art camp by the mediterranean sea (part 2)
11:02 PMDAY FOUR: GRAFFITI
A Spanish-Japanese boy who was just slightly a bit taller than me stood next to Sr. Belen in the middle of the room. I wonder how we would carry on when he, our facilitator, could barely look at us. He vacillated between looking at the door or the floor. But apparently, he didn’t need to talk much since we’ll be having our noses buried into paper and will doodle away the afternoon.
![]() |
sr. belen and our facilitator discussed before starting. |
![]() |
alexa got down to business. |
![]() |
all four ladies proudly posed with their work of art. |
![]() |
my groupmates eagerly worked on our project. |
![]() |
Padre Justo happily posed with me just a few minutes before the accident. |
That evening, we attended mass at the local church with the rest of the community.
DAY FIVE: FILM
After our morning praise, Eduardo asked us to take photos that represent what relationships and friendships mean to us. We all had carte blanche and need not stick to the expected. In fact, he wanted us to let our queer flags fly free.
![]() |
friendships are refreshing. |
![]() |
friendships are healing. |
![]() |
friends stick with us through thick and thin. |
![]() |
we just had to take this photo while putting together our very short video on friendship. |
DAY SIX: ROLE PLAY
Just after beach time, we were surprised to see the facilitators all dressed up in black with matching dark shades. They barred us from rinsing off the salt water or sand or dropping off our things in our rooms.
Sr. Belen played the role of the fate and handed out new identities. She handed to me a card that read that I was still a Filipina and was really poor. Apparently, I was still a member of the third world. We were ushered into the mess hall but not before we were frisked. (Much like what they do at SM supermalls and airports.)
![]() |
every single one was frisked. grabbed from cathy diaz's fb page |
![]() |
here's the third world and its citizens. grabbed from cathy diaz's fb page |
It was lunchtime and everyone was hungry and thirsty. But no one was doing a damn thing about it. True to form, I started demanding for water. At the top of lungs, I screamed for water. I got whacked for doing so. Some joined me in my effort while the rest did nothing, too scared, I think, to do anything. When I became too loud for their ears, the guards hauled me out of the room. That left the rest of the third world citizens to do something about the world order.
Eventually, the exercise ended. We put the mess hall back in order and were served our real lunch. At the lunch table, I learned that nothing significant happened after I was hauled away. Neither the first world nor the second world citizens shared their food with the “poor and hungry.” Nor did the people from the third world tidy up their corner or demand that they be given food. They did share, though, amongst themselves their allocation of the world’s food - a potato and a glass of water.
0 comments