Do cats get claustrophobic too?

I have an uncanny knack of making feral cats my pets, especially if they exhibit outward signs of human sociability. I always pounce on that weakness. For instance, my first-ever pet cat Clovis was a wild cat which I slowly lured to domestication by appealing to its voracious appetite. The others that followed were drawn by basically the same motivation. But not Dr. Jinx.

Or maybe he was when our friendship started. The memory of our first meeting was lost in the blurry of my college years. All I remember was that as soon as I stepped on the topmost rung of the staircase that leads to the door of my boarding house, he sprinted towards me, meowing like crazy, and rubbed his white and orange head against my legs. I was a bit taken aback by his aggressiveness. Never have I encountered such behavior unless the cat and I are already friends, which we weren’t. But ever the diplomatic person who will not thwack any unfamiliar cat’s butt, I sweetly said hello. I could not remember if I shared some leftovers that night but my brief greeting further goaded him to come near me. The next day, he was at his antics again and this time, he was clever enough to get ahead of me in entering the room. Up to the present, I wrestle with him at the door as he futilely attempts to bypass my towering frame. I think his goal in life is to just set his furry paws in our cozy room.

Anyway, since it has been his habit to hang out in our room, I let him indulge in this desire every once in a while. In fact, I let him sleep there. And so far, he hasn’t chewed on my toes or peed on my shoes yet so it’s fine with me. One day, while I was watching a movie from the computer, a small rat tiptoed across the computer table right in front of me. I wanted to scream but the image of the rat jumping at me and landing right into my mouth shut me up. As I found out later from my brother, the rat George has been disturbing us for quite some time. (Yes, my brother and I name our mammal friends. The only creatures I don’t give names are cockroaches because one, they’re the grossest things on earth. Two, they’re not mammals. And lastly, they’re not our friends.) I decided it was payback time. I let Dr. Jinx inside the room and waited. I was about to drift off to slumber when I heard a crash. (By the way, I named the cat Dr. Jinx because I feel that our electric fan is at the brink of extinction every time he roughly brushes his head against it, as if he really plans to jinx it up.) Sure enough, George’s tail was wiggling like a lollipop outside Dr. Jinx’s mouth. Eeewww. Well, at least I’m happy and Dr. Jinx is happy. That’s all that matters. And I thought that was the end of the Georges.

One night, I was stripped down at the bathroom ready for a ritual evening bath, humming to my heart’s content when a George lurking somewhere popped its small pointed head and ran around the bathroom in squares. I instinctively jumped on the toilet seat and my soft humming evolved to natural screaming. I got dressed quickly, locked the bathroom door behind me, and called on Dr. Jinx for help. For some weird reason, Dr. Jinx was scared of the bathroom. No matter how many times I tried to shove him towards it, he would always find a way to evade the damn bathroom. Unmoved, I dragged him to the bathroom and locked him inside. As soon as I closed the door, Dr. Jinx started whimpering! Jinxie, find George and eat him alive, I pleaded through the door. The whimpering continued. Then I heard a scratch. I thought he finally caught George. Imagine my astonishment when I opened the bathroom door and saw Dr. Jinx, not on the floor but at the top of the thin laundry line wobbling for dear life with wide eyes. I could not imagine how he got up there, considering that the laundry line was way over my head. Being trapped in a bathroom seemed to pump some adrenaline into the poor cat. Seriously, are cats capable of getting claustrophobia? Anyway, I got Dr. Jinx out of the bathroom and forcefully shooed George out. (while shrieking, of course) The moment George skittered on the room premises, Dr. Jinx grabbed him and chomped him down. But the whole ordeal left indelible memories on Dr. Jinx’s system. After that night, he never dared go anywhere near the bathroom door and would rather lie down at the bottom of the double-decked bed near my shoes. No George has been pestering us since then and I’m almost looking forward to meeting another George. Why? Well, he might be the key to finding out another one of Dr. Jinx’s well-kept secrets.

Are you the perfect Pinay?

“Paglaki ko, gusto ko malaki suso ko…kasi yan po ang maganda at hinahangaan.” (When I grow up, I want my breasts to be big because that is what is beautiful and admired.)

My jaw dropped, nearly down to my knees. Although I did not hear the child say it herself, it was both a shocking and an enlightening piece of statement for me, for the host, and for the guest. I watched an episode of Media in Focus on ANC two weeks ago. Hosted by Luchi Cruz-Valdez, she talked about “The Perfect Pinay” with several guests from the media, most notably Emily Abrera, the incumbent Chairman Emeritus of advertising agency McCann Erickson Philippines. Abrera related to Valdez the results of a research they did on little kids aged five to seven. They asked the kids a lot of questions, one of which was what they want to be when they grow up. That was when a young girl dropped the bomb at their feet.

What the little girl said was not even close to what she should have answered but it definitely gave us an inkling as to how advertising has corrupted the most innocent of minds. We are raising a generation that is heavily exposed to mass media advertising. Television, print, radio, and the web all carry different kinds of messages that a young person absorbs, consciously or unconsciously each day. Due to the recurring nature of mass media, messages are reinforced, causing people to believe in them after several constant repetitions.

They say beauty is in the eye of the beholder but in reality, people generally have a common notion of what is beautiful and what is not. One of my teachers used to joke around saying, “If you don’t have good self-esteem, don’t look at the magazines. You’ll only get frustrated.” The beautiful image, the image of a “perfect Pinay” always presented by media is one who is fair-skinned, slim, booby, and flawless. No wonder people spend billions and billions of money on liposuction, breast enhancements, whitening products, and slimming pills just to fit the high standards of beauty that media has set. What the people don’t know and we probably never will is how much enhancement is being done behind the glamorous commercials and photo shoots. We will never know, for instance, how much of the pictures we see on the glossies are edited with photoshop or how the models were positioned against the camera to hide the wrong curves. So you see, the very industry that tries to promote the concept of a “perfect Pinay” is struggling to meet the standards of beauty, as well.

What I just don’t like about this whole distorted image of beauty is its effect on a child, like the child who was the inspiration for this article. Children are still at their formative years, trying to establish their own identity – trying to establish the kind of person they want to be. Exposing them to the image of beauty like the one currently projected by mainstream media will affect the way they want their own image to be. I wonder if in the future, we’ll see more people looking like they just popped out of a magazine. Even so, this view of beauty is so superficial I think God would complain that this is not the way He envisioned beauty to be. For such a deep word such as that being equated to merely being white, slim, booby, and flawless – oh my, we have a LOT of serious work to do.

Cebuano music at its best

It has been over a month since the 28th Cebu Popular Music Festival but I still keep playing the songs over and over in my mind that I swear I don’t know when the last song(s) syndrome would end. I’m probably in awe because early this month, I ransacked music stores for a copy of the album. I finally found it in the music section of Metro Ayala. Anyway, I got the chance to hear and appreciate each song and I was awed not only by the entries but also by the arrangement of each piece. I rarely buy original albums because they cost a fortune for someone like me who’s used to coaxing friends into copying the songs or taking it the cheaper way – buy them from the streets. But since the album was locally produced and I couldn’t get a copy from my cousin Japril, (who by the way is the main reason why I even bothered to look for the album as she is one of the interpreters) I took the risk and shelved some of my savings that’s more than enough to buy myself a McDonald’s burger meal or a slice of Red Ribbon Chocolate Marjolaine. But upon hearing all those tracks in the album, I’d say it was all worth it.

Yeah I know that’s not really something new. To say that Cebuanos are musically gifted is like emphasizing a point that has already been underscored because a lot of artists who came from Cebu and other parts in Visayas and Mindanao are making it big in the industry. What amazes me is that the quality of the music is at par with those created in Manila. Musically speaking, we are ready to create and develop our own music industry right here in the south. But a greater and a more important question is: are we, the public, ready for it?

Personally, I am ready for it even if I was not exactly a fan of the language. Before, I would balk at the thought of reading something in Cebuano because I couldn’t understand the words. Even as a kid, I favored the English language in subtle ways. In the face of danger with a snake wriggling its tail at my feet, I could have shouted, “Bitin! Bitin!” Instead, I screamed, “Snake! Snake!” I was about five years old then. And when I talk in my sleep, my nanny would tell me in the morning I was speaking in English the whole time. But seeing how extremely talented our musicians, singers, and composers are and hearing how rich and sweet the Cebuano language sounds in a song, I’d say I’m looking forward to hearing more songs that would reflect our culture and our nature as a people. And it’s safe to say that I’ve changed my perspective about the language.

But there’s more to preparation than just appreciating the language. That’s just the first step. The next crucial step would involve asking ourselves how far we will go to support the industry. Because the music industry, as in any other industry, would still rely on financial returns. It may survive but it could struggle against people’s reluctance to buy the albums and the preference as well to buy the original copy than the pirated version. (Ouch, did something just hit me or what?) Well, that’s something to mull about. As for me, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

bicentennial man teaches social science

Flipping across channels on a Sunday night, I came across Bicentennial Man. The first few scenes seemed familiar but halfway through, I realized I haven’t watched the whole movie so I put down the remote control and watched it until the end. Bicentennial Man was played by the very talented Robin Williams, who happens to be one of my favorite actors of all time. The story was set in a futuristic era where robots coexist with humans. Williams plays a robot named Andrew. He was sent to a family, who treated him well as if he really was part of it. Then the unthinkable happened. Andrew started to acquire human emotions and intelligence. I doubt if that is technologically possible but anyway, this entry isn’t a review of the movie. There was one scene in the movie that keeps playing again and again in my mind.

It was the scene where Andrew’s master discovered that he had a potential. Andrew used to help around the house. Andrew’s master told him at that moment that he will no longer work and will just focus on reading and studying – which of course was one of the factors as to why he became a really smart robot. That scene reminded me of my social science class where my teacher Sir Mike asked us what we noticed about the kids in a milk commercial that promises to spawn “gifted” children. If you drink that milk, your child could have an IQ so high your kid can be a pianist, violinist, math whiz, or a chess champ. Impressive huh. So if a ratty kid from the street drinks that milk, will he have more chances of becoming any of those above? Well, the thing with that milk commercial, it portrays kids from well-off families.

If we watch the commercial closely, these kids are well-dressed, educated, and can spend all the time in the world focusing on becoming who they want to be because their parents can back them up. In contrast, the kid from the street does not have all the luxury and lives each day finding food for himself and his family so they can eat and survive. Translate that to psychology and we come face to face with Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, which states that physiological needs come first before self-fulfillment. Of course, how would you expect a kid to pursue his talents with an empty stomach?

I’m not saying that underprivileged kids are doomed because a lot of people have proven that they can rise above the odds with patience and a lot of hard work. In the end, what matters more is how we cope with our respective situations. I just hope they know that.

sinfully sweet

Now this is supposed to look yummy. It's a Chocolate Marjolaine cake from Red Ribbon I indulged in last week when we stopped over at Ayala Mall before going home from training. It was really delicious but somehow in the picture, it looks kind of weird and when I showed the picture to my brother, he wasn't at all interested. (Said the cake doesn't look appetizing enough for him.) The lighting is a little bad. But while tinkering with the computer and all the wonders you can do with Picture Manager, I managed to make it more interesting.

Now this looks more tempting. Agree? Yum. Yum. Yum!

chopsuey for New Year

I didn’t exactly have chopsuey on New Year’s Eve.

I had pansit, sweet and sour fish fillet, beef, and lechon so small we suspected it was a Chihuahua in disguise. But my experiences during the months before the year ended were bursting with a variety of fun moments and bittersweet realizations that it seemed I just swallowed a whole bowl of chopsuey!

Let me start with the more serious part of this entry. Several months have passed since my last post. The last post I wrote was about my current occupation of answering calls from people at the other side of the globe. Well, I still do now. The only difference before and now is that I’m getting the hang of it – to the point that if my customer gets irate, I get irate too. Hahaha! Not that I advise it. I mean, we’re supposed to “care” for our customers. But when people get mad, their overwhelming emotions cloud their judgment and they say a lot of things irrelevant to the issue. I just want to give them a taste of their own medicine, so either I answer back or channel my anger in more subtle ways like putting them on hold longer. Newbies, you shouldn’t be reading this. Anyway, the good thing is I have fulfilled my end of the contract. But to be honest about it, I’m not only relieved. I’m anxious as well. Why? Because that means I have to face another crossroad: What next and where to? If there is one good thing about this current job, it is that it made me realize that you have to find a job that you’re really passionate about because you spend almost all your day working. If you’re unhappy about your job, you’re going to be unhappy for most of the day…and logically, for most of your life! Been there. Still am there. So if it all boils down to passion, what am I passionate about?

“I have decided to avoid employment in mainstream media because I do not want to be caught in a situation where I have to compromise my ethical values. The media is one of those places where you can most likely trade your ideals for money. I’d rather be employed in a corporation, whose nature is admittedly profit-oriented than be employed in a media institution, whose nature is also profit-oriented, hiding under the guise of public service. I was once fooled into thinking that if I become a part of mainstream media, I could affect people’s lives and fight for what is true. Well, that is partly correct. But it happens if and only if it will not collide with the personal interests of the media owners. Otherwise, it is best to shut up if you don’t want to be fired. At least in a private company, I know clearly what I am working for. No icing on the cake. No false guises. Just… reality. And just what I want at this point in my life…”

Shortly after I graduated, I boldly made a statement about being employed in mainstream media. Looking back, I realized that the way I wrote it, I gave the impression that it is media per se that I’m trying to avoid. But what I was only trying to avoid is the kind of inner conflict I’ve dealt with as a Mass Communication student. I thought that by getting away from the field I’ve been in for four years would mean getting away from all the conflict. But now, 6 months later and with more gray hairs on my head, I realized it’s not where you are – whether you’re in media or you’re in a corporation – that matters. Wherever you are, you will always and continually encounter struggles within and beyond yourself. Struggles that test you how far your principles and your personal values can go. But these are actually little details of life that make you scream and fight. And in the end, they make a stronger person out of you. It’s quite interesting, looking back at all these and wondering why I wasn’t able to see the grain of truth hidden behind all these. But then again, now that I’m already out in the real world, the hallowed halls of my school can no longer shelter me from causing myself further trouble. Whereas before, my teachers could just warn me of impending dangers ahead, now I have to steer the wheel and explore it all on my own while picking up my lessons along the way. It’s tough but it’s inevitable. Well, this is life, as what they all say…

I don’t want to turn this post into a melodrama of sorts so let’s get to the fun part. Whoopee! I’ve always been a fun-loving person. With all the unnecessary stress we get from our job, three of my batch mates and currently my colleagues in the call center industry, and I decided to go out after the last shift of the week before the year ended – probably to ward the stress and bad luck for the coming year. Mark, Jeiko, Raine, and I went knocking pins and pulling each other’s leg at SM Bowling Center. Then our childhood kept haunting us back that we couldn’t resist a ride in bumper cars. I guess what was a little embarrassing was that our competitors were little kids but we didn’t care and just stepped hard on the pedal, trying to avoid bumping into each other and the kids. We watched a movie next, ate pizza, and to top the big event… tadaaaa… karaoke galore with the drinks on the side! We sang and drank and danced to our hearts’ delight. We even wanted to go bar-hopping after that but the beer had already taken its toll so we decided to end the night with an after-drink dinner instead.

The Power Four at Yellow Cab

Strike! (Please don't embarrass me...)

I'm innocent! I was just singing and you accuse me of...drinking?!?

That’s just about it. Not exactly ending the year with a bang but lessons were learned and friends were made. So I’m just contented about it. The new year has come and I’m wondering what’s in store for me. I can’t wait to find out.

best place next to home

For the past twenty years of my existence, I have spent most of my Holy Weeks in Barili, the hometown of my father located at the southern part of Cebu. Save for that particular week during the year, my grandmother’s house is relatively quiet. But as Holy Tuesday steps in, people start pouring into the house, lugging baggages, appliances, little kids, and beautiful memories behind. My grandmother’s house would seem to glow from all the noise and bustle inside it – the sound of hammers fixing the wooden figures of the family caro, the music and the voices coming from the rented karaoke machine, the crying and screaming of little kids, the laughter of binatas and the dalagas talking about the latest happenings in their lives, the conversations of the mothers, fathers, aunts, and uncles on how the kids have grown, and so on and so forth. It is no longer the lonely house it was during most of the days of the year. For the next few days, it becomes our home.

Tradition has it that every Holy Week, all the eleven sons and daughters of my lola Guadalupe Alquizola-Yap gather in her house not only to observe the Holy Week but also to participate in a family-held custom – to decorate, arrange, and parade the family caro every Holy Wednesday. In a way, we are obliged to be there since it’s a family thing. But then, as the saying “the more, the merrier” goes, all the preparations we undertake can hardly be called tasks since we enjoy working together and catching up on each other in between. Amid all the fuss of arranging the flowers and dressing up the life-sized figures of Jesus the Nazarene, Simon, the Centurion, and the rest, we manage to pop in a little chitchat. Our efforts, after all, are not in vain. We are rewarded by delicious meals prepared by the mothers at home. And it’s no ordinary meal. In honor of the occasion, it’s almost like a feast.

Tuesdays and Wednesdays seem to roll by quickly with the busy schedule. But as Thursday morning peeps in, everyone can sit back, relax, and savor the rest of the week. I know Holy Week should be a time for reflection and prayer but it seems to be the only perfect excuse for everyone to leave their jobs and classes behind. We only meet once a year as a big family so we don’t let it pass without having some fun. This is where the karaoke showdown, the movie marathon, and the small trips to scenic spots come in. The week is usually concluded with a day or a day and a night at the beach, complete with the inuman sessions, night swimming, and eating.

On a personal note, here are the things that I really love most about staying in Barili for the Holy Week: (1) I like the feel of being united as a big family, despite the generation differences. Today, there are about three generations of our family gathering in my lola’s house and our family just keeps on growing! (2) I especially like meal times, even if we have to go by batches since the dining table can definitely not accommodate all of us in one sitting. I like meal times because aside from my obvious affection for food, meal times are usually accompanied by small jokes thrown at each other at the dining table. (3) Bedtimes are sometimes a headache. The house has only five rooms. Imagine trying to fit in eleven sons and daughters plus the children and the grandchildren in one house. Some end up sleeping on mats spread out on the floor. Just last Holy Week, the five of the older girl-cousins – that’s me, Japril, Pauline, Ella, and Julie Ann – had to make do with one bed. Three of us had to sleep sideways so we won’t all fall out of the bed. Hahaha! That’s actually a fun part of it. Since we girls are inseparable during those days, we push the limits harder. Even the smallest nook of the house can become a haven as long as we’re together and we can talk about our love lives and sing together. (4) Do you know that since time immemorial, (okay, that was just an overstatement) we girl-cousins take a bath together? I’m not really sure if it saves time and water. But we love it anyway. (5) Lastly, I love being with my cousins. I’m lucky that I have cousins who have (more or less) the same age as mine. I see how we have grown from awkward kids to mature adolescents. I can now recollect fond memories of my childhood in that house and I can see the difference between then and now. For instance, back then we really love riding the trisikad at night to get some fresh air and to tour around the town proper. Now, we do it because we want to be on the lookout for cute guys. Before, we play with our toys and we even cringe at the mere thought of us having boyfriends. But today, guess the main topic of our conversations? Mostly about the things we eewed and ughed before – boys plus relationship and dating. We really have grown up.

As I write this article, a wave of nostalgia hits me as I realize that as we grow up, our priorities change. For those who have finished college like me, our work becomes our priority. Some of my cousins cannot make it to the Holy Week gatherings because they work as seamen abroad. And with the looming crisis facing our country, some members of our family plan to leave the country for good. I hope that one day, I wouldn’t have to miss the gathering for other things in this life. But just in case I do, I still would like to go back to that house once in a while – Holy Week or not. It is, after all, the best place next to home.

pre-graduation jitters

After going through several moments of despair over a backlog of thesis work set aside for other demanding short-term requirements, after crying over the spilled milk of an exam not answered well because you hung out at the local videoke stop-over with friends believing it would “energize” your already tired brains and muscles and help you in the next day’s exam, after working straight hours to beat the deadliest deadlines even if it meant missing baths and meals, I now sit here in front of our trusty computer, praying it would not shut itself down after being abused over the past four years of my college existence. I sit here while sipping hot Swiss Miss chocolate and reminiscing the past months of blog silence, wondering where I should start picking the pieces up to fill in what happened to me in those times. But truth to tell, I barely noticed those three months pass me by. Everything now seems like a blur and I am momentarily experiencing a short-term memory loss because I am just too overwhelmed to have been able to comply with my school requirements. I am now looking forward to graduation, which is set on the 26^th of April. But oh well, compliance to requirements aside, an unforeseen dilemma caught us all off guard. Our batch was supposedly the first batch to graduate under the new curriculum but along the way of the bureaucratic process, our college was not furnished with the formal notice regarding the implementation of the curriculum. Hence, our division continued using the old curriculum. After we processed our papers for graduation, we found out, to our dismay, that we lacked three units. Uh-oh. So as of the moment, our graduation is still pending. I’m keeping my fingers crossed for a positive outcome.

In the meantime, while enduring the torturous wait for our fate, I have to do some editing for my thesis. While on the process of editing, I remembered my memorable experiences working on it. Once, I had to visit the Christ for Asia Foundation office for an important interview. There I was, looking dignified and all, waiting for my interviewee who was still on field. Christ for Asia has a shelter for street kids both boys and girls. Because it was break time, they were so busy running around, climbing, shouting, and all the other things a kid would normally do. I just sat there contentedly watching them and reminiscing my own childhood days while the wind was silently blowing in my face. I was ready to drift off to dreamland when a kid took special notice of my hair and remarked that I had a grey hair sticking out of my head. Without any further ado, he gathered all his guts and triumphantly pulled the gray hair out and handed it to me. Chuckling a little, I managed to mumble a word of thanks. But instead of dropping it, he was more motivated to go on. He pulled out another one. And another. And another. In my head, I pictured him as the eager kid scientist and I was the unwilling specimen. But the kid scientist, it seemed, wanted to consult other scientists of his latest discovery. He called on his other colleagues for help! What?!? Before I could protest, the kids who were once rambunctiously playing were swarming around me and started picking out my gray hairs. Some were even boasting that they could pull out three gray hairs in one picking. Oh dear! I wanted to grip the scrunchie that was holding my hair but one mischievous little boy took it off. My hair was all over my head and I could only smile sheepishly at the passersby who were probably wondering what on earth was going on. Despite everything, I initiated a little chitchat with the kids, telling them to remember to leave a little hair on my head. We talked a little more. I tried to make them guess my age. Gray hairs must be kind of deceiving. One kid confidently announced, “Ninety!” I was so amused I couldn’t stop laughing. The naughty kids I saw in them seemed to transform into young adults, even telling me things like, “Te, daghan kaayo kag uban. Ayaw anang daghan kaayo kag uban kay lain man tan-awon. Bata pa ra ba ka.” I could only nod and smile in agreement. It felt weird being told by little kids half my age. But I don’t know. I kind of liked it. Maybe because it made me feel younger than my actual age. Maybe because I felt good hearing the thoughts of those young minds. Or maybe, right then and there – I was simply struck at the care those kids showed. To think, they need it more than I do. Yet they were unselfish about it. An hour later, I left with lesser gray hairs and a bigger realization: Never ever underestimate kids in their innocence. Sometimes, they make more sense than we do. Sometimes, they give more than we do. And sometimes, they enjoy life more than we do because they see its simple joys and little rewards.

And oh, before I left, the little girls combed through my hair with their hands, smoothed my hair, and put back my scrunchie and hairpins on. Although I could have done my hair better, I never touched it until I got home.

the first stretch of 2007

It’s the first stretch of the year 2007. A literal stretch. A few days after classes resumed, I literally stretched my lazy bones and muscles to keep up with my daily student routine. After weeks of getting used to sleeping late, watching movies on HBO and cartoons on Cartoon Network and Disney nonstop, stuffing my tummy with anything my eyes deliciously feasted on, playing with my dog Captain and cat Mijay who loves to chomp my toes, and surfing the net during the wee hours in the morning, I wasn’t ready to go back to school. Not yet. Really, I think I acted like a bum during the first week of classes. I missed vacation so much that I swore after the last day of this semester, (that would be graduation day, granting of course…) I’m taking a mandatory rest period for me to enjoy myself. I’m thinking beach, food, cool air…

And before I drift off to dreamland, here are random things I’ve taken note of since I got back during the holidays:

a box of old notes and letters
I have a box of old notes and letters stashed in one of the upper cabinets in my bedroom in Leyte. I don’t know what got into me but it never occurred to me to throw them away because even if they are mere pieces of paper, they are precious. During the holidays, I had the luxury of browsing through those notes and letters that already smelled like antique pieces of furniture. I savored each note and letter with nostalgia and bliss. A lot of them revealed what was going on in my growing up years – the little tampuhans of my friends, my infatuation moments, and mostly, just about what went on around the classroom during discussions. I think I missed passing notes around. They rarely happen now in college when cell phones are allowed in the classroom. There’s a big difference between a note and a text message. Notes exude a personal touch; you can either hate or admire the handwriting of the sender, not to mention that the message is written in full text, which makes the message clearer and almost always undisputable. Text messages are impersonal, sent in the same font and color and written in abbreviations that will take more minutes to decipher if you’re not used to it. The message loses its momentum. Notes are passed by human hands. (hopefully, not the teacher’s as the note will surely be confiscated) It adds excitement as each curious hand tries to pry open the note. The sender glares at the intruder of the privacy hopefully to scare his guts off. The intruder, your classmate, winks jokingly in surrender and proceeds with the human networking of the message. Text messages are sent via the communication company’s network, which sometimes goes haywire and the message ends up with the wrong person. You might end up in an altercation who first texted who. Well, I’m a traditionalist so I find notes and letters more appealing. So if you do have time, drop me a note for me to keep in my stash.

Metro Manila Film Festival
Yesterday, I was able to watch a portion of the live telecast of the Golden Globe Awards. Hollywood stars donned their best gowns and tuxedos for that great opportunity to be thrust into the limelight. They looked beautiful, elegant, and dignified. Dignified, not because they are wearing multi-million dollar clothes but dignified, because the event itself exudes an aura of dignity and credibility. I can’t help but compare the Golden Globe to our controversial Metro Manila Film Festival. I haven’t watched any of those films vying for awards at the MMFF so I’m in no position to say which film should have won the Best Picture. But if the rebuttal of our dear MMDA Chairman Bayani Fernando, who happens to be one of the judges, includes the revelation that forty percent (40%) of the criteria rests on movie earnings, well excuse me, I beg to disagree. Point Sir, earnings are indeed a determining factor of a really good movie but it’s not always the case, especially in the Philippine setting. The problem with our current film industry today is that producers are so contentedly wrapped up in their comfort zones, relying on tried-and-tested formulas for blockbuster hits. As long as they earn, they don’t care at all even if the movie is a copy of some Hollywood movie. I’m talking of quality films here. Films that move people to think. Films that educate. Films that expose social realities. Apparently, what we have right now are more of entertainment. Put in a hunk of an actor, a super hero, or a scantily-clad sexy star and you’re good to go. You’re going to rake in big bucks, baby! But what do the people get? An hour or two’s worth of entertainment? And then what next? Sadly, that’s the politics of it all. Sheesh. Even in movies, politics exists. Well, as political science students always assert, everything is political.

the chopsuey chronicles

chips and chocolates
I am a chaotic eater. I eat food stuff by mere convenience. Last week, I made a record by thriving on Mr. Chips junk food and Demolino chocolates as my dinner for three nights in a row. I have just resumed duty for my internship at ABS-CBN Cebu weeks after coming home from South Korea and catching up with my classes. As of now, I could only spare the evenings so right after school, I would travel to Jagobiao, Mandaue. Man, I tell you, travel time alone eats up a big chunk of my time and my allowance. I’d be home really late that when I arrive in Lahug, all nearby carenderias would already be closed. And by then, I’d be too tired to travel elsewhere to eat. So I quickly settle for whatever’s available – junk food and chocolates – to my delight, of course, as you know how helplessly addicted I am to chocolates. My parents won’t forgive me if they find out but I have no intentions of pursuing this kind of habit, either. I can hear my bodily systems whining at me in frustration for the abusive treatment. No way, Sir. I don’t want to get sick again! Waaaaah!

close encounters with stardom and star-doom
Ever since I started television internship, I have had, uhm, close encounters with stardom. Not just once but many times. A wee bit more and I’ll be a star! Hahaha! But kidding aside, my face has been flashed a lot of times on TV Patrol Central Visayas because I’m an intern and a student. It’s either you catch me tagging along with a senior reporter, attending an ABS-CBN-hosted event, or being a participant of whatever ventures I’m currently into. For me, it’s nothing really. As long as I’m not caught doing something silly, I would be perfectly fine. But if there’s one thing I should have remembered, it’s that every little thing has a corresponding counterpart. In the language of physics, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. If there’s such thing as stardom, then there’s what I call star-doom. (Vianney’s Vocabulary 101, Category: Coinages) What could be more shocking than this? When I resumed duty last week for the news department, I once visited the production office to wait for my classmates who were also on duty so we could go home together. I helped them cut out confetti or cut out papers for prompters. We chatted, watched My Girl in between, (which, by the way, I was not a fan of… my classmates and my mom could relate better when it comes to koreanovelas) and just enjoyed what we did. Suddenly, one of the staff came to us and told us, “Excuse me, himuon mo namong extra sa Milyonaryong Mini ha? Mangaplay kuno mo para Japan.” (Excuse me, we’ll get you as extras for Milyonaryong Mini okay? You’ll be applying to go to Japan.) I just laughed it off, thinking she was joking around. Only when she said, “Pangita mog sinina sa dressing room.” (Look for clothes in the dressing room.) when I realized she was dead serious. My eyes grew wide and my jaws dropped as I blurted out to myself, “Hah!?! Ang akoang dignidad!” (Hah!?! My dignity!) It wasn’t even part of my internship! I was a mere victim of circumstances. Waaaah! Poor Krishna, Noreen, and I – we were made to dress up like, you know, dancers applying for Japan. I assume you know what I’m talking about. I’m talking about sexy, skimpy blouses. What a dare! I felt the cold sweat forming at strategic points. I can’t even wear sleeveless on normal days and there I go wearing that stuff and playing that role! All throughout the taping, I tried my best to take cover between Krishna and Noreen. (I hope I was successful enough.) We just sat down while the cameras rolled and taped the scene. Oh dear, I hope that when the final cut comes out, there will be no traces of our encounter with star-doom.

like father, like mother, like daughter
Some people tell me I look like my father. And an almost equal number tell me I look like my mother. But really, when I look at the mirror, I see none of their facial features. Rather, I see a healthy blend of both except for my forehead, which I non-disputably inherited from my father. (My high school classmates couldn’t agree more on this.) Actually, who I am, what I am and what I love today are pretty much inspired by both of them. So if you’re complaining that I write too much, blame my father. I think I would never be in this course had he not introduced the habit of reading to me. I remember the all the excitement and enthusiasm that sprung from my little heart when he handed me my very first book, Karen’s Toothache way back in third grade. Blame my mother, too. Had she not been patient teaching me the proper spelling and grammar (which she usually does as she is an English major), I wouldn’t be as meticulous as I am today. So when my father told me he also set up his own blog, I wasn’t surprised at all. Writing has also been part of his routine as an educator. And I’m very proud to say that he writes really well. You can check out his blog http://www.simplyme-bookworm.blogspot.com/ or you can click on the links at the left side. (As of now, my mother still needs to be convinced to display her writings online, as well as to be acquainted with the computer and all these internet stuff. It’s already 2006 yet my mom still writes her memos using a typewriter.)

Of Eye Bags and Foot Spas

I just had one of the most hectic weekends I will most probably have in my senior year in college. I presented a class report, prepared for a major school activity, and attended a business summit. Sounds chicken. But put them together in consecutive days and what does Vianney get? Additional pounds, lack of sleep, and a heightened determination to implement world-extermination strategies. All the madness and the mayhem started with the preparations for my report in class.

My report was about the extent of the independence of the television documentaries, considering their ownership and the timeslot they occupy, which is always past the primetime. (as in the case of the two major competing stations) The topic was a bit hard to explain because one, I knew those two factors weren’t the only factors surrounding the situation. Two, there was a dearth of materials dealing on the issue. So it took me long to figure out how to make do with the little material I had. (which were taken from email interviews with Kuya Tops Brugada, Executive Producer for I-Witness, and a few media people including Kuya Don Gonzalez, a creative writer who just slammed his way to victory in a story writing competition. Thanks so much to these two heaven-sent angels who saved me from total doom.) I started preparing last Wednesday night. So there I was, typing my way to the completion of my report. But in the middle of it all, our PC shut down. I panicked. I had no back-up file saved in my flash disk yet! After a few minutes of praying over the computer, it functioned again. I ended up sleeping only for 30 minutes and had to rush to the 7AM class for the report. The whole day on Thursday went like a blur. I stole hours in between classes to go home and catch up on sleep. On that day, last-minute preparations were also being undertaken for Cookout 2006, the annual “acquaintance party” of UP Cebu. Meetings here. Stuffs to do there. Good thing I wasn’t in charge of any major committee. I had the luxury of napping in between meetings. At the end of the seemingly long day, I decided to drop by the salon to do the one thing I haven’t done in my “teen” years – get my nails done. I’m not too vain with nails and stuff but I was attending a business summit the next day. Under normal circumstances, I would have cleaned my nails myself using just a nail cutter and alcohol for cleansing, but I was so dead tired that I knew if I went home, I would only collapse on my bed and snore to sleep.

At the salon, my eyes caught the sign “Foot Spa with Pedicure.” It sounded like a good deal so I decided to try the service. Before the procedure, I casually talked the manicurista into being extra gentle as images of bloody nails and girlish shrieks flashed on my mind – recollections of my high school Home Economics class when my classmates experimented on each other’s nails. But the manicurista adeptly cleaned and polished my nails to a perfect finish. I enjoyed the small chitchat as I found out she was from Leyte and knew the people I knew. (Whoa. The world really is small.) I loved the ticklish feel of the foot scrub. I felt relaxed as I imagined that my soles were inches thinner. Wow, I so savored the moment.

I went home and as expected, I went straight to bed.

That would have been a perfect ending to an exhausting day but why else would I be yakking about eye bags if I didn’t have them? Somewhere in dreamland after the manicure and pedicure, my alarm clock popped me awake at 2AM on Friday to prepare for the summit. I had to iron my business casual clothes – yellow polo, black slacks, and black blazer. In between, I had to answer text messages regarding the Cookout preparations, as well as rantings from my friends who were already complaining how tired they were with the event. My Friday was overloaded with educational and interactive talks with Aboitiz leaders and food. Yup, one thing I notice when you’re holding your conventions or seminars at Waterfront Hotel (Lahug) is that the participants never go hungry. From the Sun Star Economic Forum 2005, to the 19th Philippine Advertising Congress up to the Aboitiz Future Leaders Business Summit, the food was absolutely overwhelming! (And the best thing about all those I have attended is that I never spent a single centavo on them. Hahaha.) At the end of the day, I had to rush back to school for the Cookout. I had a quick change of clothes and went on duty – FROM THE WHOLE EVENING UNTIL DAWN. I ended up being a mobile production assistant. I barely noticed how tired I was until around 3AM, when all the running and walking took a toll on my already aching feet. I did enjoy the Cookout though, especially when my friends from the Math block danced Britney Spears’ Toxic, wearing trash bags and neon green gloves. I kept on jumping up and down while my tears rolled over my cheeks in too much amusement. I did not really expect to see my Kapatid na Jasper, Mark, Joseph, Tepoy, and Val dance like that. Hey, if you see them around campus, you’d think these were a bunch of serious guys talking just about numbers and here they come dancing like crazy onstage with the weirdest and wackiest steppings that you wouldn’t even dare doing in a dance. And in front of a lot people, at that! Yoohoo! For me, that was just a masterpiece. I confronted my foster brother after their number and told him, “Kapatid! Napakamakabag-damdamin ng iyong ginawa at ako’y pinaiyak mo.” Anyway, after all the fun, the exhaustion set in and at 4AM, I could no longer keep my eyelids open and I was murmuring a lot (um, that’s what you call pre-sleep mumbles). When the program ended at nearly 5AM, I dashed for the exit, went home, and slept. At 7:30, I woke up startled as the second day of the summit was supposed to start around 8. That day, I forced down a lot of caffeine in my system to keep me awake in our brainstorming, deliberation, and defense of our case study. Phew!

The loooong weekend is finally over. The pounds are in and the baggies are taking shape. But the loooong, intermittent sleeps are still coming…

Post-Entry Comments:
Welcome to the world Jakob Emmanuel “Yanis” Labra-Yap! I haven’t met you yet but rumor has it that you’re the next singer in the clan, judging by your “singing” [actually, wailing] moments. Hehehe.

happy birthday to me, myself, and me!

I am officially turning 20 today, August 9, 2006. That means I am stepping out of my “teen” years. And as reluctant as I am to let go of the carefree years, I stubbornly insist that I still am a teen. Tween-ty, that is – another one of my coinages, triggered by a sheer defiance to the pressing symptoms of growing a year older: (1) Being more emotional, (2) Being a bit silly at times, and (3) Being too busy with just about anything and everything.

I truly wonder whether I am just being paranoid when I pay too much attention to normal circumstances. But contemplation is just inevitable with the coming of another year, aside of course from the usual scrutiny of graying hairs or visible lines.

(1) Last weekend, I got sick, most probably from the swift weather change. Now that’s not really unusual. I’m not that sickly but I’m not in tiptop shape either. If I counted it right, I’ve gone to the doctor five times last year. Anyway, while I was sniffing and barely breathing (because my nose was clogged) around the rented room my older brother and I share, I lulled myself to sleep with good music literally plugged to my ears through my brother’s MP3 player. As my dreams closed in on me such that they were a mere tap away, a song played. For some strange reason, I chose to suspend myself in that half-conscious state with heightened senses, listening quite intently to the song. It was not the first time I heard the song. I heard it many times while I was preparing for an interview with its songwriter, producer, and arranger Homer Cang. Blame it on the situation, perhaps, but the song struck the most sensitive and emotional chord. Something in the melody of the song whispered deep sadness that shot right into my heart. Guess what happened next. I bolted straight up and for the next ten minutes, soaked my blanket with tears. I cried. A lot. It’s not even the lyrics. The song You’ve Fallen Out of Love speaks about the feeling when somebody falls out of love with you. Heck, I don’t even know the feeling! In my 20 years of existence, that’s the very first song that gripped the tears out of my eyes, not because the song was packaged in a situation where it’s supposed to be a tearjerker, like in a movie but because plainly speaking, the song strongly speaks of the raw emotion itself. It doesn’t need a context to make it more realistic or more convincing. I wish I could just block the song out when it plays but being a personal landmark case of discovering the extent of my sentimentality, I can’t. I won’t.

(2) Gray streaks of hair are genetically determined. In our family, they show up early in the adolescent stage. As early as high school, the streaks were already showing a lot of promise in my hair. People say they symbolize wisdom. (*Coughs*) But I think it could also be the other way around. At times, we forget the simplest things and tend to assume too much that we already know. Take this: I ran out of body lotion and a couple of other stuff so I took a brief trip to the supermarket. I love shopping for groceries! I bounced happily on the grocery aisles while humming along in an adult-like manner and grabbing items from the shelves, sometimes without even looking at the labels. One morning while preparing for a 7:00 class, I squeezed a generous amount from the alleged lotion bottle. I could practice the routine blindfolded and pass it with flying colors. (Duh, what’s so hard about it anyway?) So I don’t really pay much attention to it. I hastily put it on my arms and gasp! I nearly freaked out when I saw my arms covered in gooey white stuff. I finally read the bottle label: Body Wash. Sheesh. Not bad for a twenty-year-old, huh?

(3) I have been confiding to my kuya that I felt like I have lived in this world for more than 20 years though I’m still 20. “That’s because you’re always up to something,” he pointed out. Whether that’s something positive or negative, I am not so certain. All I know is that I find thrill and adventure in traveling, meeting lots of different people, trying out new things, and challenging my limitations, but at times, all at the expense of overlooking my inner growth as a person in terms of spiritual maturity. I must say I am still trying to master the art of balancing my life’s different aspects. And today must be the right time to restart and revamp the process.

Happy birthday to me!

I am planning no special what-to-do’s today. Earlier plans were thwarted by lack of finances and are indefinitely postponed. But to those who have been hinting at a blowout or something, I choose to keep my birthday simple – as of press time, the plan is a pizza dinner with my older brother Amiel. Haha… Sorry guys, family first…

Credits to the people closest to my heart:
My family – Papa, for being my life mentor, for bringing music closer to me, and for being a good father, above all. Mama, for being my best friend, my confidante, and my strength. My eldest brother Manoy Jake, for the free dinners (hahaha…just kidding!), for the guiding eye during my critical first year in college, for the overflowing ideas, and for always being there with love and care especially when I was sick (which, I most often was). My other brother Kuya Amiel, for all the concern despite our endless arguments, for the pieces of advice when it comes to heart matters, and for laughing at even my silliest jokes. My sister-in-law Ate Mae, and the better half of my Manoy Jake, for being the sister I never had, for all the inputs and inspiration, and for telling me I’m still young. (hehe…yehey!) My soon-to-be-born nephew Yanis, I can’t wait to see you! When we shopped for your clothes and stuff, I was already brimming with excitement. The world is waiting for you…

My relatives – To my Lola Oping, all my uncles, aunties, ( It would take one blog entry to name all…ehehehe…) and cousins – Holy Week in Barili will never be complete without preparations for the karo, FOOD, nonstop karaoke concert, and beach outings.

My Mass Communication blockmates, a.k.a. UP ComMEDIAns, I love the crazy moments, beer-bonding sessions (Ehem, I wish to be excused from this already. My tummy’s already bulging.), and night-outs. We can pull off Cookout 2006 guys! All for one and one for all…

My friends – April, for the coffee night-outs and the socio-political “intellectual” discourse. Jane, for being ever-supportive in all my endeavors. (Hope to see you in magazine covers soon! Hehehe… Miss you already Bes…) Athea, for all the inspiration and the never-ending sharings about love and God… For the rest, for just being there to talk to me when I’m happy, even when I’m fuming with rage, and through ups and downs – Marinel, Allen, Mark, Kapatid na Jasper, Joseph, Paolo, Elayne, Phrixel, Ate Narsheen, Yangyang, Maam Betchai and my inaanak Franco Luis, Ate Quimbee, Princess, Jackie, Mirzi, Chinky, Carmel, Christian, Chetoy, Mojo, Genry…

My Destiny and Special Someone, when are you finally coming? Hahaha…

AT RaNdOm

I’m breaking my over-a-month-long’s-blog-silence. And first posts after being mum for quite a time are usually full of issues and updates. Information over load downloading…

DEMOCRACY SUMMER FEST: Civic Engagement Module
Last May 17-21, 2006, I was one of the 50 luckiest young people in this millennial generation to participate in a Civic Engagement Module sponsored by the US Embassy. It was a great experience, getting to know and interact with student leaders oozing with so much idealism and hope. I was inspired myself to continue and even do better to make a difference in this poverty-stricken country. Let the power of the youth reign! It all starts with us.

POST-DSF HEALTH CONCERNS
I got sick and my taste buds haven’t completely recovered. I force down at least two tablets per meal and I’m surprised why I’m still walking vertically from the ground. Earlier this evening, the grossest insect on the planet by the name of cockroach was flying around the room and had it pooped on my McDonald’s Chicken Meal, I would still have loved it to the very last bone (eeeyeeew!) without an ounce of suspicion that I just committed the gravest Vianney’s rights violation. Ugh! Anyway, I am getting better although my appetite has changed a bit and something is always gurgling in my stomach. Side effects? Maybe.

PRINT INTERNSHIP
I was thrust into the colorful, hectic, and deadline-beating world of journalism through the theories and practical exposures of Mrs. Maria Theresa “Mayette” Q. Tabada, the event coverages from Ms. Pura L. Kintanar, and the beauty of meeting new and different people from Mr. Michael “Myke” U. Obenieta.

I am one lucky budding writer because these people gave me the chance to blot my name on the paper they work for as early as second year in college and they continuously and patiently give me the opportunity to develop myself in the field.

But this internship aimed to go beyond the special pages and features section and envisioned the young UPian Mass Communication student as someone versatile and well-equipped with skills for print, radio, and television. ‘Yan ang tatak UP!

Because my stint as a news writer for Tug-ani was brief (and high school campus journalism is way too different), I had generally forgotten that working in a newsroom involves a lot of constraints and experiences, as well. So now I recount my print internship days with both pain and pleasure -- pain because the experiences and memories were good and I hate the thought of bidding the newsroom and all the wonderful people and experiences in it goodbye, and pleasure because even if I had shed tears and sweat for this internship, I would never trade the lessons I learned from it for anything else in the world.

I would have to say that the highlight of this internship lay not on the number of articles I published during the entire period. The highlight lay not on the number of free meals I savored and definitely not on the perks of covering an event. Sure, published articles translate to points and points translate to grades, but there’s such a thing as the school of hard knocks, where one learns important bits of lessons like (s)he never will in the four corners of the classroom. As my father told me many years ago, not everything in this world can be graded. And indeed, I found those precious gems in the people directly or indirectly associated with the profession, down to the least likely news source to the writers up to the editors and the big news makers. These people have enriched me with wisdom that two months of exposure in the field can’t completely give. I felt like I have been in this job since forever! I felt what it is like to be a print journalist in two months, but the knowledge I gained from it can span as far as two decades…two centuries…

It’s true that there are two ways in which you learn: the first is through your own experience, and the second is through other people’s experiences. Hence, this internship was a healthy blend of both the former and the latter – with enough lessons that kept my spirits strong but planted both my feet firmly on the ground.

THEFT TACTICS

Who wants to steal?


Spark up your summer by taking these simple theft tactics into mind. Just act cool and natural when you’re at the implementation stage; nervousness may cause your prospect victim to be anxious. Do these with caution. (The situation applies when you’re planning to perform theft in a jeepney.)

1. When you’re riding a jeepney, always sit near a lady with a shiny bag. Shiny bags can spell luxury so risk it. She might be a prospect victim.

2. For sound effects, you can try sniffing and picking your nose a lot. The people in the jeepney will be moved with pity, if not disgust, “Awww, he’s just a poor sick man.”

3. A child, around age 3 – 4 sitting on your lap is a plus factor for your disguise. People will think you’re harmless old grandpa taking his grandson on a Sunday mall tour.

4. Bring an umbrella, big enough to cover both you and whoever your accomplice is (if any). Of course, people will think it’s just your defense against the summer heat when in fact, you’ve been planning to use it to carry out your stealthy plan. Allow the layers to hang loosely. You can use it for cover.

5. Wait until your seatmate opens her bag to get some change for the fare. You’re in luck when it’s already past six o’clock in the evening; the jeepney looks dark and since from the beginning, you have successfully (I assume) warded off the people’s suspicion, you can do the theft hassle-free. You just need the right momentum.

6. Pretending that you’re busy with something else, look into her wallet as she gets her change. Aha! She didn’t close her bag right away. Yahoo! The red heavens must be shining down on you. You can hear the angels – minus the halo, plus the little horns – singing Meja’s, “It’s all about the money… all about the dum-dum-de-de-dum-dum…” Your hands are all that itchy to grab the wallet and whisk it away.

7. Right at that moment, slowly move the umbrella towards her until one-fourth of the umbrella is sticking right above her still-open bag. When she’s not looking, skillfully slip your hand under the umbrella and into her bag (Bravo! What a genius!) until your hand finds the wallet. Slowly lift the wallet towards your umbrella.

8. But then, an unexpected thing happens: Despite your acting skills, she notices your bothersome umbrella near her bag and catches you red-handed holding her wallet! Shocked and speechless, she just utters “Oops!” and pushes the wallet back to the bag while moving her legs in such a way that you lose grip of the wallet. She hurriedly checks her bag to see if her cell phone is still safely tucked in her bag. She zips the bag close and puts it at the other side away from you. You have just blown your perfect poor-grandfather cover.

9. You’re unsure of what to do next. She’s still quiet, thank God. She didn’t try to announce to whole jeepney-hood that you’re such a klutz. She talks to her girl-companion beside her. Uh-oh. But thank God again that some people on your other side stepped out of the jeepney at a stopover. You immediately move away from her and nearer the jeepney door. “Surely now, I am safe from being caught. People will no longer think bad of me. Phew.” You say this to yourself quietly.

10. There’s another stopover. She and her companion start to move towards the door and out of the jeepney, while furiously cursing something in English. (Something that sounds like cap.. No wait, clap… Let me think, klep… That’s it, klepto! Klepto-something!) You sadly imagine the money burn into ashes while saying, “Pera na sana naging bato pa.”


Moral of the story: The attempt would have been successful had the prospect victim not been a past victim of the same crime. Therefore, if you’re going to try the same maneuver, make sure – be very, very sure they’re first-time victims.

Politics in a salon

Filipinos love to talk of three things: aside from basketball (and boxing, too, after the media hype of Pacquiao’s series of victories), there’s POLITICS and SHOW BUSINESS, a.k.a showbiz. (Little wonder then why frogs have long been jumping from politics to showbiz, showbiz to politics, basketball to politics…etcetera, etcetera… hoping to kiss princess luck on the way.)

Last week, I had the privilege of engaging in an “intellectual” discourse on politics. Who would have though that of all the nooks and crannies this earth could ever hold, politics would find its niche in the most unsuspecting place: ladies and gentlemen, (drum rolls) the salon – where beauty is all abuzz and where most smiling workers would gladly kick me out because I always refuse to give in to their heed to rebond my hair. So there I was, accompanying my mom who needed a haircut. While waiting, I sat between two older men and browsed over the day’s paper for my dose of news. The man on my right, most probably in his 60’s and with graying hairs, suddenly started asking questions: “Where do you live? How old are you? Are you still a student?” My curt answers only urged him to ask more. The man on my left told me, “Nag-abroad baya na siya Day.”

Er, was he implying… (Jeez, why do I get the feeling that I’m always linked to older, no wait, change that – ageing men when I’m in the salon?!?) I braced myself as my instincts told me that wasn’t going to be a smooth conversation at all. I gripped the edges of the newspaper, ready to swat it on my seatmates’ faces.

The dialogue took a different turn, however, when:

Man on my right: “Asa ka nagskwela Day?”

Me: “UP Cebu.”

Man on my left: “UP?”

Me: “Oo”

Man on my left: (suddenly inspired by his brain waves) “Ngano man mong mga taga-UP magsige man mo og rally? Gipa-eskwela na gani mo sa gobyerno, magsige pa mo og ing-ana.”

I stopped reading and sputtered forth a concoction of English and Cebuano response, hoping so hard that they’d stop pestering me in my solitude. I don’t participate in rallies unless I feel strongly about the issue but I felt that I have to defend other students at that point.

“Dili man sa wa mi utang kabubut-on pero we have to hold the government accountable. We have to be vigilant.”

The debate went on. We touched on the subject of the Presidential Proclamation 1017. I was so thankful that my mom had her haircut done at that point. (The OFW kept laughing at us.) It gave me an excuse to leave the place. But oh no, they weren’t as enthusiastic to just let the topic go. At that point, my mom cut in but it seemed as if she favored the side of the men. Blame it on generational gap?

Final words on the issue: It’s not that we are looking for trouble. Being funded by the government, by the people, we have a responsibility to look into and critique the actions of the government. It does not stem from mistrust nor cynicism. Rather, it comes from the spirit of true democracy in that by trying to be vigilant, we are protecting the very core of our freedom.

No matter what they say, I still am an Iskolar ng Bayan.

Purrfect Moments

A tribute to my multiplying breed of cats and to all the cats in the world!

Yesterday, I reached the front doorstep to find one of our friendly neighborhood cats sitting prettily on our doormat, refusing to budge until I blurted out, “Excuse me!”

Then I remembered that animals have feelings, too. I know a few people who hate cats for a number of reasons: they're a bunch of dirty, stupid, and asthma-inducing omens of bad luck. But they should know that cats are also very loving. They are not as domesticated as the dogs, though, which explains their feral and sometimes their rough nature. They're definitely insensitive to their masters in most instances as they espouse an it's-me-against-you outlook in life. And in my case, they poo on anywhere they wish to.

My very first orange adopted cat, which I found outside our house in Leyte, turned our humble dwelling into a site for the perpetuation of their species. To date, I have around 7 cats at home and counting. I always place a value to my firsts. I adored my cat and named it Clovis after Sleepwalker’s lead cat star Clovis. I even have a picture where I was hugging it so tight I feared I choked it a bit. Clovis was my companion during my times of grief. I cried in front of it and it just stared at me with consoling eyes. When it died, I gave it a proper burial place near our garden and I visit its grave from time to time when I feel like reminiscing our moments together.

Of course, cats as they are, they’ve had their share of mischief: stealing my dog’s food, snatching our dinner from the table, and just wiggling their butts when they feel like playing with yarns and insects outside the house.

Back to the cat on the doormat, it was still there when I went out to buy dinner. Feeling cat-friendly now with the feline and nostalgic of Clovis (which, by the way, is always mispronounced by my nanny; she spits out the word “Plubis”), I told it, “Stay there okay. I’ll get back soon.” And to my surprise, it did.

Good old friends

TRAVELOGUE SERIES
Destination: UP Diliman
Date: February 22 – 23, 2006
Entry # 2

Much can be said of my brief sojourn in Manila. The campus tour in Diliman. The induction ceremony. The people. The traffic. The pollution. But what made my trip a blast was the re-connection to my high school friend cum ally cum twin/alter ego Allen. Three years of enculturation in different worlds have changed us in terms of perspectives, ideals, and values. Despite that, it’s as if nothing has changed. We still have our literally wide foreheads. We still laugh about little things and we still talk about guys, guys, and oh yes, guys. LOL.

In general, I feel good when I’m with old friends because they remind me who I was and who I am still. They pull me back to my real self; not that I have been pretending all along, but that oftentimes, the cares of the world blur my vision and stray me to the real and not imagined passion burning within me. Old friends put that passion back in you because they can see through all your pretensions. They let you see whether you have grown up the way your heart wants you to grow up.

Hence, I wish to thank the following people for helping me grow up through the tough times. Though physically, you may not be here with me to walk with me through the treacherous path of life, just the sheer thought of having true friends like you in this world makes the journey worth enduring:

Athea Myles: Come hell or high waters… come failed internet connection or zero phone card balance, you will always be my spiritual inspiration. You help me strengthen my faith in that One being, who has never left me through all the ordeals.

Christine Jane: My best friend forever… Your cheerful and lively spirit lifts up my soul and helps me see that beyond the darkness, there is still light, beyond the distance, your faithful friendship remains.

Allen: A shining ally… Literally and figuratively, you have proven to be a shining example to me and have never left me even when my strength was stripped and my weaknesses unveiled.

To these women, your humble friend remains proud because she has you for friends – a truly remarkable thing, more precious than grades and all the jewels in this world.

PR 842

TRAVELOGUE SERIES
Destination: UP Diliman
Date: February 22 – 23, 2006
Entry # 1

(At the time of actual writing, the writer was obligingly thrust more or less 31,000 feet above ground; the entry might contain any writing not suitable for very sane readers, reader discretion is advised.)

As I sit on seat 22F, tucked between a gentleman (as I may perceive so) and the window, sipping coffee, munching on Philippine Air Lines’ Snack Pack of assorted biscuits, I am momentarily swept off of my feet as I gaze upon the imminent signs of dawn, cracking silently above the still-sleeping earth.

Light and dark hues of the blue sky were interspersed with hazy clouds, lazy vermilions, and splashes of orange shades. Beneath me are fields of white-puffed clouds, much like a stretched piece of cotton candy which looked sumptuously tempting as the plane’s body cut through it.

And as if to end my delicious fantasy, the city lights came into view and a long line of blinking beetles and fireflies (in human terms, they’re called cars) honked and bonked each other to the slow-fast rhythm of the traffic… (sigh) welcome to manila!

DAKIT launched

One of our back-breaking, mind-bending, not to mention wallet-stripping projects for this semester is to INITIATE a publication of any school/non-government organization/community and SUSTAIN the publication for our Development Communication 142 class. We have gone as far as publishing the maiden issue through the collective efforts of the following: our monthly allowances; a lineup of “generous” donors which includes our uncles, aunts, friends, relatives, and yes, parents (to our parents, a tip of the hat to all of you for maintaining composure throughout this ordeal); and the miscalculations of the alleged sleepy risograph personnel that slashed off quite a big chunk from our total expenses. (HINT: If you want a discount on risograph printing, I advise you to rush into the store minutes from closing time.)

This week, we are involuntarily excusing ourselves from classes to conduct a 2-day Basic Campus Journalism Training for the students of Punta Princesa Night High School (PPNHS), wherein we would teach them the essentials of news writing, feature writing, editorial writing, and editing/lay outing. Involuntary – because our schedules are all out of sync even if we have to skip meals and totally miss out the beer-bonding sessions.

I am praying real hard for the success of the whole activity. We are quite lucky that the students are as enthusiastic as we are, and that the principal of the school, Mrs. Maritess Patiño, is more than supportive of our endeavor.

After the training, we’ll work on our next issue. Yey! But before that, we’ll have to devise new money-making schemes to finance it. I think the risograph scheme won’t work this time as the other personnel have heightened their senses for any suspicious sign of our shadows. I bet they now have to give themselves extra caffeine boost to stay alert. But alas, amidst all the endlessly piling quizzes and projects, I need a caffeine boost myself.

To all those who need the same, cheers! Enjoy the moments of slavery and torture...

2006: a dog's year

Since it's the year of the dog anyway, I formally introduce Captain, the alleged Japanese spitz I like to babble about. See how cute he is? I mean, he was? He just looks like a cuddly thing beside Pikachu and Clefairy.