TEXT

sabi nila…

masarap magkaroon ng bestfriend..

may taong poprotekta syo. may taong mag papasaya syo..

pero handa mo bang itaya ang pagkakaibigan? para sa hinahangad mong pagmamahalan?

at ito ang kuwento para sa inyo…

ako si princess..

grade 3 p lng ako, palagi ko ng kakalse si ivan. pati sa high school, hanggang nagyong college.

mag kaibigan kasu mga magulang namin..

kaya kung nasaan ako andun din sya.

isang araw…

ako: “bakit ka sumali sa fraternity?”

ivan: “wala lang gusto ko lang.”

ako: alam mo bang dilekado yan?

ivan: alam ko tong pinapasok ko!

pag katapos ng araw na yun…

hindi ko n sya nakikita sa school.
hindi na din sya nag tetext,

kumusta na kaya siya?

pinuntahan ko sa bahay nila. pero hindi ko sya naabutan.

namimiss ko yung bestfriend ko..

na mimiss ko na si ivan.

ang lalaking lihim kong minamahal..

lumipas ang mga araw..

madalang na syang pumasok..

minsan kinausap ko syan. pero parang iniiwasan nya ako.

ako: ano bang nangyayari sayo ivan ha!?

ivan: “wala.”

ako: meron kang di sinasabi sa akin?

ivan: wala akong dapat sabihin..

ako: anong wala? bakit lagi kang absent? bakit palagi kang umiiwas? bakit hindi ka nag rereply sa mga text ko?

bigla siyang umalis palayo sa akin..

hinabol ko siya….

ako; ivan ano ba talaga nangyayari sayo?

humarap siya sa akin at nag salita..

ivan: bakit mo ba ako pinakekelaman? anu ba kita?

…. natahimik ako sa sinabi nya.

ano nga ba nya ako? isang hamak na bestfriend lang..

hanggang dun na lang un.

umalis siya at di nagpakita…

hindi na ako nag text. hindi na din ako pumunta sa kanila..

makalipas ang 2 linggo…

may natanggap akong balita..

nasa ospital daw si ivan..

malubha ang lagay.

agad akong sumugod sa ospital.

pero pag dating ko..

wala na siya.. namatay si ivan sa hazing..

halos mamatay na din ang puso ko. parang ayaw ko na din mabuhay pa. iba tong nararamdaman ko eh..

mahal ko siya pero huli na…

mahal ko siya pero wala na…..

niyakap ako ng mama niya…

at inabot sa akin cellphone ni ivan.

“princess iha basahin mo”

“PARE, HUWAG NYO GAGALAWIN ANG BESTFRIEND KO.
GINAWA KO NAMAN SINABI NYO DI BA?
NILAYUAN KO SIYA.
BASTA WAG NINYO LANG GAGALAWIN SI PRINCESS.
MAHAL KO YUN EH……

Betheena C. Dizon

Race and destination

By Betheena C. Dizon

I am hardly moved by what I see on television.

But there was this particular scene that really touched me to the core: Marc Nelson and Rovilson Fernandez running toward the final pit stop in “The Amazing Race Asia Season 2,” carrying the Philippine flag. What struck me about this scene was that these guys made it a point to show the world that as they competed, they were thinking not only of themselves but of this country as well. And to think that Nelson does not even have a drop of Filipino blood in his veins! It seemed to me that he was also running the race for the country that he had adopted as his own. These guys have not forgotten the Philippines at all. But the realization also made me sad because, today, there are quite a lot of Filipinos who have forgotten their own country.

In this age of Filipino diaspora, there are quite a number of our countrymen who seem to be intent on forgetting not only their land of birth but also their nation’s heritage. I know this for a fact because my mother was at the receiving end of a diatribe from an acerbic “ex-Filipino.” She slammed my mom for choosing to live in the Philippines, trying to make it better. The woman is now a naturalized American citizen; and by her looks, my mother said, she had exhausted every opportunity to make herself look like an American. I am saddened by the fact that there are people like her who have chosen to forget their origins. Upon arriving in a prosperous and ultra-modern city, usually in the United States or in some European country, they begin to erase from their minds their Filipino heritage. They work hard to imitate the accent of the people living there; they have their noses “re-done” just to remove what is more often than not a “trademark” of Filipinos; and do other stuff that would make them look more and more fair-skinned. Basically, they begin to systematically change their outward appearance, thinking that their Filipino identity will vanish along with it. But what they do not realize is that no matter how hard they change their appearance, it stays—and will stay—with them until the day they die.

Where we come from defines who we are and what we will become. Our present selves are the results of all that we have been through. We are products of our heritage, the hardships, the trials, and all that we have grown accustomed to. If we are strong now, it is because the storms of life that buffeted us have made us sturdier to withstand anything that may come our way. If we are weak, it may be because we have chosen not to fight life’s vicissitudes or to learn the lessons that life has been teaching us.

And we are the people that what we are now because we have been raised in a culture that is full of incredible contradictions. We are God-fearing but we tolerate corruption because it has already become an accepted part of the bureaucracy. We are a kind people but have grown apathetic to the plight of poor kids living in the streets. We profess to be poor but we have unashamedly wasted—and continue to waste—our natural resources which take a long time for Mother Earth to replenish. But despite these contradictions, it is a fact that we Filipinos are among the nicest, most polite and most caring people in Asia and, possibly, in the world.

This is what has been forgotten by our countrymen who are now on a mission to eradicate their Filipino identity. They have forgotten that what they are now is the result of living in this Third World country. They have become what they are because of the culture and heritage that they were raised in. They are struggling to make their lives better because they have lived through difficult circumstances. This has made them determined, persevering and hardworking. Incidentally, these traits are the identifying qualities of Filipinos.

This striking reality brings back to my mind a Filipino saying: “Ang hindi marunong lumingon sa kanyang pinanggalingan ay hindi makakarating sa kanyang paroroonan.” [“He who does not know how to look back to where he came from will not get to where he’s going.”] Indeed, where we came from and what we have been through are mere stages or pit stops in our journey through life. These are sort of clues that lead us to the finish line. And that finish line is the better life that we are all dreaming of.

Now, these people may argue that they have already reached the finish line, that they are now living prosperously, which has always been their dream. But to me, having a better life is not all about living in comfort and security. To my mind, having a better life is the actualization and acknowledgment of who you are. And it is this actualization and acknowledgment that will drive us to strive for better lives. If we realize and acknowledge where we come from and what we have been through, we will feel at ease with who we really are.

People who have chosen to forget where they come from may live better lives, but they will never be at peace with themselves because they have chosen to forget who they really are. And it is in this sense that they will never reach their destinations. They will never have that sense of fulfillment of having accepted every facet of their identity. They will never completely know themselves because they have chosen to forget their beginnings.

In times like these, when accusations of cheating, greed and lies can be heard at every corner, the temptation to forget our identity as Filipinos becomes more and more alluring. Who wants to be part of a nation where leaders profess to be working hard for the good of the people, when in truth and in fact, they are working hard just to satisfy their selfish interests? Who wants to be a member of a race that has become apathetic to dirty politics even though it greatly affects the future and their children? However, we should not forget that God has a purpose in creating us to be Filipinos. We may not see the good behind it yet, but let us trust that God has a perfectly good reason why He made us to be citizens of this country. If we truly learn to accept who we are and embrace our identity willingly, we will not only reach our destinations, we will also become better persons living better lives in this challenging world. It is then that we will become proud of what we are and where we come from and in everything we do.

Then, we just might be able to carry the Philippine “flag” with pride and fervor in our hearts as we run in this amazing race called life.

RJ Jacinto

One express ticket to hellby: RJ Jacinto

Do you have a minute or two? I know you’re probably busy with your heavenly and religious affairs, over pricing, maybe even Survivor: Palau, but I really think we should talk.

I, a dot in the cosmos, and you, the so-called creator of whatever was, is, and will be. That is, of course, assuming you exist... Nah, forget my asking for permission. I’d say what I have to say, whether you listen or not. Blame four years of high school Christian Living; it taught me that you gave every human being free will -- a gift I’d be more than happy to exercise now.

How would you like to start a religion business with me? Don’t worry, ownership is entirely yours. All I want is to be CEO.

Our company will sell products designed to meet every Catholic’s needs: The Complete Dummy’s Guides to Salvation, watches that recite one commandment every hour (which means you have to make two new commandments for 11 and 12 o’clock), God-approved contraceptives, cell phones with speed dialing features to heaven (press 1 for the Virgin Mother, press 2 for your favorite saint, press 3 for angelic assistance), Jesus-Mary-Joseph Christmas albums (first 1000 buyers get signed CDs), and a portable gadget that beeps every time a capital sin is committed by its owner’s special someone. Our product listing will have limitless possibilities; our market will include every living Catholic.

Since we can’t risk losing to piracy and we need to maximize profit, all merchandise will bear your official tamper-proof seal, a religion facts table (Recommended Daily Allowance, Moral Value per Serving) and a sticker that says “Hurry! Buy more products to accumulate more points! Every point you earn takes you one step closer to heaven!”

It is a religion company but it’s not religion per se that we’d be selling -- salvation is what your people are crazy about these days; it will thus be the focus of our marketing strategy. In the end, I’d be filthy rich, while you’d get all the good Catholic people from earth!

Now, before you send me straight to hell, relax. I was just kidding! Calm down, man. (Aww, sorry, for a second I forgot you’re a god!) Just trying to get your attention there.

Seriously though, I wouldn’t be shocked if one day I find myself walking into the religion (or should I say salvation?) section of a supermarket. I think my religion has today become too commercialized and too fanaticized to be believable.

For instance, I saw an almost full-page ad in the newspaper last month for Vatican ring tones, picture messages and logos. Since when did you endorse such pay-per-download services?

A church I pass by every weekend was demolished a couple of years ago to construct -- as the billboard says -- the “Church of the Millennium.” For some reason, the project was never finished and the church, in its present state, resembles a dilapidated marketplace. Tell me, what difference does it make if we pray to you in bahay-kubo chapels instead of in ornate basilicas?

Then there’s my high school teacher who reprimanded me for making the sign of the cross with my left hand, the same way my mother scolded me for removing the altar hanging on my bedroom wall. I cannot understand why. Perhaps they’re worried you might throw me into Satan’s den because of my heretical acts. Whoa! I’m scared.

Well, maybe I should be scared, unlike, say, the parishioners who spend thousands of pesos to dress-up their life-size Mama Mary images for the annual fiesta celebration; or the owners of the black Sto. Niño, of the doctor Sto. Niño, of the policeman Sto. Niño, of the sleeping Sto. Niño, of the beggar Sto. Niño and of the hamburger-addict Sto. Niño (Asereje Sto. Niño, anyone?); or the devout follower of the TV evangelist whose donation boxes are almost as tall as he is.

Things like these leave me with the question “What for?” Is it not enough that I believe in you? Frankly, I begin to doubt whether you really did create man or man created you so he could do whatever he wishes in life and yet be assured of a happy ending when he dies.

I realize I have no right to castigate others on how they worship you. After all, there’s no way of deciding whose right or wrong, is there? I’m just telling you these things because I want you to know that I’d like my salvation to ensue. If I would be praying, respecting my parents, abstaining from pre-marital sex, doing charity work or helping a stranger, it wouldn’t be because at the end of the day, I want my “good deeds” list to exceed my “bad deeds” list or because I want to get sure seats in heaven. It would simply be because I want to do these things.

Also, don’t be surprised if you see me skipping communion, if you find me confessing directly to you, or if you hear me omitting lines from the Apostle’s Creed. I’m getting tired of organized religion.

Your preachers taught me how to pray but you've showed me how to lie, can you blame me for not believing anymore?

If by living this way I’m buying myself an express ticket to hell, then so be it. Maybe hell isn’t such a bad place at all. Maybe they need me there.

I guess that’s all I have to say. Thanks for your time, God. You’d better get back to work.

Ah, wait a minute, there’s one last thing: on the day I die, give St. Peter and his rooster a day off. I wouldn’t want to meet him at the gates; I want to see you there. Before you send me to my final destination -- wherever that is -- I’d like to hear what you have to say. That should be interesting.

Ederic Peñaflor Eder

Angelo de la Cruz and national sovereignty

August 12, 2004, p.11

Criticisms from within and outside the country were hurled against the Philippine government when it announced, although vaguely, the withdrawal of our troops in Iraq to save the life of our kababayan Angelo de la Cruz, an overseas Filipino worker hostaged by armed anti-occupation Iraqis.

The United States expressed its disappointment and its ambassador here advised our leaders to know who our real friends are. According to Australia, the pullout might set a precedent and invite more attacks. Analyses by foreign media organizations–and some local outfits, too–also regard the decision as a mistake.

Filipino-Americans were more scathing in their reactions. One of them, a conservative journalist, wrote that she is “deeply, mortifyingly ashamed of [her] parents’ native land.” She even went accusing the “Battling Bastards of Bataan” of capitulating to the demands of the “terrorists.” Meanwhile, a Filipino living in the land of milk and honey wrote he cannot think of any “specific benefit the Philippines bring to the United States.”

The latter comment leaves me wondering: If that’s the case, then why are they raising hell about an insignificant nation’s decision to withdraw its troops from Iraq?

On the other hand, a Filipina blogger who calls herself The Sassy Lawyer (www.houseonahill.net) has a piece of advise to those who are provoked by such remarks: She wrote: “Remember that these media men and bloggers are among those that have been lied to and misled by their own government into believing that the war in Iraq is something good and noble. Rather naive and pathetic for them to believe that, but hey, some people would rather live in the comfort of ignorance rather than the disturbing discomfort of reality… Be kind to animals, especially the stupid ones.”

Not that they are indeed dimwits, but it is if course almost impossible for the foreigners and those who are Filipinos only by lineage or birth, to understand how–as political commentators have already pointed out–that in this country with more than seven million workers abroad, Angelo is not just an Angelo de la Cruz, but the Juan de la Cruz.

It would probably be difficult for them to grasp concepts unique to us like kapwa–described by historian Renato Constantino as “the sense of shared Filipinoness and humanity which lies at the core of our beings.” They have seen and observed the two People Power Revolts and the May 1 mutiny, but they may never experience bayanihan–the spirit that fueled these mutinies.

Bayanihan could very well be the same force that compelled President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo to decide for the withdrawal. Fresh from a divisive exercise just two months ago, it is not the President’s appeal during her proclamation that brought unity to this fragmented nation. It is Angelo de la Cruz, as the Inquirer pointed out, that made us one again. A President who won in an election widely perceived to be fraudulent could not risk deciding against the cry of a nation that is one in pakikiramay with a kababayan.

But no matter what the wais and rabidly pro-US Arroyo’s reasons are for the pullout–or what scheme she must be concealing beneath those vague statements–her decision serves our national interest which is most of the time confused and bundled with that of the United States’ interests. Saving the life of a Filipino is more important than the United States’ need for the presence of our troops to provide a perception of legitimacy through international support to its illegal occupation of Iraq.

News reports have quoted University of the Philippines Prof. Clarita Carlos as saying: “We have to show we are a sovereign country. We have to define what is our national interest, not George Bush. Who cares if they are unhappy?” I agree with her.

What are we afraid of, anyway? It’s not as if our national life depends on the United States. In 1991, we embraced the path to genuine sovereignty when we kicked out their military bases here. Did our economy collapse? No. On the contrary, former Senate President Jovito Salonga said that during the celebration of the 11th anniversary of the Senate rejection of the RP-US Bases Treaty, Subic Bay Metropolitan Authority Chairman Payumo told him that Subic is now employing more than 55,000 workers, way higher than the peak employment figure of 30,000 workers during the US Navy days. Also, as already pointed out by at least two newspaper editorials, while the United States remains an important player, it is still our OFWs that contribute the most to our economy.

Outsiders may hit us as much as they want, but we’re pleased that the government did the right thing. By trying to save one of its people despite pressure from the international community to do otherwise, the state exercised its duty to protect its citizens and asserted its sovereignty.

When there was a clash of principles between Ms Arroyo and the nationalist Vice President Teofisto Guingona a few years back, Malacañang declared that as chief executive, it is the President’s prerogative to define our foreign policies. The pullout our troops is a foreign policy decision by a leader of a sovereign country. It is not the business of Bushes or Howards–who remain lucky for not having their own children kidnapped and threatened of beheading–to decide what our government wants to do with its troops.

Danilo Araña Arao

What does it take to be anti-GATT?

By: Danilo Araña Arao

POINTS have been raised and lines have been drawn. Who emerges victorious from the GATT debate may not necessarily get the plum on Dec. 8 when the Senate makes the much-awaited decision.

It appears that regardless of what transpires in the succeeding interpellations, at least 10 senators have already made up their minds to ratify the controversial agreement. On the other hand, at least four are expected to vote against it. The former would need six more votes to ensure ratification, while the latter would require only an addition of four to facilitate rejection. The remaining nine senators still having qualms could still vote either way.

As the legislators and cause-oriented groups gear up for the historical battle, there remains a need to clarify the stand of the anti group due to recent pronouncements and labelings made by the powers-that-be.

Being anti-GATT is not a result of ignorance and poor understanding of the provisions of the Uruguay Round Final Act, contrary to claims of government officials and their apologists.

Opting to go against the controversial agreement is more of having a sense of history and the ability to transcend econometrics. It also shows consistency in analyzing the societal ills plaguing our country, and serves as a continuum in attaining the vision for an alternative society.

But even then, I don't think that the anti-GATT groups and individuals have a common stand. Based on personal experience, there are at least two levels of being anti-GATT.

Regarding the first level, groups and individuals may opt to go against the treaty since it wants a deferment of ratification. There are varied reasons for doing so, but the most popular are the arguments that we are not yet prepared for it and that there are not enough safety nets. In addition, it may be that they see viability in renegotiating to get a better deal, or it could be that they see a need to rectify the technical errors made in our commitment under GATT, particularly mistakes in computing the minimum access volumes of products like live swine and sugar. (A Senate insider notes that there are at least 15 tariff lines where errors were committed.) One of the most popular advocates of renegotiation is Prof. Walden Bello and his group, Inform.

The second level of being anti-GATT is the option of outright rejection. This stand is mainly rooted in the refusal to adhere to the development paradigm expoused by GATT, which is characterized by trade liberalization and limited government intervention in economic activities, among others. It also perceives the agreement as a move of industrialized nations to maintain their political and economic hegemonyvis-a-vis the Third World, not to mention the further entrenchment of transnational interests. The negative repercussions on the peasants, who comprise majority of the population, are also argued. The multisectoral group called Pumalag fall under this category, as well as Bayan.

There are basic differences between the two, since one sees hope in playing within the GATT framework while the other opts to work totally outside of it. While foreign intervention may be duly considered by the two levels, those who advocate outright rejection reaffirm the need to struggle against neocolonialism, and rearticulate the collusion of TNCs with the local elite.

There is some semblance of objectivity for those who want renegotiation, but it seems that they harbor the illusion of political altruism.

Simply, there is a belief that we are on equal footing with the industrialized countries, given the more "democratic structure" of GATT (e.g., one country, one vote) compared with the IMF, for instance, where a country's voting power is measured by how much special drawing rights (SDRs) it has.

Based on the conduct of the Urugual Round from 1986 to 1993, however, this democratic character has only existed on paper. Major decisions were made by the US, Japan and the EC, with the developing countries reduced to mere spectators most of the time. To provide concrete instances, it would do well to read the book "Recolonization" by Chakravarthi Raghavan (1990).

On the other hand, those who advocate outright rejection of the GATT is much more consistent in using their political line. They explicitly stress the need for protectionism, and they don't get entangled in the peripheral issues like not having enough safety nets and the incompetence of our GATT negotiators. The bottomline is simple: GATT is a deterrent to the kind of development they think must be pursued. Therefore, it must be rejected, and consequently, an alternative development strategy must be implemented.

Which brings us to the accusation that those who reject GATT are "antidevelopment" and "ultranationalists." There is a big difference between opposing development per se and rejecting the kind of development being peddled by the government. It should not be a surprise that the GATT rejectionists also oppose the Philippines 2000 vision.

In rejecting mainstream development, the "alternative" characterized by strong state intervention in the economy and nationalization of strategic industries, among others, is being forwarded. If an advocate of such is branded by whatever exonym the government thinks of (e.g., ultranationalist), then I think he or she should take it as a compliment.

A senator also noted that the anti-GATT group is basically composed of Marxists. It must be stressed that in any form of debate, labeling is only done by an opponent as an act of desperation, when arguments can no longer be sufficiently answered.

And so, back to the original question: What does it take to be anti-GATT? Simple. It takes a progressive mind and a bleeding heart for the impoverished.

Ariel C. Lalisan

Tindero

By Ariel C. Lalisan

IT WAS our semestral break. I could have chosen to go with some of my friends on some excursions, but I opted to stay home and forget my stressful and rather nauseating school life. Being at home for at least a week is more rejuvenating for me than having a dip in a pool or going to the beach or waterfalls. While going out of town can be a lot of fun, at home I can have peace of mind and learn some lessons that I need just very badly.

Our family owns a small "sari-sari" [variety] store. When I'm home, I serve as the "tindero" [vendor]. I really like doing it because I enjoy watching different people pass by. And I have even more fun when people sit on the benches outside.

I am an amateur psychologist and I am fond of studying the behavior of people. So when people drop by the store, I listen discreetly to their conversations and formulate theories about how they would act in certain situations. Sometimes, I imagine how a certain person looked like and how he behaved when he was younger. Other times, I just listen to what they are saying and try to guess what prompted them to say such things. It makes me smile to see how happy they appear to be as they talk about things that seem petty to me.

In just two or three days as a tindero, I heard more than a hundred stories. It was not because people were talkative, but everyone had his own story. And from the expressions on their faces alone, from the intensity of their voices or the speed of their speech, I could hear their souls speak of their agony or joy.

One time, two street peddlers happened to stop by the store. I saw them approaching with rolls of sleeping mats from Romblon province, woven from strips of dry and dyed leaves. It was noon and they were drenched in sweat, and I could smell them from several feet away. They looked tired and weary. They did not speak any word as they sat there, taking deep breaths and staring blankly at the dusty road.

I did not ask if they wanted to buy anything, for I knew that all they wanted was to take shelter from the heat of the sun. When they started speaking, I recognized the accent and I knew then that they belonged to an indigenous tribe.

They asked me if they could take a nap on the benches. I automatically said yes, even if I knew that their presence there would keep our customers away, especially the students of the high school a block away. In fact, many of those who happened to pass by openly stared at them for a few moments, wondering who were those two strange-looking men lying on the benches.

I was busy attending to somebody when I noticed a woman in uniform (a schoolteacher, maybe) stop by and examine the mats the two men had laid on the table. She was obviously impressed by their simple designs. She especially liked one whose sides were adorned with interwoven fuchsia and deep green strips.

One of the men suddenly woke up from his nap and told the woman she could have the mat for P120. The latter acted surprised and protested that the price was too high. "Pwede P60 na lang?" [Would you give it for P60?], she bargained.

The man gave her a bitter smile and said with a tone of condescension. "'Di pwede' [We can't]," ma'am."

A bit of a psywar began. She pointed to the sides which were uneven and said she was able to buy a mat that was exactly like it from another peddler for only P60.

"'Buri man siguro' [That's probably made of buri], ma'am," the man reasoned out, and proceeded to compare the qualities of a buri mat and a Romblon mat. He also said the mat she had bought before might be smaller than his mats.

The teacher persisted in asking for a bargain, offering to buy two for P120. The man said he would sell them for P200.

The exchange ended with the teacher dropping the mats and leaving with a look of disappointment. The man again wore his bitter and pitiful smile.

I could see his frustration and I half-expected him to run after her and say she could have two for P150. But the man remained seated and talked to me instead, knowing I was following closely his unsuccessful bid to sell his stuff.

"Grabe pud si ma'am, 'no?" [Ma'am seems hard to please, doesn't she?], he said quietly. Then he launched into a narration of how much effort it took to make the mats and bring them to town.

I listened to him and noticed how hard he was trying to mask his disappointment, and maybe despair, with his smile. But I felt he was dignified by his labor.

The man continued to sit there, waiting for his companion to wake up. He seemed to be pondering something very deeply.

What was he thinking about? I had no way of knowing. I draw pictures of him and his family in my mind: his wife and his children eagerly waiting at their door for his return and for the goods he would bring to them. I could feel how badly he needed to make a sale.

Then it was time for them to go. With the bundles of mats on their shoulders, they walked toward the public market, where they would have to meet other potential buyers and where more "educated people" could see and examine their product.

As they moved away, the conversation between the peddler and the woman kept coming back to me. I found it ironic that it was from the simple man that I learned a lesson, and not from the one whose profession was to teach. It was a simple lesson: of respect for oneself and holding others in high regard.

When classes start, I will have to travel again some 72 kilometers to the university. There, I will continue to learn the necessary skills in my chosen field of study. But right at home, in our little store, I know I will continue to learn the values necessary for life.

Mario T. Juanillo

Dreaming of Stars

First posted 00:48am (Mla time) Dec 15, 2005
By Mario T. Juanillo

COUNTING stars used to be my favorite pastime. But that was when my vision was still 20/20. On clear, moonless nights, I'd spend hours sprawled on the corrugated roof of our house watching the stars traversing the skies. To me, this was a more pleasurable thing to do than watching the show "Okay Ka Fairy Ko" on our neighbor's black-and-white TV. Seeing stars-the real ones with hot, burning gases-allowed me to dream big dreams.

Identifying constellations and naming stars excited me as a 10-year-old. To my thinking then, knowing them set me apart from my less cerebral playmates. Whatever other value my knowledge of stars gave me, I did not understand. But being able to name constellations made me a star in my own right because others were impressed by my knowledge how however little.

Like any child who loves to dream, my goal was to be the first person to count the visible stars. Grade school astronomy was not teaching me enough about stars and I assumed that I would be ableto count them all and give them names.

Ambitious? You bet. Until now, I haven't really figured out how many visible stars are there. But then again, being visible is relative.

My exposure to more advanced books made me understand that stars are innumerable. It also made me realize that being able to name one after whomever I like would not change the fact that the number of stars that remain unnamed is countless. Thus, such an attempt would not at all change the course of the universe.

When I was a little older, I learned that most of the stars already have names and that, for the sake of convention, we have to stick to international nomenclature or we would end up claiming things that are not ours. It took one failed exam in astronomy for me to understand that all the fuss and buzz about these astronomical names and figures are nothing more than a waste of time. People are bound to forget them when they grow older anyway.

I have grown so tired of counting stars that I stopped the exercise. My sight is not serving me well and I am beginning to appreciate only those things that I can look at up close. The last time I appreciated the beauty of stars was when I put on my contact lenses for the first time and chanced upon the clearest night I've experienced in the past 10 years. No fog, no scratches, no interference pattern, no hazy images-only stars in various colors and in their full brilliance. And my childhood dream was almost resurrected.

As my knowledge of astrophysics grew, my fixation with counting the stars and naming them waned. Now I can understand very well that every time I look at stars, I am looking at what has been. And since I am looking at the past, why make a big deal out of it? Who knows, Orion may already have lost its belt in its "true" present state (not the present of those stars as perceived by us but the present as it is happening now). Because light travels and the light emitted prior to the explosion of Orion's "belt" is yet to reach us, we still see them holding Orion's pants in our present. So, does knowing how many stars make up Orion matter? I say no.

I am not really over with stars yet. Although I don't have the same passion for them that I had more than 15 years ago, I still try to find time to look up the sky (even if my sight is limited to an arm's length) to be reminded that as long as there are stars, I should not stop dreaming.

I used to dream of being an astrophysicist. If I would become very brilliant in that field I'd skyrocket to full stardom, I thought. But I bade goodbye to that dream a long time ago when teaching welcomed me with open arms.

Now as a high school Physics teacher, I am dreaming that someday, someone from my class will outshine others and tell the world exactly how many stars are there. Maybe that will not be his exact point. Maybe, just maybe, that student will find the key to understanding why we are here in this world -- looking at stars, dreaming about them, sometimes with our mouths open in awe. So when I teach, I always teach my students to dream and to love to dream. True, there are plenty of reasons to dream but nothing beats dreaming about a star.

I cannot help but mention how stars are treated in this country. And this time, I am talking about a different type of stars. What is it that their supporters go ridiculously gaga over stars? Until now I am wishing upon a star that I might become one someday. But then it's clear to me that I'll never amount to much as an astrophysicist. A shining star? Maybe. And then I can be among the first to be featured in the Filipino version of Hollywood's Walk of the Stars.

My boss dreamt of stars and she was rewarded with a planet. What could the stars possibly have in store for me?

Prospero E. Pulma Jr.

Adversity 101

By Prospero E. Pulma Jr.

THEY say that adversity brings out the best and the worst in men. What they fail to mention is that it is also a great teacher. When caught in any adverse situation, we tend to focus only on overcoming it. We often overlook the importance of learning from the problem. And when we are battered by another storm, we act like sailors who have never sailed on a stormy sea and not mariners hardened by countless storms.

In my 25 years of existence, I've had my share of problems, although I have not yet turned into a certified survivor and a veteran of a thousand tribulations. But in spite of my lack of experience, I've picked up a number of lessons from the School of Adversity and Tribulation.

The first lesson that I have learned is that a man is fortunate if half of the people who knew him at the zenith of his career do not desert him when he hits rock bottom. It takes a visit by the gods of misfortune to unmask fair-weathered friends and relatives and test the loyalty of those who understand the real meaning of friendship and kinship. They were right when they said that in prosperity, your friends will know you and in adversity, you will know your friends.

I have also learned that famine can render a man's tongue insensitive to the foul taste of spoiled food. When our refrigerators are bursting with provisions, we spoil our taste buds by eating only the most delicious and preferably the most expensive food. When poverty empties our cupboards and refrigerators, we are forced to eat food that would never touch our lips in better times.

Being perennially broke, I have learned to appreciate the value of a peso and save for a rainy day. But don't pity me because I am parsimonious and I know how to live within my means. Pray instead for the paupers who are already living like kings. If they will not mend their ways, bankruptcy will force them to tighten their belts with painful and sometimes permanent results.

I have also learned that adversity can effectively deflate a proud man's ego. Success, wealth and power can make a person believe that he is a demigod until he is demoted to the ranks of ordinary mortals when he fails. Then he will realize that like all men, he is bound to commit a major blunder once or twice in his life. That history is littered with the names of mighty and proud men who were brought down to their knees by a single mistake is a lesson that the more gifted among us should never forget.

Adversity, like death, is a great equalizer. The only difference between the two is that we only die once while we are buffeted by many problems while we live. Even though nobody is assured of living a trouble-free life, some of us are given a heavier burden to carry than others. This unequal allocation of misfortune can be negated by how we deal with the challenges that are hurled at us. That is why some people triumph over impossible odds while others keel over after suffering a brief bout of bad luck.

Adversity is like a double-edged sword that can bring both harm and good. Some people emerge from a turbulent chapter of their lives stronger and wiser while others become weaker and more stupid. It is unfortunate that only a few of us care to etch the lessons learned from adversity in their minds.

Adversity is like a scar that reminds us of the pain that we felt when our skin was cut instead of warning us not to get wounded again.

Katrina Lim

One among millions

By Katrina Lim

I AM not an economist. Neither am I a great philosopher. I am a Filipino, a Filipino who has her own views about what is happening around us. I look at the papers and watch the news, and I see nothing but moral decay. I shrink into the background and play observer.

I have a very bleak view about many things. No one gives a damn about anything aside from what bothers or pleases him. Everyone is too preoccupied with one's own concerns to even bother to smile. Last week, I dozed off while waiting in a "motorela," a public utility vehicle, and I was rudely awakened when a passenger bumped against me as she tried to keep her balance. I was disturbed to note that the woman across me didn't move an inch so that the other passenger could pass with ease. Even a situation as small as that showed me how we have become so selfish and so obsessed with making our lives less burdensome that we don't think of others anymore.

I know that deep inside us we know the reason for the continuing regression of our country. The reason is ourselves. I hear so many Filipinos, myself included, blaming the President, the corruption in government, and even something as absurd as local superstitions for the peso's fall. Each of us thinks that since we are just one among so many millions we won't make a difference. But what we don't get or simply refuse to see is that we are not the only ones relying on the next person; everyone is. And that adds up to a lot of problems.

Look at me, for example. I used not to give even a thought to anything that didn't concern me directly. I was selfish and self-centered (and maybe I still am). There was this veil that kept me from seeing reality, a veil that also protected me against the imperfect world that wasn't mine. I had wrong ideas about generosity and love. I thought giving away a few coins to a beggar was proof enough of my kindness. How wrong could you get?

No one would really care to listen if I say I want to make a difference in this world. That is such a cliché. But I will say it anyway: I want to make a difference.

Now I must confess that sitting inside a restaurant, chatting with friends while picking on my food doesn't feel like so much fun when I look out the window and notice a bunch of haggard-looking street children outside, begging for loose change so that they can buy their next meal. I want to stop criticizing the President and start having faith in our government officials again. I want to smile sincerely at passersby and to feel my heart lift when they return the smile. I want to hear more words of thanksgiving than complaints about having been cheated by the driver, the saleslady or the government official. And remain hopeful that all these wishes will become true someday. Then I will have proved that one Filipino among so many millions does matter.

Antonette Rocel Delleva

Certified Pinoy

By Antonette Rocel Delleva
Inquirer News Service

I DO not know what bothers me more: being a Filipino or not knowing what being Filipino means. It always horrifies me to think that those Filipino-Americans, with their distinctive nasal twang and distorted values, could possibly be worthy of being called truly Filipino.

Somewhere I read that one is a certified Filipino if he dips his bread in coffee, cuts up the spaghetti, points at something using his mouth, is never on time and offers a lot of excuses whenever he commits a mistake. But surely, being a Filipino means more than that, doesn't it?

The Filipino has spent the past few hundred years trying to be someone other than himself. Most of us grew up believing that anything of Filipino origin is pedestrian and of poor quality. So here we are going around in our Mossimo shirts, Levi's jeans and Nike shoes, strutting around with our Jansport backpacks and Sony Discmans and watching the latest foreign flicks. All the while, our fellow humans in other countries have revised their dictionaries and defined the Filipinos as "domestic helpers." Well, okay, the Oxford Dictionary denied ever having redefined the Filipinos as such. However, the fact that someone out there actually came up with that idea is upsetting enough.

But we have no one to blame but ourselves. If I were to make a list of all our disgusting traits, it would be much longer than the epic of Lam-ang. We spit whenever we feel we like doing it and piss wherever we wish. We take everything personally when attention is called to our errors. We are the masters of procrastination. We are promoters of "crab mentality." When the Japayuki next door buys a late-model Mercedes-Benz, the Hong Kong domestic helper across the street wants to have a Jaguar. We look upon overseas employment as the answer to our economic problems without thinking about the brain drain it is causing. We make a movie about the life of the young actor who passed away, and turn another star's burial into a media circus. We consider the death of a rising young star more relevant than the death of two National Artists. And yes, we made Marcos our president and let every Filipino live through a horrible nightmare.

It is difficult to list down all the things that make the Filipino the world's laughing stock. Parents would rather marry off their daughters to white, straight-nosed foreigners than pass on the dark skin and flat noses of our ancestors.

I have come to realize that defining the Filipino is up to the Filipino himself. Perhaps, it's time for us to start identifying those traits that make us Filipino.

I am Filipino. I use a "kabo" or "tabo" when bathing because, if you really think about it, it saves more water. I dip my bread in juice because it tastes good. I cut up my spaghetti because it's easier to eat it that way. I use my mouth to point at something because I believe it is rude to point with one's finger. I am a Filipino because my hero is Jose Rizal. I am a Filipino because I respect my elders and will never feel comfortable calling them by their first names. I am a Filipino because the bravery of Melchora Aquino and Gabriela Silang runs trough my veins. I am a Filipino because Ninoy Aquino said I was worth dying for. I am a Filipino not because I was destined to be one but because I am proud of being one!

Louise Lane Gutierrez

On streets of gold

By Louise Lane Gutierrez
Inquirer News Service

I FELT my body become one with the bed. I was so tired that when my cell phone rang, I rejected the call.

It was my sister. Calling me three times. Waking me up three times. Disturbing my sleep three times. I rejected her call three times. I groaned. She most probably wanted something. She probably wanted to ask me if I took her white blouse or whether she could borrow the player, or something so trivial. Options: Answer, Loudspeaker, Reject. I turned off my phone and went to dreamland.

I woke up three hours later. I decided not to call back. Maybe later after the gym. I do body combat. Muay thai is hard. All that silly jumping. Instructor is perky, like some cheerleader on designer drugs.

I came home, switched the cell phone on and it rang immediately.

"Hello!" It was my sister's voice.

What's up?" I asked.

"You know Malaika?"

Of course, I know her, I wanted to shout. She is one of my close friends in church.

Two years ago she had this sickness that I feared would be bad. Some disease related to lupus. But her doctors didn't agree with my diagnosis. I feared back then that she had systemic sclerosis, but her doctors said it was milder.

Systemic sclerosis is usually fatal; most patients die two to three years after its onset. The diagnosis wasn't really clear because she didn't have the money for all those stupid laboratory tests.

Last time we talked, she had just come out of the hospital, where she was treated for a lung disease. I knew then that my diagnosis was accurate. But should I tell her that? I knew she knew what I feared.

"So what about Malaika?" I asked

"She just died."

Silence. And more silence.

"What? You are kidding me."

My sister told me she had collapsed in her house earlier and when she reached the hospital she couldn't be revived.

My head spun and my surroundings whirled. I couldn't believe this. I expected this, but didn't really believe it would happen.

I said, "Okay," and put down the phone.

It is unfair. Holding the hands of strangers as they go through some terrible disease makes me nauseous. Why can't I hold the hands of the ones I love? Why can't I be there for them?

Tears. Regrets.

The path I have chosen mandates that I help the faceless, the nameless, embrace those whose eyes I cannot recall, whose hearts haven't touched mine, and pray for the hands of God to continually cover those whom I love but cannot touch.

It will always be this way.

I open the good book and read about love, something about good Samaritans and loving strangers. I can only hope she was handled with love by strangers, too.

I see death all the time. Yet when death comes so close to me, I still shudder.

I lie back and think about everything. Malaika once thanked me for being such a blessing in her life. What role I played, why I was given the honor of blessing her, still haunts me. I just lost a good friend. I couldn't spend more time with her anymore. Fulfilling the promise to "get together some time" will have to wait.

We will meet again, Malaika. We will drink coffee someday and laugh. On streets of gold where you will no longer have to wear gloves because your fingers always feel pain when exposed to cold.

Over the finest cakes and food, we will laugh. And you can laugh all you want because when we meet again, laughing will not make your chest hurt, will not make you feel breathless. You will not cry anymore. No more pain. No more tears.

I will see that day happen.

For now, I will carry a smile, knowing I've gained an angel. And I know that you no longer feel pain and that you are not being loved by some nameless stranger but by a friend who loved you and me so much He died on the cross for us. I know that our Savior is holding you now, showing you around.

Say hi to my uncle there. And to my grandfather. And to my friend Ed. Tell them I just came back from limbo and that I promise to be a blessing to strangers just as some strangers were a blessing to you.

We fought the good fight, huh? You ran the good race. I still have to run the race set before me. You have just finished yours. Wait for me at the sidelines. Mine may take a few more decades to finish.

Someday we will laugh. No more goodbyes. No more tears. Someday. But not for now. I still have something to do here.