I was looking forward to 2020.
In 2020, I was going to mark 25 years of marriage. We were going to celebrate by taking our very first family trip out of the country.
In 2020, I was going to mark 10 years of being Production Manager of the Virgin Labfest. A solid decade of working on the production of new one act plays.
In 2020, I was going to start thinking of new projects at home and at work.
In 2020, my daughter was going to start her PhD.
Instead, we started it with a literal bang. A volcano exploded just four towns away from us and we had the truly surreal experience of ashfall.
And then…COVID-19 struck.
At first it was a blip in the news. A strange new disease that was laying waste to the people of China. And I watched with fascination as I saw bulldozers frantically clearing land in Wuhan as they rushed the construction of new hospitals. And the words “Lockdown” and “Quarantine” were introduced to our vocabulary, followed closely by the term “social distancing.”
It was so strange.
The first blow was the cancellation of PASINAYA just a few weeks before it was to be held. For fifteen years, nothing had stopped us from holding this huge multi arts festival. Nothing. Not a change in the administration of the building, nor changes in the political atmosphere. So when it was cancelled, we knew that things were bad.
And we prepared ourselves. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally.
The next festival was our baby, the Virgin Labfest. This is an annual festival of untried, untested, unstaged one act plays written by Filipinos. As with PASINAYA, we were celebrating our sixteenth year. And as with PASINAYA, we always played to full houses.
By the time preparations for the Labfest rolled around, there was incredible fear in the air. Events were being cancelled left, right, and center. Our beloved friends who worked freelance were losing jobs.
So the first thing we did was to make sure that the people would be paid. With the support of our institution, we revised all contracts so that for each activity, each submission, funds would be released. On our watch, we wanted to make sure that artists would continue to create and staff would continue providing the tools for creation.
And we had many, many meetings and conversations.
When enforced quarantine was formally announced, we were ready to a degree. Crucial communication lines had been established.
Since then, nearly two months ago, we have met all deadlines. We have spoken daily by Zoom, by Facebook, by cellphone. Production meetings were held online. Decisions, very often tough ones, were made. The staff redefined their work. How to stage manage online was a popular subject of conversations. We held workshops on how to use online apps.
And it is with great pride that in an ocean of cancellations, we became the last festival standing.
We remain because …
We embraced the magic of technology and refused to allow circumstances to cow us
We are firm in our belief that art and creation will inspire people who are forced to stay home
We feel strongly that our stories must be shared and our truths told — with any platform available
and
The crisis of COVID-19 is temporary. In the end, life continues and with the Labfest and other great works, we acknowledge that.
As for myself — a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister;
One of my final tasks before enforced isolation was to visit my father and my in-laws. My beloved 86 year old father who lives alone. So we arranged for a caregiver for Daddy. We made sure he had what he needs. And everyday for the past two months, there is an hour sacred to my family — it is the hour when we have a conference call — my father, my sister and I. And so because of COVID-19, we have spoken much, much more in two months than we have in many years. And every Sunday, we pray together and we sing hymns over the telephone. This single hour of each day sustains me and allows me to continue with my work.
And though my Victor and I have trashed our grand plans for a year filled with celebrations, we have instead had nearly two months of quiet and rediscovery. Mornings used to be a matter of rushing to work, in the evening we ate then slept in exhaustion. Today, we sit over breakfast together. We talk. And talk. And talk some more. So we have found each other in peace. And after twenty-five years, we remain serene in our love.
So much better than a trip to nowhere seeing everything but talking about nothing.
A few days ago, I was talking to friends from Women Playwrights International Philippines about the future of culture and the arts as an industry. And then the other night, as I took part in a panel of Production Managers, trying to raise funds for our stagehands, the question of my predictions on the future of our industry was raised.
This is what I think. Artists as a breed are individualists who do what they do because they must. In recent years financial gain has become possible and that is good. Great. Fantastic. And the government has slowly but surely started putting more funds into our industry.
That will not happen now nor in the next year or two. Because as short-sighted as it is, ours is not considered a “vital” industry.
But look around you. On any given day, there is a multitude of artists on social media, performing, raising funds for their brothers and sisters.
So I predict that first, the pain of isolation and COVID-19 will bring forth a plethora of works in all fields. We will be enriched by these works.
And I predict that the next two years will be financially difficult for all of us. And those who are in dire need may indeed migrate to other industries.
But in two years, slowly, through the efforts and persistence of artists, the industry will rise. It will not be through government funding. It will be through the stubbornness of creators and the skills of the production team.
So Mr. COVID-19 — yes I have suffered. But because of you, I have also triumphed.
