Saturday, June 30, 2012

Ang Buhay ay Clown...




Minsan nga natatawa ako sa sarili ko. Maliban sa nakakatawang mukha ni Bentong o sa mga reaksiyon ni Mr. Bean o sa mga waley jokes ni Boy Pick-up ay wala nang mas nakakatawa sa buhay ko. At oo, pareho tayo. Ang buhay mo rin ay nakakatawa. Pagka’t malaki ang pagkakaiba natin sa kanila na ang buhay ay umiikot lamang sa telebisyon. Ang sa kanila ay mga buhay na hiram. Yung buhay na pansamantala. Pero itong atin, hindi. Totoo to. Nangyayari. At wala nang mas nakakatawa o nakakaiyak sa totoong buhay ng isang tao.

Nakakatawa yung mga panahong ginawa mo ang lahat para lamang makapasa sa exam mo na ang akala mo ay long exam. Syempre, kinaumagahan na nang humiga ka sa kama at ilang oras lang ang tulog mo dahil first period yung exam mo. Pero nang matapos ang exam ay nalaman mong 10 items lang pala. At hindi mo pa nasagotan lahat dahil sa first chapter lang kinuha ng magaling mong titser ang mga tanong niya. Okay lang, sampung chapters lang naman ang binasa mo eh.

Nakakatawa yung mga pagkakataong nakatapos ka ng isang minor subject mo tulad ng math o chemistry. At sobrang bilib na bilib ka sarili mo dahil higher math o higher chemistry yung pinasa mo. Pero alam na alam mo sa sarili mo na puro lang kayabangan ang meron ka dahil hindi mo naman talaga maipapasa lahat yun eh kung hindi ka tinulungan ng matalino mong klasmeyt.

Nakakatawa yung hihingi ka ng extrang baon sa mga magulang mo dahil may projects ka raw sa school o di kaya naman ay may field trip kayo sa cebu o manila. Dahil mahal ka ng magulang mo ay nanghiram sila ng pera sa kapitbahay niyo para lang ibigay sayo. At yun, ginamit mo nga sa project mo yung pera. Kasama mo yung girlfriend sa ginawa mong project. Nanood ng sine. Kumain sa labas. Binilhan siya ng flowers o di kaya naman ay teddy bear mula sa blue magic. Binilhan mo ng bagong t-shirt ang boyfriend mo o di kaya naman ay kumain kayo sa Jolibee o di kaya naman ay mcdo. Pagkatapos ng una niyong anniversary ay naghiwalay din kayo.

Pero siguro, wala nang mas nakakatawa pa sa pag-ibig. Yung gagawa ka ng tula o lyrics ng kanta habang tinutuno sa gitara para ibigay o iparinig sa kanya pero heto naming kinababaliwan mo ay gumagawa din ng kanta o tula para sa ibigay sa iba. Yung panahon ng hindi mo naman talaga gusto itong isang babae na nagpapapansin sayo kaya dinededma mo lang. Pero huli na nung nalaman mong may pagtingin ka rin pala sa kanya. Nang linapitan mo siya ay ayaw na niya sayo. Yung mga pagkakataong ayaw mo munang pumasok sa relasyon dahil nakakabuwesit lang ito sa buhay pero may biglang dumating na hindi naman kagandahan o kagwapuhan at sinimulang bwesitin ka araw araw pero nagustuhan mo rin naman at nasanay kana lang din.

Nakakatawa rin ang mga ekspektasyon ng mga tao kung editor ka sa pahina ng malikhaing pagsulat. Akala nila sisiw lang sayo ang magsulat ng isang pahina o dalawa. At magkaka-crush sayo ang mga bakla dahil nagugustuhan nila ang mga sinusulat mo. Tapos maniningil pa ng kay aga-aga ang EIC mo na alam naman niyang sa susunod na araw pa ang deadline mo, Yung tipong napre-pressure ka na at gusto mong sabihin sa kanya na “chillax lang, huwag kang panic.” Pero wala silang kaalam alam na sa bawat letra, sa bawat panahong iginugol mo sa pagsusulat ay ang katotohanang sana ay hindi ka nalang naging isang manunulat. Na sana ay ibang sideline nalang ang pinasok mo.

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Walang Utak, Wala Lahat


Dahil ba editor ako ng isang weekly publication na ang gamit na linggwahe sa pagsusulat ay englis ay lilimitahan ko na ang aking sining sa isang wikang gawa gawa lang ng mga alien? Hindi. Kaya ngayon ay magsusulat ako ng Filipino dahil ako ay taong makamasa at ang dugo ni Rizal ay nanalaytay sa aking dugo.

Sa totoo lang, ang araw na ito ay walang kaibahan sa mga nakalipas na araw. Wala akong maisulat at kahit kunting likido na magmumula sana sa aking lamhad na kaisipan ay walang wala din. BRAIN DRAIN. Sinubukan ko ring magsulat ng tula na pawang kalokohan lamang. Mabuti pa nga ang kalokohan eh, may puwang sa isip ko.

Habang nakatotok ako sa motor na ito, may mga padaan daang mga langgam sa pader. Naisip ko tuloy kung masarap ba silang kainin. Kung malutong ba sila kung lulutuin. Tapos tumigin ako sa tv screen na 32-inch. Astig din to. Naalala ko noong bata pa ako na sa black and white tv lang kami nanonood noon. Nag-iba na nga talaga ang panahon. Nag-iba na rin ang pag-iisip ko.

Sanhi ito ng hindi ko lubusang pagligo araw araw. Pero alam ko rin naman na may kabutihan sa hindi pagligo. Kikinis ang balat mo. Yan ang sekreto ng mga koreano. Ang pagligo talaga. Ito ang isa sa mga problemang kailangan kong harapin araw araw. Pero kailangan ko munang tapusin ang palabas. Charle's Angles Full Throttle. Hindi ko palalampasin ang mga angels sa mga mata ko. Sige. Paalam na.

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Why are we poor? because We Let Ourselves be




In one of the luncheons he hosted recently for clients of the Rizal Commercial Banking Corp., Ambassador Alfonso T. Yuchengco asked the National Artist for Literature Francisco Sionil Jose to share some of his observations of the current scene. This is the paper Mr. Jose read on that occasion:

What did South Korea look like after the Korean War in 1953? Battered, poor, but look at Korea now. In the Fifties, the traffic in Taipei was composed of bicycles and Army trucks, the streets flanked by tile-roofed low buildings. Jakarta was a giant village and Kuala Lumpur a small village surrounded by jungle and rubber plantations. Bangkok was crisscrossed with canals, the tallest structure was the Wat Arun, the Temple of the Sun, and it dominated the city's skyline. Rice fields all the way from Don Muang Airport - then a huddle of galvanized iron-roofed bodegas, to the Victory monument.

Visit these cities today and weep - for they are more
beautiful, cleaner and prosperous than Manila. In the Fifties and Sixties we were the most envied country in Southeast Asia.

Remember further that when Indonesia got its independence in 1949, it had only 114 university graduates compared to the hundreds of Ph.D.'s which were already in our universities. Why then were we left behind? The economic explanation is simple. We did not produce cheaper and better products. The basic question really is: why we did not modernize fast enough and thereby doomed our people to poverty. This is the harsh truth about us today.

Just consider these: some 15 years ago a survey showed that half of all grade school pupils dropped out after grade 5 because they had no money to continue schooling. Thousands of young adults today are therefore unable to find jobs. Our natural resources have been ravaged and they are not renewable. Our tremendous population increase eats up all of our economic gains. 

There is hunger in this country now; our poorest eat only once a day. But this physical poverty is really not as serious as the greater poverty that afflicts us and this is the poverty of the spirit. Why then are we poor? More than ten years ago, James Fallows, editor of the Atlantic Monthly came to the Philippines and wrote about our ?damaged culture? which, he asserted, impeded our development.
Many disagreed with him but I do find a great deal of truth in his analysis. This is not to say that I blame our social and moral malaise on colonialism alone.

But we did inherit from Spain a social system and an elite that, on purpose, exploited the masses. Then, too, in the Iberian peninsula, to work with one's hands is frowned upon and we inherited that vice as well.

Colonialism by foreigners may no longer be what it was, but we are now a colony of our own elite. We are poor because we are poor - this is not a tautology. The culture of poverty is self-perpetuating. We are poor because our people are lazy. I pass by a slum area every morning - dozens of adults do nothing but idle, gossip and drink. We do not save. Look at the Japanese and how they save in spite of the fact that the interest given them by their banks is so little. They work very hard too.

We are great show-offs. Look at our women, how overdressed, over-coiffed they are, and Imelda epitomizes that extravagance. Look at our men, their manicured nails, their personal jewelry, their diamond rings. Yabang - that is what we are, and all that money expended on status symbols, on yabang.

How much better if it were channeled into production! We are poor because our nationalism is inward looking. Under its guise we protect inefficient industries and monopolies.

We did not pursue agrarian reform like Japan and Taiwan. It is not so much the development of the rural sector, making it productive and a good market as well. Agrarian reform releases the energies of the landlords who, before the reform, merely waited for the harvest. They become entrepreneurs, the harbingers of change. Our nationalist icons like Claro M. Recto and Lorenzo TaƱada opposed agrarian reform, the single most important factor that would have altered the rural areas and lifted the peasant from poverty. Both of them were merely anti-American.

And finally, we are poor because we have lost our ethical moorings. We condone cronyism and corruption and we don't ostracize or punish the crooks in our midst. Both cronyism and corruption are wasteful but we allow their practice because our loyalty is to family or friend, not to the larger good.

We can tackle our poverty in two very distinct ways. The first choice: a nationalist revolution, a continuation of the revolution in 1896. But even before we can use violence to change inequities in our society, we must first have a profound change in our way of thinking, in our culture. My regret about EDSA is that change would have been possible then with a minimum of bloodshed. In fact, a revolution may not be bloody at all if something like EDSA would present itself again, or a dictator unlike Marcos.

The second is through education, perhaps a longer and more complex process. The only problem is that it may take so long and by the time conditions have changed, we may be back where we were, caught up with this tremendous population explosion which the Catholic Church exacerbates in its conformity with doctrinal purity.
We are faced with a growing compulsion to violence, but even if the communist won, they will rule as badly because they will be hostage to the same obstructions in our culture, the barkada and the vaulting egos that sundered the revolution in 1896, the Huk revolt in 1949-53.

To repeat, neither education nor revolution can succeed if we do not internalize new attitudes, new ways of thinking. Let us go back to basics and remember those American slogans: A Ford in every garage. A chicken in every pot. Money is like fertilizer: to do any good it must be spread around.

Some Filipinos, taunted wherever they are, are ashamed to admit they are Filipinos. I have, myself, been embarrassed explain for instance why Imelda, her children and the Marcos cronies are back, and in positions of power? Are there redeeming features in our country that we can be proud of? Of course, lots of them.

When people say for instance that our corruption will never be banished, just remember that Arsenio Lacson as mayor of Manila and Ramon Magsaysay as President brought a clean government. We do not have the classical arts that brought Hinduism and Buddhism to continental and archipelago Southeast Asia, but our artists have now ranged the world, showing what we have done with Western art forms, enriched without own ethnic traditions.

Our professionals, not just our domestics, are all over, showing how an accomplished people we are! Look at our history. We were the first in Asia to rise against Western colonialism, the first to establish a republic. Recall the Battle of Tirad Pass and glory in the heroism of Gregorio Del Pilar and the 48 Filipinos who died but stopped the Texas Rangers from capturing the President of that First Republic. Its equivalent in ancient history is the Battle of Thermopylae where the Spartans and their king Leonidas died to a man, defending the pass against the invading Persians.

Rizal - what nation on earth has produced a man like him? At 35, he was a novelist, a poet, an anthropologist, a sculptor, a medical doctor, a teacher and martyr.

We are now 80 million and in another two decades we will pass the 100 million mark. Eighty million - that is a mass market in any language, a mass market that should absorb our increased production in goods and services - a mass market which any entrepreneur can hope exploit, like the proverbial oil for the lamps of China. Japan was only 70 million when it had confidence enough and the wherewithal to challenge the United States and almost won. It is the same confidence that enabled Japan to flourish from the rubble of defeat in World War II.

I am not looking for a foreign power for us to challenge. But we have a real and insidious enemy that we must vanquish, and this enemy is worse than the intransigence of any foreign power. We are our own enemy. And we must have the courage, the will, to change ourselves.

Monday, June 11, 2012

That's What I meant about RISKY...


I have this constant fear that if I accept the job awaiting for me there in Northernmost Luzon, I will not be able to marry on time or I will not be able to marry someone that will best suit my personality. I do not want to marry Ilongga or Igorota gals. I mean, I was born Bisaya so my bloodline should just remain the same.

But really, my thoughts are not just all about the marrying thingy. I am also thinking about the future. I am thinking about my job. There was this time when I was having my work in the underground that I realized something. Is this really the kind of job that I want? though the pay is good, the work itself is too risky. Will I be able to go on with this kind of job? I am sure that I will find find many opportunities after I get 2 or 3 years of experience.

But this job. Is this really for me?

And then, out of a sudden. I answered myself YES. I want this job. I will endure any emotional distractions. I will not miss anybody. I will preserve myself from any psychological disturbances. I want to build a house for my mom. I want to finance the studies of my sister. I want a home for us.

And lastly, about the marrying thingy. My doctor said that I really need to marry earlier than 30s, around 27 or 28. So with that, I will prepare myself. I want to become a better man for my wife. That means I will stop playing DOTA anytime soon. I will stop hitting on with random girls. I should pick a sport so as to make myself healthy.

My body, the one that was of a varsitarian years ago, the one that could outrun, outsmart, outclassed, outshone, all other smashers years ago is now deteriorating. All this body could ever do is to vomit every early morning because of Ulcer. I need to flesh out a bit. Zoom...

Lord, thank you so much. Maka-graduate najud ko!!! Magtarong ko para wala nay hagbong rung tuiga!!! Wooooooohhh!!!

Friday, June 8, 2012

You were/are/will be always good to me.




I am happy. Just the thought of saying that I am happy is not enough. I was not able to edit the articles that were given to me earlier, nor had the first glance to any of them, because I am happy of my life that came from shit-I-am-not-going-graduate to is-this-for-real-that-I-will-graduate?-I-need-to-because-I-am-too-old-for-college.

When I was 7 years old, I was one of those little kids whose life was unsure about everything. I thought I would end up as a carpenter or a tapasahero (or a mamumunglay rather). I was one of those kids who skipped classes at a barangay elementary school located at a much uncivilized area with no electricity, no asphalted roads. We would wait at the muddy road for the dekarga truck to pass. When it did, I would hurriedly run after it and pull a single stick of sugarcane along with my yagit friends.

That school was one of the many elementary schools I had gone to. I had been to city, municipality, and barangay elementary and high schools, far from each other, just to get enrolled. My family loves to send me anywhere. I, too, had no option. I was never the complainer type of a kid.

I, too, had the idea that I was meant for something. I was never the kind of student who had to graduate without getting noticed around by everybody in all the schools that I had attended. I had something to do with math, science, writing, sports, big fights, rumble, tardiness, and skipping classes. Even until now in college. I didn’t ask for any of these.

But Lord, why are you so good to me? Just the other day, I was one of those college students who were very unsure about their future, unsure about their college graduation because they failed one of their major subjects, unsure about availing a scholarship because of the inconsistencies of their grades.


But then, out of all the stupid(ness) I have done, despite not going to church every Sunday, despite not being a prayerful nomad, despite my soul being rubbish, despite all the wrong things I have done, despite all my wrong decisions, you are here with me, always giving me a smooth sailing life.

I don’t have to ask if how were you able to make a failing grade a passing grade. I won’t ask you anymore how easy it was for me to get the scholarship. But hey, thank you for being there all along. I don’t deserve any of these I know. I am just too lucky I know. But you also know my intentions, and with that, you know what I deserve.

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Walking Alone





by Michael R. Anderson

I, too, was born of a world not the same,
Amongst white snow, a raindrops' shame.
In life's garden, a dormant seed.
A heart held of dissimilar need.

I, too, was awed by lightning's flash,
Embering in mind even after the crash.
Followed closely by silent rain,
Blood-red, falling from the sky in vain.

The wind chimed and the earth shook from thunder,
And my mind was but befixed to wonder;
How could I stand amidst this storm,
Seek shelter not, yet still seem warm?

But I, too, take my sorrow at a site-
Other souls would nonchalantly slight.
And I, too, have felt the need for love,
But could only love that need which I dreamt of.

And as I peered deep through the skies,
The clouds grew black to shut my eyes.
The demon that came in your view,
Now's taken from me what he took from you.

In the garden the seed has sprang,
A nameless child unearths the pang.
Felt for the flower, both eyes in close.
Took twenty thorns to touch the rose.

A wondering mind looked to the sky,
So beautiful it had to die.
Laid it to rest upon the stone,
And turned away a man full grown.

Singing the same song at a different tone,
In thoughts, destined to die, unknown.
Born unto a world not of our own,
We walked together, walking alone

Friday, June 1, 2012

New Camera Crashes


My camera, my first digital camera, the one in metallic black color, the one that was given to me as a gift by my Tita the day I went to Baguio, the one that has two digital LDCs (front and back), the one that is not too expensive but dependable, the one that has good looks just like the owner, the one that can record and play amazing pictures and videos, the one that is not too expensive (again) but not too cheap (around 7,000), is gone. Careless aliens sat over it not thinking how precious it was to me.

I love that thing though. I tried my best to take good care of it, not even fingerprints could stay longer on its casing. But here come some immature brats, borrowed it and destroyed it. And all I did was to say nothing because they can not even pay me half of the aforementioned amount. They did not even seriously say sorry or even talk to me after it happened.

I was planning to take pictures of my sister and my friends and my officemates in Dumaguete. I want to take many pictures of them and save it and print it and compile them so that I can look at them when I grow old. Now, I do not know what I will going to say to my Tita. She is gonna be mad. Boom! I will keep it a secret and save some money and buy one in the near future. Her arrival next summer is still far from now. I have got enough time to save some pennies.

I am not mad. Really, I am not. That is not my nature. IT IS JUST THAT I AM REALLY REALLY REALLY MAD I WANT TO EAT THEM ALL OUT. I will no longer think about it. It will just make me ugly. Thinking about a single worldly thing that was long gone is not worth the wrinkles and heart attack. Conscience kills. But I do hope they have one.