rugby players, particularly the Letts and Saunders brothers, in the December 2010 issue of Lifestyle Asia magazine which now on the stands. The piece was written in July. Since then more information on Jake Letts has come to light, such as this statement from a former assistant manager of the Philippine Volcanoes.

“Since 2005 when he represented the Philippines for the first time at the Philippines SEA games Rugby 7s, Jake Letts has regularly organised visits to the Tuloy Foundation orphanage to meet and play with the orphans and run workshops to encourage their rugby. He started his visits without being asked, which speaks volumes of where this young man’s heart is!”

Something the subject neglected to mention during our interview. Sorry Jake, the truth is out: You’re a mensch.

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The photos that accompanied my article “The Unexpected Champions” were erroneously attributed to me. My apologies to the real photographers; I had no intention of grabbing credit for their work. The national men’s 15s team photo is courtesy of the PRFU, the photo of Michael Letts came from Jaime Augusto Zobel, and the photos of the Saunderses and Lettses in India are by Nigel Saunders.

Jake and Michael Letts on a break from the A5N Division 2 Championships in New Delhi, photograph by Nigel Saunders

Again, ten thousand apologies. I labelled those pictures.

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About the T-shirts: Due to the holiday chaos and general craziness we’ve decided to postpone production of the official Jakelettes T-shirt to January 2011. This means you may still order your shirts. brewhuh23 is in charge; post your orders in Comments. (P.S. Please add one for Jake.)

We need a volunteer to maintain this monthly bulletin. Why don’t you elect a Minister of Information? Nominate yourselves and explain why you should be the one to keep in touch with your sweetheart and report on his projects.

Where exactly do you ask for directions? South Africa, 2009 by Jaime.

samutsari: The author of Men Are From Mars . . . was right. Men don’t want to ask for directions, even if they’re driving around in circles and you’re late for your meeting. Are you like that too? Is this something inherent in the male chromosome?

Jon says: I’m not lost. I’m exploring.

I actually ask for directions quite often but only because I’m in foreign cities so often. In my ‘home’ cities I will absolutely refuse to ask for directions. Because being able to say “See? I told you I knew where I was going” smugly is far more satisfying then getting there in a reasonable amount of time.

Using Google Maps is cheating in case you were wondering. And yes I’m sure this alley leads to the restaurant.

samutsari: The men in my family hate going to the doctor. The women if they feel something want to know what’s wrong right away. The men don’t want to, until they’re about to die. What’s a good explanation for this?

Jon says: It’s a little funny this question should come up right now. At this very moment my list of injuries includes: a damaged middle and ring finger on my right hand (since end of August, not sure if it’s broken or maybe just ligament damage), I can’t straighten my right arm because there’s something wrong with my elbow (since last Saturday), and a bad cough (since Sunday). I haven’t gone to see the doctor and I don’t intend to.

I usually don’t go to the doctor until the final moment when I’m on the edge of not being able to take myself there. Hence my question regarding ambulances in Manila; it’s a rather pressing concern for me considering my penchant for getting injured or sick and waiting for the final moment to do anything about it.

It’s probably a combination of wanting to tough it out, laziness, and distrust of doctors. In my own case I tend to know that I probably won’t follow through on treatment on something I consider fairly minor so a diagnosis doesn’t really benefit me in any way. For example, my fingers still mostly work so I wouldn’t get surgery, and immobilizing them I could very well do myself so why waste a day going to the doctor? Just rub some dirt in it kiddo, you’ll be fine.

RightClicker: How do you go about dating when you’re in a foreign land i.e. China? Do you tend to date local girls or expats? In dating local girls, what quirks should you take into consideration? Lastly, with all the girls you’ve dated (I’m assuming plenty hehe) have you noticed any universal dating behavior across different cultures so far?

Jon says: Examining your own tendencies is always difficult but I don’t think I have any strong tendencies either way. The major factor to take into consideration as an expat when dating a local girl is that they are in the place they live, usually they place they have always lived. When you are an expat there is always a feeling that this is probably just temporary, a chapter in your life. That chapter may end up lasting 40 years and the rest of your life, but it may just as well end tomorrow.

I know, I know, you can say that about life in general and carpe diem and live every day like it’s your last and so on, but the reality of it squats in the corner of your room every day when you are an expat. “If things go down the drain I can just take a runner.”

That thought is always there, some times more consciously than others. The local girl you are dating? She’s not taking a runner anywhere. So there’s that. Without a specific location though it’s hard to say what the specific quirks of ‘local’ girls are.

Expats, though, have quirks that can be generalized I think. They tend to be self-centered. I don’t mean that in a derogatory way. Just that the mindset it takes to up and leave the place you have known all your life on your own, for whatever reason, means that you can break the social ties that bind everyone easier than the average person. They tend to be a little weirder than the average person from their own society. They tend to be self-sufficient and dating one means that not only do you have to contend with other people (third-parties) but also with their comfort and ease in being alone since it clearly doesn’t scare them. Oh, and sometimes they take runners.

Across different cultures the only universal truths about women I’ve discovered is they all wish I’d shave my goatee after about a month, clean my room more often, and stop smoking.

As for the how, well I just meet as many people as I possibly can. That’s just the basics of survival when moving to a foreign city. You have to get involved and I try to make it a balance between ‘local’ activities, ‘expat’ activities, and ‘mixed’ activities. Just meet as many people as I can, find the prettiest, coolest girl and say “Hi. I’m Jon.” Winning smile. Hope she smiles back.

kumagcow: If you had a chance to run this country, what would you do differently?

Jon says: I want to answer this question very badly. In fact the delay in this post was me mulling over whether I could get away with saying something on this question. In the end it’s probably best that I don’t express my genuine feelings on this subject as a matter of permanent public record; I’d have to pull so many punches I might as well not say anything at all rather than waste your time with empty words and motherhood statements. If you see me wandering around Manila feel free to ask me though, and I will talk your ear off about it until you wish you had never asked me in the first place.

I don’t want that to be an implied criticism of Manila or a suggestion that I don’t like this city or country though. I think, though, that it would be dishonest not to admit that there are a lot of things that need to be fixed here. Which is good for me because I’ll probably have a job for a long time.

One thing I would definitely do if I could do things differently that I can say out loud is get rid of the people who do ‘security’ checks everywhere with the magic stick. I’d put them to work doing something even just a little bit more productive, instead of making it more difficult for me to get into the MRT station every morning and night. Like oh, I don’t know, making people not stand in front of the doorway and block it when it opens so exiting passengers can get out.

Got a question for Jon Morales our straight guy advice columnist? Post it in Comments and Jon will get back to you next week.