ALL ROADS LEAD TO QUIAPO

How Ricky Lee carves his own path, and slices his body in half, on his way to writing greatness

By Terence Patrick T. Repelente

MA Letters

In his book, Trip to Quiapo: Scriptwriting Manual, Ricky Lee tells a story of three writers on
their way to Qiapo. The first writer studies the path used by writers before him and, of course,
arrives at Quiapo without a sweat. The second writer, whom Lee describes as “may pagkakalog
yata (kind of crazy),” avoided the conventional path, he went around mountains, forests, he even
gossiped with bystanders. We laughed at the second writer, Lee says, because that’s what we
usually laugh at—people who are different, people who deviate, and it doesn’t matter whether
they’re right or wrong. But eventually he arrives at Quiapo. According to Lee, the second writer
is better because he discovered a new path to Quiapo. Many will soon follow him, the path will
be developed, paved, and eventually become a faster route just like the one the first writer took.

The third writer also deviates and doesn’t follow the rules. But he isn’t just kalog, Lee says, he’s
insane, batshit crazy, baliw! He also went around—rivers, mountains, wet markets, churches, and
forests. He even got lost, and almost got mugged at some point. It’s almost like he doesn’t know
what he’s doing. And just like the second writer, we laughed at him. We even discouraged him.
But he arrived, he arrived somewhere. This isn’t the same Quiapo where the two writers went,
it’s a different place. But the third writer convinced us that it’s the same place, it’s still Quiapo.
And it is.

The third writer is the best writer, Lee says. He’s the best because there’s magic in what he does,
and all of us got enchanted. In the world of art and literature, and even in our lives, according to
Lee, meaning and essence come from the many different Quiapos we create. He stresses: in the
world of art, there’s no single or fixed approach in writing, there’s no transcendent standard.
Everything changes and evolves in every culture and in every epoch.
This dictum is best seen in Lee’s own work, Si Amapola sa 65 na Kabanata. The protagonist is a
transvestite named Amapola who works as an impersonator in Timog and Tomas Morato.
Clearly it’s next to impossible to put down a novel that begins this way:

“Sa labas, habang ang mga kababayan ko ay hindi pa nakaka-recover sa sunod-sunod na

bagyong pinasimulan ng Ondoy, ako, sa loob ng High Notes sa kanto ng Timog at Morato, ay
naka-split sa stage, ini-impersonate si Beyoncé, kinakanta ang If I Were A Boy, theme song ng
mga tomboy.”

We quickly see the third writer in Ricky Lee’s novel when we later learn that Amapola is
an aswang of the manananggal variety. At night her body is cut in half. Wings grow out of her
back, and she flies up in the air, searching for food: human flesh and blood. We discover that
there are two kinds of manananggal—the good kind only feeds on animals, the bad ones
(tunggab) are hell-bent on devouring human beings, particularly unborn children inside their
mothers' uteri. Amapola, the protagonist, belongs to the former. The engaging story begins.
Not only is his storytelling fantastic, Ricky Lee also employs a humor that's distinctly Filipino:
Noranians who will do anything to bring Nora Aunor back to the country and see her perform
one last time; bar club impersonators with the names Bev Without An S and Churvah Alilih; a
manananggal named Stuterrer who always stutters; and the familiar, inspiring mother who will
accept her children for whoever and whatever he may be.

Being accepted for who a person is forms the core theme of the book, but Ricky Lee also
highlights the importance of nationalism, love for country and others, sacrifice, friendship, and
the value of a good laughter. But he doesn’t execute this seemingly common theme in a generic,
boring way, he carves his own distinct path—his own Quiapo.