Sendong Aftermath

She sat on a dusty makeshift mat of cartons at the lower front of the stage. Wearing rumpled and unkempt clothing, she cradled her baby to sleep. Amid the heat, the noise and the number of random people busy passing her by, she had no choice. Just to her left, piled against the stage wall is her bag of clothes – perhaps what’s left of her belongings. I did not hear her name nor heard what went through the entire interview with my friend M, but I can see the grief and despair from her eyes. And it spoke much louder. A few moments through, she looked down at her baby and uttered no more. M rubbed her back to comfort her for a few minutes then stood up and came to where I was observing them from one corner of our school gymnasium. “What happened? That was too quick for an interview” – I asked M.  “I can’t do this anymore. They almost always cry and that’s not the problem. It’s just that I really feel sorry for them and I don’t know what to say to ease their burden, more so their situation. I CAN’T do anything. Let’s just stop this and get ourselves something to drink, I’m thirsty.” – M frustratingly answered me back with a look of sadness herself. I thought she was already good at this having been a journalist for a national paper doing stories of sort. Maybe this time, it’s a different case. Because she too, knows how it feels. M’s neighborhood wasn’t spared by the deluge and she perhaps experienced it for the first time in her life.

We made our way through the crowd and exited through the front gate. Leaving behind us, inside the evacuation center, were medical personnel and other volunteers attending to all of the two-thousand families displaced by tropical Storm Sendong. And there's more of them. My school gymnasium is just one among the sixteen evacuation centers in the city. As of recent count there were already a thousand dead bodies recovered, hundreds more that are still missing and thousands more families left without homes to return to. Overnight, the flooded residential areas turned into a muddy wasteland of trash and nothingness, ravaging and deluding houses, cars, properties and lives. No one was spared. Not the poor, not the rich. This was the wrath of nature that struck Northern Mindanao. And this is the first time it happened to us - to my hometown and to my very people. Although I was lucky that I was still in Manila that day and that my family and neighborhood was safe, still I cannot bear to just be at ease. After all, I grew up here. This place is part of who I am and it is such a pain seeing my home like this and knowing traumatic stories of unimaginable struggle and eventual loss. My heart bleeds for my people especially that it’s Christmas time. 

As of this writing, the President had already signed the declaration putting the country under a state of calamity. Help has been pouring in. And in behalf of the victims, we wish to convey our message of gratitude to everyone who has been sending in and giving any help whether in cash, in kind or even through prayers. We greatly appreciate everything and may it return to all of you a hundred fold. There’s still a lot of things that we need and a lot to fix. But more than anything else, there’s a lot of healing to be done. Please do continue to help our people recover from this life-crippling tragedy. Please do continue to help us stand up. Everybody deserves another chance. Everybody deserves a second walk at life. 

For those who wish to help

http://bit.ly/sendong-cdo

https://donate.unicef.ph/emergency-donation.php

http://www.redcross.org.ph/donatenow

http://www.facebook.com/notes/boggs-tanggol/how-to-help-bagyong-sendong-victims/10150431785163262 

Separation Anxiety (12/07/11)

              “Knowing when to leave may be the smartest thing anyone can learn” 

                                                               – Burt Bacharach

I have been dilly-dallying on my resignation and I need to settle it fast. Seeing people in the office do it with such a breeze I thought it was just easy. I have long thought of this and I know I am decided but here I am having a hard time telling it to my boss. Should I break it gently or should I drop the bomb, ala strike-and-shock SWAT style? I don’t actually know. I guess I haven’t mustered up enough balls to do either. I feel like dancing the tango with this dilemma, gliding to but with sudden pauses in between. Honestly, I fear what lies ahead: Unemployment. It’s not like I can’t get another job but it’s actually the feeling of starting over again I fear most. No, it is the feeling of letting go I fear the most. And I have yet to admit it and I have yet to live with it. I know it is part of the decision. It is part of life. 

This is - and soon to be was, my first job and I have learned to love it over the four years and eight months, everything from the most beautiful and fun part of it down to the very worst. For the longest time I have identified myself with this job and now I am removing myself from it. This never really was my plan but I guess life made me detour from the road I did plan to take. I was supposed to take up master’s degree and then teach but I shunned the idea in exchange for independence. I thought if I’d continue studying, I’d still be under the support of my parents and I didn’t want that. I wanted to be free away from their responsibility on me as I was old and able enough. I wanted to be responsible for myself. And I got it. I lived with it and will live for it. Funny how with that decision, I was not afraid to let go of all the comforts of being under parental care. Maybe maturity does work wonders. 

But this time, it’s a different case and I’m at a different, older age. It’s not just the job I’m letting go but the life I have had over these years. And I would say that this was my first take, first step at life. This was my first slice, out from a whole lemon cake. I guess what pains me the most is letting go of the relationship I have with the people. For me, they’re never just office-mates. They’re FRIENDS. You spend almost the whole day with them, even after office hours, even on rest days. There’s a lot of them  that I haven’t really talked that much to, some others I would like to be friends with (and prove I’m not a snob contrary to my rep in the office) and people I haven’t really said anything to. I have always been the one to value friendship the most and it’s a pain that I might not see these people for a long time or maybe never will. I love and have been loved by them. I’ll definitely miss the chit-chats in between work, the morning and evening greetings, the rumors, the office fashion, the flirting, the bloopers and the list goes on and on. BUT I have to leave and I know this is the right and smart thing to do. Perhaps, the smartest decision I have made all these care-free years. I know I deserve this break. 

I’ll miss everything and everyone. And I HOPE they will miss me, too.

A Love, Lost and Found (Luis and Amelia)

This is a story of love that goes beyond the test of time.

Of a love that defies age and knows no boundaries.

Of a love that survives amid life’s adversities.

Of a love that’s selfless and infinite.

Of a love that’s resolute and true.

This is a story of a love, lost and then found.

And this, this is a real one. 

Lola Aurelia Matias (73 y.o.) and Lolo Luis Matias (78 y.o.) had been long married to each other for decades. Among their nine kids, two had already passed away. Lolo Luis suffers from dementia brought about by old age. Lola Aurelia, on the other hand is considerably robust. Back in the day, Lolo Luis wooed Lola Aurelia by singing her songs of Nat King Cole and Tom Jones and of course, Lola Amelia got swooned. Both young hearts in love, they decided to finally settle down. So they did and have since hurdled on every storm that their family had come across with. Lolo and Lola have been simply living on with their lives, holding on to each others arms. They knew they had their time and perhaps are aware of what lies ahead.

           Just when you think that they are done professing their love to each other in their lifetime, they prove us wrong.Love proves us wrong.

On the 11^th day of November, Lola Amelia, busy doing her laundry had left Lolo Luis upstairs after she fed and bathed him. Focused on her unfinished chore, she didn’t notice him come down the stairs and leave the house. She was worried after finding out that he was gone so she went on looking for him around the neighborhood, asking every person she could. But alas, no one knew where he went.

                He didn’t come home. He couldn’t come home.

A couple of days had passed, Lola, desperate and forlorn, searched for him wandering from the outskirts of the neighborhood, walking farther and further away, until she found herself in the bustling streets of the metro.  She only wanted one thing; to find Lolo, her one true love. Pinning Lolo’s picture on paper in front and at the back of her clothes, she gambles her life and races with time, hoping that someone would inform her of his whereabouts. 

Love always finds a way.

A man named Reddie Js, picked up on her, took her photo and posted it on a social networking site. Word got around and then finally, Lola got a lot of help. After almost two weeks of search, the day she was waiting for finally came. Lolo, wandering around the train station, was at last found. In no time, they were back in each others loving arms.

 “My love for him is immeasurable” – Lola Amelia, teary-eyed, expressed. “In sickness and in health, we will be together” – Lolo Luis’ response as they both hug each other. Their reunion was moving and inspiring. It makes us believe in the power of love. 

Finally and fortunately, this is how the story ended. Like the fairy-tales we grew up with, the prince found her princess. Only this time, it was she who found him, and of course with the help of thousands of today’s Fairy God-mothers and fathers.  Though it didn’t ended magically - with a missing glass slipper found, magic-mirror broken down, nor with sparks and fireworks above a castle high, most importantly the story of Lolo Luis and Lola Amelia ended HAPPILY.

And perhaps, EVER AFTER.. .

News Credits:
GMA News
ABS CBN News
Inquirer.net

The week that was . . .

Poster by Ryan Ray Merencillo

Nov 23 2011 marked the 2^nd Anniversary of the Maguindanao Massacre. 

     2 years ago, the entire world was in shock of what will soon be the most heinous and inhuman massacre of journalists: The slaughter of the Mangudadatu election envoy by the rival Ampatuan clan. Ending at a gruesome body count of 58 innocent civilians (34 were journalists), this will forever go down in history as the single deadliest event for journalists*.  2 years hence, still no justice. None from the accused Ampatuans are convicted and sentenced regardless if all witnesses point to them and all evidences lead to them. Sadly, knowing the kind of rotten judiciary system the country has, I am afraid that this case might possibly be forgotten and be forever swept under the rug. Still, let us not be hopeless.

Then and Now

 The circus that is the Philippine Politics

     The case of former president and now Pampanga Rep. Gloria Macapagal Arroyo (in an unhealthy and sickly state) being barred from departure as publicized in every corner of the country is media frenzy at its best and worst. I thought that she does not deserve our sympathy after her crimes of graft and corruption but after much pondering, I realized that no, she may not deserve our sympathy but as humans and as educated people, she at least deserves compassion. I do not want her to leave but let’s let her recuperate and be healthy enough to face the accusations hurled against her. I applaud Leila de Lima (Commission on Human Rights Chair) but I fear that the present administration is alarmingly being vindictive and vengeful. Its obligation is towards the betterment of its country and its people. Thus, is in no position to be so, neither should we, the public be.

In Time – The latest movie I have seen.

     The idea is beautifully conceived and almost all elements are coherent to the futuristic theme except the landscape. BUT it adds another plus to the uniqueness of the concept. I love how the treatment of a futuristic world is not like any cliché sci-fi wherein the world is perceived to be full of flying cars, robots and laser lights. Instead, the movie portrays a classic, almost vintage setting. However, I personally think that all the beauty of the concept got lost in the chase. The denouement could have been more gripping or at least, it could have had a better ending. I give it 3 stars out of 5.

Happy Lemon – Newfound indulgence!

     Relatively young in the Philippine market but already giving the usual coffee beverages brands a head-on competition is the new franchise aptly named Happy Lemon. A break from caffeine-based frappes from Starbucks, Coffee-Bean etc, non-coffee drinkers will absolutely love their smorgasbord of choices!  I tried their cocoa with rock salt and cheese variant and it was yummy and palatable! Now, who ever thought you couldn’t drink cheese? 

Footnote: * - as how Wikipedia puts it 

11/11/11

After I got home and as I was about to sleep, I was contemplating on how the day has been and it was only later that I realized it was indeed a symbolic day of firsts as much as the date numerically suggests.  I thought that like any other day, it will just pass by and nothing really significant will happen. It was a scheduled off from my lousy job and my co-workers thought of trying ice-skating. So we met up at Mall of Asia where we braved ourselves in doing it for the first time in our twenty-something lives. Being in a tropical country, it’s not usual to have snow. Scratch that, we REALLY don’t have snow. So as follows, ice-skating is not as popular as any other sports like, say, basketball. Plus, I think there are only 2 places in the entire archipelago where you can go ice-skating.

So we rented our skates, knotted its shoelaces and entered the rink one by one. And there we were with our knees shaking and making fun of ourselves and each other. I never thought it was that hard (It looked easy the way I see it on movies and TV). We were like how babies are learning how to stand up and walk. For the first hour, we were just on the sides of the rink holding on to the wall. Let’s say it was also a day of embarrassment. Little kids were passing and gliding us by.  Since we paid for it, we thought that we really should learn, even at least just standing straight without the need of holding on to something or anything. Luckily there were guides and first-timers, too. So after another hour, we finally learned how to. And for the rest of it, we were already chasing each other – albeit slow and struggling in keeping our balance. It was a fun first time and we made it through the rain, er, the ice.

Leaving MOA and the ice rink, we thought of going somewhere for a drink. It was Friday night and traffic was hell and the rain made it even worse. Although it’s highly anticipated, EDSA highway looked like there was a street party - of cars, jeepneys and buses. It’s like not even a bicycle or a person can pass through the vehicle gaps. The train too was overly crowded and the lines were snake long and we just couldn’t bear lining up with all that density, heat and sweat. So we took the bus instead – a non-air conditioned one and thought of just chatting off the traffic.

The highway is notorious of 2 things: First, of its traffic (which we all know) and second, apparently of swindlers, snatchers and thieves. But theft does not happen every single time you course through the highway. So as we were scattered by two’s in different seats and were busy chatting, two peanut vendors came up the bus (a ride-to-ride occurrence and God knows how many vendors come up on every bus in EDSA, so nothing really suspicious about them until...). At one snap of a finger our heads turned at the back where we heard a shriek from one of my co-worker. Shockingly, one of the peanut vendors grabbed and tugged with her, her Blackberry phone, speedily running down the bus and disappearing through the horde of vehicles behind. We just stared at each other and gaped in disbelief and so did the other passengers. We never thought it would happen to us. It was heart-pounding and it left me with I-should-have-known thoughts but it happened. It was another first for us that day. We still drank after we got to our destination. Luckily, none of us were harmed. It could’ve ended worse. And all that feeling of shock, awe and loss went down every gulp of booze. So I guess we still made it through the rain after all.

Why my opinion counts, IF it counts: On "Praybeyt Benjamin"

1.        

      That the movie “Praybeyt Benjamin” is the top grossing Filipino film of all time.

I absolutely cannot fathom this. My senses revolt yet I also cringe at the very thought of it. What with our artistic prominence - as evident by our recent inclusions and our garner of accolades in various film festivals around the globe, should we be labeled for this commercial attempt at comedy? I say attempt because I accidentally saw the trailer and no particular amusement, rather any emotion, did it ever evoke from me. I say accidentally because the trailer was shown as filler preceding a movie I watched the last time. I did however, was able to predict the entirety of the plot. And NO, I am not going to watch it. The trailer is a dead give-away which easily translates to bad marketing strategy (I guess the 200 million peso gross in its 1^st week proves me wrong on this).

Pardon me for being high-brow but we; both as an audience and a people, deserve so much more than this. I am not in any way against the people who watched the movie and I am happy that finally our local cinema is being patronized more, but I am just against it representing the kind of taste that we have (or the kind of movie we "invest" our money and time on). There are more sensible films than this and I am definitely not against it because it is a comedic film as there are comedy films that are creatively and profoundly better thought of. “Kimmy Dora” and “Zombadings” are examples. Don’t get me wrong too, I don’t have anything against the movie and this is my subjectivity (and taste) speaking here but I do hope that when someone makes a list of the world’s top grossing films, I just don’t want us to be again and for the nth time, in a bad light. And although at times, I do get amused by Vice Ganda (the lead) with her (gender-sensitive here) antics on TV, I actually feel a degree of embarrassment for that person/people she makes fun of. I’d like to coin her comedic approach as “verbal slapstick”: slapstick, only verbal. Self-explanatory much, eh?

I know that being the top-grossing film of all time does not necessarily translate as the best film ever but wouldn't this say something about us as a people?

7th Billion is a PINOY

Sometimes, Fate has its own way of slapping us in the face with Irony. 

A couple of days ago, humanity’s 7^th billion was born in our very own country. As expected, the rest of the world was at watch. Now why to us and why here? Why couldn’t the baby be born in America, where the grass is perceived to be greener (at least to some Pinoys)? Or why not in China, where there is highly-significant economic progress? Or in Europe, Australia, Singapore and I could go on and on with every country that seems to be better in almost any aspect of living than the Philippines.

This event is symbolic as it is monumental. 

Perhaps the more appropriate question should be WHY NOW?

Why now when we are struggling economically, socially and I guess with almost everything.

Why now when there are more people getting hungry every day?

Why now when corruption has decayed even the very basic unit of our system?

Why now when life here is relatively not at its best?

         
            The timing is just perfect.

The answer is glaring right at our faces but we tend to look away. This is perhaps a reminder that we need to be keen on the issues our country is dealing at hand especially that of population control. That we need to stop being apathetic about how we are slowly killing our natural resources due to uncontrollable demand. And that we need to be more serious and vigilant about sustainable development. 

 We need to be involved.

The answer lies within us. We are the solution as much as we are the sole cause. We will be reaching  the 100 million mark population and there is obviously no stopping us. We need reproductive health reforms as we need responsible parenthood. We need to be educated and we need to be informed. We need to realize that we have to change for the better and not think backwards as what seems to be happening now. We need to look at the bigger picture and free ourselves from the bondage and blindness of self-righteousness. We need to ensure that there still will be a country called The Philippines for generations to come and that there will be HEALTHY people called Filipinos.

                 

         When the 7^th billion baby grows up, what kind of life would she and others after her would have? What kind of life would you want YOUR baby to have? So let’s ask ourselves, what do we really see now when we look around us? What will we do now for the world around us?

                 

            We know the answer, we see the answer.

We just look away.

The Jason Mraz Experience

The Poster

My Ticket

Finally. Someone REALLY worth watching. 

Though I learned a little too late that Mr. A-Z was coming, I told myself I should not miss it. Not this time, when someone who really makes REAL music is staging only a one-night show. And so I grabbed the chance.

 I only had a few days to save and I apparently was paying up for something so I wasn’t able to afford the front seat at 3,500 pesos which was considerably more affordable than other past acts. I was left with no option but to settle for general admission but I didn’t care. As long as I hear him sing live.

And so I did. And it was a beautiful experience. 

The crowd’s cheer got louder as the lights shone brighter signaling that the show was about to start. And then at one fleeting moment, there he was, the man of the night: Mr. Wordplay, Jason Mraz. Sporting what seemed to be a Jesus inspired look: scruffy beard, relatively long hair under a yellow bandana and wearing a shirt that says “peace”, was then joined on stage by Taco Rivera, who was as equally skillful with his percussion as to Jason with his guitar. As the very first pluck of strings resonated, the crowd roared and the dome thundered. On that ample-sized stage there were just the two of them, their instruments and their music. No blinding laser lights, tacky costumes and rowdy back-up dancers, just two men and their endearing yet commanding performance. I closed my eyes at almost each of the songs decrescendos as if I’m hearing him whisper right at my ear. And the crowd, like a baby being rocked softly in a cradle, swayed in unison. At one moment, memories of college came in fragments: How I TRIED mastering the guitar and memorizing the fast-paced, tongue-twisting song “The Remedy”. And I thought it was silly. What I felt and experienced at that night was surreal, never mind how far I was from the stage. I was present for only one thing: his artistry.

I would say that his is a simple and humble passion that separates him from his contemporaries. That his music may just be music for the common folk but it is at the very least, prose and at best, poetry for true-blue fans like me. And yes, at that night, I was not alone. I was with fellow fans. There were numerous individuals who stood up and danced by themselves because they came only by themselves and they didn’t care. And then the rest of the crowd were of lovers; holding hands and leaning on each others shoulders, being serenaded on with perhaps one of their love songs. Then there were families; of dads and moms sharing good and quality music to their kids. And then there were friends; singing gleefully in chorus atop their lungs, never minding if it was in tune or not. And then I remembered my friends and how I wish they could’ve experienced it with me how ecstatic the night was.

The concert was capped-off by the multitude of crowd singing along the song “I’m Yours”. Towards the end, almost everybody had already stood up, gathered closer to the stage cheering and applauding, some asking for more and some thanking Jason Mraz profusely for the night. Oh that beautiful night, when everybody was loved. 

Yes, I was this far . . .

The best my BB phone could

Side note:

We brought our DSLR camera but it wasn’t allowed inside (hello???) and my cam phone’s zoom feature was no good, so unfortunately no good pictures for me. Many people brought their DSLR’s and were complaining, too.

Smart Araneta Coliseum (with its interior and acoustics) is a LETDOWN. Is this really the best that we have? (Paging Manny Pangilinan for renovation)

I love my sis for paying for our tickets. I owe her this experience.

Sights and Sounds: Binondo in Technicolor

       I know that Binondo, being a Chinatown, is one of the oldest city in Manila but it was just recent that I found out that it is in fact the oldest Chinatown in the world. I have been to this place countless of times especially during the celebration of Chinese New Year when every street and corner is adorned by traditional Chinese decorations. And if you’ve experienced it or have seen it on TV, in photos, magazines and what-nots then you know how this place becomes livelier and festive. But on a normal day, Binondo is just like any busy spot in old Manila. Except that most establishments here have included Chinese calligraphy on the signage and most people you walk by are not your normal Malay-looking Pinoys in most parts of the country but rather are people with light to almost porcelain complexion and with small slanted eyes we refer to as Tsinoys: Filipinos with Chinese descent.

I have always wanted to document the scenes and spots I find beautiful in Binondo. And like I always do, I want to do it in my own artistic vista (if there is any). And so I did. So here is a rundown of what I love most about Binondo.

 

The Bell Tower (And how the wires ruin the view)

      

        

       The classical Binondo Church is one of the main attractions.  Correct me if I’m wrong but I find the bell tower design reminiscent of a pagoda just like that of the Tiger Hill pagoda in China. How the church is unkempt makes it all the more vintage and beautiful.

A view of the church from the park

    










Plaza San Lorenzo Ruiz, the park in front of the church serves   many functions to the public.From giving a good view of the church to being a playground to street kids, sleeping areas for street beggars and to poor mothers bathing their kids in the fountain. It is quite sad of what it has become. 

One of the pagoda-like arches you’ll find in Binondo. Erected as a symbol of Filipino-Chinese friendship during the old days. 

            How many purple fire trucks are there in the world? One that has a glow-in-the dark flame design? Indeed, only in Binondo. 

Purple Firetruck

The flames glow up at night (or dark )

        

 

         

A silhouette of Roman Ongpin’s statue. Of whom the street was named after. 

      Jones Bridge. When I told my friend (who resides in the area) that I walked to and fro across the bridge to get a good view of the Manila Post office, I was quite stunned with her reply: “Good thing, you’re still in one piece”. I didn’t know it was dangerous. Or maybe because it was just because of all that Jeepneys and the killer traffic.

       

      Manila Post office. That renaissance inspired building that backdrop the river Pasig from Jonesbridge. One of the very few reminders that the old Manila was designed as a transplanted Europe in Asia before World War II unfortunately destroyed it. 

Manila Post Office

Sundown in river Pasig.View from Jones bridge.Reminds me of how the sun sets in the river Nile.

 

          What used to be a ferry station in Escolta. Old, non-functional and I believe abandoned. There used to be ferries that cater to local and foreign tourists alike, that cruise the river. I want it back one day. Hopefully if and when river pasig is cleaned and rehabilitated. 

     Never go home without “Eng Bee Teen”. For me the best hopia in the land. It comes in many flavors and variants. There’s the mochipia – a hopia with tikoy filling and then there’s the two- flavored hopia-combi to name a few (ube/keso is my favorite). And then there’s “Masuki” (formerly “Mamun Luk”). One of the oldest mami or noodle house in Binondo and in the country. The secrets to their recipes are handed down from old generations to present. Your Binondo experience won’t be complete without dining here after a day’s walk along the streets.

Binondo is one of the hundreds of beautiful places one may explore in Manila, Philippines. Yes there may be heavy traffic, dirty spots, street beggars and etc but hey, any big cities and world renowned famous spots have them, too. But amidst all these imperfections, Binondo is beautiful.You just have to look it up for yourself, within yourself.

(All images are amateurly taken and playfully edited by me, thus copyrighted)

 

This too, Shall pass!

I am in it again. And this is what I’m afraid of.

My roommate just moved out.  No matter how much I try to rearrange my things to make the room look like nothing has changed, I still cannot convince myself to not see and think how bare the room is.  And the bareness haunts me. I have always been afraid of bareness, of emptiness – thus, I avoid it in any way, any circumstance. I cannot wallow in it. Maybe that’s the reason why I always want to be around with people – friends or not. I always want to get lost in a big place and in a multitude of people, or of things.  It doesn’t matter how unfamiliar and hostile the environment is, the busier the better.

BUT, I have never since told anyone how I really feel, all the more show it. Most times I am misleading and in many ways, a contradiction to my very own physical self.  And you will never have a clue of what I’m really thinking about or going through. False pretenses? Not really. I guess I might have just built a wall so high and thick that people can never really see through me. Maybe my close friends do, maybe they don’t.

Ah, Melancholia. Why do you have to be this pensive? And why do you have to grow, as I grow, too?

OR maybe constantly listening to Adele’s “Rolling In The Deep” for an hour now doesn’t really help. So lemme just take a bath, go out and get lost again. 

Of Dreams and Broken Dreams…

 (Journal entry last Dec 2010)

Like any other kid, I wanted to be a lot of things. First, I wanted to be a medical doctor. With the idea of having to cure illnesses and save lives was something most Pinoy kids had in mind. Until I grew up and I realized that it wasn’t my dream after all. Yes, it was more like my parents’. They had it instilled in me so much that I carried it until high school. But before I segue to the complexities of puberty, let’s go back to the innocence of childhood.

 Then I wanted to be an archaeologist. I remember it took me some time and effort in perfecting how it’s spelled: ARCHAEOLOGY/ARCHAEOLOGIST. Never mind if I could enunciate it correctly or not (spelling bees were more kickass back in the days). I wanted it so bad that at one summer I buried myself with the 30-volume set of encyclopedia we had, almost every afternoon. Consequently, this fueled my gusto for information and love for reading. But then I realized I had stopped playing and going out. And that I was missing a lot of good old summer fun: the warmth of the midday sun; the rumble of steps during “bulan-bulan” or “langit-lupa”; the intensity to run across the lines uncaught or untouched in “patintero”; the clanking sound of a dilapidated tin can every time a worn-out “spartan tsinelas (or tsanilas in bisaya)” tumbles it, and so on. I was missing out the so-called “batang-kalye” life. Moreover, I was practically missing out being a KID. So at one point, I decided to lay down the books and leave all the learning and reading in school.

Then, thanks to the technology that was “the walkman” and “the component” (insert cassette tape and 5 in 1 VCD player), I got engrossed to music – And I loved it. In fact, today I had personified music and made it one of my friends and confidante. Yes, I did dream of being a musician not realizing that I had it in me. My mom plays the guitar and along with her siblings, was part of the “combo” back during hippie days. On the other side, my dad, let’s just say has an unrequited love for music. So like most Pinoys, musicality to me was and is inherent. At first it was just appreciation. Learning all the genres, musical legends, current trends and all that then ALAS! I discovered I can sing. My supportive folks were so into the idea of siblings in a band (insert The Carpenters and Jackson Five) and had us took formal lessons. I took piano and voice lessons, which had apparently lasted for only 2 months. NOT MY FAULT. My piano teacher (my voice coach, too) kept on (lightly) slapping my finger with a ruler every time I hit a wrong key. So as I was already anti-violence at that young, I told my mom I will no longer finish it and I’ll just forget my dreams of  going to Julliard, Berkeley or NYU conservatory of music before finally debuting in Carnegie Hall (yes, I had always been a big time dreamer).

So, many summer and school years past, and playmates and co-kids were hitting on puberty fast; the days of play had slowly gone by. Replaced with busy days of confusion over a roll-on or rub-on deodorant, shaving facial hair (oh wait, I never had any), smelling good (always do till now), looking good (let’s not discuss how pip squeak looking I was) and then flirting – the oldest, living sport of all time. But let’s not go there. That deserves another story in itself.

So high school was rowdy yet it was bliss at the same time and in between those days of pimples, ghetto clothes and slick, spiky hair, I was beguiled by the exquisite world of ART. I started drawing Japanese mangga/anime (insert Ghost Fighter, Dragonball Z, Samurai X and etc.), then as I went to college my inclination also graduated to landscapes, concept painting, photography, mixed media, literature, art films and almost everything about the FINE ARTS. I was aware that I wasn’t really good but hey, I made an impression AND reputation (I did win some visual arts contests you know). Like music, I didn’t know we also had art running in the family gene. My mother told that I had 2 uncles who were the something-of-the-someone of a famous painter (remind me again who, mom). Of course I was  doubtful but hey, it’s my mom.

The Arts for me was literally and figuratively an eye-opener. And with music, I have since treated both as brothers in arms. I love how it imitates life (or vice-versa) and how it is twice removed from reality (hello Plato!). But more than anything else, I am captivated by the aesthetics; there is difference yet there is always coherence; there is diversity but there is harmony; it’s multi-dimensional but it functions and affects as one.

I never dreamed of becoming an artist though. It was just more of a hobby to me. Besides, I know I’ll never make it. See, when you grow up and discover the world, you realize that you can never BE everything or have everything. But I never stop on dreaming – or chasing dreams. And I guess I never will, regardless of how many failed and broken dreams I had in the past. It always paints a smile on my face every time I reminisce on those dreams and how I futilely tried making them into reality. I get discouraged but I pick myself up and move on. Life is indeed hit or miss. What matters is that you keep on shooting.

Wait, I just realized, I was NOT like any other kid today. I was (and still am) a big dreamer – with eyes and ears wide open. Perhaps, the kids of today can learn a thing or two about the kids that we simply were back in the days. The “sosyal” (insert nouveau riche) might disagree but let’s have them kids now put down their ipads, psp’s and other self-confining gadgets and have them play “taya” or “taguan” and run around safely in neighborhood “kalye’s”. Let’s have them lie on grass, stare at the summer sky then close their eyes, imagine and DREAM.

And as for me, there’s more of life that I still dream about (Insert to be a ninja assassin, a vampire and superhero, etc). But I am coping up with living in reality now. And dreaming has to be left at least during sleep time to make way for life in the “real” world. Someday soon, I will travel the world – The one thing I always dream about now. Or better yet, gyrate ala boy band-dance-moves on international TV and be a POPSTAR. Just kidding...

and DREAMING.

Why I don’t want to be a Teacher.

                It’s funny how I don’t want to be a teacher when I was raised by not just one, but two teachers. In fact, I was even born inside the campus. Yes, both of my parents are in the academe and have been teaching practically their whole lives. I grew up marveling at their stacks and stacks of lecture notes, syllabi and unchecked student exam papers.  So given the environment, it should have come naturally to me to want to become a teacher, right? Wrong. I guess not in my case. Maybe because I was never really a good student, I was a lazy one and that’s something I’m not proud of. I still remember though how I hated being compared to other “teacher’s kids” because most of them were achievers and I was but chose to be just average. I used to excel, too until I grew tired of it. So come college I just settled for the passing grades and told myself “ok lang, pasado lang naman hinihingi ng gobyerno, eh”. I do regret it, because I know that had I just pushed myself, I would’ve graduated with honors, too. But I’ve already let it all go. 

         I wouldn’t say that being raised by teachers (both are professors in a government funded state –university by the way) is hard but there’s an extra pressure to it. You are after all expected to be proper and at the very least should know what common decency is. You of all people should be learned.  Growing up with teachers is definitely more like growing up with books, so to speak. You are fed everyday with news and information. But more than that, you grow up with values. You grow up with that constant need for learning and understanding. You grow up with consciousness and awareness of the world around you.

          To tell you honestly, why I don’t want to become a teacher, or maybe not yet is because I don’t think I have what it takes. I don’t think I’m that good enough for it. Teaching, being among the oldest of profession, is I believe the very reason why there is development and why there is change. Perhaps, it is one of the very reasons we are where we are, today:  A civilized world. See, when you teach, you impart your ideas, your knowledge and you influence. You basically share a part of who you are as a person. And because of all that, for me teaching is the most noble of all profession.

Given the chance to re-live my life, I’d still choose to be raised by teachers, by my parents. And with that chance, I would also re-do how I was at school. I would pay more attention to classes and would listen more to my teachers. I would value more my time as a student instead of hurrying up to graduate. And I bet, I would make my parents more proud. So to all the students, I suggest that you cherish and value your time that you spend in your schools and in your classrooms learning. Because even before you become engineers, nurses or lawyers, or whoever you want to be, there WERE your teachers…

Happy Teacher’s Day to all.

By the way, Y2K teens remember this movie? Helen Mirren rocked it big time  and of course, Katie Holmes

Life - Or lack thereof, at 25

(Journal Entry last May 2011)

Here goes nothing…

I haven’t really been myself these past months or perhaps these past few years.

Although my usual zest for life still seems apparent, I actually feel tired, restless and exhausted at the same time. I am in this world but I feel I’ve gotten disconnected. I’ve lost focus, gotten off- track and now settles for the dismal comfort of mediocrity. I hate to admit that I am lonely because I actually am not – or, maybe there lies the problem: Denial.

“Age is just a state of mind” - I used to say, until I realized it slowly is taking its toll. Never mind back pains and all that old-age sickness, not there yet. I JUST turned twenty-five. And so I tell myself. The thing is, I know it’s relatively young but I feel otherwise.

“If only I could turn back the hands of time” - I bet we all want to.  I say this to myself whenever I badly miss something or someone:  Friends, family, my past bohemian life and what-have-I’s. I say this too, whenever I look back to the friendships and relationships that had gotten sour or lost due to foolish mistakes.  Let’s be honest, although should have, could have and would have may be the last words of a fool (that, as the song goes), there are indeed many things we want to re-do or undo from our pasts.

“Life is full of choices” - I hear it a lot and I do agree. There is always a sacrifice in every choice we make. But how do we know that we made the right one?  I know that mistakes oftentimes make us stronger, but what if we had chosen the non-mistake? Could life have been better? Could we have been stronger?  I am only left to ponder.

I honestly don’t know where I’m going to. Not with my life or with what I’m ranting about. I haven’t even been writing for a long time. I am in dire need to read and reflect, and Music – the one thing I rely on for such uneasy and discomforting times is not even enough to console me. Is it bad?  Have I gone totally lost or perhaps, had fallen far behind? They say that the fastest horse on earth would never reach its potentials until put on the right track. But who determines the right track?

Everything is all a blur. I have too many questions and what’s sad is that I used to find the answers. I’ve been telling myself that I need to start over.  But looking back, I think I might have never really started with life. Maybe because I never had tough issues growing up so I don’t suppose I have stood the “tests of life”. I admire (real) people whose life stories could earn an episode for any a primetime drama.  I get inspired on how they’ve hurdled on their own storms. It’s like their life stories are my own personal soap opera. I guess now I am in my own shallow, self-inflicted and ho-hum drama.

Sigh. TWENTY FIVE – When it’s not just a number anymore. But rather a long list of petty regrets and then some, when it has been a meander bus ride passing through curbs and slopes. And now I am stuck here in this bus stop of nowhere, in this limbo, in this milestone of existence. And I guess this is what you call a quarter-life crisis.