twain-ty

Overthinking over thinking

2011-08-16T01:37:00.002+08:00

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Kim Patria now overthinks at Overthinking over thinking.

Five hundred TWAIN-TY five thousand six hundred minutes

2010-07-27T02:48:00.004+08:00

In celebration of this blog’s first anniversary today, we are posting this entry as our last.

The Twain shall be putting up another blog soon, details of which will be posted here.

Thank you for reading Twain-ty.

Aftershock

2010-07-26T23:49:00.001+08:00

For a country that had to make do of the lies an illegitimate president presented as the state of the nation, President Benigno Aquino’s speech before Congress today was a breath of fresh air.

From a State of the Nation Address devoted to former President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo’s self-righteousness, enumerating even the least significant accomplishments of her administration, Filipinos listened to a speech that exposed the anomalies of the Arroyo government and proposed an escape from the hell-bound path Arroyo’s nine years in power set for the Philippines.

Aquino opened the speech earlier projected to be “shocking” with what corruption he uncovered during his first few weeks in Malacañang, a string of exposés that would have prompted Arroyo, who now holds a Congressional seat as Pampanga 2nd district representative, to walk out of Congress had she not flown to Hong Kong to avoid that awkward moment.

But it was not the irregularities Aquino revealed that shocked the Filipinos. It was the fact that such wrongdoing could be revealed.

We were aware of how the Arroyos stole from government coffers although we doubted that they would be discovered. Nine years of struggling to remain in power taught Arroyo that subtlety is the key to a successful theft, explaining why her secrets were kept except for rare circumstances when those involved in the crime were not satisfied with their share of the pot money—as in the case of the NBN-ZTE scandal where the De Venecias turned against Arroyo.

When Aquino gave case studies that illustrated the extent of corruption the Arroyo administration nurtured, he provided evidence to the crime Filipinos instinctively accuse Arroyo of and fuelled Filipinos’ wrath. It was as if there was a bad song in our heads and he pressed play.

After the shock, however, Aquino’s audience for his first SONA had little to work with for recovery.

He pointed an accusing finger at Arroyo, saying that the latter wrung this government dry of public funds yet failed to hint at the steps his administration are taking to hold her accountable, as if acknowledging his administration’s powerlessness over the former president.

He boasted of the Truth Commission he convened to look into the allegation against Arroyo yet omitted the fact that it is to be headed by former Chief Justice Hilario Davide, who played a key role in placing Arroyo in power and whose term in the Supreme Court was likewise hounded by controversy.

Instead of offering concrete solutions to problems, Aquino used motherhood statements. “We shall put an end to unwise spending of public funds; we shall rid this government of projects that fail,” he said. Encouraging as these words may be, they bounce off deaf walls without concrete initiatives that elicit cooperation.

Without action, these words are beautiful and meaningless; ideal and unreal.

And although Aquino’s speech offered a stark comparison to Arroyo’s in terms of highlighting the problems to guide the lawmakers in legislation, his first SONA may be likened to Arroyo’s in terms of evading some issues that involved him.

Farmers and progressive groups who held Aquino to his promise of subjecting Hacienda Luisita to agrarian reform were waiting for him to touch on the matter in his speech before Congress yet were surprised that he was mum on the issue of land reform, raising doubts that he would deliver on other promises he made in the campaign period.

His praise for the private sectors’ involvement in the delivery of public services also raised flak from militant groups who oppose the slightest indication of commercialization.

Particularly disappointing was how Aquino tackled his plans on education as if it were just another service that could be improved with increased public-private partnerships. As students of the country’s premier state university, we expected an agenda for action from Aquino, who succeeded a president whose term saw the greatest budget decline of budget for state colleges and universities.

In a country where education is mediocre more often than not, college education is a must and must therefore be a right instead of merely a privilege.

Thus although Aquino’s first SONA, similar to his first 100 days, makes Filipinos hopeful if not euphoric, we are inclined to be cynical.

Exposed to almost a decade of darkness, Filipinos rejoice at the promise of light at the end of the tunnel, assuming that it would lead to the end of our suffering. Until we are sure that it leads to an escape from this country’s miserable state and that it does not merely come from a lamp whose oil is bound to run dry, we shall doubt the light.

And until the Aquino administration puts an end to the problems the president revealed today, shocking the Filipinos with problems that cannot be solved is pointless.

Angels and demons

2010-07-24T23:49:00.001+08:00

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The 15th Congress, something which Filipinos hoped would be a fresh start, is hell-bent on turning out to be the same old story when it opens tomorrow.

Expected to welcome the newly elected chief executive to the legislative chambers will be House Speaker Feliciano “Sonny” Belmonte and Senate President Juan Ponce Enrile, whose names have graced Philippine politics longer than the president’s late mother.

Belmonte, who once held the House speakership for a short term, is former Quezon City mayor and a formidable ally of former President Corazon Aquino.

When the Aquino matriarch’s death spurred the candidacy of Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III, Belmonte jumped to the Liberal Party (LP) from Lakas-Kampi-CMD of which he is a long-standing member, honoring the Aquino-Belmonte ties.

Enrile, on the other hand, worked his way to popularity by starting out as the infamous Defense Minister of strongman Ferdinand Marcos.

Known as the “architect of martial law” since the alleged attempt on assassinating him was used as one of the premises for declaring military rule. He redeemed himself by becoming a hero when he led a military breakaway with Fidel Ramos, who also became president of the Philippines, fuelling the bloodless revolution. It was Enrile and Ramos to whom the late Manila Archbishop Jaime Cardinal Sin rallied the Filipinos in EDSA.

Therefore as Aquino delivers his first state of the nation address, he shall be flanked by a historical ally and a historical foe. Only time can tell, however, who shall prove to be the angel and who the devil will be.

Reports described Enrile as the leader of a “unity Senate,” a legislative body working toward the same goal regardless of loyalties. At the onset, Enrile, who ran in the slate of former President Joseph “Erap” Estrada, is portrayed as heading a legislative utopia.

Belmonte, meanwhile, mustered an overwhelming majority vote of 227 lawmakers, reducing the minority to 29 votes. He shall preside over the chamber he shares with Imelda Marcos, one half of the conjugal dictatorship that marred this country’s history, and former President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, who allegedly ran for a seat in Congress in an effort to evade prosecution and to win back the top position in government as the Philippines’ first prime minister.

The unity foreseen for the legislature offers hope for the Philippines, a country haunted by woe for division in the House of Representatives and the Senate. But history tells us how the longer people stay in power, the more power corrupts them.

May Enrile and Belmonte turn from traditional politics and reflect the hope of the Filipino nation. But let us not keep our hopes up. It pays to be cynical.

Interrogating the military

2010-07-22T23:49:00.009+08:00

Except for the extremely patriotic or the trigger-happy, the dream of serving the military forces dies at an early age—perhaps in the period when innocent boys discover that those they shoot using real guns will not rise again and shake their hands as their playmates do during toy gun war.

I dare say that at first what kills the dream is doubt on the inevitability of war. Growing up, we realize that wars change or end not only the lives of those who aim artillery at each other but more so those who are caught at the crossfire.

Eventually, however, the dream is made repulsive by doubt on the military. An education tells us that the military is a repressive state apparatus, used to create and maintain injustice disguised as a semblance of order. More importantly, our jaded minds whisper that the military serves vested interests of the higher-ups and the commander in-chief and not the best interests of the public.

The independent movie “Rekrut” (The Recruits), tells the story of a group of 15 men enlisted into the military service from Mindanao. They were trained as a “special team” to be deployed on a “special mission.”

Aside from being subjected to arduous physical torture typical of military recruitment camps—hard and routine labor under superiors seemingly abusive of their power—they found anomalies in the training. They did not get the wages that enticed them into the serve in the first place and they were being fed dried fish for months while their superiors get to pay for prostitutes delivered to the island.

In time they also found out that the “highly confidential” mission was to barbarically attack a community in a territory disputed by the Philippines and other countries in order to rationalize military occupation of the area.

Convinced that something was wrong, they wrote a letter addressed to high-ranking military officials. But the one to whom they entrusted the letter betrayed them for a price and surrendered their complaint to the camp commander.

Following the order of a colonel, the commander had all the men—including the traitor—brutally murdered.

According to the opening credits, the film, an entry to the Cinemalaya Independent Film Festival now showcased at the University of the Philippines Film Center, is inspired by true events. It is reportedly loosely based on the Jovito massacre in a disputed island near Sabah, Malaysia.

Director Danny Añonuevo said in an open forum after the film screening that he also did research on the conditions in military training camps and incorporated the accounts of hardship into what little is known about the massacre.

The military is historically a secretive agency. The United States Armed Forces, for instance, intended to hide the Pentagon Papers to conceal the unnecessary brutality they exercised over the Vietcong.

They were forced to make the information public, however, due to public clamour fueled by rumors and investigative reports on the issue. One of the most remembered would be Seymour Hersh’s 1969 story about the My Lai massacre where over 100 Vietnamese civilians were killed.

In the Philippines, despite rumors of wrongdoings, the military remains inculpable as accusations remain mere accusations. Only a handful dare look into the stories behind stories to reveal the truth behind the disappearances or killings attributed to the military by shaking fingers belonging to hooded faces.

“We are not trained to ask question but to follow orders,” a soldier in the movie told his comrades. Perhaps that is so. Orders from the chain of command must be executed, despite justice or conscience.

The challenge for the media and the public is to shed light on matters involving the military in hopes of demanding transparency and accountability.

Some if not most of those in the service, like the men who died in the movie, are trapped in a vicious cycle of violence and blind loyalty.

And since they cannot ask the essential questions—most importantly why—we must.

To be submitted for extra credit in Comm 140: Media and Society under Prof. Lucia Tangi.

Image from Jake Coballes’ Facebook page. Apologies.

The hamburger anomaly

2010-07-20T23:49:00.008+08:00

The former Burger King fan that I am cannot forget an advertisement that used to play in most branches’ television screens. It featured different nationalities sitting in front of a hamburger while in their native costumes.

Surprisingly, each had a different attitude toward the food on his plate. One ate the bun and the patty separately, another asked for a knife, while some ogled at the burger as if it were something from outer space.

For me, and perhaps for every Filipino who was able to see the ad, watching how bizarre other cultures find a hamburger was comparable to using chopsticks to eat loose rice for the first time: it was a novel experience.

And for Filipinos, asking why they find such commonplace food odd would not be such a bad idea.

In the Philippines, the hamburger has become staple food. Rich and poor alike have once held buns filled with beef patties in their hands, varying only in where they buy their burgers from.

The elite may frequent high-end restaurants for burgers where the patties use lean cuts from cows that are bred in tight spaces to minimize movement and preserve meat tenderness. Those who cannot afford such luxury buy from fast food chains where burgers are often sold in meals that go with French fries and drinks while the thrifty buy from buy-one-take-one burger stands.

But the hamburger is not only staple food to Filipinos; it is also a recurring theme in government scandals—providing interesting if not comic details to media coverage of some exposés.

At the height of the NBN-ZTE scandal, where former President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo and husband Jose Miguel Arroyo were implicated as having received cuts from the contractors of the broadband deal, former Elections Chairman Benjamin Abalos gave the hamburger claim to fame.

He said that the anomalous transactions were discussed over golf, sometimes over his Wack-Wack Country Club’s famous hamburger. Never mind that he pronounced it as “hamburjer.”

Recently hamburgers took center stage again due to reports that a retired official of the Philippine Amusement and Gaming Corporation (Pagcor) sought reimbursement for food reportedly distributed to members of the police force helpful to the government agency.

Reports said the official attempted to cash-in a check worth P21M, allegedly for six months’ worth of hamburgers bought from McDonald’s, the fast food chain that has evolved to be the icon of globalization for its ubiquity.

The Philippine Daily Inquirer published a story based on a letter from McDonald’s, saying that the amount was justified since it was in payment for “multiple transactions involving multiple stores.”

And while the media coverage pressures government to look into the alleged irregularities and Pagcor to explain, the Filipino public can only wonder how eating P21M worth of hamburgers would feel like.

But the recurrence of the hamburger as a theme in some of the most sensationalized government scandals is as alarming as it is insulting.

It tells us that we live in a country where corruption is as trivialized as burger we can get from burger stand in the corner of our street, that corruption is as widespread in the Philippines as buy-one-take-one burger stores and that corruption never stops—in fact you get more by just buying one.

As this is being written, the scent of cooked burger patties from the downstairs Angel’s Burger is filling the evening air. But having had more than my fair share of buy-one-take-one burgers, I am not in the least bit interested. Someday, I might even get sick of the idea of hamburgers.

Perhaps someday, Filipinos will get sick of the idea of corruption too—and find ways to rid this country of such institutional malady.

Image from here.

Kris the agenda setter

2010-07-16T23:38:00.001+08:00

When I opened the television set early this morning I caught laywer Katrina Legarda explaining over ABS-CBN’s morning magazine program Umagang Kay Ganda the legal means of rendering marriages void in the Philippines.

At first I considered it an informative talk for this country where the incidence of domestic woes is fast increasing. After all, most Filipinos would most probably be better off without their spouses.

But when I got hold of my faculties, as usual, minutes after I rose from bed, I shook my head at how Kris Aquino sets the agenda in Philippine public discourse.

The top caliber lawyer Legarda was explaining the rudiments of dissolution of marriages not because the public needed to be informed in order to be self-governing but because Kris Aquino’s married life is a mess and the public needs to understand everything that is happening to her.

Criticized as a limelight stealer, the first daughter-turned-actress-turned-first sister refuses to be absent in entertainment news even for a day.

When she ended her relationship with reputed philanderer Joey Marquez, she preempted what would have been more important news by appearing on the banners of major newspapers. She also made it to the top news when her marriage went in flux due to rumors that her husband, basketball star James Yap, had an affair with Hope Centeno, an employee of the celebrity doctor Vicky Belo.

When her mother died, she made a scene when she disclosed how former President Cory Aquino’s guards were withdrawn from service months before her demise. Later on, at the height of her brother’s presidential campaign, she figured in a supposed catfight with her another of her husband’s alleged relationships.

And just as President Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III, her brother, was to be sworn in as president, she announced that her marriage was falling apart.

Even now when she is supposedly on a vacation, “away from the eyes of the entertainment press,” she makes noise through her lawyers, saying that she is taking the legal means of untying the knot with Yap—as if such an announcement could not wait until she gets back.

In their latest interviews, her lawyers said she is trying to declare the marriage null from the beginning, the possible grounds for which are infidelity, psychological incapacity or multiple marriages.

Since she is fond of giving unsolicited advice, we have this to give to Kris: Proving that James is psychologically incapable of handling your relationship might get ugly. Why not let James file the case so he could prove your psychological incapacity instead?

That would make things a lot easier.

Image from here.

Governing from pulpits

2010-07-15T23:49:00.010+08:00

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In a predominantly Catholic nation, despite the separation of Church and State enshrined in the Constitution, the pulpit still holds its influence in government.

Early this year the Catholic Church, through the Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines, slammed the Department of Health’s reproductive health program, specifically targeting then Secretary Esperanza Cabral who spearheaded efforts of distributing contraceptives to communities.

They also spoke against advertisements posted by condom distributors over mainstream media, saying that these “corrupt the minds of young Filipinos,” a statement that sparked debates sprawled over forums, editorial columns and the Internet.

More recently the Church questioned whether the inclusion of sex education in school curricula is justified. They claim that lessons on such sensitive issues must be raised by concerned parents at home and not by cold members of the academe.

And since Filipino parents still live in a world where talk about sex is taboo, thanks to their strict Catholic upbringing, to entrust sex education to parents is tantamount to prohibiting sex education through and through, fulfilling the Church’s agenda.

With priests in their pulpits, the Catholic Church is already a force to reckon with. Millions of Filipinos who vote at their advice provide leverage they use toward the government.

But in the administration of newly elected President Benigno Simeon “Noynoy” Aquino III, the church’s influence is not limited to subtle homilies. When sex education is on the table, Aquino appointed someone from the clergy to head the Department of Education.

We dare not question the qualifications of Secretary Armin Luistro, who held the reins of the De La Salle University prior to his appointment to Aquino’s cabinet, but we ask if his appointment is in the best interest of the Filipino public, who, given the population growth rate, can sink the archipelago soon by their collective weight.

A cabinet position gives the Church power to exercise its characteristic intolerance against beliefs that contradict its doctrines—to the detriment of the Filipino people.

Instead of liberating and thus empowering Filipinos, a sectarian education would limit us to a view of the world through the eyes of the Church: where all sexual encounters should be holy—never mind the unwanted pregnancy that would come of it.

We are not saying that they have already started controlling the Filipino consciousness. We are merely saying that this administration has provided them the perfect opportunity—as if tempting the Church to extend its strong arm.

With the Philippine sex education managed as in Catholic schools, young Filipinos will be saints in classrooms, not even showing hints of the wild creatures they are in bedrooms.

Indeed, there will be no sex scandals in such scenario—only bigger scandals when girls surprisingly give birth to children at sixteen or when boys are alarmed by green stains they see on the inside of their underwear.

With the Philippine educational system managed by the Catholic Church, truly this country’s fate shall rest wholly on God’s holy will.

After the fact

2010-07-11T23:49:00.005+08:00

There is dignity in how news anchor Ricky Carandang resigned from the ABS-CBN News Channel when he was invited to be part of the newly elected president’s communications team.

The award-winning broadcast journalist could not, after all, deliver news to the public while serving government. President Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III invited Carandang to be his communications head reportedly with BusinessWorld columnist Herminio Coloma.

As the people’s watchdog, journalists are expected to be the government’s worst critic, deterring wrongdoings with a dogged coverage ready to expose the slightest irregularities. A journalist working for government is therefore no journalist at all.

The propriety of his resignation aside, Carandang did not only cease to be a journalist the moment he professionally expressed willingness to work for the Aquino administration.

As a rule, Aquino appoints those personally close to him for high positions in his government under the justified premise that those are the people he can truly trust. In effect, an Aquino appointment is a public display of how an individual is in the president’s favor if not a subtle payment for a debt of gratitude.

Carandang’s selection as communications head therefore bolsters rumors that he worked closely with the Aquino campaign team while remaining on air as a broadcast journalist.

In hindsight, Carandang will retroactively lose his credibility the moment he accepts the post in the Aquino administration.

Every Filipino would be justified in thinking about whether or not Carandang remained fair throughout the campaign period when every word that came out of Aquino’s mouth gave the press a field day.

In fact looking into recordings of Carandang’s past broadcasts involving Aquino and analyzing his facial expression would not be a preposterous idea. Did he raise eyebrows when cueing in reports that placed his candidate in a bad light? Did he smile when the news he was delivering worked to Aquino’s favor?

In their book “Elements of Journalism,” Bill Kovach and Tom Rosenstiel stressed that “journalists must maintain independence from those they cover.”

“(Y)ou might be a secret adviser to those you are writing about or a speechwriter or take money. But it is arrogance, and probably naïveté or delusion, to think it won’t get in the way,” they added.

There is dignity in how Carandang resigned from ANC to be part of Aquino’s administration. But there is not enough dignity to stop us from questioning his credibility.

In a profession where after-the-fact disclaimers should not be condoned, he made a big mistake.

He became truthful to his audience by declaring his affiliation with Aquino and resigning. But he declared too late. We already believed him.

Image from here.

Politics of shady characters

2010-07-09T23:49:00.003+08:00

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While enough if not too much media attention is given to the blurring line between entertainment and politics, there seems to be less discourse on how Philippine politics has likewise been invaded by those whose adherence to the law are in question.

A former president whose incumbency was hounded by controversy now sits in the supposedly hallowed hall of Congress, the greatest threat against her stint at defying gravity being the Truth Commission formed by the new Aquino administration under former Chief Justice Hilario Davide, who swore her into office.

Confident that she shall remain untouchable despite the expiration of her presidential immunity thanks to the cronies she strategically positioned in government, Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo remains in power with probably enough money to make the Marcos ill-gotten wealth look like crumbs from her dinner table.

Some tables away from her sits another woman whose name made it to history books for subjugating the Filipinos under a conjugal dictatorship.

Imelda Romualdez-Marcos, widow of strongman Ferdinand Marcos who ruled beside her husband, took on the post her only son, Bongbong, vacated in his successful bid for a Senate seat.

Known as a self-proclaimed advocate of “the true, the good and the beautiful,” the Marcos matriarch remains good and beautiful by concealing what is true as she continues to evade dogged efforts of repossessing the purportedly vast amount of wealth she and her husband have taken from government coffers.

Also free to walk the archipelago and influence the political arena is former President and convicted plunderer Joseph “Erap” Estrada.

Although he lost by 5 million votes to President Benigno Simeon “Noynoy” Aquino III, he provided tough competition—to the point of making those voting for other candidates vote for Aquino out of fear that he would win by some twist of fate.

But twists of fate must be the least of our worries. The fact that Estrada was the runner-up in the last presidential elections is proof of how this misguided electorate easily forgives and thus, by the old adage, forgets.

Erring politicians are opposed, protested, spat at, cursed and ousted and yet lovingly welcomed with open arms at the slightest indication of remorse—in an exceptionally infuriating case, at one insincere apology.

This government is run by wrongdoers.

And as if to draw attention away from the fact that this administration is powerless over the powerful accused, the spotlight turned to Sen. Panfilo Lacson, who went into exile after he is implicated in the murder of publicist Bubby Dacer and his driver.

Failing to hit the bull’s eye in broad daylight, this government takes on a dartboard in a dark room, giving them an easy excuse: their vision is limited, the target is concealed.

And what happens if Lacson returns to face the charges? Only time will tell, they say. But in a country where forgiveness happens in the blink of an eye, we can foretell: Filipinos will forget.

Until politicians again fear the Filipino public’s wrath, ours shall be a government of shady characters.

Hardware therapy

2010-07-06T23:49:00.001+08:00

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There are a few places where I could stay forever without complaining. My bed, a bookstore or library and a hardware store would top the list.

Last week, after returning the defective speakers we bought for replacement, Brett and I visited Trinoma’s Ace Hardware in search of wiring material for our makeshift surround sound system.

I realized that we both get excited when inside do-it-yourself shops.

On our way to the lane where the wires could be found, we had quick stopovers

I chanced upon a small wooden stool that would make for an ideal platform for the subwoofer but stopped myself from buying once I saw how much it costs. Brett pointed to contraptions that let you mount speakers but we also moved along, seeing how those were designed for the huge speakers we could not afford and how those contraptions are more expensive than our speakers.

We did not find what we were looking for. There were no audio wires with male terminals on one end and female terminals on another end.

But we were not about to give up—not after having been disappointed twice due to CD-R King’s speakers, which we did not buy because of their ridiculously short warranty period, and the defective speakers we fell in love with at first.

We bought an AV jack—the type that is composed of two wires, one for audio and the other for video, with male terminals and connectors to append the wires to those in the speakers. We were thinking about separating the two wires of the jack.

But there being no such connectors, we ended up buying two sets of splitters. The splitters are designed to accommodate three male terminals—one input and two outputs. We only used one of the output sockets.

Having solved our wiring problem, we had to worry about how we were to hang our speakers. You see, the surround sound project was something we took seriously.

Half of our problem was solved when we came across braces usually used to make open shelves. We decided we also needed screws. With the screwdrivers at home, no wooden wall stands a chance.

But we also needed wooden planks if we were to make small shelves for our speakers and we almost gave up when we found none.

But Brett had his moment of epiphany and told me that we could just place two braces side by side, creating space enough to accommodate our small speakers, which, despite their size, shock for the quality of the sound they produce.

“The good thing about do-it-yourself shops is that you can be creative,” my wise friend quipped.

Perhaps that is why I enjoy hardware stores. Unlike other retail shops where everything that being sold is to be used as prescribed by manufacturers, do-it-yourself shops live up to the name: You can do everything by yourself.

Whenever you pay for a small screw to mount a frame on your wall you pay for more than just the screw. You are affording yourself a dignified amount of independence—enough for you to claim that you can do something on your own.

The braces have been screwed to walls and the makeshift surround sound system gets us through boring days. And each time I look at our mounted speakers, I smile.

Yes, we are enjoying this independence.

Why the verb is 'play'

2010-07-04T23:49:00.002+08:00

When verbs are used to answer the question “What do you do for a living?” they are usually highfaluting.

Surgeons can say they conduct frontal lobotomies, psychiatrists that they psychoanalyze or technical service representatives that they troubleshoot and those who get such answers just nod and pretend they get the picture.

But ask musicians what they do for a living and the answer is simple and clear: they play.

I thought the use of the verb justified, simplistic as it seems, after watching Cecile Licad and FILharmoniKA perform at the PhilAm Life Auditorium last Saturday.

How musicians play was vividly illustrated to me when I saw FILharmoniKA’s musical director and conductor Gerard Salonga sway and practically dance while he waved his baton.

Graduating summa cum laude from the Berklee College of Contemporary Music in Boston, Salonga returned to the Philippines to become one of the most sought-after arrangers and musical directors, producing music striking enough to make him hall-of-famer of the Aliw Awards, which recognizes achievements in live performances.

But I personally see Salonga as someone who adds fun to the job. He once wore sneakers with his all-black coat and tie in a concert where FILharmoniKA performed with his sister, Tony and Sir Laurence Olivier Award recipient Lea Salonga.

Last Saturday he awed the crowd when he showed how a conductor makes an orchestra his instrument, making him one who plays those who play. Of course he danced in the process, convincing the audience that he loved what he was doing.

After the concert’s first half, Salonga earned a thumbs-up from Licad. And we all know that praise from the praiseworthy means a lot.

If Salonga plays those who play, Licad was dubbed as “a pianist’s pianist” by the New York Times.

Last Saturday she sat in front of the piano and defined musical genius for the crowd composed mostly of patrons of music and the arts.

Having trained since she was 3 years old under her mother’s tutelage, she emerged from the halls of the highly esteemed Curtis Institute of Music as a true piano virtuoso with a repertoire ranging from the classical works of Mozart and Beethoven to the 20th century compositions.

But by performing with such vigorous passion, Licad also defies the criticism that virtuosity often compromises emotion for technical prowess.

When she took the spotlight to play, what the crowd saw was not an expert perfecting difficult pieces with her skill. Instead they saw a woman who gracefully poured her heart out into the keys of a piano thus eloquently articulating her emotions through enchanting music.

“She seemed possessed!” I told an aunt after the concert. She answered that indeed Licad was possessed by her music.

While playing a long piece her fingers flowed through the keyboard, her lips onomatopoeically mouthed the sounds she made, her feet rhythmically stepped on the pedal and her arms flew in climax as if she were dancing in the tune of the music she played.

The audience held their breaths, awaiting dramatic culmination. And when she stopped playing, the first breath they took was used only to rise to applaud.

She gave three encore performances that night, all of which prompted the audience to stand in pure admiration. And while some standing ovations are given out of courtesy, hers was rightly earned. In fact, standing ovations did not seem to do her performance justice.

One of the friends who were with me knew little about Cecile Licad before Saturday’s concert. But on the trip home, he told me he now definitely knows who she is.

Indeed, the night she performed with FILharmoniKA, Cecile Licad did more than just deliver good music. She became who she is: a true piano virtuoso.

Or, as a musician would say, she played.

The stories old books tell

2010-07-02T23:49:00.001+08:00

In one of her blogs a classmate described herself as someone who has “multiple orgasms whenever she sees a book sale” and though quite graphic, that could have easily described me too.

I therefore felt sinful after visiting National Bookstore in Cubao this week.

In the fourth level of the biggest bookstore branch of the biggest bookstore in the country, I found stacks, shelves, piles and bundles of old books ranging from flop bibliographies that are still displayed side by side, sometimes occupying an entire shelf level, to rare titles that perhaps the bookworms of old would recommend.

Although I indulged in the pleasure for about an hour, I felt dissatisfied and promised to return. I already gathered a pile of books that piqued my curiosity but dropped them at a text message.

When I came back at past 8 o’clock, they were already closing.

I hereby resolve to spend at least one whole day in the store soon. It takes patience to scour the shelves for titles that sound good or authors that ring a bell, especially because the books are not categorized or arranged at all.

The top floor is not book heaven where the Saint Peter of books can point you to a title you want or need. It is book purgatory: you need to pray for the books to find them.

But since I think one of the profound joys in this world is to buy a good book for less than the price of a snack, I can live there.

Most of the few books I own were bought from stalls in the University of the Philippines, where students refuse to buy books for class, preferring to photocopy the pages they need, but would kill for books they can read at their leisure. Contrary to popular belief, chemistry, physics or math books are not our ideas for light afternoon reading.

My favorite book, Robert Fulghum’s “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten” was bought after a Mathematics 17 exam during my freshman year in UP.

My heart heavy and my brain wrung dry after I submitted a bluebook that was good as empty, I passed by the gate leading to the AS Steps and thought about the book sale while feeling my wallet. I less than P200 in my pocket and doubted if I kept more cash in my dormitory room. Still, I spent it on a good title.

True enough, I got my money’s worth. The book preserved my sanity that dull and dreary weekend. Even now, I sift through the pages every now and then. I also bought two more copies of the book to give away.

I buy old books for practical reasons (read: this is being written by a student who subsists on allowance from his parents).

But talk about money aside, I buy old books because I am sentimental.

Whenever I buy books, I sign my name on the cover page or at the back of the cover itself, noting when I flipped the first page. I am acquainted with the joy in owning a crisp and clean copy of a book you loved.

But owning a book owned by someone before you, from someone you can never know, has its beauty. When I started buying old books, I stopped each time I wrote my name to wonder who held the book in their hands before I did.

Old books therefore tell more than stories written on their pages: they narrate by the scribbling on some corners, cracks on the cover or stains caused by tears or spilt coffee.

With an old book in hand you are not simply reading a story, you are holding one.

Image from here.

Doubting the dawn

2010-06-30T23:49:00.002+08:00

Dawn broke at high noon for the Philippines today.

As Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo shook the hand of President Benigno Simeon “Noynoy” Aquino III, darkness waned and a new light shone on a country that has long been denied warmth of day.

Basking in the glory of a landslide presidential win, Aquino took oath as the 15th president of the Republic of the Philippines, taking a position that is, as he noted in a campaign speech, destined for him.

He is, after all, born of heroes—the only and namesake son of martial law martyr Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino Jr. and people power President Corazon Aquino.

After a president whose legitimacy was questioned the moment she assumed office, first by the deposed President Joseph “Erap” Estrada and later by a dogged opposition, Filipinos now look up to a president with the highest mandate from the people in recent history.

After a president whose name elicits rational despise bordering on rabid hatred, we now have a president for whom Filipinos show irrational devotion bordering on blind faith.

Still, the day has just begun.

The sky is breathtaking at dawn with its contrasting hues: light set against the dark. But the same light that astounds in the morning punishes as the day advances, peaking at high noon when it scorches. It might only be loved again when it sets.

Comparing the inauguration of Aquino to the break of dawn is therefore tantamount to saying that the euphoria caused by his election shall not last forever. For six years the self-proclaimed “People’s President” shall be judged as his own man—not as the son of Ninoy and Cory.

It would also be justified to wonder if Aquino holds us at awe simply because Arroyo was demonized—simply because he offers a stark comparison placed beside Arroyo. But for the rest of his term, Aquino shall be known simply as “President Aquino” and not as “far-better-than-the-previous-President Aquino.”

The public adoration for Aquino is inspiring as it reflects a democracy that works. We have a leader who rules by virtue of public consent. But it might set this administration for failure.

And perhaps we should only appreciate the Aquino administration as we would the dawn: calmly and only by stealing short glances. We would be blinded if we stared directly at the sun.

A citizenry blindly devoted to its elected leader is a false democracy: it is one that would work not by check-and-balance but by irrational faith.

Many voted for Aquino on the weak premise that he would not do anything to mar the good names of his parents, making it partly the duty of the Filipino people to ensure that he will live up to that expectation at the very least.

Dawn broke at high noon for the Philippines today. The time has come to wake from dreams.

Image from here.

Unrest

2010-06-29T23:49:00.002+08:00

BAD MEMORY. The P200 bill reminds Filipinos of how installing Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo as president via people power was a big mistake.

Heave no sighs of relief.

Although Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo shall cease to be president of the Republic of the Philippines, it will be long before the vile reminders of her administration are filtered out of our derelict government.

The title “President” or “Her Excellency” may no longer precede her name, but Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo remains to be a woman with many titles.

With reverence rivaling that afforded strongman Ferdinand Marcos, future generations shall remember Arroyo as the longest-sitting president since the restoration of democracy, the most disliked president since Marcos and the first president to seek a lower elective post after her extended term.

But notoriety is not enough of a punishment, if is punishment at all, to one as callused as Arroyo.

“I would rather be right than popular,” she once said in a speech before Congress. Indeed, we may not question her willingness to give up her reputation but we wonder if it was sacrificed in an attempt to do right. It would have been easier to believe if she said, “I would rather be rich than popular.”

Despite our passive cursing, she shall snigger in a corner with the wealth she has stolen while victoriously bathing in the blood of the courageous who dared challenge the legitimacy of her administration and the innocent who got in the way.

Arroyo has planned her graceful exit by strategically securing minions to appease possible attacks against her once she leaves Malacañang. With a Supreme Court consisted fully of her appointees and a legislative body hell-bent on bowing before her as the doyen, the first among the equally corrupt and unaccountable, she wishes to evade law when it strikes.

But her hope lies more on the culture of impunity she has nurtured throughout her administration—that perhaps in the same manner that Filipinos were fine by the fact that those responsible for human rights violations are left unpunished, she too shall be spared from justice.

As we say goodbye to Gloria today we also must say goodbye to impunity—to crimes unpunished, questions unanswered and accusations eluded.

For nine long years, we have endured under the rule of a president whose legitimacy was retroactively lost the moment she insincerely apologized for her “lapse in judgment”—a president whose incumbency was marked by crimes committed in the shadows.

Today this nation shall rise from kneeling for nine years, as if in a novena mourning this ailing democracy.

But let us heave no sighs of relief.

“Say goodbye to bondage but say goodbye also to ease,” said Fëanor, the greatest of the Elves in J.R.R. Tolkien’s “The Silmarillon.

Indeed, holding Arroyo accountable would be a difficult feat. But it is one we must try.

Heave no sighs of relief.

What floods can teach

2010-06-28T23:49:00.003+08:00

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Although friends postponed dinner tonight, armed with my huge umbrella, I braved the torrential rain to surprise one of them at Gateway in nearby Cubao.

But 15 minutes after I got into a taxi, I can still see our building from the window. The driver took alternate routes as soon as he had the chance to avoid the heavy traffic but he hoped would be a shortcut took us to a street where traffic was not just heavy; the cars were as stationary as they are in a parking lot.

The driver, seeing the impossibility of the situation, asked me to disembark and simply went back before even the opposite lane got stuck, leaving me somewhere along V. Luna Ave. But I was not about to give up. Seeing an Ali Mall-bound jeepney, I tried my luck once more.

Soon the traffic got lighter but only because all the vehicles turned at the nearest corner to avoid a stretch of the street we were on, where water was almost knee-high. The jeepney driver turned to us and asked, “Tutuloy ba tayo?” (Shall we proceed?) and only the old men near him answered, “Sige lang.” (Go ahead.)

As the driver stepped on the gas, I heard the passengers heave deep breaths.

Despite the uncertainty as murky as the floodwater, the road ahead held promise. If the jeepney makes it through, we would get to our destinations faster. But if it doesn’t, we would be forced to get out of the jeepney and wade through the flood.

The lady in front of me compulsively pulled her school uniform’s skirt down while the old lady beside me whispered “Diyos ko, Diyo ko,” (My God, My God) and a man drenched in rain encouraged, “Sige pa, sige pa.” (Step on it, step on it.) I think I momentarily closed my eyes.

Soon the jeepney emerged from the flood. While steam vented out of the hood, we breathed sigh of relief in unison.

I looked back and saw some vehicles that hesitated. A truck, perhaps insulted by the fact that a jeepney dared what he would not, followed suit but a black Toyota Innova positioned to take on the challenge but soon turned right.

Inside the jeepney, where it was ironically and ridiculously hot while rain poured outside, I smiled at how the jeepney driver taught me how taking risks are usually rewarding. The jeepney driver was not sure that he would make it through that short stretch where deep holes could be hidden but he took a chance with faith in the vehicle he was driving.

We breezed through what remains of the road to Cubao without much delay and soon I found myself in Gateway.

As if fate was against it, I did not get a glimpse of the face of the one I intended to meet but at least I took the chance.

Perhaps the risk I took today takes me one step closer to taking bigger chances—those worth taking.

Kitchen tragedy

2010-06-26T23:49:00.001+08:00

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Remembering that we had meat in the freezer, leftovers from when I cooked menudo this week, I grew hungry at the thought of adobo despite having eaten late lunch and having finished a hotdog sandwich I found in the refrigerator.

I rushed to the nearby (read: downstairs) market to buy a quarter kilo of chicken liver and three large potatoes for the dish. I was whipping out dinner when Brett remembered that we had to take our laundry to the washer and so adobo had to wait. But thinking that the short trip would not take that long, I left it on the stove with low fire.

We came back to find roast pork and chicken, if you would allow the euphemism; charred, if you want an accurate description.

But the potatoes have been peeled, chopped and soaked in water. More importantly, I already imagined my adobo, its sauce creamy thanks to the liver and the taste of garlic and onions setting fireworks off your tongue. I knew I had to pull off an adobo number.

But the market was closed, to my dismay.

Looking at the aftermath of the first (and hopefully last) kitchen tragedy I had in this apartment, I remembered an episode in the television drama series Brothers and Sisters. It was Kevin’s birthday but due to recent events he did not intend to show his face to his mother, Nora.

After telling their mother off for still preparing a party for her brother, Kitty hesitated, “If there is an argument to make that forcing somebody to see the truth of their lives no matter how bleak is good.”

“Make it,” Kevin’s partner, Scottie said. But Kitty never did.

Enter Nora from her walkout. Grabbing the carrots she abandoned on her chopping board, she made the argument.

“You have to care about the carrots. It’s the carrots, the onions and the celery that ground us. Nothing is more basic than that. When the whole world is shifting and changing, you’ve got to hold on to your carrots. And right now I’m gonna chop these and nothing on earth is going to stop me,” she said.

Astonished, Kitty took on the task nearest her on the kitchen counter and Sarah blurted out one of my favorite lines in the series. “Sure, mom, I’ll live in your fantasy for a while. It sure beats my reality hands down,” she said.

Inspired, I looked inside the refrigerator and found the tomatoes I impulsively bought with the chicken liver, took out the burnt parts from the chicken and pork and chopped them both into something you could call a salad.

I also decided to cook liver steak instead but seeing the potatoes in their misery, I dumped them into the pan as well, coming up with whatever you call the result of such combination.

I smiled while setting the table for the dinner I heroically saved. From the disaster I thought I was, it turned into something that elicited a nod and a thumbs-up from the dinner table.

But I guess the heroic instinct must sometimes be contained lest it becomes messianic complex. I wondered how I would have reacted if I arrived to find all the meat charred beyond rescue or worse, the pot burning in rage for my neglect.

I thought of the salad and the pseudo steak because there was something to start with. I did not have to start from scratch.

But some tragedies, especially those outside the kitchen, burn to the ground. And much as we would like to save what we can, there is no good in picking up ashes. They must stay where we, the victims of the tragedy, find them.

I saved dinner tonight because it was worth saving. But often we must turn our backs and move on or fall victim to a cycle of futile attempts to save those that cannot be saved.

Baptism*

2010-06-25T23:49:00.002+08:00

As this is being written, I am sitting on a plastic chair that was broken perhaps right when Ron Artest sent the Staples Center into uproar with his three-point shot.

It was my best friend who broke it for tensely jumping up and down while the Los Angeles Lakers struggled to maintain the lead they wrestled from the Boston Celtics who ruled during the game’s first half.

My butt also barely touched my seat then but it was on a wooden bench. But should I have taken a plastic chair too, I doubt that I would cause the same damage. Besides, Brett is the great Lakers fan.

True enough, I also screamed “Lakers!” out our apartment window, shocking pedestrians below, when we became certain they bagged this year’s trophy. But to call myself a fan would be a insult to those who actually are.

This year’s NBA Finals, which culminated in a cutthroat game seven last week, saw the first time I watched a basketball game on television in full.

Never the sports buff, I only pretended to watch games when I was young to legitimize the share I take from my father’s bowl of chips or chicharon. Later on I complained about how the running commentaries seemed to lull me to deep sleep.

Soon after that I no longer bothered to watch and turned a deaf ear whenever my cousins engaged in animated conversations about Michael Jordan and, later on, Kobe Bryant.

I partly attributed the indifference to the fact that I have not played a single basketball game. And I reckon that if I blamed my father, a basketball player, for not teaching me, he would point an accusing finger on my mother, who protected her asthmatic son from dying of suffocation by keeping him indoors.

Since I am also easily distracted, I cannot keep my eyes on a television set for long. The commentaries really bore me too. I prefer watching live games, like that of my father’s during company sports fests or my cousins’ during summer breaks when basketball saves provincial teenagers from boredom.

But as if to indicate that I have matured, I watched the whole of game six of the Finals alone because I wanted to and without the ultimate Lakers fan forcing me to do.

When the Lakers won the Finals, I sent messages to my anti-Lakers father, a Utah Jazz fan, and a girl who, like me before this season, could not relate to all the Lakers-Celtics talk. My father replied, “Oo na, panalo na kayo.” But the girl doubted my blue and gold blood. “Nakiki-Lakers ka lang,” she said.

Over Facebook, I bannered, “It feels good to say this the first time: We are the champions. Lakers!” and I meant it.

I think now I understand why many find basketball worth watching: it is a religion.

In the same manner that people go to church to connect to a greater being, we watch basketball on television, following a team we identify with, to feel that we belong to something bigger.

We watch our team playing against another, cheered by a crowd we see on TV and many others like us who cheer from home. And although it would give us immense joy to see our team win, what really matters is that when we speak of the team, we use the pronoun “we.”

And as my best friend said, NBA gives us something to look forward to. And oh, the Lakers-Celtics match was indeed something.

When the two most storied franchises met this year, they fought for the 64th NBA championship, 33 of which were shared between them causing a tumult among their fans, which ranged from the tough hardworking men of Boston to the glamorous red carpet walkers of Los Angeles.

Itching to grab the trophy from the Lakers as they did in 2008, the Celtics offered intense competition to their longtime rival with whom they clashed for the Finals for 12th time this year.

Perhaps the match-up between Kobe Bryant and Kevin Garnett reminded older NBA fans of the faceoff between NBA icons Larry Bird and Magic Johnson who played for the same teams in the 1980s, providing the excitement needed to revive a sports losing its following for lack of vigorous competition.

Since Bird and Johnson last met in 1987, it was only in 2008 that a Celtics-Lakers match was seen, reigniting the rivalry we saw at play last week.

“You’re spoiled,” Brett once told me while we were talking about an upcoming game. He said I was lucky to start as an NBA fan in the heat of excitement caused by a cutthroat Celtics-Lakers match. “At may game seven pa,” he added.

And proof perhaps that I now truly identify with the Lakers is how I would like to think that they won because my beginner’s luck rubbed off on them.

In the 2010 NBA Finals, I was baptized in the NBA religion. And because it was between the Celtics and the Lakers, it came with a baptismal party.

*Originally posted in a blog for my sports writing class, The basketball religion.

Crossing boundaries

2010-06-23T22:47:00.000+08:00

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In my political geography readings, boundaries are defined as vertical planes that cut through the airspace, soil and subsoil of adjacent states.

Although they appear as lines on maps boundaries apply even under the soil, especially to stipulate where mining should end, and also above the soil, to mark every state’s airspace, something jealously guarded in modern days.

In personal relationships, however, boundaries are less clearly delineated.

Of course, some take extreme measures. I remember a Filipino film starring Maricel Soriano and Cesar Montano wherein the couple, after deciding to take a break from their marriage, used adhesive tape to clearly define each other’s limits. A white line divided the refrigerator, cabinets and the entire house’s floor area and neither husband nor wife can cross to the other side.

But with such cinematic absurdity as the exception, there are usually no maps on which we can draw lines to mark the extent of our territories.

Boundaries are set through verbal or written agreements sealed with trust. At times, such agreements do not even exist. Trusting the people around us, we assume that they have enough respect for us as to know the things they can do and those they cannot.

There are certain topics that are never openly discussed or certain question never asked, especially if we do not want to know the answers. There are certain things that are off limits.

The good professor Avecilla once noted that even a wife must not open her husband’s wallet. “What if you discover something that would disturb you? It’s true that what you don’t know cannot hurt you,” he said.

True enough, if you cross boundaries, you cannot sleep well at night even in the absence of cause for alarm. And even with forgiveness, you still feel rebuked and that you deserve it.

Betraying the trust of people you hold important brings about guilt enough to steal your sanity.

I crossed the line tonight. To say that I am sorry would be an understatement.

Raising the bar for epal

2010-06-22T23:49:00.002+08:00

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I felt dumb today when I attended my investigative journalism class without even taking a glimpse at the assigned readings.

Being a class of seven, the good professor usually asked all the students to pitch in ideas and so this schmoozer had to feign knowledge about what the class was talking about when in fact I had not the faintest idea.

I felt that somehow, I had to be part of the discussion. I am no longer used to being the passive participant.

“Epal,” is the slang term that could describe me. Derived from the Filipino term “papel” which means role, epal is used to refer to people who draw attention to themselves by whatever means possible.

But I often defend my attention-seeking by saying that I am the high end of epal—the low end being the likes of Tricia in the latest Pinoy Big Brother who is apparently willing to jump up and down, sing out of the blue or maybe slash her wrist in an attempt to turn heads.

I draw attention to myself through legitimate means—the illegitimate means being those that buy people five minutes of fame while jeopardizing their reputation or their attempt at building one.

In a classroom setting, the legitimate means would be intelligently answering and asking questions. Sometimes it means having to guess at the answers. Besides, as long as the guessing is done intelligently, the professor would not mind a mistake. Other times, it means engaging in a heated argument with a professor whose ears are turning irately red.

My professor in philosophy of ethics two years ago went short of sending me out of the classroom and screaming in violent rage because of how I disagreed with his views on religion and how rallied my classmate against him in class debates. Thus my surprise when he gave me the highest grade in class.

And my attention-seeking is not limited to my classes. I also take on others’.

I remember a time when I sat in at Gwen’s Natural Science 1 class with Rannon. The professor was discussing how to get a compound’s empirical formula given a reaction and the masses of products and reactants while I read a book. When the class suddenly turned silent, I looked up and asked Gwen, “What’s going on?”

She told me the professor was asking for volunteers to solve the problem on the board for recitation credits. After finding out that some recitation points would do Gwen good, I raised my hand, appalling Gwen and Rannon in the process. When the professor failed to notice, in waved at her s she would recognize me. After solving the problem on the board, I signed under Gwen’s name.

Brett is also witness to this instinct. He once asked me to sit in at his French class, a 6-unit integrated course. When I asked for permission to sit in, the professor joked that I should probably sit in forever. And sit in forever I did.

I bought the workbook she required her students to buy, did homework, participated in class discussions and even took exams. Most especially, I was present in class more often than the enrolled students. Oui, je parle français. That could be the last sentence I can fully construct, though.

Often, stupidity is a state of mind.

One does not have to know it all to participate in an intelligent exchange of ideas. All it takes is some courage to make mistakes, some humility to accept them and a whole lot of conviction that you are making sense.

And perhaps what sets students in the University of the Philippines apart is the fact that we are epal in that sense. And, yes, somehow we make sense.

Summer solstice

2010-06-21T23:49:00.001+08:00

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“I’m sad and I don’t know why,” I told a friend earlier tonight.

Now I know the reason: today is summer solstice, the longest day of the year.

Suddenly it made sense that the hours dragged from the moment I woke up this morning until I found myself succumbing to the bleak and boredom of the afternoon and sleeping the long day off. It did not help that, as another friend remarked, there was nothing to look forward to.

I wondered if “killing time” was originally intended to mean how we take it to mean today—the act of keeping oneself busy to let time pass by, or if meant that time can kill by its ceremonious passage.

After all, we prefer relative measures of time over ones that are absolute. Measuring by goals attained is far better than counting the seconds, minutes, hours or days.

“The lifetime of a man is a lifetime of a dream,” I once wrote in my journal. “And so a man does not live a single lifetime but as many lifetimes as his dreams.”

But dreams are too vague a measure. I count events: how many trucks passed, how many birds flew past, how many times the neighbor’s door was noisily slammed, how many times love passed me by or how many trains I missed.

At the MRT station today, I watched the curve from where the train usually emerges visible in the platform while checking my watch every once in a while.

I was reminded me of a Physics lesson on relativity where my professor quoted Albert Einstein, the name above all names in relativity.

“Time is fast for those who run and slow for those who wait.”

And I am waiting.

The hours dragged like days today, the longest day of the year.

And while the rest of the world thinks that the days will all be the same after today, my days shall drag on like years until this long wait ends.

Love letters

2010-06-20T23:49:00.001+08:00

On three pages of paper that turned yellow through the years, I found my juvenile emotions sprawled.

Ink smudged on some areas, an indication that tears might have fallen while the letter was being written, and the creases are reminders of attempts to throw the letter away.

“For so many instances, I have wanted to utter the very words that my heart dictates. But for more periods of time, my heart was hesitant and did not want to risk the joy of having you around. Still my words have long been whispered—whispered to the wind, and the letters that I wrote have been delivered by ripples of soft water,” the letter read; I smiled.

I tried to remember the high school boy who wrote those melancholic lines while tears trickled down his face, never thinking that several heartaches and almost a decade later, he would find that letter again and laugh at his immature absurdity.

The letter was retrieved from my box of trash and memories after watching “Letters to Juliet” whose plot was centered on how an old letter kept under a stone covering a hole in the wall of Juliet’s House in Verona, Italy, led a woman to find her true love 50 years late.

Although I find the “true love” part too good to be true, it was the letter that aroused the romantic in me.

The art of writing love letters has long been distant memory, recalled only in stories told by this generation’s grandparents or romantic parents who exchanged expressions of love in black and white.

As the world learned and chose to do things the fast and the easy way, we also preferred doing things in a rush. Suddenly, short text messages sent with a P1 charge replaced letters that take at least a night of pondering and inspiration.

Gone are days of love letters.

Perhaps men should be allowed to write to Juliet too. Whereas women turn to Shakespeare’s fictional character for advice or to simply tell their stories, men should be allowed to pour their emotions to Juliet Capulet. For a moment, Juliet shall be their muse.

More Romeos in this world would not hurt, I think. But the woman I watched the movie with doubted the existence of romantic men who muses inspire to write.

Suddenly I remembered that I never wrote a letter to her too. While we walked toward the escalator, I smiled at the shame I felt when I remembered that the best I gave her was an email.

Maybe someday I shall hold a pen again and write inspired verses.

“My heart does not long for love in return. It longs for answers to its puzzling questions, even if knowing the answers means breaking apart,” I once wrote. I was young and poetic.

Now, I learned that to know the answers, one has to ask the questions.

Perhaps I shall muster the courage to ask questions—in a love letter, maybe.

Image from here.

Shit exists

2010-06-17T02:41:00.002+08:00

Idly, it sat on the border of the cheaply paved sidewalk and the road of concrete and patches of asphalt.

Its content silence remained undisturbed by the hustle and bustle of nighttime Kalayaan Avenue until I noisily walked past it and further insulted its already demeaning existence by stepping on it.

“Crap,” I cursed, and quite aptly—because last night, after such a long time, I stepped on shit.

I usually have a keen eye for what I refer to as “landmines,” animal waste irresponsibly dumped on places tread by human feet. (Yes, for the sake of charity, let us presume that landmines are animal waste.) And I gained my keen eye the hard way.

In the province, the private road leading to our neighborhood is only paved up to a small pedestrian gate that opens to a smaller road that runs in the middle of residential lots. It takes about 25 steps on unpaved paths from the neighborhood’s gate to our lot’s gate and since everything we step on is brown with only some patches of green, our eyes have no choice but to distinguish between soil and shit.

I also spent some of my college years in Krus na Ligas, a cramped community just outside the university, where shit and spit line the streets, waiting for the next unwary victim.

Last night, however, I was disarmed of my keen sense for shit while I got lost in a busy conversation with Brett and Tina.

After I stepped on the mound of feces, I remembered how shit is found in the most unlikely places.

Often, we heedlessly walk through paths with confident familiarity, forgetting that things might have changed during our absence. When we feel something soft under our feet, we momentarily wonder if the solid ground we stand on is yielding to our weight until we realize that we only made one careless step.

“Shit happens,” is a philosophy my generation has adopted—an admission of defeat against life’s unpleasant surprises.

At times, however, we forget that from another perspective, the fact that shit existed before we is not reason to think that it caused us trouble. By post hoc ergo propter hoc, it would be fallacious to say that shit caused our misery.

Shit passively lies on the ground while we walk. Under normal circumstances, shit is not thrown against us. Shit does no action; we are the ones who step on it.

“Shit exists” would be the more appropriate statement.

And whether or not we anticipate or acknowledge shit’s existence is a choice we make.

A presidency of expectations

2010-06-10T23:49:00.001+08:00

Noynoy: Wait. I can do this.

Shedding off the title president-apparent to be president-elect, Benigno Simeon “Noynoy” Aquino III stood at the rostrum of the House of Representatives on a historical day that would have not been if not for history.

But although the only son of martial law martyr Benigno “Ninoy” Aquino, Jr. and People Power President Corazon Aquino was proclaimed 15th president of the Republic of the Philippines yesterday he remains to be just that son.

What changed is that today he holds in his hands the opportunity to be remembered as his own man instead of being known to be someone who carries his parents’ name—and some say their legacy.

Noynoy inherited People Power, some say. But to treat People Power as an inheritance passed on from the members of a single family would be to rob the Filipino people of the legacy of the EDSA Revolution.

Ninoy’s blood might have fueled the people’s wrath but it was the people who rose up against the dictator. Cory’s courage might have provided needed inspiration but it was the people who fought.

Recent Filipino history might have woven itself around the Aquino family but it remains to be the collective narrative of the Filipino nation.

Carrying history as his standard in the electoral battle, Noynoy fueled false hopes.

His campaign banked on the People Power euphoria without thought of how Filipinos will deal with the harsh realities they will wake up in once the euphoria dies down and they realize they still live in the same pit.

When the former senator and former Tarlac congressman grabbed the highest number of votes this country has seen in decades, all he gained was a chance to rise from being the legislator with perfect attendance but without legislative record to being the chief executive officer to unite this divided nation.

He promises to purge government of its excesses in an attempt to regain people’s trust. Following a president whose administration’s only goal was survival amid questions against its legitimacy, Noynoy has large shoes to fill. And Filipinos will hold him to his promise.

What distinctly marks Noynoy’s presidency is public expectation.

Whereas the incumbent administration is hounded by doubt, the Aquino administration basks in public confidence bordering on blind faith. Whereas in the past, doubts mar the transition from one president to the next, Noynoy shall take on power without question or delay.

And whereas the public abandoned watch on the past presidents, all eyes shall be on Noynoy and on how he shall work toward the fulfillment of the promises he made and the hopes he stirred.

Noynoy’s proclamation was not a victory; it is a challenge.

The Filipino people did not vote for the man Noynoy is; they voted for the man they want Noynoy to be. Now all he has to do is be that man.

Image from here.

Different uncertainties

2010-06-07T23:49:00.000+08:00

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I counted. At 7 a.m. tomorrow, I shall be going to school for the first time the 26th time.

I was on my way to bed when I realized that I am not as excited as I used to be, when every night in the week before classes start I take out all my new notebooks from my new bag only to arrange them again inside.

Before, the eve of the first day of classes was the only night when with my pristine white crisp and clean shirt and ironed khaki pants hung on my doorknob—proof of how excited I was to break the two-month academic abstinence of summer.

Tonight, however, I sleep with nothing new to welcome whatever tomorrow will bring. The first day of school is marked by a certain uncertainty—an uncertainty I am lucky have a chance at.

Sadness comes with the realization that tomorrow, as this country’s students once again venture into the unknown with heads held high and hopes propped higher, some millions of Filipinos are forced to accept a different unknown with a sense of defeat.

As uniformed students once again file out of homes into their schools tomorrow, those to whom life is unfair would wake up to what would probably be their life routine. Every day, they shall walk out of their houses in search of sustenance that would last for a day.

Tomorrow, the pessimistic shall ask, “What are we going to school for?” not realizing that they should be thankful they could afford to be pessimistic. Those who cannot afford to go to school subsist on what optimism life’s cruelty has left for them.

Tomorrow, the fortunate shall wonder at their future while the less fortunate strive for theirs.

Tonight, even without a school uniform hanging near my bed, or without the scent of new notebooks in a new bag, I shall sleep with hope that tomorrow’s uncertainty would lead me to certainty.

I counted. At 7 a.m. tomorrow, I shall be going to school for the first time the 26th time.

But for the first time, I shall be going to school with those who do not go to school in mind.

Ipis Busters

2010-06-06T23:49:00.000+08:00

Even without vehicles and pedestrians, the streets of the metro are never empty. And even without robbers, rapists or murderers, they are never safe.

Lurking in shadows that survive the halo of streetlamps are cockroaches of every shape and size, crawling through the city’s dust and feeding on dirt.

They live on garbage carelessly piled in some random corner, on food irreverently thrown aside, on the cadavers of victims of road kill or perhaps on what would be your next meal. These pests are everywhere.

Before they claim this country for their own, we rise to the challenge as what Brett calls the Ipis Busters.

In the same manner that Spiderman acquired his super powers the moment he got bitten by a spider; one becomes an Ipis Buster the moment he wakes up in the middle of the night because of a tickling sensation on some exposed part of his body and finds a cockroach crawling there.

The memory of the encounter shall be so vivid that each time it comes to mind, one wants to take a bath.

But some become Ipis Busters the hard way. In my case, my aversion to these pests derives from a childhood memory of my mother taking medications for because a cockroach nymph chose her ear to be its final resting place. For weeks, she applied drops of a special solution into her ear to take out the dead body of the nymph, which almost stuck to her eardrum.

Regardless of the manner by which one is enlisted in the force, once an Ipis Buster, a person takes on the responsibility of ridding this world of as much cockroaches as he can in a lifetime.

The easiest way would be to strike at will. Yesterday, while walking under the dim light of streetlamps with friends, I scanned the road for cockroaches that dared appear in my midst. Wearing old shoes, I stepped on as many as I can and crushed them with a sudden twist on my ankle, taking life out of their disgusting bodies.

Once, inspired by the bedtime story about a brave little tailor who bragged about killing seven with one blow and omitting the fact that it was flies that he killed, I killed two cockroach nymphs in one blow.

If one prefers not to use violence, naphthalene balls are always an option. Or condominium unit not reeks of it after I scattered the mothballs Brett bought out of exasperation for the little squatters. And while insecticide sprays offer another way to kill, we look for ways to kill but stay alive. Brett suggests that you try pandan leaves instead.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” the Spiderman movie suggests.

But I prefer a quote from Die Hard 4: “Sometimes, a man becomes a hero only because nobody else is there to do it, nobody else can be the man who saves the day.”

We become Ipis Busters because unless we kill cockroaches, no one will.

Twain-ty's top 10 emerging influential blogs of 2010

2010-06-05T23:49:00.016+08:00

If we were to compare the Internet to the physical world we live in, blogs would be the air.

In the physical reality people speak to be heard and without air vibrations the larynx would not make any sound. Would vocal chords vibrate, in the first place, without air to breathe?

In the reality of cyberspace, we post to be heard and without blogs we would be talking to ourselves—that is, not talking at all.

It would hypocritical of bloggers to say that a good following is not important. The fact that one blogs says that one hopes that others would read.

As an emerging blog, Twain-ty hopes to contribute to the marketplace of ideas in the Internet and at the same time highlight some ideas we think are worth looking into.

Here are some notable emerging blogs Twain-ty nominates for the Top 10 Emerging Influential Blogs for 2010:

1. Reklamotion. Maintained by a group of four high school friends, Reklamotion offers a four-fold view of the world. Writing about politics, society and popular culture, the authors often provide alternative perspectives in analyzing pressing issues—sometimes even making a good point out of something seemingly trivial. What Reklamotion contributes proves to be worth your time, considering that three other members in the team always look into what one author has written. Reklamotion has been up since February this year.

2. PinoyJournalist. While journalists write about what happens in the world, only a few write about journalists. In PinoyJournalist, Anjo Bagoisan, a producer for ABS-CBN, writes about his experiences in the line of duty. By telling stories behind the stories, it is to be hoped that PinoyJournalist would increase public appreciation and respect for journalism as a profession. PinoyJournalist began on July 2009.

3. The Grader’s Folio. It is often hard to see how some duo-blogs are dual in nature (as in the case of Twain-ty) since authors write individually. But The Grader’s Folio succeeds by using pictures. The blog is maintained by friends who met in grade school and stayed in touch to date. Since both of them are photography enthusiasts, each posts a collage based on a theme they agree on. Every post is therefore a juxtaposition of how the childhood friends interpret the theme. Posted with good music, The Grader’s Folio is a portfolio worth browsing. They started January 2010.

4. Foodie Manila. Some blogs intend to make an impact by persuasion but this blog has a different strategy: it makes stomachs rumble. Foodie Manila features good food, as well as how to make or where to find them. I honestly envy the members of what is known in the blog as “the food team,” the people who write about food. Don’t get me wrong; I don’t envy them for writing, I envy them for eating. Caveat: before checking their site, make sure you have food in handy. It would be torture to browse through their photos and afterwards find that your fridge is empty.

5. NomNomClub. Proof of how I can never get enough of food is that another food blog is on this list. It features places, old and new, where one can enjoy great food in the metro. “Club” is not in the name simply because it sounds good but because the blog invites readers as well as other bloggers who have passion (READ: who crave for) good food to join their community of food enthusiasts. There is a need for more blogs like NonNomClub that exert efforts to form blogging communities. May NomNomClub feed Filipino stomachs longing for delicious food.

6. Usapang Bvlwagan. In an attempt to provide comic relief, Usapang Bvlwagan is a blog that compiles the witty and funny conversations between architecture students who live in a condominium unit near the University of the Philippines. The blog makes you appreciate everyday discussions such that after reading some of their posts, you would hope that you had a recorder at hand when you talk to your friends. Usapang Bvlwagan, with the architecturally used Roman “V” for “U,” is proof that intelligent conversations usually take no effort. Usapang Bvlwagan began chronicling their conversations since December 2009.

7. No-Benta is blog that takes this generation on a stroll down memory lane. Reminiscing songs, television shows, movies and other trends the of the last decade before the new millennium, No-Benta brings back memories of first dates, first dances or those moments when the sight of the Gwapings make girls sigh or Jolina Magdangal’s voice sent shivers down your spine (if those moments ever existed). Sometimes, the memory of those days just make you laugh. Perhaps older bloggers should take from No-Benta and put up their own generation's blog too. This blog started August 2009.

8. PinasBackpackers. On one of my more emotional blog entries, I wrote that someday I would like to disappear for a weekend and go on a backpacking trip alone where I can be anyone I want to be. Good thing Pinas Backpackers is there to be my guide. This travel blog features local destinations for backpackers, those whose ideas of travelling do not usually include luggage with matching colors. Not only does it help those in need of short hiatuses or escapes, it also promotes local tourism by showing Filipinos that there is much to discover in this archipelago before we go out of the country. Since February 2010.

9. RabSing. As the Abba song goes, “Without a song or a dance, what are we?” Good thing we have RabSing for the blogging world’s musical needs. Not only does RabSing feature artists whose talent became their claim to fame but also emerging artists who need a platform to showcase their talent. RabSing also blogs about events for music enthusiasts, making it a must-visit for those in the lookout for the next concert or gig to catch. RabSing proves that blogs are more than just outlets for writers, singers are also welcome.

10. The Creative Dork. I have always envied those who have have a knack for art. The Creative Dork is a blog which features the author’s artworks, graphic designs as well as his take on the local and international art scene. The Creative Dork also offers tips on how to improve blogs in terms of their artistic appeal. And the good thing about it is that the blog itself stands as a testament to the author’s creativity. Cheers to bloggers who pursue their passion! The Creative Dork has been adding color to the blog world since March 2010.

Top 10 Emerging Influential Blogs for 2010 is sponsored by Events and Corporate Video, Budget hotel in Makati, Pinoy Party Food,Copyediting Services, PR Agency Philippines, Budget Travel Philippines, Send Gifts to the Philippines, and Corporate Events Organizer.

Antidote to gossip

2010-06-04T23:49:00.007+08:00

While I enjoyed dinner to satisfy my need for food, the television was at full volume to satisfy my need for gossip.

As a grandmother once wisely told me, “some of the pleasures in this world are simply found: by eating, by flushing out what you ate and by talking about the lives of others.”

No matter how vehemently we deny it, voyeurs lurk in the deepest recesses of our being. And sometimes when bored, we take on the lives of people around us as if it were a hobby.

The Pinoy Big Brother (PBB) phenomenon reflects the Filipino desire for gossip. And Big Brother, more endearingly referred to by Filipinos as “Kuya” would beat Gossip Girl hands down.

Whereas Gossip Girl relies on tips from her sources to expose the “scandalous lives of Manhattan’s elite,” Kuya welcomes people into his house where he watches their every move—perhaps even every breath they take.

And while Gossip Girl’s task is made easy by the fact that the lives of the elite interest the public, Kuya takes on the challenge of looking for interesting stories in the seemingly ordinary lives of his commonplace wards.

Feigning omniscience, Big Brother usually does this by egging on romantic relationships under his roof, as in the case of the wildly popular tandem of Kim Chiu and Gerald Anderson or the crazily popular Melason match; fuelling conflicts, as in his “chismis” episode where he turned teenagers against each other for backbiting; or by emotionally torturing his underpaid talents like what he did when he enlisted two of his housemates’ mothers as household helpers.

But whether or not Big Brother is justified in divulging everything about the lives of the people in is house is a question yet to be answered—if it is at all asked.

In tonight’s episode, PBB continued to feature how the other housemates try to ignore Tricia, who, according to a psychologist, has behavioral problems. The orchestration, including host Tony Gonzaga’s spiels, hopes to project that Big Brother is helping Tricia but when you stop and think about it, it achieves the exact opposite.

By exposing Tricia as some emotionally challenged teenager, Big Brother preempts the outcome of the relationships she might develop with her housemates and with the people she will meet once she leaves the Big Brother house.

But apparently the conflicts brought about by Tricia’s condition are not enough to buy them primetime ratings, and Big Brother explicitly has to delve into the heart of the matter.

Kuya must take a clue from agent HGW XX/7 in the German movie “Das Leben Der Anderen” (“The Lives of Others”).

Tasked with the surveillance of the workings of a playwright Georg Dreyman in East Germany, Stasi agent Gerd Wiesler went out of his way to do kindness.

He covered for Dreyman when the latter wrote an article saying that the abusive government pushed many citizens to commit suicide.

Years after his article was published and after the reunification of Germany, Dreyman found out about Wiesler’s good deed and wrote a novel “Sonata for a Good Man,” dedicating it to the anonymous agent who saved his from imprisonment.

Sometimes we know about the lives of others but have to turn a blind eye or a deaf ear out of respect or out of love—sometimes even out of hope that things will change without us meddling.

I say this to Big Brother and to myself, who often plays Big Brother: sometimes you should let things be.

Stories written for Yahoo! Thursday, June 3:
LP wants probe of null votes
Yellow floods Congress
Aquino camp eyes early proclamation
Canvassing suspended until Monday

Incredible ink*

2010-06-01T23:49:00.003+08:00

Yahoo! made its Purple Thumb mark on this aspiring journalist’s heart. Thank you, Yahoo!

While millions of Filipinos endured long queues and intense heat to exercise their right to vote, I sat in front of my computer and wrote.

As an intern for a regional media organization, I was part of a team that covered the country’s first-ever automated elections from the battleground.

May 10 found me at the headquarters of Sen. Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III, who was projected in pre-election surveys as the likely winner of the presidential race, and his running mate, Sen. Manuel “Mar” Roxas II.

While I watched and took note of history unfolding from the Roxas-owned Araneta Center in Cubao, my ballot waited to be filled in a precinct in Sorsogon.

I was therefore writing about something that was alien to me: the extraordinary opportunity of participating in a democracy I only knew by name.

Since I worked for an online editorial team with less than 10 members and who only recently started to generate their own content, I was sent on my own and was expected to submit multimedia output.

My closest encounter with what could have been my first time to vote was when I was assigned to write a story about a real-time mock polls conducted by Comelec at a media station in Quezon City a week before the May 10 elections.

For the mock polls, I interviewed participants about their experience in using actual precinct count optical (PCOS) machines, teachers who acted as mock board of election inspectors, spokespersons and technicians from poll machine supplier Smartmatic, and Comelec officials. I turned it into a video packaged with an online news article that day.

I also covered press conferences by poll watchdog National Citizens’ Movement for Free Elections and as well those of presidential bets Gilbert Teodoro and Joseph Estrada and kept a close watch on trends and issues that made for good media copy. And yes, I produced media stories.

But covering the days that led to the elections only gave me an idea of what automated election was all about. The emotion attached to what I was writing about remained vague and distant. It was the fateful day of May itself made the difference.

One of the first stories I filed on day of the elections was an interview with Sen. Francis Pangilinan of the Liberal Party who, having heard reports of massive disenfranchisement due to delays in the voting process, urged the public to be more patient in waiting for their turn to vote and asked the Commission on Elections to further extend the poll hours to allow more Filipinos to vote.

“Let us face the ordeal of three or four hours of waiting if it would mean six years of good governance,” Pangilinan said, adding that it is every citizen’s right to vote and every Filipino’s obligation to vote wisely.

I realized that I was not idly watching the country choose its leaders; I was part of a system of check and balance that made sure Filipinos enjoyed the very essence of our democracy: the right to choose this country’s leaders.

Perhaps what I wrote that day changed opinions and cast light on otherwise dark areas.

As broadcaster Gang Badoy, who I interviewed for a pre-election story on the role of media on the elections, pointed out, “If you broadcast constantly, it’s like beaming a flashlight on the dark parts of a room. So I think the knowledge that there is a coverage so dogged on precincts can somehow deter cheating.”

However, like a flashlight whose beams can only dispel darkness from small areas at a time, I realized that as a media practitioner, I can only do so much.

The size of our editorial team limited our coverage to only a few scrupulously chosen areas even when we knew that we had to attempt ubiquity to deliver ideal election coverage.

I felt that most of the stories happened on the ground and that while we focused on national centers like the canvassing center of the Commission on Elections or the parallel count of accredited citizens’ arm Parish Pastoral Council for Responsible Voting, we missed out on stories happening in some remote precinct, a case study that could have changed the public perception on automation.

Our saving grace was social media, which gave us access to reports from far-flung areas. Using updates from Twitter, Facebook and other social networking sites, voters gave updates on their respective poll precincts, proving how social media enables citizen journalism.

In fact, in an unpublished story I sent to my editors, I wrote that this year’s presidential elections was not only the first automated polls but also the first “social media elections,” with the ever-widening network of online Filipinos playing a pivotal role in covering the polls.

As for me, I shall remember the elections of May 2010 as my initiation to the practice of journalism—my baptism by fire.

I remembered a conversation with someone from my hometown who asked if I would be home for the elections. “What happened to social responsibility?” she asked, when she learned that I would be forfeiting my first-time vote.

“I think I will be doing the country a better service by covering the elections,” I answered hesitantly. Today, I can say that again with conviction.

When I first saw my best friend after the elections, he proudly showed me his seemingly dirty index finger to fuel my envy. Also a first-time voter, he got his first indelible ink stain this year after casting his vote in his father’s hometown of Pangasinan.

But although my index finger remained free from marks silver nitrate burned through the skin, the fact that I recorded history as it happened, with a pen in hand, was more than a consolation.

Writing news with the Filipino public in mind taught me that democracy is not about shading a ballot and feeding it into some strange black machine. It is about hoping that the “Congratulations!” that black machine conveys will hold true for the Filipino people.

My hands are stained with the incredible ink of journalism. And yes, I was part of this democracy.

*Submitted as final output for J 198 (Journalism Internship) under Prof. Krista Rara

Stories written for Yahoo! today, June 1:
Soliman cleared of libel
VP bets’ lawyers bicker over Cavite CoC
LP might call for separate count for president, VP

and Monday, May 31
Comelec partially proclaims 28 party-list groups

Concerning public unconcern

2010-05-30T23:49:00.012+08:00

Speak no evil, hear no evil, see no evil, they say. But we say hear and see evil, then speak against it.

It is ironic how we call ourselves a democracy and yet accede to the fact that our government is secretive.

But contrary to the conventional and convenient belief that it is entirely the fault of this government composed of shady characters, we are partly to blame.

Rarely do you find a Filipino who shows interest in the workings of government. And when you do stumble upon someone, you most probably met a politician, a politician’s public relations officer, a journalist or that singular genuinely concerned citizen the public misjudges as too much of a meddler.

It would be an understatement to say that we Filipinos do not care; we refuse to care.

The 1987 Constitution arms every Filipino with the right to gather information about his government.

Section 7 Article III holds that “the right of the people to information on matters of public concern shall be recognized.”

“Access to official records and to documents and papers pertaining to official acts, transactions or decisions, as well as to government research data used as basis for policy development shall be afforded the citizen, subject to such limitations as may be provided by law,” it adds.

With the Freedom of Information Bill, there is hope of shedding light to this government hidden in the shadows.

It guarantees every Filipino’s constitutional right to information by providing an enabling law spelling out our rights and limitations to bureaucrats who find all means to work around the constitutional provision at present.

But whether or not it will shed light on this government is a question only the public can answer. This government engages in nasty business because they realize that nobody is looking.

Matters of public concern are not called such without reason. They are matters that supposedly concern the public. In fact, they are matters that must concern the public. Concern is the operative word and sadly, that is what Filipinos are missing.

To start it right, the enactment of the Freedom of Information Bill is something that must concern us.

After all, the lack of transparency is matters of public concern is a public concern.

The House of Representatives is expected to convene separately from the joint session on Monday, at about 4 p.m. The ratification of the bicameral conference committee report on the Freedom of Information Bill might come up. Public concern could do wonders in legislation. And we need wonders to pass FOI.

Image from here.

See related story on Yahoo!

A cure for sadness

2010-05-29T23:49:00.002+08:00

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“I have no time for depression,” I was surprised to hear myself say this afternoon while talking to a friend at my old dormitory’s empty lobby.

I realized that getting depressed has turned into my unhealthy habit. Whenever my mind takes a break from what it usually does, I fill it with melancholy by dwelling on disappointments, counting failures and mulling over what tragedy the future holds for me.

Sad thoughts are better than no thoughts at all, dare I say to justify this self-induced misery.

The past week saw me chasing and writing stories from the moment I woke up until I tucked myself in and so sadness had no space to fill.

Deliberations on technical aspects of the alleged rigging of the May 10 polls got the best of me when I covered Congress, leaving me too tired to wallow in woe. And when legislators got tired of themselves too, I had stories to write and updates to send by the minute.

Even Friday’s rain failed to dampen my spirit. Although I have longed for rain, I also knew the feelings its gloom, cold and slow pitter patter evoked. I would have smiled at the sight of rain and afterwards curse it for getting me down. But the hallowed halls of Congress, which shut the world out, saved me from my bipolar tendencies.

Perhaps there is a cure to my melodrama after all; perhaps it would die in the hullabaloo of things I ought to do.

But every time I think I succeeded in drowning sentimentality in hyperactivity, my fast-paced world slows down and I find myself dragging through time slowly and alone.

On my way home from the Batasan Complex, waiting for a taxi to hail, it became very quiet and the whisperings of drama I refused to hear became the only noise that filled the air.

And while I was on a jeepney home last Friday night the rain that I did not get to see forced me to acknowledge its presence. Taking the outer front seat, water from a puddle on the Elliptical Road splashed on my face and arms when a jeepney passed over it.

In the end I find that sadness needs no time in order to exist, it only needs my consent. Sadly, I have yet to learn to say no.

Stories written for Yahoo! May 27, Thursday:
LP calls for complete canvass
We did not admit PCOS glitches -Smartmatic
To count or not to count, that is the question
Liberal Party bets take early lead in canvassed votes

and May 28, Friday:
Joint session continues official canvass
LP bets maintain lead as canvass gains speed

Anticipating sons of bitches

2010-05-26T23:49:00.002+08:00

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We need not look too far to understand why this country is going down the drain; all we have to do is open a television set.

The live coverage of the farce our legislators make of their joint session in the plenary proves that this government is reactionary: idle when things are going smoothly and panicky—not to mention cranky—when things go haywire.

The Commission on Elections, aided by negligent legislation, gave the reins to Smartmatic for this third world country’s shift from a fully manual to fully automated elections.

While the poll machine manufacturer called the May 10 polls their “maiden project,” the first election automation they handled, from a critical point of view, the presidential elections of 2010 became Smartmatic’s guinea pig.

Now, amid doubt about the supposedly foolproof mechanism of the strange black machines we blindly trusted to accurately count our ballots, the same people who idly watched Smartmatic toy with our most important democratic exercise are crying foul.

They seem to cringe at the thought of Smartmatic betraying their trust without realizing that they have given their trust without thought and that they should partly take the blame.

Although the act of rightfully calling these businessmen “sons of bitches,” seems admirable and downright nationalistic, the sad fact is that they should have seen the bad blood in these foreign technical experts when they first bid for the automation project. But perhaps cash under the table clouded our bureaucrats’ judgment.

While the bullying goes on in Congress, Filipinos ought to wonder who among the bullies are genuinely pissed off at how automation failed in its promise o0f ease and who among them are simply haggling for more hush money.

If Filipinos had the patience to stand watching news broadcast for five minutes straight, they would afterwards pack their bags and book the next flight out of the country—if only this government provided them with jobs that would afford them tickets to leave this godforsaken country.

Should the sudden migration wave happen, at least we have other news to watch.

On apologies

2010-05-25T23:49:00.000+08:00

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Once, I apologized to my editor for sending an article late. I opened my mail the next morning to find his response. “Why do you keep on apologizing? You should be proud of what you do,” he said.

After long overdue apologies tonight, I ironically explained to a friend how saying sorry asserts my ego instead of hurting it.

“When I say sorry because you stepped on my foot, what I’m telling you is that I should have expected you to do something stupid and that I should have kept my foot out of your way,” I said.

She laughed, raised her eyebrows and pointed out that I just said sorry. Realizing the absurdity of the situation, I laughed and said sorry. Yes, I said sorry.

The conversation reminded me of an episode in the U.S. drama series Brothers and Sisters where Nora Walker had an emotional talk with her eldest daughter Sarah, who holds herself responsible for the demise of the family business.

“Who are you that you think you’re so important and superhuman that you’re the only one who could have saved the company?” Nora asked.

When I watched that episode I had to play that scene again to make sure Nora was talking to Sarah, not me.

“But I didn’t save it, did I?” Sarah retorted. I couldn’t have said it better.

I tend to take responsibility for everything, thinking that I could have always done something so things could have gone differently. Besides, I should always do the right thing.

It was also Nora Walker who spoke for me in a scene with her Brother, Sol.

“I’m so tired of making sure everybody does the right thing. I don’t know what the right thing is myself. Why do I have to have the answers all the time? I don’t have the answers. I can’t be calm; I can’t be strong,” she said.

The next time I say sorry, you know what I mean. And I’m sorry.

But you must also know that I need a pat on the back. I might just have grown tired of blaming myself.

Disappearing act

2010-05-24T23:49:00.003+08:00

The first lines in the movie “The Prestige” stop me from committing suicide.

“Every magic trick has three parts,” Michael Caine said with his British accent. He explained how a magician does the “pledge,” by showing the audience something ordinary and how he turns that ordinary object into something extraordinary, sometimes even making it disappear, in what he called the “turn.”

“(M)aking something disappear isn't enough; you have to bring it back,” he went on to say. “That's why every magic trick has a third act, the hardest part, the part we call the ‘prestige.’”

I reckoned that committing suicide would not gain the impact I am striving for. And to make things worse, I would not even be there to see how the world will just go on turning without me. It would not be enough to take this ordinary life and make it disappear. I need that third act.

So perhaps one day, when I tire of this life, I shall disappear without notice in search of a new one.

With three days’ worth of clothes and cash, I shall take the first bus I see from the nearest highway, ask the conductor where the farthest destination would be, pay for the fare and venture into the unknown.

After getting a ticket, I shall turn to the people nearest me in the bus, introduce myself as Mark or John and engage them in conversations they seem capable of discussing. Or maybe I shall sit quietly and read the book I would keep in my bag, probably JRR Tolkien’s “The Silmarillon” or Robert Fulguhm’s “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten,” while occasionally looking up to see the view from my seat’s window.

One thing I like about travelling by land is that you almost always see people when you look out your window, making you feel as if you momentarily become part of other people’s lives, whereas travelling by air or by sea makes you feel isolated. And I would trade years of life in comfortable isolation to be part of someone’s life even for a split second.

Upon arrival in that place under the sun where fate takes me, I shall look for bed and breakfast. Every morning I shall wake up in a strange bed before roaming strange streets for the rest of the day, going about things I would not do as the person I know myself to be.

My new life in anonymity would afford me unprecedented freedom. I can act crazy without fear of recognition or shame; approach interesting people and make new friends without having to worry about how to keep the friendship; tell the truth, however hurtful, without emotions to consider; put up fights without compromising relationships or ignore people without risking being snob.

My phone shall have been turned off, better yet left behind with all my identification. For the duration of my disappearance I shall define who I am—finally and rightfully, after having been defined by the world for so long.

I shall not call it the perfect escape; since it will be no escape at all. It would be an ephemeral rebirth. I shall start from scratch: no name, no attitude and no expectations to live up to. I will be someone else for a while.

And then suddenly, with one swift sleight of hand, I shall revert into the person I have ceased to be. My “prestige” would be the difficult trip back to where my trip started.

My fear is that when I come back, I shall find that the world went on turning without me, only as disturbed by my absence as by my presence: not disturbed at all.

And yes, it is likely to happen that not only shall I disappear without notice, I shall also disappear unnoticed.

Image from here.

Stories written for Yahoo! today, May 24:
Pass freedom of info bill, solons urged
House eyes June 4 end of canvassing

May old friends stay old

2010-05-21T23:49:00.001+08:00

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Without disregard for the appeal new things hold, I say some things are better kept old.

In the same manner that wine tastes better as it ages, that cheese gains a distinct flavor given time or that old songs bring back beautiful memories of the past, a lot is to be said about old friends.

Until this week, I have been eluding old friends, thinking that I would be helping myself by learning how to live my life without them. But when, one by one, they reestablished our connection, I realized how they are—and will always be—part of me.

The friends who knew me when I still wore baggy shirts and jeans or when I wore my socks up to my knees also knew me when the world has not yet taken away my innocence. Together, we let go of naivety and welcomed maturity and jadedness.

Most of them saw me laugh my loudest and cry my hardest, making them good judges of how I feel. In fact they are almost always the reason for my laughter while some may have been the reason for tears.

I think the friends who know what I wear in the comfort of my bedroom, how I talk in my sleep or how I sing in the shower are the ones who know me best.

And it is both sad and preposterous that even if I dress to kill, talk in a kingly manner or walk proudly, they shall see me as someone whose hair is messed up when he wakes up in the morning, as someone who sometimes walked while he brushed his teeth or who engaged in conversations subconsciously.

The best thing about old friends is that they stay despite time and distance. Decades may come between good friendships but as soon as friends meet again, the years seem like days.

And the funny thing is that we call them old friends when in fact, when they’re around, we feel young again.

Cheers to old friendships. May they forever stay old.

P.S. Rannon, old friend, our friendship has been tested well. Now is not the time to worry about it. Fare you well until we meet again.

P.P.S. Jhai, Vim, Sen, Jo, thank you. Gwen, we miss you.

Stories written for Yahoo! May 20, Thursday:
Filipino science students win big in California
‘Ultimate sacrifice’: a trend in LP?

Ode to song

2010-05-19T23:49:00.001+08:00

More often than not, a good song is all I need.

A friend once browsed through my MP3 playlist once and laughed at my eclectic choice of music.

Imagine Billy Joel’s “For the Longest Time,” which I usually sing while tying my shoes; Bread’s “Diary,” which suits me and my assumptions; Air Supply’s “Making Love Out of Nothing At All,” which I sing in the shower; and Lea Salonga’s “We Could Be In Love,” played in a loop—with stuff of Abba, Parokya ni Edgar, the APO Hiking Society, Enya, Queen and everything you can think of.

In my playlist there is a song for every moment and every imaginable situation. There is a song for every emotion—even the lack of it, as in David Pomeranz’s “Trying to Get the Feeling Again.”

Once I arrived at the rooftop unit I rented out with good friends, my umbrella rendered useless by the heavy rain. I was singing The Carpenters’ “Rainy Days and Mondays” while climbing up the stairwell, that being a Monday and evidently rainy. To my amusement, when I opened the door, my roommate Nem was playing the same song.

But rain does not always drench my soul. And so sometimes, I sing Matt Monroe’s “Singing in the Rain” to the tune of the pitter patter of rain.

On the rare occasions that I wake up before the break of dawn, I would sometimes go out and feel the morning breeze and, with my hoarse morning voice, sing Cat Steven’s “Morning Has Broken” or The Beatles’ “Here Comes the Sun.”

The Beatles also comes to mind when I stare at an evening sky and catch a glimpse of “Mr. Moonlight.” But sometimes it would be “Somewhere Out There,” with matching drops of tears, or Kevin Letau’s “Sunlight,” which, despite the title, is a song best sung at night.

When nostalgia sets in it’s a choice between “The Will of the Wind,” “Changes In My Life,” “In My Life,” or “Times of Your Life.” I avoid singing “Someone’s Waiting For You” because it almost always makes me cry.

Or when I want to drown myself in melody without lyrics to disturb my train of thought, I can put instrumentals by Kenny G or that Chrono Cross piece I fell in love with the first time I heard it, “The Girl Who Stole the Stars.” At times it would also be “The Hills of Ireland” by Enya or Debussy’s “Claire de Lune.”

And when music is not enough, there’s Glee, where Queen’s “Somebody to Love” was rendered in ways beyond description and where Broadway songs like Funny Girl’s “Don’t Rain on my Parade” and Les Miserables’ “I Dreamed a Dream”—not to mention Wicked’s “Defying Gravity” were performed superbly.

There is also need to celebrate the existence of songs about singing. “Sing a Song,” “Thank You for the Music,” “Old Songs,” “A Song for You,” to name a few.

Right now the Irish folk song “The Parting Glass,” which the fictional character Scottie Wandell sang to close one episode of U.S. drama series “Brothers and Sisters” plays in my head when the world gets silent.

And whenever a song plays, I sing. Beside, one does not have to sing well to sing. One only has to sing.

Image from here.

On Yahoo! today:
Look into charges against Binay, solons urged

The fall of Minas Tirith

2010-05-18T23:49:00.014+08:00

After the hullabaloo of the country’s first automated elections, Filipinos shall realize the preposterous situation they have placed themselves in.

We have a president-elect whose most notable achievement is his perfect attendance in sessions of Congress and the Senate, a Supreme Court chief justice whose legitimacy is in question, and two legislative branches that would most likely be shared by a business mogul who spent millions for a defunct presidential campaign and a defunct president who cannot—and will not—accept failure.

Assuming that this country endures the anxiety caused by a questionable election, the Philippines shall succumb at the onset of the political turmoil caused by a government torn between the heads of its three branches playing Tug of War.

The presidency of Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III is fragile enough as it is, resting on the mere possibility that his integrity can do miracles for this country.

But a scenario with Aquino in Malacañang, Sen. Manuel “Manny” Villar in the Senate and Congresswoman-elect Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo in the House of Representatives seems to jump off the pages of my favorite book: Minas Tirith, the Tower of the Guard, against its twin tower Minas Morgul, which the wraiths have defiled, and Barad-dur, where the Great Eyes sits, forever watchful.

Add to that a high tribunal composed of justices appointed by Arroyo and whose chief justice, Renato Corona, was named at the nick of time and we are reminded of Isengard whose steward Saruman has turned to evil ways.

The tragic part is that unlike Middle-Earth, in the Philippine setting, we still cannot see the figures of Gandalf, Aragorn, Legolas or Gimli. We cannot even see simple men with the bravery of the hobbits Pippin, Merry or Sam. Filipinos, blinded by false hope, see Frodo in Aquino. But Frodo alone will not endure.

The thought of him beside Makati Mayor Jejomar Binay, rumored to be two-faced like Gollum, does not allay our fears.

As much as Filipinos need the election euphoria every three or six years to get by, to be reminded of how fortunate they are for the democracy they enjoy, elections only bring false hopes.

Perhaps sooner than the fading of indelible ink, this country again finds itself in the hopelessness we forget thanks to the elections.

Minas Tirith is bound to fail. But yes, we are allowed to think—and hope—otherwise.

Image from here.

Stories written for Yahoo! May 18:
‘Dream team’ still a dream
VP race ‘anybody’s game’ –LP
LP confident in Belmonte bid for speaker

and May 17:
VP bets accuse each other of ‘mind conditioning’
LP not keen on 13th Senate slot

Veritaserum

2010-05-16T18:11:00.006+08:00

In J.K. Rowling’s popular novel series “Harry Potter,” wizards and witches concocted a special potion to extract truth from a person’s lips.

Rowling named the concoction “veritaserum,” from the latin word “veritas” which means “truth.” A drop of the transparent liquid forces anyone to speak honestly, without pain or dizzy spells.

In this bleak reality we have for the world, however, veritaserum takes a different form. And I think I had too much of it last night.

Our friend Rannon, who is to leave for Canada next week to stay there indefinitely, spent the last two nights with us and so three of the boys who met at the third floor of Kalayaan Residence Hall five years ago were Third Floor Boys once more, only this time somewhere near Kalayaan Avenue.

Drinking at this parting, I finally knew how it felt to drown my consciousness in alcohol. After finishing the bottles of beer which we bought from a nearby convenience store and drank over a deck of cards, we decided to buy more from the Korean convenience store that can be seen from our veranda.

We drank our bottles downstairs, within sight of our building’s guard who teamed up with the neighboring building’s security guards at night. Brett brought the cards and Rannon brought the mischief: whoever lost in the game of “pusoy dos” would have to do jumping jacks.

I lost in the first game where five jumping jacks were at stake while Rannon lost in the second game and had to do 10. But unable to accept the fact that Brett would just watch us make fools of ourselves, I called for a third game and bet 25 jumps—and lost.

The wee hours of today saw me jumping up and down while rhythmically hoisting my arms. Never mind that I was dizzy even without the booze, thanks to vertigo spells.

After that, everything was a blur. I remember taking leak at a comfort room downstairs but I seem to have forgotten to flush the toilet. Brett and Rannon told me this morning that I did not climb the stairs but took a sprint instead.

And yes, I remember sitting in front of an interrogating panel composed of two good friends but I don’t remember what truths I let slip.

I have been told that I may not be easily recognized as drunk even when I am because drunk or sober, I sing, speak in English and sit on the verge of melodrama.

But I think I know when I had too much. I am drunk when I lose my faculty of controlled speech and say the things that need saying—maybe not without thought but without care.

If we were to follow that definition, last night was the first time I got drunk. And honestly, the thought of how honest I must have been scares me.

This morning I apologized to those I got drunk with last night but was reprimanded. “That’s the whole point of getting drunk,” Brett said.

I guess drunk or sober, good friends are good friends. And yes, they can take my honesty.

By the way, I discovered my cure to vertigo: beer.

P. S. Apologies to Gwen and Tina for the text messages I sent you while I was drunk, as I discovered earlier.

Image from here.

Articles written for Yahoo! for May 14, Friday:
‘Noy-Bi’ does not divide LP –Pangilinan
Our numbers are ‘official’ –LP
Mar Roxas: Do not rush the process

Hold the congratulations

2010-05-13T23:49:00.005+08:00

The Commission on Elections seems to deliver on its promise of a rapid release of election results by pulling off this country’s first automated elections. But the question of whether it will deliver on its mandate of ensuring clean and reliable elections remains to be a question.

To allay fears that poll automation will facilitate cheating in the same manner that it will facilitate the swift conduct of our essential democratic exercise, Comelec ordered the a random manual audit (RMA) be carried out as soon as the precinct count optical scan (PCOS) machines electronically transmit results.

By manually counting the ballots in some precincts of every district in the country, RMA will validate the accuracy of the count reported by the PCOS machines, thereby validating the credibility of the electoral process.

Three days past the May 10 presidential elections, the poll body is yet to release the results of the RMA, fuelling fears of fraud in an electoral process the Filipino lost to strange black machines.

It is disheartening to note that the democracy millions of Filipinos fought for and the democracy our forefathers died for is unwittingly surrendered to machines. This godforsaken country’s future rests solely on the blind confidence Comelec has given to the last-minute contraptions of Smartmatic-TIM.

By turning off the feature allowing voters to see how their ballots register in the PCOS machines, Comelec also clouded the transparency essential for a democracy to work. The poll body that has been discredited by the Hello Garci scandal in 2004 expects Filipinos to trust that the machine’s “Congratulations!” was meant sincerely and that evil schemes brewed by the shady characters Philippine elections invite do not lurk in the shadows hidden by the black box.

In his post-election column, prominent columnist Conrado de Quiros took back his doubt for Comelec after seeing how fast the election results were released. After all, the candidate he encouraged to the presidency was declared winner. One is tempted to wonder, however, how he would have reacted if former President Joseph “Erap” Estrada is projected as the sure winner instead of the man who thinks the elections is his to lose, Sen. Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III.

The Comelec exists for the sole purpose of ensuring that those who sit in the elective positons of government have the mandate of the people—that every vote is counted. And like a man without purpose, a poll body neglecting on its mandate, is as good as dead.

Until Comelec proves that the presidential election of 2010 belongs to the people and that the ultimate winner of this democratic exercise is the Filipino, there is no reason to celebrate.

And unlike PCOS machines, Filipinos must think before saying “Congratulations!”

Image from here.

Articles written for Yahoo! on May 13, Thursday:
LP expects 2 million vote lead in regions 6, 7
No birthday surprise yet for Roxas

Defying gravity

2010-05-12T20:32:00.004+08:00

At first glance, it would seem that Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo is simply hoping to make history.

With a landslide victory, today Arroyo became the first head of state ever to be elected to lower office when she won a congressional seat representing her province of Pampanga.

Unlike past presidents of this country whose names in news items are preceded by the title “former President” after their terms, for the next three (or nine) years after she steps down from the highest position in the land, Arroyo’s name shall be adorned by “Pampanga Representative.”

But although she will be sporting a lesser title and holding lesser power, the President of nine years is bound to wield the same, if not greater, influence on her colleagues in the House of Representatives since all of them, for the nine years immediately preceding their terms, called her President.

When Arroyo proclaimed her intention to take a congressional seat, critics worried that she was posing to go around the constitutional provision barring reelection. If the Charter Change Arroyo had been eyeing pushes through in the next administration and if Cha-Cha facilitates the shift to a legislative form of democracy, Arroyo could vie for the prime minister post.

If her alleged evil plan succeeds, she would be making history twice over by not only being the country’s first prime minister but also the first person ever to be elected twice as Philippine head of state. God willing and her evil plan fails, she will become the first woman to sit as Speaker of the House.

As if to ensure such attempt to cling to power, Arroyo named the next chief justice after Reynato Puno retires, once again making history by appointing the first chief justice-in-waiting in this country’s history.

With a legislative body that is hell-bent on coming short of kissing her feet and a judiciary leashed by debt of gratitude, Arroyo effectively grabbed two branches of government.

The moment she made history by joining the presidential race of 2004 despite her incumbency, we saw that Arroyo’s goal has been perpetual power. When the “Hello Garci” electoral scandal almost made lose her grip, the sole purpose of her administration became survival. Now with the NBN-ZTE scandal that shook the foundations of the pedestal she rest on, she realized that she cannot cling to power forever.

The woman in Malacañang is not content with making history. She realized that one does not cling to stay in power, one must defy gravity.

Image from here.

Stories written for Yahoo!:
Mar Roxas' fight is not yet over
Perlas: I am not conceding
Roxas will win by a hairline – Drilon
Aquino, Drilon hit Arroyo’s new SC appointment

One hell of a magic trick

2010-05-11T23:24:00.004+08:00

Without prejudice to what the next few days will bring, we can name at least one good thing about it: today Filipinos saw how computerized canvassing cut the wait—and therefore the agony—short.

Whereas results of previous elections took several days to consolidate, the numbers this year rolled by the millions and a day after polls closed, 85 percent of the total number of precincts have been accounted for.

Aside from the comfort speed provided, the overwhelming figures prompt those lagging behind in electoral races to accept defeat early on instead of waiting for the bitch that reality is to slap them hard on their sorry faces—or asses.

Today, controversy-ridden Sen. Manuel “Manny” Villar who was thought of as the closest rival of election frontrunner Sen. Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino early in the election season, saved what dignity he could pick up from the riot where his rivals ganged up against him.

Being a far third in the partial and unofficial results released by the Commission on Elections, Villar conceded to Aquino today. Comelec called him a statesman for doing so while the Liberal Party said he was a gentleman.

Perhaps seeing how the man who spent the most for his bid to Malacañang stomached an early exit, other candidates followed suit. Sen. Richard “Dick” Gordon, a self-confessed crybaby, released a statement calling on Filipinos to rally behind Aquino; former Defense Chief Gilberto “Gibo” Teodoro congratulated his cousin; and Jesus Is Lord leader Bro Eddie Villanueva, like Ang Kapatiran’s John Carlos “JC” de los Reyes, let Jesus take the wheel.

Former President Joseph “Erap” Estrada, on the other hand, threatened to throw the exact fits of rage he warned Aquino against (see Tantrun threats). Then again, it is Erap. He only grows old; he never grows up.

The problem with speed, however, is that it gives a semblance of accuracy. Indeed, cutting the time between voting and proclamation of winner short lessens reduces the chances of shady characters to manipulate election results.

But remember those magic tricks we applauded in children’s parties? Growing up, we learned that they were simply illusions perfectly executed by sleight of hand.

It would be disheartening to think that Filipinos will one day wake up and realize that this celebrated political exercise, this embodiment of democracy, or this institutional people power was all just one hell of a magic trick.

Image from here.

Stories written for Yahoo!:
LP appreciates Villar's show of humility
Soliman could be DSWD chief twice over
Give Mar quiet time with Korina

Baptism by fire

2010-05-10T23:49:00.001+08:00

It was baptism by fire when this third world country attempted to jump from fully manual elections to one that is fully automated. But whether or not we shall emerge from fire unscathed is a question the next few days will answer.

The Commission on Election’s overconfidence was put to shame the precinct count optical scan (PCOS) machines supplied in a rush by Smartmatic-TIM broke down by the hundreds, causing total failure of elections in some areas like Lanao del Sur.

It did not help that the machine glitches gained unwanted publicity when the PCOS machine in election frontrunner Noynoy Aquino’s precinct went haywire. Television stations flashed footages of the balding senator, soaked in sweat and enduring the heat of the noontime sun in an attempt to cast his vote.

While the delays in voting may be attributed to the fact that election inspectors did not abide by the contingency procedures and suspended voting when in fact they should have allowed voters to fill out their ballots and collected them afterwards, much of the blame turns to Comelec. After all, it was Comelec who insufficiently trained the teachers who served as election inspectors—to the extent of only giving crash courses to some.

It was baptism by fire for millions of first time voters when they participated in the exercise of democracy at a crucial point in this country’s history. But whether or not they shall take pride in how they exercised their right to suffrage is a question that will take six years to answer.

Some examined their conscience while other logically weighed the options. Still, sadly, some sold their souls in exchange for fleeting scraps of wealth—in effect forfeiting the opportunity of buying hope for this godforsaken country.

It was baptism by fire for me when I went out to the world on a fateful day, with pen in hand and with truth in mind. And whether or not I fulfilled the task I took upon my shoulders is a question only I can answer.

I take pride in a clean conscience, having remembered the tenets of the practice of journalism. But I am ashamed of a clean index finger, having forsaken the first vote I would have responsibly cast in the attempt to answer what is to me a greater social responsibility of seeking and reporting the truth.

Believing that what does not kill us makes us stronger, hope dictates that we also believe that we shall emerge from the fire that baptized us, forged anew.

Image from here.

Stories written for Yahoo!:
LP: Voter turn out demands extension of voting hours
'Everyone should be allowed to vote'
It ain't over until it's over - Aquino-Roxas camp

Everyday democracy

2010-05-09T23:49:00.000+08:00

To be given the right to vote is how many Filipinos define democracy.

For them, they live in a democratic country because once every three years they participate in the selection of this archipelago’s leaders; because once every three years they feel that they are part of this Filipino nation; and because once every three years they actually care. That is the problem.

After casting their votes, with indelible ink on one of their fingers, Filipinos begin living the next three years as if nothing can take away this country’s democracy. After voting, Filipinos stop caring.

Cliché as it may seem the quote from Spiderman rings true as Filipinos elect the next leaders of this country: “With great power comes great responsibility.”

Every Filipino is entitled the right to suffrage, the ability to take part in the sacred process of choosing this country’s fate. Such ability, however, entails duties to do this country a service by using that single vote wisely.

It is said that in a caricature by a foreign publication during the 1986 snap elections, strongman Ferdinand Marcos was raising his fist at a van full of arrested voters. A speech bubble was drawn above his head, “Ingrates! First they want to vote. Now they actually want their vote to be counted.”

Filipinos must realize that their participation in the electoral process is not limited to simply filling out a ballot and feeding it to a machine that will count it. They must guard their votes and make sure they are counted.

With Filipinos who vote for the sake of voting, the Philippines is a democratic country once every three years. But if Filipinos vote, stand steadfast in their vote and remind their leaders of their vote, the Philippines is and will always be a democratic country.

Let us be an everyday democracy. Vote wisely.

Image from here.

A world without mothers

2010-05-08T23:49:00.000+08:00

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“Unimaginable” may be used to describe a world without mothers.

To imagine a world without mothers is to imagine not being born. But one cannot imagine without being born. Therefore, it is impossible to imagine a world without mothers.

But we dare not use “unimaginable.” To say that a situation is unimaginable is simply to negate one’s ability to imagine a situation, while remaining silent about the possibility of its occurrence.

“Impossible” is closer to the truth.

While Mary’s virgin conception of Jesus gives us reason to believe in a (virtually) fatherless birth, one cannot conceive of situation where a child is born without mothers.

Still, we find “impossible” insufficient.

“Indescribable” is more appropriate.

An adjective, after all, modifies a noun or a subject and nouns and subjects are signifiers. To use signifiers is to acknowledge the existence or the possibility of the existence of that which is signified. And a world without mothers cannot possibly exist.

But “indescribable,” used to modify “a world without mothers,” is an adjective.

No, there are no words to describe a world without mother.

And if we were to be strict about it, that statement must more appropriately be, “There are no words to describe.”

Happy Mothers’ Day.

Green

2010-05-06T23:49:00.000+08:00

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“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,” the poet Robert Frost once wrote.

On May 10, the Filipino people shall stand on a fork in a barren road and a choice has to be made. Where either of the paths leads may not be ascertained and so we make leaps of faith.

Yellow indeed shall be the woods, and in fact in one of the paths, ribbons are tied to the trees. But those tired of aridity look for green.

Desperate times call for desperate measures, they say. But those measures, no matter how desperate, must hold promise of relief.

Filipinos scamper for survival, hoping to escape from the sinking ship we have for a country. Holding on to empty floaters bereft of air will do us no good. They only give false hopes of survival but in the end leave us to drown, hopeful.

If the benefit of the doubt may be afforded to those who bank on rhetoric and good names, we ask you now to afford the same kindness to those who run on founded promises and a good record.

If the benefit of the doubt may be afforded to those who sat safely—and therefore idly—by, we ask you now to afford the same faith to those who risked and made mistakes in an attempt to make a difference.

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood. And yes, we take the road less taken. Beautiful as it is, a yellow sky is intangible. Green pastures are what we need.

Counterflow

2010-05-05T23:49:00.002+08:00

On May 10, Filipinos must sail. Image from here.

One thing that Filipinos cannot learn is how to keep right.

The escalator at the MRT Ayala Station was full of people when alighted from the train this afternoon. Since the usually descending elevator found on the other side of the emergency staircase was dysfunctional, one of the two adjacent ascending escalators were reversed to take its place.

I intended to shove my way up since I was rushing to the office to file a story but to no avail, there was no room for rushing in the escalator. I wonder now if it preposterous to hope that people only lined the right side of the elevator and leave the left side vacant for those running for their lives—or their jobs.

On my way home tonight, while going down Quezon Avenue station, I almost bumped into a woman rushing up the steep staircase. Oblivious of the fact that she was on her left side of the stairs, she cursed, grunted, and only came short of (wrongly) calling me an idiot. I was tempted to do as Sheldon does in The Big Bang Theory and blow her up using my brains.

Shaking my head, I remembered how my anthropology professor once hypothesized that the traffic in the metro might be caused by the Filipino’s roots as a maritime culture.

While road signs clearly delineate between left and right and while rules prohibit swerving, the drivers in the Philippines feel that they chartering new seas and thus tend to take their boats where they want to.

I dare say that Filipinos not only tend to sail instead of drive, we also float instead of tread designated paths. While railings divide staircases to separate the upward and the downward flows, we stand at the foot of the stairs and freely choose which one to take. And we almost always, either consciously or unconsciously, choose not to conform.

Whereas exercising the freedom to choose paths in roads means chaos to me, in politics, such freedom must be celebrated and rightfully exercised.

On May 10, as voters in this archipelago flock their precincts to choose this country’s fate, may their maritime inclination allow them to see the promise unchartered seas hold. After all, choosing to go one’s own way is the essence of a democracy.

When voting, may Filipinos prefer the competent over the popular, the one who accomplished over the one who promises, the one who exceeded expectations over the one from whom much is expected.

Only in politics is it forgivable to counter the flow.

Tantrum threats

2010-05-04T18:18:00.002+08:00

Noynoy: Don't try me. There will be another EDSA. Image from here.

The two-word modifier “election frontrunner” precedes the name of Sen. Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III for a reason: the May 10 polls are practically his. But some educated Filipinos’ gradual repulsion for his aggressive campaign strategy is also justified: they don’t like stating the obvious.

In his political ad on television disguised as senatorial campaign ads, the namesake son of martyr Ninoy Aquino and People Power president Cory Aquino boastfully asks the public to vote for his senatorial slate, saying that he needs them.

Worse, he has publicly warned of another people power revolution should he lose in the May 10 polls, as if Filipinos are not entitled to change their minds at the last minute and vote for other candidates with more accomplishments on their resumes.

It is one thing to be confident about the Filipino public’s support; another to assume infallibility. It is one thing to encourage Filipinos to guard their votes; another to crazily rally Filipinos to the historic streets of EDSA because the election frontrunner lagged in the presidential race.

It is one thing to man up and say, “I’m going to win,” with conviction; another to threaten the public with tantrum fits should he lose.

If God were here on May 10, He would let us choose

2010-05-03T23:19:00.003+08:00

He simply meant "Go out and vote." He would not tell us who to vote for. Image from here.

Church pulpits become venues for subtle campaigns during election season in the Philippines. And while politics desecrates the sanctity of this country’s religions, religions infringe on this country’s democracy.

Days before the elections, candidates serious about making it to Malacañang frantically woo religious leaders to raise their hands victoriously, assuming that followers of such supposedly blessed individuals will vote for candidates their church leaders ask them too.

The sad fact is that some Filipinos actually do.

Last week, Pastor Apollo Quiboloy, who founded the religious group Kingdom of Jesus Christ announced that he is supporting the presidential bid of former Defense Chief Gilberto “Gibo” Teodoro. Meanwhile, the Liberal Party, whose vice presidential candidate Sen. Manuel “Mar” Roxas got the pastor’s approval, said they will try to get the religious leader to change his mind and support Sen. Benigno “Noynoy” Aquino III.

El Shaddai leader Mariano “Mike” Velarde, on the other hand, said they would announce their choice for president on the Saturday immediately preceding the polls on May 10. An influential religious leader with millions of followers nationwide, Velarde’s support for presidential candidates in the past could have been contributory to their rise to power.

But perhaps the most sought-after endorsement is that of Iglesia Ni Cristo’s. Although the population of Filipinos under this religion is small compared to the number of Catholics, its members are known to follow their leader’s advice when voting. An endorsement from INC executive minister Eduardo Manalo therefore translates to a certainty of millions of votes.

While it is admirable that religious leaders are concerned about this country’s future, dictating who Filipinos should vote for is beyond their religious or moral duty. The best they can do is guide their followers in choosing among the candidates but the choosing itself should be done by the voters.

By telling Filipinos how they are to exercise their freedom, religious leaders take away such freedom. Suffrage is a right that is purely personal. No entity, however holy, should take it away.

If the votes to be cast on May 10 are votes of religious leaders instead of individual voters, this country shall be ruled by a democracy bowing down to religion.

Should that happen, let us keep our fingers crossed that Filipinos will not regret following the purported “Will of God.” God forbid.

Nandito na ako—Rubi

2010-04-29T23:49:00.002+08:00

“Rubi!” Brett exclaimed while I was eating my late dinner last night. I looked up from my plate of tapa and fish stew and waited for him to open the television set. We laughed when, even before the image became clear, Angelica Panganiban’s seductive voice was heard, “Nandito na ako, Hector.”

While watching, I wondered how many Filipino men find time to watch the groundbreaking telenovela that opened the world of soap opera to the male species.

How many fathers forget their children’s names during primetime, how many pre-teenage boys sneak out of their beds past their bedtime and turn on and mute the TV in the living room and how many boyfriends wish that, as Rubi had point out, their girlfriends were as hot as her?

Not only does Rubi fulfill the fantasies of men, she also provides a humorous escape from this plagued world we live in. There is a gnawing need for more series that make us laugh hysterically or drool shamelessly.

Enough of those afternoon drama bus drivers tune into during humid afternoons where the likes of Jennelyn Mercado carry the world on her shoulders because her family is being held captive by a rapist mayor who lusts for her and the only way she could save them is to grant the criminal carnal knowledge of her.

Filipinos do not need exaggerated stories of misery and grief to feel good about themselves—to make them feel that they are lucky to have only one of the pathetic protagonists’ problems. What this country needs is someone like Rubi, a mischievous character ambiguously known as the protagonist to hate.

Loathing how she survives through her evil ways would make Filipinos strive to do things the right way. Seriously, Manny Villar should watch Rubi.

Waiting for mail

2010-04-28T23:49:00.004+08:00

I was expecting mail from my parents today. Having left the building in the morning, when the mailman was probably just on his way, I only got to ask the security guard on duty when I came back from my internship in the evening.

“It’s probably wrapped in plastic,” I told the uniformed guard in Filipino, remembering that it was to be hand-delivered by the courier service.

He stopped browsing through the newly delivered mail and shook his head, telling me that no plastic-wrapped mail was delivered today. He said that the ones wrapped in plastic are those delivered months or probably years ago.

“Hindi ko nga po alam kung buhay pa ang mga may-ari nito eh,” he joked. (I don’t even know if the recipients of these letters are still alive.)

While taking a second look at the pile of newer letters, he innocently made a remark that hit a nerve.

“Minsan talaga ‘yung hinahanap ang nawawala, tapos ‘yung sa mga patay na, ‘yun pa ang nakikita agad,” he said. (Sometimes it’s hard to find what you’re looking for while those that are meant for the dead easily surface.)

The new mail we were looking for was nowhere to be found and as if to mock our hopeless search, a pile of old mail stood by. They matched the descriptions the search required: wrapped in plastic. But even if we turned them upside down, it cannot—and it never will—belong to me.

Defeated, I went up the stairs and realized that the maybe the old mail had to be thrown away.

Yet there was no reason to despair. Maybe tomorrow, my mail will come.

Image from here.

P.S. Happy birthday, Shielo!

Between tossing coins and voting

2010-04-27T21:55:00.005+08:00

While I was out with my former roommates Dreo and Jonathan once, we decided on everything by tossing coins.

Right was heads and left was tails when we had to choose either to go left or right to look for a place to eat and when we stood in front of two adjacent fast food outlets at West Avenue. Unwilling to go home after the event and looking for a place to stay, Burger King was heads and Starbucks was tails. And when we argued about how we were to get there, take a cab was heads and walk was tails.

Two weeks before the presidential elections of 2010, six percent of Filipinos have not yet chosen their candidate. It is sometimes tempting to hope that choosing a president is as easy as tossing a coin.

But Filipinos are unlucky to have nine candidates vying to be the country’s top executive. If there were only two competitors in the presidential race, we could easily assign one to be heads, and the other tails. I can imagine how easy it is for Americans to vote: it would only boil down to a choice between Democratic or Republican, left or right, heads or tails.

The fact that we cannot rely on luck, however, when we choose our country’s leader is also comforting. Suffrage is the most sacred manifestation of democracy, where the choice of the majority becomes the country’s one choice. The crucial act of filling out a ballot entails contemplation. The Filipinos—not fate or destiny—shall decide.

My best friend said that to be statistically sure with the result of a toss coin, one has to throw 23 times. During election, however, Filipinos are only given a single chance. It is to be hoped that citizens of this godforsaken country will make choices they can be proud of.

Those who attempt at trivial philosophy say that toss coins indeed work. During the split second that the coin takes to lose its initial velocity and fall freely to the ground, the person who tossed it learns his decision. While the coin is acted upon by gravity, he wishes for a result.

Filipinos ought to make the right choice during this crucial point in our country’s history.

Image from here.

Please check Yahoo! Purple Thumb regularly. I write as an intern for Yahoo! Southeast Asia.
Today's story: “Namfrel: Number of undecided voters not alarming”

Traffic-induced insanity

2010-04-26T23:22:00.004+08:00

Sometimes, the fast way is also the pretty way.

The sidewalks of Makati are seas of white-collar workers on their way home during rush hour. The streets, meanwhile, seem like seas of despair.

While it is admirable that men and women wearing corporate attire endure the low pay and low promise of the Philippine economy, it is even more commendable that they endure the Philippine traffic.

At the Metro Rail Transit, I only had to stand near a door to get into a train car. As if hoping to pack the crowds inside so the train would accommodate more, passengers hoping to make it to their destinations at the soonest possible time pushed. After the anger for the rude pushing has subsided, I realized that there was reason to be thankful: at least I got into the train.

More importantly, looking at the red lights that colored the stagnancy of the highway below, I almost jumped for joy at the fact that I stood in a jam-packed MRT car, where the scent of sweat baked in the day’s heat worsened the exhaustion I felt.

Be wary. I dare say the metro’s traffic takes one’s sanity. And inhaling smoke the traffic makes does not help.

Image from here.

Here is today’s consolation for the punishing traffic. Seven hours done; 143 more to go.

Turn on the spotlight

2010-04-24T23:14:00.004+08:00

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While sitting on our recently cleaned toilet bowl earlier tonight, I realized that I preferred doing some things in the dark. After having turned our comfort room’s warm light, I turned it off again until I flushed and decided to take a shower.

I dare explain that the shadow of darkness allowed for an illusion of secrecy, hiding me from the panoptical vision I am paranoid about and providing the privacy brightly lit comfort rooms lack.

Seeing other people lurk in the dark, however, raises doubts.

Two nights ago, unable to sleep, I sat on my bed and looked out my window and found a group of teenagers in a dark corner of our street, far from the halo of a streetlamp. Although their faces were merely silhouettes, it was easy for me to judge them as doing something they were not proud of. Darkness was their disguise.

As the election fever advances to its peak in May 10, we must turn the spotlights on.

This fragile democracy lacks transparency in government. I would wager that it would be easier for Filipinos to imagine government as operating on transactions done in ways mafias would: in dark alleys, by men wearing shades even in pitch black evenings.

Let light shine on politicians lobbying to protect their business interests, on manicurists appointed in public offices and on all dark corners where malevolent creatures may lurk.

Only the innocent dare walk in broad daylight.

Brettski,

2010-04-23T07:49:00.001+08:00

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As the eldest of four siblings, I can remember holding my younger sisters soon after my mother gave birth to them, changing their diapers when they wet or soiled them during my watch and watching them grow into rowdy little girls.

While they were in cribs, I was sure we had a connection: we were playmates. I held out toys that made unusual noises, making their eyes widen with naïve wonder. As they learned how to play on their own, however, I lost them to weird-eyed dolls and plastic cups and saucers.

I often wondered how it would have been if I had a brother.

For one, it would have meant having someone to gang up with against bullying cousins and neighbors.

Today I say happy birthday to the closest thing I have to a brother.

To the best friend who listens to my complaints about the world, who backs up all my far-fetched dreams and evil schemes, who believes in me when I doubt myself and who is many other things at once; you come of age today as you turn 21. To quote my uncle, “welcome to the world of deception.”

Thank you for being the older brother to whom I could turn for advice and, at the same time, for being the younger brother who needs mine.

Do me a favor and keep being my best and worst critic. Keep my feet on the ground.

Here to stay, unfortunately,

Kim

Frogs in a pan

2010-04-20T22:07:00.001+08:00

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To illustrate how cold-blooded animals adjust to external temperatures, science teachers usually use the frog in a pan as an example. If a frog is placed in a pan of hot water that is slowly being heated, it would not jump even when the water boils. Meanwhile, a frog placed on boiling water would feel the sudden change of temperature and escape to save its life.

I cannot help but wonder how abrupt the temperature changes have been in our political parties, causing candidates to jump like frogs placed in boiling water.

Members of the administration party Lakas-Kampi-CMD have been transferring to the Nacionalista and Liberal Parties, abandoning the administration bet Gilbert Teodoro for the more popular Manny Villar and Noynoy Aquino.

My political science professor Crisline Torres must be proud that I still remember some of her definitions. I can still recite, for example that “government is an ensemble of political institutions mandated to make, enforce and adjudicate rules binding to everyone within a given territory.”

While watching today’s news, however, I had to look for my notes and check our class’ working definition of political parties. I found the small sheets of my loose-leaf notes on top of my pile of old readings. Apparently, we defined political parties as “disciplined organizations of politicians sharing the same political program.”

Having seen how politicians jump from party to party as the elections draw near, I had to laugh.

I also remembered my professor saying that political parties in the Philippines, instead of being united by common political platforms, are “shifting coalitions of elite powerful families” hoping to protect their own interests.

With turncoats lining up as choices for the elective positions of government, Filipinos should be worried about how easily they could abandon the country’s welfare for the sake of their selfish concerns.

Impunity in the face of impunity

2010-04-19T23:49:00.000+08:00

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That the administration of President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo has successfully tilled the soil of impunity was apparent when the warlord culture of Maguindanao bore fruits of carnage November last year.

Unresolved cases of human rights violations committed during the longest regime since the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos gave just reason for the demigods in Ampatuan country to think that they can take lives if it meant being able to stay in power.

When infamous people were arrested for the massacre of 57, we thought that the tree of violence which is deeply rooted in the Philippine soil of impunity was being pruned. After all, it was a bold move for Arroyo whose alliance with the Ampatuans ensured millions of votes in the prominent family’s turf.

The recent release of Governor Zaldy Ampatuan, however, as ordered by Acting Justice Secretary Alberto Agra, tells us that we should have known better.

As in the case of the military officials arrested for the assassination of Sen. Benigno Aquino, Jr. who were, later on in the pseudo investigation, let off the hook, the detention of the Ampatuans was an instrumental introduction that promised a beautiful song only to let the audience down by going out of tune.

Promptly served justice would have made an ideal conclusion to a crime impunity has allowed. Impunity in the face of impunity makes for a sequel.

Election LSS

2010-04-16T20:18:00.001+08:00

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A day spent at home alone usually affords one some peace and quiet.

If home, however, is anywhere near the busy roads of Quezon City, during election season, spending one whole day at home is being subjected to the psychological conditioning of any Dick, Joe and Harry vying for public elective office.

One wakes up in the morning to the sound of a campaign van making its early rounds, rousing neighborhoods with corny jingles. When you think of going back to bed another van would approach, waving off dreams of sleeping on lazy days.

Defeated, you rise from bed and wash your face. While you do, you find yourself humming the tunes the campaign vans played. All throughout the day, vans come and go as if to prove Doppler Effect. Soon you are drawn into singing with the popular songs preposterously modified to include the candidates’ names.

The realization that you are a victim of the election last song syndrome (LSS) comes when some 10 minutes pass when no campaigns vans disturb the normal neighborhood noise and instead of being thankful, you find the silence unnerving.

Earlier today, Brett sat near a window and waited for one of the vans of Quezon City Councilor Edzel Lagman, who is running for re-election. “Hindi buo ang araw ko kung hindi marinig yun,” he said. (My day wouldn’t be complete without hearing it). When he heard the YMCA-turned-Lagman jingle from afar, he got frustrated that it the van didn’t pass by our street.

That’s one case of election LSS. Mine is another.

Self-talk

2010-04-15T23:49:00.000+08:00

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My best friend suggested that I leave the house when I find myself alone. “For your sanity’s sake,” he added. He feared that he would one day open our locked door and find me talking to the wall.

While organizing the clothes I got from the laundry yesterday, I laughed at how I actually talk to myself when there is no one else to talk to. Realizing that one of the socks has lost its matching pair and looking through my dirty clothes, I was saying, “Nawara na naman ni Ate an saro na medyas mo. Inubos na niya an medyas mo.” (“The laundrywoman lost one of your socks again. She lost all of your socks.”) And when I found a lonely dirty sock that matched the lonely clean one, I reprimanded myself. “Tanga.” (“Stupid.”)

The fact that I laughed at how I talked to myself only made me doubt my sanity even more.

But while others might find self-talk weird, I consider it as a coping mechanism. Instead of dwelling in deranging silence, I would rather engage myself in an extremely private conversation: one that involves me and myself.

When I was still an engineering student, I got through having to solve equations by talking to myself. “Use your brain,” I say when the matter between my ears seems to be defective. “You should have thought of that earlier,” I utter when I finally arrive at a simplistic solution after having tried more complicated ones.

When I read something I have written out loud and find something wrong I say, “Oops, bagan may mali.” (“Oops, I think there’s something wrong.”)

And of course, there is that occasional debate while in the shower.

I also have a theory that the main language one speaks is the one he uses during self-talk. In my case, I often use Bicol and sparingly talk to myself in English.

As this is being written, I am alone in a room overlooking a busy streetlamp-lit street, churning out words that probably nobody would read. Essentially, this is self-talk.

But as the song goes, “I’m not crazy; I’m just a little unwell.”

I would more appropriately say I’m not crazy; I’m just a little lonely.

Arrests and unrest

2010-04-14T19:24:00.001+08:00

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For Filipinos who were Filipino enough to have learned this country’s narrative, the idea that history may repeat itself is scary.

This history of the Philippines is a concatenation of subjugation and apparent liberation. Ultimately, ours is a history of a futile struggle for freedom.

When Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, calling herself president of this purportedly democratic nation, declared martial law to quell the alleged rebellion of the Ampatuan clan in Maguindanao, those who lived during the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos shivered in fright.

Even the younger generation, who only heard of the atrocity of those times in stories from their elders, wanted to hide under their blankets out of fright. In the same manner that one does not have to see the monster under the bed to fear it, younger Filipinos do not have to experience martial law firsthand to detest it.

The coming of the 2010 elections is supposed to bring hope to a nation hungry for it. But it only worsens this country’s despair by being reminiscent of the 1986 snap elections: it threatens to be a staged exercise of democracy to pacify public displeasure.

It is even more frightening when one underlines the disturbing similarities between the last days of Arroyo’s regime and martial law under Marcos: both are characterized by violence and abductions.

When Marcos declared martial law, his rationale was the alleged frustrated assassination of his defense minister, now (ironically) Senate President Juan Ponce Enrile. Arroyo, in the other hand, declared martial law in Maguindanao due to an alleged rebellion.

The series of bombings in Basilan yesterday, which the military attribute to the rebel group Abu Sayyaf, is not only alarming because of its hostility but also because it might easily be used as a basis for yet another martial law.

Meanwhile, the unjustified arrest and continuous detention of 43 health workers in Morong who were accused of corresponding with members of the New People’s Army, the military arm of the Communist Party of the Philippines, reminds one of the abductions and disappearances right after Marcos suspended habeas corpus.

It is worth noting that Marcos declared martial law before the abductions. Arroyo, on the other hands, pretends to rule constitutionally while violating numerous individuals’ constitutional rights to personal liberty.

Arrests and unrest per se are alarming enough. Arrests and unrest, placed in the context of someone as hungry for power as Arroyo, is enough reason for a heart attack.

Voyeurs in the neighborhood

2010-04-13T18:42:00.003+08:00

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Unable to sleep last night, I decided to get up from bed and watch some episodes of a U.S. television drama series from my laptop. The files have earlier been copied from Ate Bow, Brett’s sister, who dropped by (apparently to inspect our new quarters) before they left for Tarlac for an aunt’s wake.

Since I was alone, hoping to minimize our electrical consumption, I decided to turn off all the lights while watching and depended entirely on the dim light from a nearby streetlamp. I also opened all our windows that have not been curtained to this moment, hoping that it would welcome the evening breeze.

I sat on our dining table adjacent the open glass door of our tiny balcony and began my Brothers and Sisters marathon, wearing only my boxer shorts.

I cannot quite remember what weird mannerism I indulged in when I was comfortable in the privacy of our place. I might have picked my belly button or my nose or even scratched areas that needed scratching. I was lost in the complicated lives of the Walker family and I did not bother with etiquette, thinking that I was alone.

Soon, however, I heard some shrieking from outside our window. Pretending not to be overly interested, I slowly turned to look at what was going on and found a small group of girls in micro miniskirts and men who, based on their shrieking, wanted to wear miniskirts too. Their heads were turned to our window, as if there was a projection of some Hollywood film thereon. When they noticed that I was looking at them, they started to nudge each other and pretended to suddenly lose interest.

Ignoring the incident and hoping to finish the episode that was playing, I simply minded my own business—something the voyeurs three floors down could not do. Whenever I saw some movement from the corner of my eyes, I looked without moving my head and saw one or two members of the group looking again.

I admit that there was some carelessness on my part. It escaped me that with bare windows and with all the lights turned off except the light from my laptop which shone on me, whatever I did was open to the public eye.

With voyeurs in the neighborhood, we badly need curtains.

Meanwhile, I feel violated.

The need for change

2010-04-12T22:16:00.012+08:00

Since we usually turn our pockets inside out for change, we decided to put a coin bowl near our door.

That there is a pressing need for change is something we almost always hear during election season. Unable to see the promise of change in the roster of candidates, however, it becomes empty rhetoric.

The gravity of the matter rather dawned on me earlier today while paying for the groceries I bought at Eunilaine along Kalayaan Avenue earlier today.

Falling in line at what was supposedly an express lane (the sign hanging overhead said: “10 items and below”), I decided not to put down my grocery basket and started responding to messages I received and ignored earlier. While going about the task which I seem to find grueling lately, my arms reminded me of the weight I was carrying: two boxes of low-fat milk, three cans of tuna, two one-liter bottles of my sugar rush C2 apple and some toiletries.

Yesterday’s cleanup, which took what strength my arms usually have, added to the fact that the cashier was always elsewhere looking for loose change she needed to give her customers, made the simple task of falling in line with a grocery basket in hand tantamount to torture.

Three customers later, it was finally my turn to pay. After giving her my cash and checking my phone, the cashier again disappeared. I saw her at a neighboring counter, holding out a 100-peso bill and waving it at her colleague’s face, probably asking her to break it. She came back with two 50-peso bills, one of which was given to me as change. When she was about to smile and say thank you, I showed her a sarcastic grin and slowly but surely made my point.

“Miss, may naisip ako. Hindi kaya pwedeng sa susunod na magpabarya ka, maramihan na. Kanina dalawang beses ka nang nagpabarya tapos nagyon nagpapabarya ka na naman. Pupusta ako, ‘pag nagbayad siya, magpapabarya ka na naman,” I said while smiling at the blushing cashier and the old lady next to me in the line. (Miss, I have an idea. Can’t you ask for loose change in bulk next time? You’ve asked for change twice already, and now you asked someone to break my money again. I’d wager you’d ask for coins again when she pays.)

On my way home, I realized that it was not my first encounter with the apparent shortage of coins and small bills today. When Brett and I paid for our community tax certificate at City Hall, we were almost cut off from the line since I gave the snobbish attendant a 100-peso bill for the P59.40 tax and there were only ten stubs of cedula available. She required P10 from me and even when Brett and I turned our pockets inside out, we could only pool P9. I had to buy a slice of banana bread from a nearby peddler in order to pay for the document which we needed for the new place’s contract of lease. Even earlier, we were almost unable to pay for our tricycle ride.

Where did all the coins and the P20 and P50 bills go?

Indeed, there is a pressing need for change in this godforsaken country. Realizing how hopeless we are on that, however, maybe we should simply strive for more change in our currency.

Packed, ready to go

2010-04-10T23:49:00.006+08:00

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Early tomorrow morning, when I sing my favorite shower song, one of the lines shall hold true. “All my bags are packed, I’m ready to go.”

After closing a deal with the owners of the residential unit we found yesterday, Brett and I have finished packing for our plight from Ipil tonight. Brett stayed in this decrepit dormitory for two consecutive years. Ipil has also been my home away from home for two years—last school year and my junior year.

Having maximized our stay in a dormitory of the University of the Philippines, we shall be leaving Ipil Residence Hall tomorrow.

Most students from provinces would agree that transferring residences marks transitions in one’s college life. In our case, leaving Kalayaan Residence Hall where we stayed during our freshman year meant having to mature from the carefree and naïve students we were. When we were denied accommodation in campus dormitories, we were forced to grow even more mature. In boarding houses or apartments, we cooked, washed clothes and kept our toilet bowls shiny.

Every move entails packing the belonging we have accumulated throughout the duration of our stay in the corners of the world we owned for a short period of time. Although some consider packing an ordeal, I take it as an opportunity to prepare myself emotionally for leaving the space I have learned to love and for going about life someplace new.

Since the goal is to make the transfer as easy as possible, for me packing meant having to choose the things I take with me. Tonight, I laid stuff on my bed and tried to sort them according to future utility. The things I might need went into boxes and bags; those I thought I no longer needed stayed on the bed.

Looking at the boxes and bags I have packed for tomorrow’s exodus, I smiled and made a mental note that once an object is judged useless, it must immediately be thrown away. The belongings that lay on my bed while I packed eventually found their way to the boxes and bags anyway. If they stayed within sight, either the mind would look for a practical reason to keep it or the heart would associate sentimental value to it.

The same rule goes for people, memories and feelings, I guess. Emotional baggage is heavier than any luggage this life would require us to carry.

After clearing the room of all I owned, I looked at the bags and boxes where I stuffed everything. A weird sadness comes with the realization that our lives should be reduced to a pile of petty treasures or precious trash.

But in the same manner that we only remember those that are worth remembering as we move on in this life, I guess we must only carry what we can to our new place under the sun.

We have packed all that we can carry. Yes, we are ready to go.

The unheeded majority*

2010-03-25T01:52:00.001+08:00

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One does not have to be a student in the University of the Philippines to see the irony in the fact that the UP Board of Regents (BOR), the highest policy-making body in the university known for upholding democracy and academic freedom, deems the majority voiceless.

Only one representative carries the sentiment of the 50,000 students currently enrolled in the university. To add insult to injury, in the two remaining meetings before the end of the academic year, that representative will no longer be present.

In its Jan. 29 meeting, the BOR ended the term of Student Regent Charisse Bañez after Malacañang-appointed Regent Abraham Sarmiento questioned her status as a student. Bañez is not officially enrolled for the semester and her application for residency is still pending at UP Los Baños.

Bañez could have been replaced by Victor Villanueva, who ranked second during the student regent selection, but the latter is not currently enrolled and is therefore not qualified to serve as student regent. With the ouster of our elected representative, we effectively lost hold of an access to power in the university.

Not having a student regent means not being able to participate in the deliberation of agenda critical to student welfare. The powers and duties of the BOR, as enumerated in the UP Charter, include the power to approve rules on student discipline, to grant tenure to qualified members of the faculty and to fix the tuition and other school fees. In recent years, the student regent championed the cause of the student population by ensuring that student welfare is taken into account in the discharge of such powers.

When the BOR considered the approval of the code of student conduct, a set of repressive rules in the guise of a Magna Carta for Students, the student regent expressed the contempt felt by the student body and effectively barred the enactment of such. The student regent also called for a just treatment of the case of sociology Prof. Sarah Raymundo who was denied tenure despite her qualifications.

Even earlier, at the height of the negotiations for tuition and other fees increase (TOFI), the student regent carried the student demand for higher state subsidy—a demand ringing forth today despite the fact that the country’s premiere state university now collects fees comparable to private universities.

With the student regent out of the picture, we lost a member of the BOR who intuitively upholds the best interests of the university in terms of its constituents. That is, in terms of the population composed predominantly of students and faculty. Except for other organic regents like the faculty, staff and alumni regents, I cannot find reason for other members of the board to naturally think about the welfare of the academic population especially in the case of the so-called “Malacañang bloc,” the three regents appointed by Malacañang.

On the same day that Bañez was removed as student regent, the Board of Regents nullified the Dec. 18 appointment of Dr. Jose Gonzales as director of the Philippine General Hospital in Taft Avenue under the premise that the decisive vote cast by Bañez in favor of Gonzales was void.

The Board of Regents, voting anew on the appointment, declared Dr. Enrique Domingo, previously PGH deputy director for administration as the new director. Pro-Gonzales groups Laban UP-PGH and All UP Workers Union cried foul, saying that the replacement was in violation of the legal provision on security of tenure.

It is also preposterous that while Bañez was kicked out of the BOR due to technicalities, the members of the Malacañang bloc, Regents Francis Chua, Abraham Sarmiento and Nelia Gonzales, whose terms have allegedly expired for almost a year, still remain in office. Furthermore, when Faculty Regent Judy Taguiwalo questioned their prolonged stay in the BOR and UP Pres. Emerlinda Roman moved that the three Malacañang appointees be given regular appointments instead of temporary designations, the three regents were allowed to vote whereas Bañez’s vote regarding her status in the Dec. 18 BOR meet was considered void.

Most importantly, Bañez was removed from office due to her pending request for residency in UP Los Baños where Chancellor Luis Velasco is lobbying for a full-scale large lecture class scheme. Incidentally, the deliberation on the implementation of the said policy has been moved to Mar. 25.

“Nakapagtataka talaga kung bakit iniipit ng UPLB administration ang application ko when other students, kahit na nauna pa ako magfile sa kanila, were easily granted residency,” the Philippine Collegian quoted Bañez as saying.

In our microcosm of the legislature, the student regent leads the opposition. And as in dirty Philippine politics, the administration exhausts all means to impair the adversary. With an ignored majority, indeed, UP is the microcosm of Philippine society.

*published as Kim Arveen Patria's column in the March 25 issue of Tinig ng Plaridel, the official student publication of the College of Mass Communication, University of the Philippines, Diliman

The monotony of days

2010-03-20T23:45:00.004+08:00

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Tomorrow, as the sun threads the earth’s equator, it shall share the sky with the moon as its equal—and so day shall last as long as the night.

Of all people, you know how I bask in the silence and darkness of the night when, somehow, I feel that the world is mine and mine alone. You also know how I love daylight and how I wallow in self-imposed misery each time I fail to see the sun.

Perhaps I should take comfort in tomorrow’s vernal equinox. But I do not know how to feel. My days and nights are the same: both are spent without you.

The memory of your voice warms my nights. In silence, I try to remember calling you whenever I wanted to, knowing that you would smile upon hearing my voice. You negated my desperate solitude; you made me feel loved.

But at times, memory is not enough. I want to hear your voice. But I am hindered by fear that you would cringe at the sound of mine.

Under the unnerving heat of day, your laughter offered a breath of fresh air. I have not heard that ring of your bliss for quite some time now.

Love, remind me of how days are supposedly counted. Without you—without even the sound of your voice—the days and the nights pass uneventfully.

Color scheme

2010-03-19T23:49:00.004+08:00

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I personally cannot help but shake my head each time the jeepney passes by the Development Bank of the Philippines building in Philcoa or every time I pass by a DBP automatic telling machine.

The bank recently changed its color scheme from the trademark green to blue and red. As a consequence, all ATMs had to be wrapped in blue and red stickers. I reckon that soon, they would also have to change the machines’ screensaver colors that are, to this moment, cheap green.

Aside from dressing up their old ATMs, they also had to refurbish the signage on their branches. The DBP building in Philcoa, although worn out by the hustle and bustle of the dirty and busy street, used to stand out from its polluted background as a prominent structure in green and white. Aside from sporting green glass panels, a green canopy is at its façade. Now that the signage is in blue and red, the building just looks ridiculous.

The lack of aesthetic consideration aside, I think asking about the rationale behind the design decision is justified. DBP being government controlled, impractical decisions made by the bank, especially those that lead to spending that may be otherwise avoided, must be scrutinized.

It would not be any different from the Filipino observation that every time the elections draw near, government-funded constructions of infrastructure sprout out of corners in the archipelago.

We wonder, for example, how many underpasses would have to be constructed before the Quezon Memorial Circle may be called “accessible” or what special deteriorating agent Philippine air and water has such that every now and then, roads must be repaired. The case if worse for other roads; they are demolished just so they could be repaired.

With the May 2010 elections fast approaching and knowing that dirty politics attracts shady characters, Filipinos must be keen to catch even the most seemingly trivial events—especially if the event involves a color scheme as eye-irritating as red, blue and green.

My vintage DBP ATM card that I have come to associate with my allowance.

Absurdities and stupidities

2010-03-18T23:37:00.001+08:00

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The Supreme Court decided today that President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo may appoint the next Supreme Court chief justice despite protests against a midnight appointment. We are shocked by this incredible absurdity.

In the decision penned by Associate Justice Lucas Bersamin, the Supreme Court ruled that the judiciary was exempted from the ban on midnight appointments since the constitutional prohibition was contained under Article VII on the executive department and not under Article VIII the judicial department. The justices interpreted this as an indication that the prohibition was intended solely for appointments made in the executive branch of government. (see Inquirer story)

We may not be constitutional experts but we know that the constitution must not be construed such that it leads to an absurdity. Also, when there is conflict between the letter of the law and the spirit of the law, the spirit of the law must prevail.

“It's amusing because the Supreme Court added an exemption when there is none. There was no ambiguity in the Constitution, the ambiguity is in the mind of the justices,” former elections chair Christian Monsod, a member of the 1986 Constitutional Commission, said. (see Inquirer story)

Also, the constitutional intention is clearly to maintain credibility of all appointive positions, of which the chief justice post is probably the most important. Even if there was no explicit prohibition against appointments in the judiciary, the spirit of the law must be taken into account. Moreover, such spirit must not be blackened by misinterpretation.

The Supreme Court decision allowing Arroyo to make the midnight SC chief appointment jeopardizes check and balance between two branches of government. A chief justice appointed by an outgoing president who is running for a congressional seat and who clearly intends to sit as speaker of the House of Representatives, is susceptible to bowing to the one gave out the appointment—in our case, to Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.

Worse, such absurd decision coming from the high court makes Filipinos feel downright stupid. We have a president who craftily goes around the law and we have Supreme Court justices who uncannily let her.

Soon, Pacquiao will be singing

2010-03-17T23:49:00.006+08:00

There are two things common in most of Manny Pacquaio’s recent fights. One is that he always wins. The other is that whoever sings the national anthem gets criticized.

When Arnel Pineda sung Lupang Hinirang in Pacquiao’s Mar. 14 boxing match with Joshua Clottey, the National Historical Institute (NHI) rapped international rock band Journey’s lead singer for singing it differently.

Section 37 of the Flag and Heraldic Code of the Philippines (Republic Act No. 8491) requires that the national anthem, whether played or sung, be in accordance with the musical arrangement and composition by Julian Felipe.

Aside from Pineda, Sarah Geronimo, Geneva Cruz and Martin Nievera have also been criticized for violating the said law. Christian Bautista, meanwhile, was also reprimanded for the inaccuracy of his lyrics when he sung Lupang Hinarang.

Pineda apologized yesterday for “taking liberties” as an artist in singing the national anthem. He also admitted singing off-key since he was not provided with an ear monitor. “Lupang Hinirang is a very emotional song. I really felt that I did what was appropriate at the moment,” The Philippine Daily Inquirer quoted Pineda as saying. (see Inquirer story.)

The reprimand from the NHI sparked public debates, most of which took place over the Internet. Over Twitter, someone quoted from the Philippine Constitution and somehow suggested that the Flag and Heraldic Code is unconstitutional, as it infringes on freedom of expression. (Section 4 Article 3 of the 1987 Constitution: “No law shall be passed abridging the freedom of speech, of expression or of the press, or the right of the people peaceably to assemble and petition the government for redress of grievances.”)

Some simply said that we should simply be proud of Pacquaio’s victory instead of being critical about Pineda’s rendition of the national anthem.

The problem is that we are in no-win situation for two reasons: one, the singers never learn and two, NHI rebukes for the sake of rebuking.

Indeed, the Flag and Heraldic Code of the Philippines limits the Filipinos’ freedom of expression but at the same time, it safeguards the Philippine flag, anthem, motto, coat-of-arms and other heraldic devices from inappropriate use. Are we willing to take away such safeguards and allow practically anyone to desecrate our country’s heraldry?

Pineda said that he was driven by emotion. Although it is laudable that he offered an apology, we must nonetheless criticize his justification that he, as an artist thought that it was fine to “take liberties.” Saying he was carried away by strong feeling is one thing; claiming to be at liberty to sing the national anthem differently is another. The fact that the proper singing of the Philippine national anthem is prescribed by law implies coerciveness: knowledge or consent of the law is immaterial. Pineda also said that he took liberties as an artist. Again, laws are universal: it applies to everyone.

If we have problems with the Flag and Heraldic Code, of course we could question its constitutionality. A precedent would be a United States case wherein the Supreme Court ruled that flag-burning during protests was not a crime, as it falls under freedom of expression.

Still, we ask: Must NHI be so stringent?

If those in the NHI are so dissatisfied with how our singers sing Lupang Hinirang, why don’t they commission the formation of a group of NHI-accredited singers? If not, they could always educate artists who are asked to sing during international competitions on the proper rendition of the national anthem. Right now, the institute is acting like an unreasonable grump.

And unless those in NHI change their attitude, no one would sing in Pacquiao’s future fights. In the end, they have to decide from two possible scenarios: an emotional rendition bordering on blunder or Manny Pacquiao singing the Philippine national anthem. May they see the light and choose the former.

Road kill

2010-03-16T23:49:00.014+08:00

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While walking along Matahimik St. in Teachers’ Village one night with Brett and Tina, I almost stepped on a dead white kitten on the road. I did not have to look closely to know that it was another road kill.

I remembered travelling on a rented van from the Legazpi airport to Sorsogon once. I was nodding due to lethargy when I felt the vehicle bump into and actually hurdle over something. The driver said we ran over a dog.

Last night, a friend posted a photograph of a dead black cat on Facebook. The poor animal’s eyes burst out of its sockets such that if you failed to read the caption, you would dismiss it as another picture edited to look freaky. Apparently, the cat was found lying by the road, another hit and run.

Dead animals are easy to ignore. It would actually be more convenient to ignore them. Imagine, however, seeing human victims of road kill.

In 2002, the Land Transportaion Office reported a total of 4,163,939 registered vehicles in the country. Meanwhile, in 1999, the Traffic Management Group recorded a total of 14,625 road accidents. Assuming that the number of vehicles increased and that the number of accidents increases directly with the number of vehicles, imagine how huge the number would be this year.

In fact, reports said that road accidents are more deadly than the HIV or the H1N1 virus killing six people per second worldwide. The World Health Organization said 260,000 children die every year.

Reckless driving, whether it takes animals or humans as victims, is utter disregard for life. Therefore no sooner must drivers run over animals than they would humans.

I suppose there is wisdom in the advice one of my high school teachers give each time I travel to Manila: “Take care. Don’t get hit by a car.”

Photo by Ariel Luther Presbitero

False alarms

2010-03-15T23:49:00.007+08:00

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When Orson Welles dramatized H. G. Wells’ novel War of the Worlds in Oct. 30, 1938, people thought that an alien invasion was actually taking place in New Jersey and New York.

According to the New York Times article the day after the broadcast, the narration, made to sound like actual news broadcast, sent thousands of listeners who regularly tune in to the drama series Mercury Theatre on the Air into mass hysteria. People ran out of their houses with wet blankets to be safe from what they feared to be gas raids, police stations received thousands of calls regarding evacuation and some adults actually began moving their children to high land for safety.

Although disclaimers at the beginning of the program announced that it was a simulation and not an actual news program, listeners, who are used to interruptions due to updates in the then recent war in Europe, panicked.

Critics have used the War of the Worlds broadcast, which is considered the most famous in radio history, as an example of how media can unintentionally cause panic and alarm.

A similar panic was caused last Saturday night when a television station in one of Russia’s neighboring countries Georgia aired a pseudo documentary of a war in the area.

A New York Times report said the program began with an apparently nervous reporter saying that Russian invaders were headed for the capital before footages of fighter tanks and jets were shown on screen.

Adding drama was the crashing of the telecommunication lines due to panic calls, reminiscent of how the power lines shut down during the radio broadcast of War of the Worlds. Apparently, the citizens of the small state are still in trauma after Georgia’s short war with Russia in August 2008.

In the Philippines, we know of one production that would frighten the Filipinos as much:

On the eve of the May 2010 elections, a grinning Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo is sitting on her chair, which would probably be, by the way, elevated so it would not be an awkward shot. If the chair is not elevated, the presidential seal behind Arroyo would be lowered. In the same tone she used when she hypocritically apologized to the country for her “lapse in judgment”, she utters one sentence to make Filipinos run for their lives: “I hereby declare the State under martial law.”

The sad thing is that the probability that such a declaration will be made is greater than that of an alien invasion—even than that of a war. Despite War of the Worlds and the recent panic in Georgia, it is to be hoped that Filipinos will believe and panic. Moreover, it is to be hoped that in panic, Filipinos would explode in rage rather than flee.

Mayweather is our hope

2010-03-14T19:40:00.003+08:00

The Filipinos who earlier today held their breaths for Manny Pacquaio’s match with Ghanaian Joshua Clottey probably yawned during the actual fight.

So predictable was Pacman’s victory that perhaps Facebook and Twitter users all over the Philippines already typed their status updates and tweets as soon even before the end of round 12. The judges’ unanimous decision was just the go signal for them to push “Enter.”

Also predictable was how the boxing match would be politically colored. In Pacquaio’s turf in Mindanao where a power shortage has been declared, a Pacquiao match was all it took for the residents to get uninterrupted supply of electricity. In the champion’s hometown General Santos City, politicians shelled out P500,000 for a live viewing of the fight. Pacquiao-endorsed presidential bet Manny Villar, on the other hand, paid for the pay-per-view rights used in 12 venues in Compostela Valley. (see Inquirer story)

Included in the news stories that broke right after the Pacquiao match was a statement from presidential aspirant Richard Gordon who said that Pacquiao’s victory would not have much effect on the candidacy of the Villar, the latter’s namesake. (see Inquirer story)

But the biggest splatter of political hue stood in the boxing ring and delivered punches. As soon as Pacquaio, the first boxer in history to hold seven titles at one time, said that he would go home, take a week’s rest and then campaign for his second congressional attempt. He said he wanted to “help his country.”

Today’s fight, perhaps one of the more poorly advertised Pacquaio matches, is not simply boring—it is detrimental to a chunk of the Filipino population. By allowing Pacquiao to fight a boxer with no reputation to lose and no career to defend to the death, we encouraged Pacquiao’s mentality that his skill in the boxing ring would be of use in the halls of congress.

We say bring on Floyd Mayweather. He has chances, however slim, of beating Pacquiao. If not, at least he could beat sense into him.

Pacquiao said that he is running because he wants to help the Filipino people. Although we are inspired by his good motives, we say staying in the boxing ring and out of politics is the better service the greatest pound-per-pound boxer can offer.

Mayweather is the hope of the Filipino people on two counts: he could hurt our champion’s growing ego and give the Filipinos, and the whole world for that matter, a fight worth watching.

Of plastic balloons

2010-03-13T23:49:00.013+08:00

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The shared experiences of our generation include playing with toys sold in the street which we bought with our meager grade school allowance.

As grade school pupils, most of us looked forward to class dismissals in the afternoon when we could drop by the cart that sold cheap toys near the campus gate. Aside from small rubber figurines, collectible cards we referred to as “text”, and round cardboard chips we called “pog” we fell in line for small foil tubes of plastic paste: plastic balloon.

To inflate a plastic balloon, one places ample amount of paste on one end of the plastic tube provided with the package. Others allow the synthetic matter to be exposed to the air while the less patient ones roll the paste at the end using their lips—and yes, the rubbery taste add to the experience.

When the paste is deemed ready, one blows into the tube—powerfully at first until the lump of paste pops into a small balloon, and eventually gently so that the thin plastic layer would expand slowly.

The process sounds easy, but the challenge lies in the fact that holes usually build up as the thin balloon expands. To be able to successfully enlarge a balloon, one has to be attentive so as to close up small holes as they appear and before they widen.

As soon as one is satisfied with the size, the plastic balloon may be detached from the blowing stick. Should holes develop, one can literally seal the holes with a kiss. Still, a plastic balloon detached from the blowing stick may be enlarged by plucking holes into the balloon using ones’ tongue and then sealing it again with a kiss.

Having been dragged by my classmates Avi and Dang to I Heart FroYo (Frozen Yogurt) at UP Village today when we were supposed to edit a video for a broadcast journalism class, I reminisced my forgotten childhood with the newly opened yogurt place’s giveaway plastic balloons. I enjoyed my distorted view of the world through transparent plastic balloons and the small rainbows that gleam at the surface.

However, I seem to have forgotten the need to check for holes in my plastic balloon and so it took a long time for me to make one with a notable size. I also forgot how to handle an inflated plastic balloon properly; some of the balloons I made popped because of undue care.

I realized how inflating a plastic balloon may be likened to building a relationship.

Plastic balloons pop when too much air is blown in or when the plastic expands too rapidly. In the same manner, people get tired when too much of anything is given or taken or when things are rushed.

Since plastic balloons pop when handled forcefully, they require a certain amount of care. To handle a plastic balloon like a bubble would be a mistake tantamount to paranoia but one must not mistake a plastic balloon for one made of rubber. Like plastic balloons, people do not like being taken for granted but also need space to enjoy solitude every now and then. It also helps to trust that people, unlike bubbles, seldom vanish into thin air.

Also, in the same manner that there is hope even when plastic balloons begin to deflate, broken relationships may still be saved. For the more romantic ones, the solution for plastic balloons with holes and broken relationships are the same: a kiss.

P.S. No rush. I want a plastic balloon that will last.

Big Better Burgers

2010-03-12T23:49:00.025+08:00

The hamburger fans that we are found something new to crave for at least once a week. And no, it does not help that we discovered it right before Lent.

“Sunod ka sa SM para hindi ako mag-isang magkasala,” a message from Brett read. And I immediately knew that he was thinking about breaking today’s abstinence just to grab a bite from BBB: Big Better Burgers. After a meeting, the good friend that I am caught up with Brett and Tina at SM North EDSA to commit the same sin as theirs.

While devouring my Double Dare Burger in utter disregard of the catholic prohibition on meat during Fridays, I promised to myself that from now on burgers from McDonald’s, Jollibee and even Burger King (yes, you read correctly) are only burgers that I used to love. And that although I might indulge in them every now and then, I would still be thinking of BBB.

What we like about the BBB burger:

The price. Of course, it’s more expensive than Jollibee or McDonald’s and somehow at par with Burger King. But you’ll be surprised at the relatively low bill. As you take out your wallet and rub your satisfied belly, you know you’ve had more than what you’re paying for.

The service. Well, at least we’re sure the SM North people are friendly. I’m convincing them into giving us loyalty cards if we promise to frequent the place.

The buns. Unlike burgers from the aforementioned fast food chains, the BBB burger uses buns that approximate the Filipino pan de sal, thus catering to our hungry nationalistic hungry spirit.

The sauce. BBB burgers do not explode in flavors. Instead, the savor of the sauces compliment the smoked taste of the burger patties. In case you order the burgers with cheese, they also use cheese that only adds taste and texture without turning the burger into a cheese sandwich that happened to have some meat.

The patty. To use a food magazine cliché, the patty is grilled to perfection. I am tempted to storm into their kitchen to discover their secret. Also, after a BBB meal, you want to delay brushing your teeth. You want to enjoy the aftertaste of smoked beef each time you burp.

The fact that they deliver on their promise. Remember that they promise Big Better Burgers, not bigger burgers or the best burgers; just big and better. And they give you that.

Big Better Burgers is located at the Ground Floor, SM North EDSA Annex. They also have branches at SM Cubao and Shoppes at Victoria in Timog.

P.S. When you eat at BBB, be sure to bring good company.

The BBB One-third-pounder

An excess of plumbers

2010-03-11T23:49:00.006+08:00

Tubero
Tagalog noun. Plumber. Somebody who installs and repairs water, drainage or heating pipes and fixtures in a building.

Minor roads in Metro Manila are studded with small posters advertising plumbing services. Usually painted on white paper or wood using blue or red paint, these posters contain nothing but the word “tubero”, the plumber’s first name and a contact number.

We offer theories for the prevalence of “tubero ads”:

Filipino husbands are predominantly lame. If only they knew how to fix small household problems like clogged drainage pipes, there would be no need for plumbers. Personally, I cannot recall an instance when we had to call for a plumber, except maybe when our house was originally constructed. Thanks to fathers who know their way through broken fixtures.
Filipino husbands are lame. If only they knew how to make their wives happy, there would be no need for plumbers. Rumor has it that some plumbers have reason for posting their first names: they sell more than just their expertise in plumbing and for them to be able to sell what they sell some hint of what the customers should expect is required. When a college friend celebrated her last birthday in UP, her housemates joked that they would be calling a plumber for her on her birthday.
Some Filipino husbands are lame. In fact, some need (or should I say want?) plumbers’ services too, sometimes.

Yesterday, while we were looking for an apartment to rent for the coming school year, I pointed to a tubero sign which made Brett speculate if I moonlighted as a plumber—and yes, he meant it maliciously. The sign read “TUBERO ARVIN 091X-XXX-XXXX.” Thankfully, my name is spelled differently.

Judicious charity

2010-03-10T23:49:00.001+08:00

While Brett, Tina and I were having dinner at House of Sisig tonight, a man clad in black approached us, placed a note beside the sizzling sisig plate Brett and Tina were sharing and mumbled something unintelligible.

Brett picked it up and tried to read it but a waiter took the piece of paper from his hand and escorted the man out of the establishment. I nodded at the staff’s attentiveness. We were in the middle of the first decent meal we all had today and no, we would not allow solicitations to ruin it.

When we were left alone to attend to our meals, I asked Brett what the short letter was about. “Ano pa eh di ‘yung Musika ng Kabataan na naman,” he replied. It was not the first time we were approached by people bearing letters from the organization, if indeed the organization existed. One of the instances I remember was when I gave a P20-bill to a young girl at Jollibee after she handed us a similar note because she looked particularly innocent. Brett gave her another P20. (Yes, we live up to the blog name.)

If I can remember correctly from the letters I’ve read before, Musika ng Kabataan is supposedly an organization that provides musical education to young Filipinos in the hope of emancipating them from vices and drug addiction or preventing them from being influenced by the same.

Unwilling to forgive the man for not waiting until we were through with our meals, I wondered if the organization actually existed.

If it did exist, then the process through which they accumulate fund defeats their purpose. They are supposed to provide a healthy environment for the young. Asking teenagers to approach strangers and practically beg for money does not exactly boost one’s confidence. Worse, to be wrongfully accused of being part of some scam is demoralizing.

On the other hand, if Musika ng Kabataan is just another scam, we should raise the alarm. That the youth is the hope of the nation is a cliché other desperate people are willing to exploit. And if we allow that truth to be exploited, this country is going to the dogs.

Of the two possibilities, we think the latter holds water—simply because anyone who has good intentions for the young would have thought of the arguments presented in the former.

We believe that charity per se is not enough. Charity, like everything good in this world, may be used to serve evil ends. We call for judicious charity—charity that gives not for the sake of giving but for the sake of helping.

P.S. We looked up Musika ng Kabataan over the Internet and here’s what we found:
http://forums.gov.ph/thread.asp?rootID=184179&catID=13
http://www.baguiocityonline.com/daforum/viewtopic.php?id=6268

The horse is dead

2010-03-08T23:49:00.000+08:00

In Filipino action movies, appearances of police officers have a recurring theme: tardy.

After the bomb has exploded, charring the antagonists beyond recognition, and while the hero of the day is silhouetted against the blazing fire, emerging exhausted yet victorious from the fight scene, police vehicles arrive with their blaring sirens and breathe sighs of relief that their job has been done for them. The fact that they arrive after the action renders them useless.

The Filipino viewing public’s hatred for late police response in movies is proof of how we hate after-the-fact action.

In politics, we are reminded of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, the woman who calls herself president, who said “I am sorry” on national television after making a call to ensure her victory in the polls.

And in less consequential circumstances, we see Kris Aquino interrupting Ruffa Gutierrez while the latter tried to deliver a decent goodbye, only to say sorry when Gutierrez’s mother Annabelle Rama attacked her for her misdemeanor—to the point of calling on the Filipino public not to vote for Noynoy, Aquino’s brother who is running for president.

Cliché as it may seem, the manifold Filipino saying rings true to this day: “Aanhin pa ang damo kung patay na ang kabayo?” (What good is grass if the horse lays dead?)

In the case of Arroyo, what good is an apology without resignation? True, your rival Fernando Poe, Jr. no longer lived to assume the post you should have relinquished, but the fact that you would no longer be president offered enough comfort. And yes, it’s always nice to know that you will be gone from Malacañang come June.

As for Kris Aquino, why say sorry when you could have kept your mouth shut? But of course, you are Kris Aquino and a silent Kris Aquino is like a frozen sun: impossible.

A recent song could well replace the old Filipino adage. “Don’t tell me you’re sorry ‘coz you’re not. And (baby) when I know you’re only sorry you got caught.”

An environmental activist*

2010-03-05T23:49:00.013+08:00

One cannot fail to miss the posters at the Institute of Biology and nearby buildings protesting the use of Styrofoam within the campus.

The moment one enters the biology pavilion of Palma Hall, aside from the “No I.D., No Entry” sign displayed near the guard’s station, a laminated “No to Styrofoam” poster catches one’s attention. Such posters also line the dimly lit lobbies, fill the bulletin boards and adorn even the tiled walls of comfort rooms. Most of these posters were made by the class of Prof. Edna Amparado, a strong advocate against Styrofoam.

As one of the major requirements in her Biology 1 class, a class that all students may take under the general education curriculum, Dr. Amparado asked her students to produce posters calling for the banning of Styrofoam from campus. She also allotted an entire meeting for the poster drive, sending students to post at nearby canteens and buildings.

During class lectures, the 63-year-old professor also always reiterates her despise for Styrofoam and plastics. At times she would scan the auditorium she uses for a classroom for students carrying plastic water bottles and ask them to check the plastic number indicated at the bottom. Whenever she finds plastics 3, 6 and 7, she would shake her head and tell the students that they are drinking from containers made from carcinogenic material.

When she announced the anti-Styrofoam campaign in class, she also mentioned the intention to paste posters on the doors of some of her fellow faculty members who, according to her, were admitted users of Styrofoam.

“I think most of them are also aware of the detriments of Styrofoam and want to avoid using it. They are just silent on the issue. They don’t want to ‘rock the boat’,” she said, when asked about some of her colleagues’ attitude about Styrofoam.

After learning about the memorandum issued by Vice Chancellor for Academic Affairs Cynthia Grace Gregorio banning the use of Styrofoam on campus, Dr. Amparado said that it was a laudable move but remarked further that relentless effort was required to sustain the advocacy.

“Aside from school campaigns, we could also tap the media. Rallying in front of the bigwigs in the fast food business would also be a good idea,” she said.

Dr. Amparado began teaching for the university in 1982. She also obtained her doctor’s degree in zoology from U.P. in 1990, specializing in animal development. Her researches were mostly health-related, including studies on the effect of organophosphates on brain development and the use of phytoestrogens as cancer chemopreventive agents.

A patient of type 2 diabetes herself, she has also researched on phytoinsulins wherein she studied the anti-diabetic properties of Philippine plants.

“I am an advocate of healthy living—eating fruits and vegetables,” the professor said. She would often tell her classes that eating was allowed even during her lectures. But she imposed some rules prohibitions like junk food and oily food like chicharon. She also encouraged her students to pack vegetables for snack in school. “Carrots eaten raw are very good for the body,” she would often say.

The professorial chair award recipient since 1997 said that some of the rewarding moments in her career as a teacher are when students visit her years after graduation to thank her for the lessons on health and wellness. “Those gestures are simple heartwarming,” she added.

Having earned a reputation among students as a “terror professor,” Dr. Amparado said that she loved her student and was not a “willful terrorist” but was rather simply strict with the academic requirements. She said that although she was aware of other careers available for biology experts, she opted to teach because she considered it the best way to learn.

Asked if she likes being called an “environmental champion,” she said that she simply one of the few who fight for a clean and safe environment.

Raising her fist, an activist true to form, Dr. Edna Amparado said, “And the time to fight is now.”

SIDEBAR
Styrofoam: good riddance

The trash near Margie Naval’s food stall at the Ipil Residence Hall parking lot used to be filled to the brim an hour or two after lunchtime.

Since she started selling budget-friendly meals, Margie’s customers grew from the dormitory residents to include students of nearby buildings like the School of Statistics and the College of Engineering. Come noon, a long queue winds across the dormitory parking lot and to all these customers, Margie used to serve food on Styrofoam.

“When I was still using Styrofoam, I would go home carrying at least three huge garbage bags filled with trash. Now that I use paper plates, I’m actually thinking of buying smaller garbage bags,” she said. At 3 p.m., Margie’s trash bin was just half-full.

Margie, like food concessionaires all over the University of the Philippines Diliman campus, stopped using Styrofoam in selling food to students after the Vice Chancellor for Community Affairs Cynthia Grace Gregorio issued a memorandum late last January ordering the use of environmental-friendly materials in selling food on campus.

The memorandum, effective last February 23, specifically banned the use of Styrofoam. This affected almost all food vendors in the academic community. The famed College of Arts and Sciences Alumni Association (CASAA) Canteen near Palma Hall, for example, used Styrofoam for all takeout sales. So did every canteen in other buildings in the university.

In a recent daylong campus clean-up drive, 3.48 kilos of Styrofoam was collected. The event, entitled “Grand Clean UP,” was spearheaded by environmental student organization UP Haring Ibon to determine the type of uncollected waste in campus. After the clean-up drive, the organization releases an “inventory of uncollected waste.”

Mark Daniel Diosana, a member of UP Haring Ibon, said that although Styrofoam was found at small amounts compared to plastics (kilos) and other waste, 3.48 is a big amount for Styrofoam considering that it is lightweight material.

As soon as Mark got hold of the memorandum banning Styrofoam, he asked to be furnished a copy to give to his organization. “I hate Styrofoam,” he said, with a victorious grin.

Styrofoam is the generic name used for expanded polystyrene foam, a material originally used for thermal insulation and craft applications and later on redeveloped for use in making food and beverage containers. Usually white, Styrofoam is widely used as takeout coffee cups and rice meal containers. Campaigns against Styrofoam, a non-biodegradable material, have led some major fast food chains like Jollibee to reduce their Styrofoam consumption by serving dine-in food on reusable plastic plates.

“I think we are better off using paper plates,” said Ernest Maceda, a resident of Ipil dormitory while eating food he bought from Margie on a paper plate. “Aside from being environmentally friendly, you can also enjoy your meal better since you have more space for food,” he added with a laugh.

Hans Reyes, a student from the School of Statistics, said he was fine with using paper plates although Styrofoam was more convenient to use. Students also said that the memorandum’s recommendation that students bring their own reusable utensils was impracticable.

“I did not get complaints when I switched to paper plates and I also did not complain,” Margie said. And when her customers asked her why she used paper plates now, she said she jokingly explained that we should be “green-minded.”

*written for J 109 Writing for Popular Audiences

Vote for those who can spell 'intelligent'

2010-03-04T23:38:00.005+08:00

An ideal election scenario consists of an intelligent voting public voting for equally intelligent, if not more intelligent, candidates.

Then again, the likes of incumbent Sen. Lito Lapid and congress aspirant boxing champ Manny Pacquiao slap us back to reality.

The Commission on Elections yesterday junked the disqualification case filed by controversial lawyer Ely Pamatong against the aforementioned politicians whom he referred to as “unqualified professional entertainers.”

Pamatong’s bitterness about his disqualification from the presidential race also surfaced when he remarked that mentally poor candidates must be considered nuisance in the same manner that candidates who lack funds to launch campaigns, including him, were disqualified. (see story at Inquirer.net)

Although we are alarmed by the crazed fervor with which he makes his point, we agree with Pamatong. Conceding that “the quality of public service a public official can render is not measured by his intelligence”, the idea that anyone who knows how to read and to write his name can run for public office makes a citizen with matter between his ears reason to worry.

What sets politicians apart from ordinary citizens is their legitimate authority to take part in the contemplation, legislation and execution of government rules. By granting this power to mindless individuals who could easily be enticed by devils holding out lollipops, then why go through the trouble of elections? We would all be doing ourselves a favor by just blindfolding Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo, making her turn around until she gets dizzy and asking her to randomly point her finger in order to determine the next government officials—worse, the next president (although she would most probably point at herself).

The last thing that this fragile democracy needs is an ensemble of leaders who follow other peoples’ orders like trained dogs. We need leaders with enough common sense to know when they are already being manipulated. And pardon the harsh judgment but we don’t think Lapid or Pacquaio are such leaders.

It is the constitutional duty of the Commission on Elections to ensure clean and reliable election results. Perhaps they cannot gleam an implied mandate to make sure that the candidates who are running for elections are qualified to serve public office. And the fact that their qualifications consider Lapid and Pacquaio gives cause for alarm.

Seeing the impossibility of one of the conditions for an ideal election scenario, the only hope left for this country lies with the voters.

And we can only hope that they will vote intelligently.

The condom paradox

2010-03-03T23:49:00.018+08:00

A close cousin of mine who is working abroad once asked for me on the phone when she called during a weekend family gathering. She inquired about the romantic life she thought I had, making me laugh. Before she said goodbye, she gave a shocking piece of unsolicited advice: “Mag-condom ha.”

After I recovered from the casualness of the adult conversation, I realized that it was an expression of concern. I remember her telling me in past conversations that she wanted me to enjoy my own salary first before having it allotted for formula milk or diapers. Also, it meant that she thought me mature enough to make my own choices.

We need the church to tell us that too.

The Catholic Bishops Conference of the Philippines today called on government to ban condom ads on media and public places.

“(T)hey desensitize the youth's delicate conscience and weaken their moral fiber as future parents,” an Inquirer story quoted CBCP Bishop Nereo Odchimar as saying.

CBCP also criticized government efforts of distributing condoms after the Department of Health declared that cases HIV-AIDS (human immunodeficiency virus – acquired immunodeficiency syndrome), a sexually transmitted disease, have risen to an alarming number, saying that it is not just for government to use the money of Catholic taxpayers for purposes against their moral beliefs.

Perhaps there is a need to reiterate the relevant facts of the Philippines’ wretched state in terms of HIV-AIDS.

First, DoH has recorded a total of 4,400 cases of HIV while UNAIDS reported 8,300 cases. Looking at the smaller figure makes you gasp and the bigger number makes you wonder if the person nearest you is HIV positive.

Second, sex is like popcorn on a movie theatre bar: it sells. Remember how sorry you felt when you watched a movie without popcorn while the rest of the theatre nibbled? Yes, exactly.

Get this: HIV-AIDS is sexually transmitted and sex sells like popcorn at the movies. Ergo, HIV sells like popcorn and unless we do something about it, nobody would frequent the movies. Forgive this logic as we forgive yours.

The church tells us that condom ads weaken our moral fiber as future parents. We must underline the word “future.” If the church were to hold sway and contraceptive methods were ultimately banned, the word “future” would be no more. Maybe contemplating on reclaiming all the waters between the islands of the Philippine archipelago would be a good idea in preparation for a population boom (boom!).

Ultimately, it boils down to the fact that banning condom ads would be infringing on the constitutional right to freedom of expression. And freedom of expression implies freedom of choice.

One of the bases for press freedom and free speech is John Milton’s Self-Righting Process which assumes that human beings are capable of filtering and ruminating upon the information being fed them instead of swallowing everything.

If you intend to strengthen the conscience of the youth, allow us to judge the competition in the free market of ideas where, surely, the best shall emerge as victor.

A ban on condom ads is a paradox: it forbids the use of condoms while putting a condom over our freedoms.

P.S. Some remarkable condom ads:
AIDES GRAFFITI ad on YouTube

The spiral of silence

2010-03-02T23:49:00.008+08:00

This silence is deafening.

Silence pervades still after 100 days ago today, the angry noise of gunshots robbed 57 people of breath and voice in Ampatuan, Maguindanao. Silence lingers even after the din of a bulldozer attempted to bury their bodies bereft of life and, more importantly, of liberty.

Silence succeeds. But we must not concede.

After the voices of those who died on November 23 have faltered, we must rise up and offer our voices to carry their battle cry of hope against tyranny and faith in democracy. After they have been buried, we must live to regain the freedom taken from their desecrated bodies—if not for the dead, for us who survived them, at least.

The victims of the massacre in Maguindanao were journalists in their line of duty who thought that the story of someone challenging the status quo was worth telling—that Esmael Mangudadatu’s gubernatorial candidacy in a province practically owned by the Ampatuans was newsworthy. They died believing in the minority.

We live with fear of lawless violence. Opinions are voiced out under pain of abduction or death.

Still we say: Make noise—and make haste.

Pugnacity heightens as the elections of 2010 draws near. The abduction of 43 health workers for allegations of involvement in the attempted assassination of Gen. Jovito Palparan particularly rings a bell since one of the rationales for martial law in 1976 was a supposed assassination plot against then defense minister Sen. Juan Ponce Enrile.

Let us not allow history to repeat itself. Let us not give this administration reason to believe that we are fine with her clinging to power. Let us not give room for our silence to be misconstrued as acquiescence.

The administration of Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo rejoices in silence. By making it seem that their opinion is dominant, they successfully force us to swallow our grievances and sulk in the corner where the losers lie cringing with the illusion of pain.

Those who died in Maguindanao 100 days ago today and the Morong 43 are victims of the culture of impunity that this administration has nurtured to its own advantage. Let us not allow the perpetrators of their deaths and abductions to be protected by impunity.

Only victory in the battle for justice in Maguindanao and the fight for the freedom of the Morong 43 can break this culture of impunity.

Only our noise and our collective voice can reverse this spiral of silence.

The College of Mass Communication, UP Diliman counts the days of injustice.

Tete,

2010-02-26T02:16:00.003+08:00

Before we called you that at home, I have known you by other names.

Even before you were born we called you “baby.” I can remember feeling Mama’s bulging belly, hoping that you would kick. When you were born, although you may doubt it, the pictures tell the truth: I would often lie down beside the little figure that you were and watch you sleep. I remember being scolded when I was caught listening to your breath once with my heavy head rested on your fragile chest.

As you grew up you became “Alex” to me. From the helpless infant I enjoyed watching, you turned into the small but terrible monster from whom I hid my LEGO set, my jigsaw puzzles and all other toys you could possibly keep—or eat. You were the enemy I dearly loved.

Perhaps a certain distance will always remain between the eldest child and the younger sibling. Relatives and friends who came to visit the newborn that you were would often tell me that Mama and Papa loved me less because of you, and no matter how our parents reassured me of their love, maybe the idea stuck.

I will forever hold this grudge against you: for five years I was the apple of our parents’ eyes until you came along and stole my limelight with just a twinkle of your eyes. Ha.

I saw you in a different light when Andrei came. I don’t know if you remember me holding you whenever people jested that the baby will steal Mama and Papa away from us yet again. Suddenly you were my friend.

Instead of becoming an “Ate” you turned into “Tete,” because Andrei’s tongue was tied beyond comprehension. And with the change of name came the change of attitude. You just gained a baby sister to love and hate, in the same way that I loved and hated you. Now with Baby George, remember that two girls now look up to you as their model. I know that you will make for one worth emulating.

Forgive me my constant nagging. I cannot find any other way of showing concern. By the way, when I hear your angry voice from outside the bedroom you share with Andrei and Baby George, I would smile at how concerned you are about them too. And so before you complain about how noisy I get, you should listen to yourself.

Enjoy what remains of your childhood. Revel in the carelessness that the world still allows you, take time to smell the flowers while they still line your path and, by all means, scream in madness and violent rage while you may. You are too young to worry about what the world say or thinks, too young to ignore innocent beauty and too young to resign to polite silence. Take it from me: there will always be time for growing up. Be a child for now.

I dream of gaining many titles that will adorn my name, but it was you who first gave me the title I shall forever hold dearly: Kuya.

Happy birthday, Kaira Alexa, Alex, Tete. Believe it or not, I love you.

"Listen to the musn'ts, child, listen to the don'ts.

Listen to the shouldn'ts, the impossibles, the won'ts.

Listen to the never haves then listen close to me:

anything can happen child, anything can be."

- Shel Silverstein

Ashes

2010-02-17T23:57:00.001+08:00

We say goodbye to Gloria today. Pun intended.

Gloria will not be heard in churches starting today until Easter Sunday when Jesus Christ supposedly rose from the grave to defeat death. We can only wish that we could also say goodbye to the Gloria we have loathed since time immemorial without having to wait for May 2010.

As churches all over the world today saw millions of Catholics lining up to receive crosses of ash on their foreheads, politicians are also reminded of the lessons of lent.

“Repent and believe in the Gospel,” the minister said as he marked me a sinner. I wondered if the minister or priest who drew on Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo’s head said the same thing, or if he broke protocol by saying, “Repent and believe in the Gospel, in the rule of law and in the Filipino desire punish you for your wrongdoings.”

Lent is a time for acts of penance. And no, saying “I am sorry” on national television does not count.

It occurred to me that perhaps the woman who calls herself president nurtured this culture of impunity hoping that she would be accorded the same kindness by her successors—that in the same way that she has pardoned Joseph Estrada for the plunder he has been convicted of, stalled the proceedings of the Ampatuan massacre and spared countless murderers from lawsuits by not going after the perpetrators of political killings, she would also be spared when law strikes.

“Do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing,” the priest said, reading from today’s Gospel. I was reminded of many of our candidates. Years before the election Manny Villar has been exploiting the poor and the underprivileged by using them in his advertisements. I can still remember an ad where he bragged about being able to send abused OFWs home using his own money—something I doubt at the moment, by the way. His running mate Loren Legarda also uses the same technique and Richard Gordon followed with his “silent night” campaign featuring victims of natural calamities like Ondoy. How different are they from the hypocrites described in today’s mass who sound trumpets on streets whenever they give alms, as if asking for applause?

“To dust you shall return,” the priest said, reminding us of human frailty and the reality of death. We ought to remind this president that she does not hold perpetual power—that in the same manner that human beings return to the dust from which we were created, she too must return to the Citizen Gloria from which she was voted—or, in her case, from which she cheated to be president.

The ashes on our foreheads tell the world that we are sinners and that we would have to die someday. At the same time it mocks the dirty politics that forever rules our government.

Ultimately, it mourns the fact that this country has crumbled into ashes.

P.S. On a totally different note, happy birthday Nica Yan! In a world where friends are such rare finds, you were a pleasant surprise. Forgive me if I will always remember you as a good friend’s date. ILY ILYW! Haha. (Dennis, forgive me too.)

Election logic

2010-02-16T21:41:00.001+08:00

May 2010 will see this country’s first automated elections and I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Pardon the pun; this is my Valentine’s Day hangover.

Indeed an automated balloting offers comfort by cutting the time it takes for winners to be declared, thereby making election results less vulnerable to the tampering this country has suffered in the past—in the hands of the woman who still calls herself president. Yet this government cannot blame us for doubting.

There would be reason to generalize that human beings tend to doubt those they cannot fully understand—love, God and machines that count votes—thus the need for attempts to shed light on such matters through discourse.

Yet while many have attempted to extract the meaning of love or to prove the existence of God, the Commission on Elections, the institution which supposedly reassures people’s faith in the workings of democracy, fails at educating this country grasping at straws.

A Philippine Daily Inquirer story today revealed how even those vying for the top government post are skeptical about automation, with many of them in favor of reverting to manual voting.

Only Sen. Richard “Dick” Gordon expressed faith in the process albeit with logic which makes one wonder if he really graduated from the University of the Philippines.

“I cannot see a situation where it (automated elections) will fail because that will create anarchy in the country. I don’t think the government can stand the failure of election,” the Inquirer quoted Gordon as saying.

A similar argument would be, “I don’t think it’s going to rain because if it does, I would get wet since I don’t have an umbrella,” or, “That car will not hit me because if it does, I would get hurt.” Simply put, the argument misses the point.

I offer a more plausible statement: A failure of elections will create anarchy in the country—something the government cannot stand. The Commission on Elections is constitutionally mandated to ensure clean and reliable elections. If Comelec delivers in its mandate, then automated elections will not fail.

If Comelec fails at its mandate—like it did in 2004—then this country is going to the dogs.

My constitutionalist professor would always reiterate that the use of the word “shall” in the constitution implies compulsion or obligation.

The obligation to facilitate clean elections also entails the need for Comelec to disclose its inability to perform its functions so that the public may anticipate the worst and not hope in vain.

Love of day

2010-02-14T23:49:00.001+08:00

There were fireworks again tonight. I was looking at the sky as ashes fell on my face. I was thinking of you.

Three days ago, while you gazed at the chemist’s fire that momentarily colored the darkness of the evening, I was looking at you and smiling at how the colors were faintly reflected on your face. I wanted to ask you if there were fireworks between us too. But you never looked at me.

In fact, that night, I never saw your eyes. You told stories without looking at me and I poignantly remembered how we used to sit in front of each other, while we talked endlessly and tirelessly.

In the past you would see me from afar and throw your arms wide open in anticipation of my embrace. Three nights ago, you seemed to ignore me as I waited for you under the shadow of a tree. I had to walk into the dim light of a streetlamp for you to say hello. Worse, I had to beg for an embrace.

I miss you.

Tonight I realized how I do not want fireworks. Beautiful as they are, they only last for a few seconds. They draw paths of fire in their ascent and then explode into colors that break the monotonous black darkness. Yet the darkness remained and, in fact, without darkness fireworks would not be as breathtaking.

You know how I pursued fleeting joy before. I stole moments of happiness without asking for certainty—without even wanting permanence. Perhaps I never told you this before, but I found the situation convenient, even if I always found myself empty. At the end of the day, I was sure that I was alone—just as we were sure that it was night after the fireworks have burned out and after even the echoes of their explosions have expired.

I want daylight. In the morning light chases away darkness and makes everything clear. And although no whistling noise heralds its approach, the break of dawn is just as captivating as a fireworks display—perhaps even more so.

More importantly, although it ends at a certain point in the day, as long as the sun keeps burning and the earth keeps turning, it is for certain that there will be light again the next day so that even at night, the thought of day offers warmth.

I love you not as I love fireworks, with love that is excited and ablaze. I love you subtly, as I love the day.

I often take the day for granted knowing that another day will always come. But when dawn finds me awake, I would look out my window to catch a glimpse of the battle between day and night—of light painted against darkness.

I might have let the years pass without showing you how much I appreciated you and I am sorry if you had to go for me to realize how I truly felt. You were as ubiquitous as daylight. Maybe darkness was necessary.

Believe me when I say that I love you as I love the day: silently, calmly, unquestionably.

And I am willing to wait for you—just as I am willing to wait for night to pass just so I could see the day. I shall endure the darkness.

An excuse not to love

2010-02-13T23:50:00.004+08:00

I am not bound to forget a particular meeting in one of my journalism classes with Dr. Georgina Encanto last year. A week or two after Valentine’s Day, we were again discussing the need to use simple words in journalistic writing. As a class exercise, she read complicated words and asked us to give shorter, simpler alternatives.

After we answered a few words quite easily, she smiled and the class got nervous. “What is the simplest term for ‘prevaricate’?” she asked. Nobody seemed to know the answer.

“This is what people do during Valentine’s Day,” she told us, puzzling the crowd even more.

A classmate guessed, “Date?” and the professor shook her head.

“Go out?” another offered. “No,” Dr. Encanto said.

“Sleep together?” I thought aloud, and the class roared in laugher.

“No,” the good professor said after catching her breath, “they lie.” I nodded.

I have always questioned the need to set aside one day to express our love for someone. I believe that, if anything, what Valentine’s Day offers is an excuse to forget to say how much we love the people around us every day.

In fact, I am tempted to believe that Valentine’s Day prevents us from giving in to impromptu romantic gestures by making us worry that if we were romantic throughout the year, we would run out of gimmicks for that “season of love.” I speak from experience. I would often stop myself from ordering a bouquet of roses for no apparent reason thinking that such corniness is reserved only for that day in February.

Make no mistake about it: I am still a great fan of love—just not the love that is absent in all other days except the 14th of February.

When I checked the dictionary earlier tonight, I found out that “lie” is not exactly synonymous to “prevaricate.”

My ever-reliable Encarta dictionary defines “prevaricate” as the act of “avoiding giving a direct and honest answer or opinion, or a clear and truthful account of a situation, especially by quibbling or being deliberately ambiguous or misleading.”

My professor’s clue still holds true. People prevaricate on Valentine’s Day.

I am betting my life that tomorrow will end with people wondering what love is all about.

P.S. In keeping with the tradition of showing love for someone during Valentine’s Day, I shall sleep as long as possible since I take myself neglected almost the whole year. I need to feel my love. Thank you very much.

'Deliver us from evil.' -Pampanga

2010-02-12T23:49:00.015+08:00

Talk about relinquishing God’s people to the devil.

The Commission on Elections yesterday gave the Pampanga gubernatorial post held by priest Eddie Panlilio to Lilia Pineda, whose husband has recently been investigated for the illegal numbers game jueteng.

Pineda, who won a 2011-point lead over Panlilio when Comelec declared valid the votes for “Nanay Baby,” is a close ally of that woman who calls herself president. Panlilio, on the other hand, who gave up priesthood in response to public clamor for a “conscientious leadership” in 2007, openly criticized Arroyo and in fact testified to having accepted enveloped of cash from Malacañang during a meeting of local government officials.

The perfect pair: jueteng and corruption.

Deputy Presidential Spokesperson Gary Olivar was quoted as saying, “We accept the wisdom and discretion of the Comelec.” For me the statement should have sounded like, “We jump for joy at the folly of Comelec,” or “Yes, we expected this since Comelec is at our whims.”

If we were to give Arroyo the benefit of the doubt, we might say that the events that unfold as May 2010 draws near are related only by mere coincidence.

For the sake of believing in the good this administration is capable of doing, we may suppose that the pyre set for Panlilio yesterday was not at all related to the burnings that have recently plagued the Gloria opposition country as in the case of Isabela Gov. Grace Padaca.

For the sake of believing in this administration’s ability to control its primal urges to do evil, perhaps we could think that it is by sheer coincidence that Pampanga has been placed back in the hands of an Arroyo ally just in time for the 2010 elections wherein the hag in Malacañang shall take the low and disgusting path of clinging to power by running as Pampanga congressman.

But I smell something fishy in Pampanga. Local folklore tells us that the presence of an aswang is also usually heralded by a distinct fishy stink. Well, we know why Pampanga reeks of fish lately. After all, the province has been frequently visited by the monster that lurks in Malacañang.

Indeed, gone were the days when evil only prowled the streets at night, today we see evil at work in broad daylight. In Filipino we say, “garapalan na.”

“We urge everyone to get into the habit of respecting due process whether we like it or not,” Olivar also reportedly said.

Tell that to your boss, we say. As highest officer of the land, abiding by due process is not merely a habit Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo must strive for but an obligation she must fulfill. And as the leader of this supposedly-democratic country, the sanctity of suffrage is something she must respect—not mock by orchestration.

The Arroyo administration said that Pineda’s tardy win would not affect the president’s bid for congress.

Tell that to the marines, we say.

And before it is too late, remember to confess your sins. Maybe Gov. ( Yes, Governor) Ed Panlilio can absolve you.

Arroyo ally in; Panlilio out on Inquirer.net
Pineda victory won’t affect Arroyo campaign, says Palace on Inquirer.net

Immortalizing Adrian

2010-02-11T23:49:00.019+08:00

He was smiling.

“Darling, I wish you were here,” said the song that played as people wearing brightly colored shirts poured into the College of Mass Communication Auditorium yesterday for a service for Adrian Olympia, a senior film student who took his own life last Friday.

An image of a bespectacled Adrian was flashed on the wall of the auditorium’s small stage, causing sighs from people who opened the doors and saw his smiling face. Some covered their eyes and ears so as not to see his smile or hear the song lest tears betray the happiness they promised.

The service began with a catholic mass presided over by former University of the Philippines Chaplain Fr. Jessell Gerald Gonzales who encouraged Adrian’s friends to live his legacy. “What makes us immortal is the fact that people remember us. If you want Adrian to be immortal, tell people how great he was and how he loved much,” he said.

True enough, after the mass, the audience which overflowed to the lobby outside the auditorium stayed to listen to stories about Adrian.

Read entire article:
Immortalizing Adrian at Tinig ng Plaridel

But I could have told you: this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you. Image from Adrian Solomon Olympia’s Facebook profile, washed in Twain-ty orange.