Break

I slept last night with 20 sequences on my screenplay. The night before, I had 18. Tonight, I have 22. Full-length scripts, on the average, have 100 to 120 sequences. I have 80 sequences more to write. The deadline is in 14 days.

Aside from that, I also have to meet with my production manager to discuss the film’s budget and logistics and where we can possibly get more funding. I haven’t drafted any letters yet. The budget breakdown and list of possible co-producers’ deadline is also in 14 days.

I feel like I’m in the pre-production of my college thesis again. It’s so much different with film students now, but during our time, we did all the work: the directing of course, the cinematography, the editing, and even the production management and marketing. My thesis partner and I would spend entire days drafting letters and personally handing them to offices of Senators, Congressmen, this and that establishment. (We never received any funding from those efforts, by the way. Thank God for very understanding parents.) After braving Senate offices, we’d eat dinner in McDo then talk about our thesis–the shots, the direction, the logistics, the editing, the treatment–until we run out of money to buy more Coke. Then we inevitably talk about money again. It was difficult thinking about sponsorships one minute and doing the storyboard the next. Creative and marketing will never meet eye to eye; they limit each other. When you’re both the director and the producer though, you must make both ends meet, or you lose your film altogether, and I can’t, I won’t let that happen.

I saw the Eheads’ Reunion Concert again in my sister’s iPod today. Ely sang Alapaap again, and I remembered how surreal it was when I was there. I told myself, when I get home, I’m going to write about this, this feeling of being grateful for being able to remember things like watching the Eheads sing Alapaap live for the first time, like getting drunk in Palawan and waking up a few meters away from the sea with the sun rising in front of me, like eating breakfast in Jollibee Philcoa with a college love, like someone waiting for me in Burger Machine and walking me home, holding my hand, and he answers with just a sweet smile when his colleague asked him, “Asawa mo?” (Is she your wife?), like Ma’am Anne telling me “I really think it’s a really good film” after seeing the first draft my first ever short film, like that tingly feeling of a first kiss from a kiss that wasn’t really your first, and hopefully, like that feeling of seeing my first full-length film on screen in front of an audience I know and barely know, applauding as the closing credits roll, even if they’re just being polite.

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