I have this small plot along the river Tigum where I built a small bamboo hut besides which I literally planted with camote after about 15 years of working my ass abroad. This camote I feed to my pigs which scream to death each time they hear my car coming. Pigs love to eat camote leaves. And each time they see me, they see camote.
What I like about the place is the river. I like the sight and sound of water flowing among rocks and along verdant valleys and plains. And when the local men come down with their carabaos, or when the womenfolks settle to do their laundry along the rocky banks, I can hear the sigh of Amorsolo. If only I could paint that good.
But most of all, I like the name of the river. The local folks call the river Tigum. To me the name is so Filipino, so ethnic. It conjures images of brave, muscled, sun-browned men battling the guns and taunts of white men from far away. It gives me images of beautiful lasses with long black hair adorned with a simple gumamela.
How I wish my name is Tigum. People change their names into something they love that signifies their beliefs and principles. There's Kidlat Tahimik. And many African Americans changed their names because they wanted to erase the past when there were masters and slaves. And what's so good about being named Lawrence, Berthold, or Henry when you look so Filipino? My name was copied from the Americans by my parents who thought that having an American sounding name made one think American. I don’t like to think that my parents believed that speaking English made one an intellectual. To me, my name reeks of a colonial past, when Filipinos felt so small beside the Americans. I don’t look up to the Americans. And I would like to think that I don’t salivate to go and live in the States.
If I have a chance to change my name, I would like to be called Tigum. I like a name that truly embodies my ideals and personality. Most of all, by just looking at or hearing my name, I would like people to know immediately that I am truly a Filipino.
Note: I found this write-up from somewhere. I wrote this in 2002 after coming home to the Philippines from a long stint abroad. I'm still in the Philippines and still maintains my nipa hut along the river. The pigs are now gone due to bankrupcy (somehow, I now admit I am not good in agribusiness.). The camote made way to corn, then bell peppers, to lacatan bananas courtesy of the Department of Agriculture (where I signed numerous documents which I hoped would not be used to justify the Joc-joc Bolante fertilizer fund scam), to string beans, and numerous other crops to make ends meet. I posted this entry because visitors are yearning to know my identity (Astig gid abi!).
Monday, August 15, 2011
Just call me Tigum
Saturday, November 27, 2010
The Psst! Group
Most often I call my classmates Manong or Manang, or Iyay for obvious reasons. Now I call them the Psst! Group. Psst! is not an acronym for a deadly group of suicide bombers (similar to the TBS 13 or True Brown Style 13, a fraternity of youngsters in Iloilo who, as part of their initiation, are allegedly killing taxi drivers after taking their cash collections), nor a pseudo society of souls who are fond of looking back to their past because the only future they can look forward to is their bleak retirement. I don't even refer to the popular meaning of Psst as Practice Safe Sex Today. Many of my classmates regard sex as a verb in the past tense. Never associated with Today. Period. If you get my drift.
But going back to Psst!
Some members of the Psst! Group. Taken after the last rites for the late wife of Ernie C. at Forest Lake Memorial Park, Manduriao, Iloilo City, Nov 27, 2010.
I call this group Psst! because when they hear somebody say Psst! they will automatically turn their heads to the source of the sound. And even if the first time, the second time and the nth time they discover that the Psst! is intended for somebody else, yet the next time they hear another 'Psst!' they will still turn their heads towards the sound, unmindful of their previous experience. Parang di na natuto. Haven't they heard about the boy who cried 'Wolf!'?
Will somebody lecture this group about Classical Conditioning or the theories of Pavlov and Skinner? Over a can of maram-an?
Pero, with all the shortcomings, I still look forward to meeting my classmates and the banters that I share with them. Daw nami gid man mag-estorya kang mga nagreligad. Because… come on, can I talk about the stock market with these people? So we talked about our past.
The few times that my classmates would meet, we really make the occasion special. Even if we just huddle for a few minutes with not even a plate of peanuts or butong pakwan in sight. We talk of the days we were classmates in high school, our antics and ambitions then, and our lives now as bread winners, some as doting lolos and lolas, and a few as still coy virgins who remained untouched (kuno) and unmarried in their menopausal years.
Frankly, I sometimes am embarrassed to call my classmates ‘Klasmeyts’ especially in front of my kids. Because - I have to be tactless – they just looked so old as in mal-am gid. Of course, they are still not legally senior citizens. But when left on their own, they would chatter the whole day about their apos, their arthritis and other ailments, the pang-tuition of their college-age children and other financial woes, or the witches or aswangs who happened to be their in-laws. Will somebody tell these people to have a life? Come on. You talk of these topics with a maram-an on hand. And you share buyo, bunga, and other sangkap with the mal-am you are talking with. Try to eavesdrop on the yuppies. Are these the topics they are talking about?
Well, in one of our talks, they mentioned some familiar names.
We had some klasmeyts in high school, according to them, who didn’t allow anyone to copy their answers during exams. Mga dalok gid. They covered their answers as if these were for their eyes only. They folded the top portion of their answer sheets over the items they were answering and they stooped low over their papers so nobody would see what they were writing. As if they were really sure that their answers were right. Their answers were like their panties – they had to pull their skirts down so nobody could have an idea of the color, or if they even wore panties. But look where these dalok nga mga klasmeyts are now. Daw wala man asenso sa pangabuhi. They are not as successful professionally as those merely copying answers during exams. Agto ka sa balay nanda, baw grabe agwanta mo nga para indi ka mangihi. Kay hadlok kaw mag-agto sa anda CR. Basi indi lang toko sa dingding ang makita mo. Mayad pa mangihi sa baid kudal.
And this klasmeyt nga seaman – kapitan sa barko. He was so embarrassed when his son saw his board exam rating. His rating was gakabit nga daw wasay. But he regained his composure. He told his son, ‘Look at your mother. Grabe kataas ang board exam niya. But her 1-year salary is much less than my 1-month salary.’
And that klasmeyt who, when everybody was asked by the school nurse to bring individual stool specimen to school for laboratory analysis, he brought a big Nescafe bottle filled to the brim with his stool. And he was proud to show his loot before the class. Our teacher shrieked and ran fast out of the classroom as if she saw a scary monster.
And that klasmeyt who was so dumb in Math she only memorized the multiplication table for 1's. 1 x 1 = 1. 1 x 2 = 2. 1 x 3 = 3. And so on. Tapos na ang klase di pa nya mamemorize ang 2's.
And that teacher who was so motherly outside, but a terror inside the classroom. Kapila niya ginbunggo sa blackboard ang ulo ni dumb klasmeyt in Math. This teacher's behavior may lead to dismissal and a criminal case now. But during our time, teachers could be so despotic and physically cruel.
At times, the topic became personal. The target of the ribbing is usually the klasmeyt na laon or spinster. Why are there spinsters? Nobody courted them? Males statistically fewer than females? And the spinster answered back, by choice naman daw ang kanyang pagiging laon. Meaning, ginusto nya. Talaga? Inspite of the pocket books with lots of pasaring sa mga pangyayari sa kama? Inspite of the boys who talk dirty na dapat lang pakuluan ang mga bunganga? Inspite of the TV shows na PG pero standard ang torrid kissing scenes ni bidang lalaki and a retinue of female characters in different stages of undress?
Then the question: 'Ti, waay gid ti guwapo ikaw nga nakita?'
And the answer: 'Ay raku nga guwapo eh. Pero ang gusto nanda indi ti guwapa, kundi guwapo man.'
I remembered our spinster neighbor. She was beautiful, fair, kutis porselana. She was my bordmeyt when I was in college. She was at that time working as a salesgirl. Long after I was already working, I heard that she died of breast cancer. But before that, she usually passes in front of our house and took notice of my nieces. Many times, while playing with my nieces, she would just cry so loud, complaining that she had no children of her own to take care of her as she was already diagnosed with cancer. When reminded that she had many nephews and nieces, she would complain that the kids were only good to her if she had money. Possibly, if she could only turn back the hands of time, she would have asked any tambay, sikad driver, or kargador to impregnate her just so she would have a biological child to accompany her during her cancer years. Or nagpangamang siya kang ana mga bordmeyt para lang magbusong. But she was so suplada and picky when she was still young.
And the banters and recollections continue. Daw kang san-o lang. Psst! Ti, may sugpon o dugang kamo?
Thursday, June 10, 2010
First Class ang ticket
I was doing a project on students' academic and non-academic performances in the city and province of Iloilo when a group of teachers asked me about the results. I told them I only had raw data and that the project I was doing was not yet finished. But the teachers were very excited about the results and they prodded me to just give them hints of the rankings I made. So I enumerated to them some schools that made a good showing.
I mentioned first private schools from the city, and the teachers just nodded their approval with a smile. But when I mentioned the schools from the province, particularly from the town of Lambunao, the teachers looked at each other and commented, 'Oh, first class!'.
I looked around if others heard the remark. To my knowledge, the comment was derisive and discriminatory, and may not sit well with somebody from Lambunao.
I'd been away from the Philippines for a long time and I had not been privy to the shifts in local perceptions. Later, when I was with some college students, I asked them if they knew the connotation of First Class when referred to somebody from Lambunao. The students were clueless. It seemed they didn't even know that the words were once synonymous with Lambunao. And that when somebody was referred to as First Class, everybody knew where he came from.
But not anymore. I think this is a good development. I know many people from Lambunao and I have friends from there. And these people are very polished, educated, accomplished, and well-travelled. They can stand shoulder to shoulder with anybody in the world. They can never be tagged as First Class, as how I understood the word way back then.
So how did the words First Class got entangled with somebody from Lambunao?
To those who have not known, this was the story I heard a long time ago.
Years ago, indi pa uso ang travel by airplane. So when people went to Manila, or some other island destinations, they travelled by boat. The price of a boat ticket, just like today, was dependent upon the class of accomodation. First Class was the most expensive, followed by the Second Class, and the cheapest was the Third Class or Economy. It followed that First Class had the best accomodation - with aircon, set meals in exclusive dining saloon, and spick-and-span toilet and shower rooms. Of course, Third Class was the cheapest because it was not airconned and the accomodation was a bit messy. Bisan diin lang may karga. Tupad mo mga kaing kang paho kag uling. May mga manok kag pato pa. Kag grabe pasahero kay barato. Kon adlaw, magahod hibi ka mga bata. Sa gab-i, magahod huragok ka mga mal-am. Ay sus!
It was therefore not surprising that being in the First Class Section was a badge of honor. Indi lang matawhay sa First Class. But more so, mas mahal ang bayad tuya. Gani, kon First Class ticket mo, astig ang dating. Dami pera.
And so this bisoy (for those who do not know, during my time bisoy meant bisayang tisoy) from Lambunao went to Manila. And because it was his first time, he would like to impress everybody. So he purchased a First Class ticket. Bigtime!
So, nagsaka na siya sa barko. And he showed with pride his ticket to the gangplank crew. First Class gid man ticket nya. And he was ushered to a separate and much cleaner gangplank for First Class passengers only. All the crew greeted him as his luggage was carried by the porters. Feeling sikat gid siya. Siyempre. First Class ang ticket.
Then the ship left the pier and off they headed for Manila.
In his accomodation, feeling rich gid siya because malamig ang aircon. It was a farcry from the payag he left in Lambunao. Yes, it was also cold and airy in his hometown abode, but it was because of the holes on his walls and not because of the latest technology. And when night fell he got his pajamas from his bag. Yes, pajamas. Kay ti mapa-Manila na siya, indi mapaharab sa uma. Gani dapat naka-pajama. Then he took his toiletries and went to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and wash his face with soap and water. And what a life. The floors were tiled and water just ran through. Back in Lambunao, he had to fetch water from far away.
But wait a minute. Something was wrong because the guy beside him was saying something.
'Pre, ngaa dira ka nagapanghilam-os haw?', asked the guy.
'Insa haw?', answered back bisoy.
'Pre, indi ka dapat magpanghilam-os da!'
'Insa haw? Perst klas man tiket ko.'
'Pre, indi puwede dira.'
'Insa gani, kay perst klas man tiket ko?'
'Pre, basin na ang ginapanghilam-osan mo. Inudoro. Indi ka manghilam-os sa inudoro.'
'Inudoro. Ano pagkama-an mo kanakon? Perst klas tiket ni!'
The other guy just left in a huff while bisoy toweled himself off as he murmured, 'Perst klas tiket ni!'.
I don't know if this incident really happened. If true, the other guy could really be a chismoso because the story spread like acne on the face of bisoy from Lambunao. During my student days, the label stuck. First Class referred to people from Lambunao.
Here's a video of a similar incident. I don't know if the person in the video was also labelled First Class.
Saturday, June 5, 2010
Ti san-o ka masunod?
Gusto ko mag-EB sa mga klasmeyts ko. (Para sa mga insomniacs diyan na di masyadong techie, please contain your libido. This post is still rated GP. Sori sa mga utak-bastosin. But to me, EB is just plain face-to-face kumustahan.) But our EBs do not start with the usual 'Kumusta ka?' My klasmeyts break the ice with 'Ti san-o ka masunod?' Literally, 'When are you going to follow?'
I noticed this a long time ago when I was in college. One weekend when I was home, I met a klasmeyt I last saw in our high school graduation. She was holding a baby. Beside her was a gangly teenager who was the best basketball player in our place. They looked too young to be parents. I was too nabigla to say a word. (During those laid-back years, teenagers hardly used their tarugo for worldly purposes other than for peeing. Not for lack of desire but for lack of motivation and a surfeit of parental authority.) So, while eyeing her partner and her situation with obvious embarrassment, she started the conversation with 'Ti san-o ka masunod?' And I heard her asked the same question each time she met another klasmeyt. As if her life was worth emulating.
I hated the question. 'Ti san-o ka masunod?' As the object of the question, I felt miserable. It was asked more to highlight the missing in me than to emphasize the obvious in the person who asked. Or it was meant to cover up embarrassment for a naughty deed. When I caught a klasmeyt with a girl, he asked 'Ti san-o ka masunod?' When a klasmeyt left for abroad to wallow in milk, honey and money, everybody in the despedida was asked, 'Ti san-o ka masunod?'. Subliminally, it was to inform everyone that klasmeyt who went abroad was very lucky indeed. And those who were left behind, manigas kayo! Kon mayad gid man kamo, insa nga giya pa kamo sa Pinas nagabira-bira nga gamay man lang suweldo niyo! Wow. It hurt so much to be dismissed as an underachiever for vowing to serve my country till death do us part.
'Ti san-o ka masunod?' Actually, it is not a question. To my klasmeyts, it's a form of greeting. It's the most used greeting. Far second lang ang 'Kumusta ka?'. When somebody got married, well wishers were greeted with 'Ti san-o ka masunod?'. When one became a father/mother, friends ribbed each other with 'Ti san-o ka masunod?'
Now many klasmeyts are certified grandmas/grandpas. And they proudly parade their apos in strollers. Frankly, they looked like yayas than grandmas.
Klasmeyt grandma held her apo to me and asked, 'Ti san-o ka masunod?' Of course the question was not just intended for me. But still, I cringed at the question. Possibly, feeling high lang siya bcoz napamatud-an nga indi baog anak niya kag cute apo niya; or too embarrassed about the reality nga mal-am gid tana.
But give me a break. Did klasmeyt really think that life is the same for everyone? Or just because they are grandparents I would pray that I be like them soonest even if my eldest still talks and writes jejemonic at 11yo? But then I got my chance to let them taste the bitter dose of their own medicine. When we recently attended the burial of a klasmeyt, as klasmeyts were about to cry, I asked all of them seriously 'Ti san-o kamo masunod?' Ouch! Ti man. Yes, on hearing this, they all forgot to cry.
I haven't had an Eye Ball with klasmeyts after that. But I am sure that in our next EB, they will simply greet me with 'Kumusta ka?' @
Friday, January 29, 2010
Sweet smells of the past
Hay, buhay! Our former kasambahay would add, ‘Parang life!’. I wouldn’t utter such corniness. But then, sometimes, when I am alone, it’s nice to just let go of the phrase to release the stress and tension that build up in me.
Today is January 29, many weeks after I made a post in this blog. I really planned to write before about issues, ideas, trivias, or just about small things that happened in my day. My thoughts just flowed out like water from the fountain. But once I was in front of the computer, I could not find the words that would truly represent my thoughts. I was in the dark. I could not write. So I just played some music in the computer – music that somehow brought my mind to the time when I was younger and brimming with vigor and idealism, to the time when the whole of my future was in front of me, when everything seemed easy and possible.
Those were the times when…
I was applying the sunblock lotion Coppertone on my skin even when I was going to the office, or even when I was going to my graduate classes in the evening. I loved the smell of Coppertone. It reminded me of summer, when my friends and I hied off to some remote beaches or mountain destinations we had never been before to enjoy our newfound freedom as well-paid single professionals. In all these outings, I had my Coppertone, more because of the smell than because of its protective formulations. Later, I noticed my male classmates at the Ateneo Graduate School also smelled like me, possibly because they came straight from an outing or because they just liked my smell. The smell was manly and outdoorsy. And psychologists say that we like a smell not because of the smell per se, but because the smell evokes or reminds us of some past experiences or people we like. So for me, nothing beats the smell of Coppertone.
I also like the smell of Crayola, the smell of new plastic, and the smell of newly mowed grass. All these evoked happy memories of my childhood. But of course, I don’t like to smell like Crayola, new plastic, or newly mowed grass.
When I was a child, my parents would bring my siblings and I to the city to purchase school supplies during the opening of school. We bought notebooks, pencils, ballpens, crayons, bags and others. When we arrived home I gathered all my new school supplies and placed them inside my new plastic bag. My notebooks were neatly covered and my crayons were arranged according to color intensity. And the smell was overpowering. Now, when I smelled the crayons of my children, it was dejavu for me.
At the start of school, I was grinning from ear to ear as I met my friends who were all having new bags and new school supplies. Like me. We were all happy. Our notebooks were covered and clean. I didn’t like to write on them lest they would look messy. Our hairs and clothes were neat. Of course, after a week nobody bothered if our hairs and clothes were in disarray. Or whether we even changed clothes at all. But on the first day of class, I pitied anyone without a new bag. For me, I felt very handsome; it seemed all my classmates and teachers were staring at me because I had a new bag. And everybody could tell that my bag was new because the plastic still smelled.
My mother is 85 years old come Feb 2. And she is in the hospital since December 29 for high blood, pneumonia, and blood infection. She is alright now and might be out of the hospital tomorrow. My experience with my mother in the hospital gave me some thoughts about life. She had her lows in the hospital as her doctor said ‘naga-practice dying sya’. Her children and apos were with her in the hospital. But I noticed that her face really brightened when her cousin and contemporary visited her. Her cousin was 88 years old and still spritely. I was thinking that possibly my mother cannot connect to the younger generation. She wanted to take out all the tubes inserted to her body and just go home. But we won’t allow her. She was practically a prisoner in the hospital room. She was therefore happy to see her cousin because she was reminded of her younger years, when she was without worry, carefree, and could run free in the open spaces of their rural barrio. Too bad that most of her contemporaries are now dead or prisoners of their aged body. I told my children that when I grow old like Nanay they should not bring me to the hospital. I prefer that a doctor just visit me at home. Possibly, I could stay in the hospital when I am already unconscious.
Looking at Nanay, made me want to go back to the past. The past was just simple and worry-free. If only I could turn back the hands of time and savor the sweet smells of the past…
Hay buhay…
By the way HAPPY NEW YEAR sa tanan.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Search for Iloilo's outstanding elementary and high school students is on
The Outstanding Students Circle of Iloilo (OSCI), through the Department of Education (Divisions of Iloilo, Iloilo City, and Passi City), has announced the start of the Search for the Ten Outstanding Elementary Pupils and the Ten Outstanding Secondary School Students of Iloilo for the school year 2009-2010.
The mechanics and criteria for this school year's search can be viewed from the OSCI official blog http://outstandingstudentscircleofiloilo.blogspot.com . Nomination forms can be secured from the DepEd Division offices. Deadline of submission of nominations is on January 7, 2010.
OSCI is composed of former recipients of the Ten Outstanding Elementary Pupils and the Ten Outstanding Secondary School Students of Iloilo awards given out during the incumbency of former Iloilo Governor, Hon. Conrado J. Norada. OSCI has been doing the Search for five years already.
Past OSCI awardees were:
TOEP 2009. (1) Arvin John Tejereso, Cabatuan Central Elementary School, 2) Jamero, Jollimee A., West Visayas State University – ILS, (3) Quilantang, Lainly D., SPED – ISEC, (4) Patriarca, Raymund John, Jaro I Elementary School, (5) Susmiran, Patrick Jules, Sta. Barbara Central Elementary School, (6) Chan, Kevin Friedrich Y., Iloilo Scholastic Academy, (7) Bimbo, Angeli Janne Ga, Central Philippine University, (8) Cajandig, Mary Monique, Children's Integrated School of Alta Tierra, (9) Fenis, Ivan Misola, Miagao Central Elementary School, and (10) Villaruz, Gerrod J., Ateneo de Iloilo – SMCS.
TOSSS 2009. (1) Vincen Gregory Yu , Iloilo Central Commercial High School,(2) Java, Albert Jan Matthew A., Central Philippine University, (3) Juan Loa, Nina Isabela P., Ateneo de Iloilo – SMCS, (4) Macero, Milrose P., Passi National High School, (5)Solas, Mark Collin P., Iloilo National High School, (6) Marmolejo, Daryl Ecuben, Guimbal National High School, (7) Miñosa, Nathaniel G., Lambunao National High School, (8) Zamora, Abner C., Anilao National High School, (9) Hontoria, Jaywardene G., Colegio de San Jose, and (10) Faculin, Andre Karl S., Colegio del Sagrado Corazon de Jesus.
TOEP 2008. 1. Lustre, Maphete Dianne (above photo, in green dress) - WVSU - Integrated Laboratory School, 2. Montelibano, Maria Trenas - SPED-Integrated School for Exceptional Children, 3. Deypalubos, Florencio III - Sta. Barbara Central Elementary School , 4. Roga, EJ Marie - Iloilo Central Elementary School, , 5. Guanco, Emma Rose O. - Iloilo Scholastic Academy
6. Alfaro, Rumel Angelo T. - Cabatuan Central Elementary School, 7. Estuche, Marc Adrian Philippe - Children's Integrated School of Alta Tierra, 8. Baladjay, Aserina Yvonne - Jaro I Elementary School , 9. Subo, Ma. Phoebe T. - Barotac Nuevo Central Elementary School , 10. Yray, Kristiana Claire - Ateneo de Iloilo - SMCS.
TOSSS 2008. 1. Penol, Jo Jan Paul (right photo) - Pavia National High School , 2. Palomaria, Stephen John B. - Passi National High School, 3. Baldevarona, Rosa Lea - University of the Philippines High School in Iloilo , 4. Leda, Stella Mariedith - Lambunao National High School, 5. Bayona, Paul Vincent S. - Saint Paul School, Barotac Nuevo , 6. Salinas, Cornelius Cesar Jude - Westbridge School for Boys , 7. Garces, Rose Ann - Guimbal National High School, 8. Enarbia, Stephanie Keiko - Ateneo de Iloilo / Sta Maria Catholic School , 9. Umadhay, Quennie Lyn S. - Sta. Barbara National Comprehensive High School , 10. De la Vega, Beverly Ann - Jalandoni Memorial National High School.
TOEP 2007. 1 Sira, Liza Marie S. - Sta. Barbara Central Elementary School, 2 Fuego, Alyanna Krista - Ateneo de Iloilo - Sta. Maria Catholic School, 3 Demafiles, Shaynne Laurice A. - Iloilo Central Elementary School , 4 Amit, Sheena Mae F. - West Visayas State University - ILS,5 Cortum, Alyanna Sinel - SPED Integrated School for Exceptional Children, 6 Adolfo, Estee Joy G. - Guimbal Central Elementary School, 7 Garrido, Excelle Anne C. - San Enrique Central School , 8 Tronco, Christina Mae M. - Cabatuan Central Elementary Schoo, 9 Lizada, Adrian Nichol - Don Eugenio Ladrido Memorial Elementary School , 10 Hualde, Karla Rosa S. - New Lucena Central School .
TOSSS 2007. 1 Pamillo, Ray John - Central Philippine University High School , 2 Robinson, Victor B. III - Ateneo de Iloilo - Sta. Maria Catholic School , 3 Hualde, Ken C. Cabatuan - National Comprehensive High School , 4 Leda, Francis Pauline B. - Lambunao National High School , 5 Cadete, Ivory June J. - SPED - Integrated School for Exceptional Children , 6 Abalajon, Karl Vincent - University of the Philippines High School in Iloilo , 7 Lazaro, Joe Abad S., Jr. - Don Felix Serra National High School, 8 Tacaisan, Ability-Ann G. - Colegio Del Sagrado Corazon de Jesus, 9 Dato-on, Luville J. - San Enrique National Comprehensive High School, 10 Fresnido, Donna Isabelle M. - University of San Agustin High School.
TOEP 2006. 1. Altamera, Shari A. SPED – Integrated School for Exceptional
Children , 2. Mellizas, Marian Mae L. Cabatuan Central Elementary School , 3. Cerebo, Bryan Eric New Lucena Central Elementary School , 4. Deocampo, Irish Joy G. Iloilo Central Elementary School , 5. Leda, Francis Paul B. Don Eugenio Ladrido Memorial Elementary School, 6. Ponta-oy, Lennon Dingle Central Elementary School, 7. Divinagracia, Bert Lorenz S. Ateneo de Iloilo/Sta Maria Catholic School , 8. Magallon, Marianne Joy Sta. Barbara Central Elementary School , 9. Atas, Celeste West Visayas State University, 10. Jamerlan, Ma. Christina M. St. Joseph School.
TOSSS 2006. 1. Llorente, Neil Andrew Chiu Ateneo de Iloilo/Sta Maria Catholic School
2. Almendros, Ma. Jilyn C. Colegio de las Hijas de Jesus, 3. Tunguia, Saer Martin J. Iloilo National High School , 4. Mondin, Vincent Leuter J. Zarraga National High School, 5. Canong, Ma. Verni Katrina A. University of the Philippines, 6. Misajon, Joshua J. Central Philippine University , 7. Servanio, Nikko Jones G. Pavia National High School, 8. Loreno, Christine Anne L. Lambunao National High School, 9. Pruto, Melissa P. Mina National High School , 10. Sampiano, Nyre Cyre Colegio de San Jose. @
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Winners!
We just came from the mall where my daughter participated in the caroling contest sponsored by a TV network. She was a member of her school’s choir. It was an exhilarating experience.
I was informed that the contest would start at 11:00 am. But when I arrived at the mall, choir #2 was already performing. I frantically looked for my wife to ask if our daughter had already performed. She told me that my daughter's choir was the 14th performer and that there were 14 contestants. I was relieved. I led my brother's two apos, Ryan and Lizzie, who were always going with me, to a vantage point where they could see the full performances. I bought them some waffle. Then I watched from the back.
To me it was a big challenge to watch kiddy shows like this. Nakakaburyong. Once in a while, I would slip out to some boutiques to look for some t-shirts and pants on bargain prices. But I had to return to check on the apos and get an assessment of the performances. Some contestants obviously lacked practice. Others lacked good trainors. While a few really did a pang-contest performance. But I could not say which contestants were sure winners because I hadn't yet seen the performance of my daughter's choir. With the hefty sum the other parents and I paid for the trainor and choreographer, possibly my daughter's choir was the choir to beat.
And then, after what seemed an eternity, the emcee introduced the last contestant. I felt nervous. The choir members marched to the stage. They wore identical dresses, shoes, hairdo, and make-up. My daughter was the first in the line. She was beautiful. I looked at the other members of the choir. They looked just like my daughter. Could be the make-up. But I remembered mannequins in the department stores were made to look like famous fashion models. Perhaps, the make-up artist wanted to make others look like my famous (according to me) daughter.
Then they started singing Christmas carols. Obviously, they had a good trainor. But their performance was pang-choral contest. Indi pang-caroling. Their voices were too soft to be heard. The choreography was pang-recital. It was all song and dance without the Christmas stories that other choirs incorporated into their 7-minutes presentation. It was not a lively performance worthy of an award. But what they lacked in performance, they filled with their best looking personalities. They had the best dresses, make-up, hairdo, and possibly the most expensive make-up artist. They looked like going to a party rather than to a caroling. Their props were unique. Their presentation was subdued and slow, as compared to the verve and pizzaz of the few others. And even if they also came from a public school, they were like a wisp of fresh air as they looked like prim-and-proper, coy, and inhibited convent-bred lasses in a sea of brash, loud and uninhibited public schoolers.
But I didn't mind the performance of the choir. I was focused mostly on my daughter. She was a revelation. She could sing, dance, and was at ease in front of the big crowd. She blended well with the rest of the choir. I could hardly believe my eyes.
My daughter is in Grade 3 and this was the first time she joined an extra-curricular activity. She is good in the academics, but is adamant to join school activities even if I asked her to. She always finds reasons not to join even if I bribe her with an offer to eat out with her cousins. She is suplada personified, which our acquaintances attributed to her having curly hair. Pag kulot kuno, suplada gid. She has no best friend in their class. She seldom talks to her classmates. Therefore, I am happy if I hear that she is the leader of the Cleaners for the Day, a role being rotated among everybody in her class. I will wake up early to pick some flowers for her classroom to make her feel that being a leader of even a cleaners group was special.
My girl was great on stage. I wanted to hug and congratulate her. Hers was the best performance I'd seen that day. Then they exited the stage. We met her at the side. She was beaming with joy.
After awhile, the emcee announced the winners. The judges would pick out 7 finalists out of the 14 contestants. The sponsor was giving cash prizes to all the finalists, who would compete in another round come December. All those which I thought performed well were called on stage as finalists. Then contestant number 13 was called. My wife and the other mothers jumped with joy. 'We won! We won!' they shouted. The adviser called my girl and her classmates so they could go up the stage to claim their award. And I thought they were contestant number 14! I just kept quiet. They were about to head to the stage when they saw another group going up the stage. Then they were informed it was number 13 that was called, and not 14. The teacher and the parents were crestfallen. Ay ahay, kaluoy gid. Then the emcee said he would announce the seventh finalist. The teacher and the parents were alive and hopeful again. They thought all 7 finalists were already announced. When the remaining finalist was announced, it was not number 14. A classmate of my daughter cried. All the parents, including my wife were so sad. They invested a lot of time for the practice and preparations. And the choreography for the 7-minute presentation costed more than a half-month salary of the school's utilityman. The make-up was Php500.00 for each child. But at least the dress could be worn by the daughters to another party. The parents who might have planned to celebrate with their kids in one of the fastfoods, bade us goodbye. They said they would go straight home. They looked tired. They were in school since 8:00am for the make-up and the last minute rehearsal. Perhaps, some of them hadn't yet eaten lunch because of excitement. They looked like losers. Parang mga basang sisiw.
Then my sisters, nieces, and apos who were there to watch my daughter, were surprised when I announced that I was going to celebrate. We went to a popular fastfoods. I got the money from my wallet which was meant to buy a week supply of groceries. I was happy. My daughter was beaming beside me. She told me she enjoyed the experience on stage and being the center of everybody’s attention. And my reticent daughter announced that she would be joining other activities in school. I was ecstatic. Both of us were winners!@
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Story from Mr. Panguy-ab
This story was emailed to me by Mr. Panguy-ab.
I could have written a similar story with a better plot. But I am so drained lately. I've just been from a marathon of grad school exams, I thought I'm now brain dead from such a hurdle. My brain might be dead, but my fingers are not. So I have to make a post, even if such is ingloriously plagiarized.
Btw, Mr. Panguy-ab is a UK resident. But he is so bored by his hapless existence in a nondescript county miles away from London that he makes panguy-ab, or yawning, a favorite hobby. In his neighborhood, everybody is absorbed with work, nobody has the time to even chat with him. His boredom sometimes mutates to homicidal tendencies especially because, as a first time UK college student and a transferee from the University of the Philippines, he finds out that his subjects which seem awefully and nosebleedingly hard to his classmates, are to him nothing but reviews of his high school subjects in the Philippines; and a slap to his nationalistic fervor - while he guiltily admits he has never finished reading and analyzing Noli Me Tangere and El Filibusterismo, his English class takes up nothing but the works of William Shakespeare, somebody he has never admired and thought of existing. And he is so bored with the Shakespearean lines he could stab Romeo if he sees him, or snub Juliet if he ever meets her. Yes, William, a rose by whatever name, still smells as sweet. And to Mr. Panguy-ab, Juliet by whatever pseudonym or guise, still sounds and looks irritating. So he takes to panguy-ab, irregardless of whether he is before friends, Romans, and countrymen without ears.
Here goes the story...
The Vote for Heaven or Hell
A powerful senator dies after a prolonged illness. His soul arrives in heaven and is met by St. Peter at the entrance.
"Welcome to Heaven," says St. Peter. "Before you settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official around these parts, you see, so we're not sure what to do with you."
"No problem, just let me in," says the senator.
"Well, I'd like to but I have orders from higher up. What we'll do is have you spend one day in Hell and one in Heaven. Then you can choose where to spend eternity."
"Really, I've made up my mind. I want to be in Heaven."
"I'm sorry but we have our rules," replies St. Peter.
And with that, St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell. The doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course. Nearby are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with him. Everyone is in evening attire and very happy to see him. They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. They play a friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar.
Also present is the Devil, who really is a very friendly guy and who has a good time dancing and telling jokes. They are having such a good time that the time flies, before he realizes it, the senator has to go. Everyone gives him a big hug and waves while the elevator rises.
The elevator goes up, up, up and the door reopens on Heaven where St. Peter is waiting for him.
"Now it's time to visit Heaven."
The next 24 hours pass with the senator joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud, playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns.
"Well then, you've spent a day in Hell and another in Heaven. Now choose your eternity." The senator reflects for a minute, then answers, "Well, I would never have said it, I mean Heaven has been delightful, but I think I would be better off in Hell."
So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell. Now the doors of the elevator open and he is in the middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his friends, dressed in rags, picking up the trash and putting it in black bags.
The Devil comes over to him and lays his arm on his neck.
"I don't understand," stammers the senator. "Yesterday I was here and there was a golf course and a beautiful club and we ate lobster and caviar and danced and had a great time. Now there is only a wasteland full of garbage and my friends look miserable.
The Devil looks at him, smiles and says, "Yesterday we were campaigning. Today you voted for us!"@
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Fish spa in Tibiao
Want to experience something unusual? Why not drive to the municipality of Tibiao in Antique and savor the experience of a fish spa – when locally endemic fishes peck and nibble your feet triggering an orgasmic sensation that will make you forget your woes including your name?
The Tibiao Fish Spa was put up by three enterprising University of the Philippines graduates, one of them Flord Calawag, 8th placer in the October 2008 Fisheries Technologist Licensure Examination. (To note, the 7th placer in the same board exams was Joshua Militar Regalado, the son of Bambi M, an elementary classmate and two-time Miss Cabatuan.)
Being Fisheries graduates, the triumvirate conceived of a project using, what else but their most favorite creatures – fishes. They worked out a technology, which they have submitted for patenting, to convert any wild fishes that scamper to safety at the site of homo sapiens, into amiable pets which looked forward to caressing, tickling, and pampering whatever part of the human body that is submerged in the water.
As soon as we arrived, the quite neighborhood was turned into a giggling, screaming riot as tiny fishes tickled the soles of everybody.
The spa is in the residence of the Calawags beside the main highway. It is composed of two sections. Inside the house is a sitting area covered with loose black shiny pebbles where patrons can sit on woven palm-leaf mats beside an L-shaped wading pool filled with small fishes which the owners called 'small Therafish'. (The original Doctor Fish used in fish spas abroad is Garra Rufa, a native of Middle Eastern countries.)
The other section is outside the house. It is a covered long pool about 2-feet wide with bamboo benches on the side. The pool is filled with fishes which are comparatively larger, with larger mouths and bigger teeth, which could be just right for those with soles as hard and as thick as the soles of rubber shoes and/or for those whose leg skin is as rough as the surface of sandpaper. White small towels are available to the patrons. But first aid kit and in-house doctors are not available as the owners are confident the fishes will just nibble on dead skin and not gorge on whole human legs.
The size of some fish is big enough to become a fitting viand after the spa session.
My personal experience in the Tibiao Fish Spa was comforting and could be a lesson to those wanting to avoid embarrassment in the place. When I dipped my feet in the cold waters, all the fishes swam to my direction and fought for choice positions over my skin. I imagined that I could have the dirtiest and smelliest pair of feet in the whole of Tibiao that minute. I was delighted by the sight of schools – no, universities - of fishes fighting for the dermal morsels, and the ticklish sensation when the fishes came in contact with my skin. But my nieces cried in protest as only the skinny and lazy fishes serviced them while all the agile ones attacked my feet like swarms of flies and vultures to a decaying carcass. As a caveat, when you don’t know the other patrons, wash your feet well in the washing area before you dip them in the pool. Else, when your feet become a magnet to all the hungry fishes, you’ll be incensed when informed by a stranger nearby, that fishes are attracted by smelly objects like ginamos or earthworms wriggling in spit. Or you’ll be thrown out by the management and banned for life for knowingly feeding the fishes with unknown, and possibly deadly objects, residing on your feet. On my part, I was greatly relieved that none of the fishes floated belly side up, when I dipped my feet in the pool for 10 minutes.
The Tibiao River, site of an international whitewater kayaking competition (top left). Centuries old balete tree crowning the site of a cave (top right). Spelunking (below left). Hanging bridge (below right). During the typhoon Frank flood, the waters rose until chest high of those crossing the bridge.
Jungle fever and wild flowers galore.
The ambiance in the fish spa is homey and not commercial. There is no restaurant but the caretakers will cook whatever supply you bring at no extra cost. Excursions and activities to nearby areas can be arranged through the Tibiao Tourism Office or the Department of Tourism Regional Office in Iloilo City. Some activities that can be arranged are mountain climbing to Bugtong Bato waterfalls and whitewater kayaking in the Tibiao River. Tibiao hosted the International Whitewater Kayaking Competition in 1999. Flord volunteered to tour us around but because of the bad weather our tour was limited to viewing over a hanging bridge the rampaging currents of the Tibiao River. He brought us to a cave which was used as a hiding place during World War II and to their family farm which he envisioned to become a fish spa complex where people can play tong-its under the grafted mango trees as indigenous puyo or turagsoy massage their feet.
So, for those who have time to spare, try the Tibiao Fish Spa. You don’t just experience the unusual but you also boost the local economy and help our new graduates discover their entrepreneurial capabilities. Astig.
Sights: Mode of transportation, land mine, and the place we stayed overnight in Culasi.
In our family outings, only the terminally old is exempted. We bring ample food supply so we can eat anywhere we please. This time, breakfast beside the highway in Hamtik.
Please click pictures to enlarge. @
Sunday, August 23, 2009
A wedding in Caleruega
'Rising tall and majestic in the highest point of Caleruega is the Transfiguration Chapel. From here one can behold the expanse of Caleruega and witness the glorious opus of radiant nature – a symphony of sky, trees, and the distant hills of Batulao. Like St. Peter during Jesus’ transfiguration, anyone who experiences such splendor of nature’s poetry will declare: Lord, it is good for us to be here… (Mt.17:4).'
This was how I was introduced to Caleruega – through the internet. I learned that Caleruega is in Batulao, Nasugbu, Batangas . It is a meditation haven set-up by the Dominican priests. The chapel got its name from the stained glass wall behind the altar dominated by the majestic figure of Christ and flanked by Moses and Elijah. And Caleruega? The name was given by the Dominican priests, in honor of Caleruega in Spain, the birthplace of St. Dominic de Guzman, the founder of the Dominican Order. In fact, the façade of the chapel was copied after the original Caleruega Chapel in Spain.
The chapel is small. It can sit only 150 pax. And there is no aircon, as the balmy weather may require visitors to wear thick clothing during the ‘BER’ months. But the serene ambience and the absence of the trappings of modernity in the glorious expanse of woods, sky, and the horizon obscured not by buildings but by the distant verdant hills make this chapel a perfect setting to say ‘Yes, I do.’ In fact, this place is the current IN place to get married for residents nearby and from far-off Metro Manila. Chalets, pavilions, dormitories, and function rooms are strategically tucked in the lower hills in order not to impede the view. The chapel only caters to two weddings a day – one in the morning, and another one in the afternoon – and reservations must be done one year in advance. Proof of the chapel's popularity is the numerous websites of professional photographers and/or videographers which give advices on the best angles when covering a wedding in Caleruega– the aisle is short so the groom must wait in the halfway; the celestial afternoon rays of the sun from behind the stained glass wall must be directed towards the waiting groom; the glass door with wrought iron décor must be closed and opened only for the dramatic entrance of the bride; the doves must be released outside as the white of its plumage and the bride’s outfit contrasts dramatically against the red brick façade; and don’t forget to take a shot of the couple along the winding road leading to the place to highlight the rusticity of Caleruega.
By just thinking of the place, I was forced to wonder where was Caleruega when I got married? I was married in the old Jaro Cathedral as I preferred to be married in an old church. But when I reckoned the number of by-standers, gawkers, and the mendicant settlers in the church who mingled with the entourage and guests, adding their grubby rainbow colors to the well-planned monochromatic motif, where indeed was Caleruega at that time? Maybe, it would cost more to transport the entourage and guests, but can't a marriage be solemn, private, happy and just as how the bride and groom wished it to be?
Mr Uya and wife Mrs Jesusa exchanged 'I do's ' for the second time in Caleruega. The husband was dapper in a suit, while the wife was elegant in a couture gown.
No wonder, Julian and Jesusa renewed their vows ‘to love and to cherish till death do them part’ with the hills of Caleruega as witnesses.
Julian or Uya was from the section 1. He was bright but possessed the peculiar quality of a farm lad – he was very shy, too shy to even recite in class. In fact many times teachers were tempted to pry open his mouth to verify if he really had a tongue. But what he lacked in tack, he compensated with his being very dependable. During class activities, he was always depended upon to prepare the food, carry the heavy loads, and work in the background while the town boys entertained the girls, enjoyed the food, and made sure that they didn’t smell like garlic and onions by evading the kitchen area where Uya stayed with his fellow barrio lads. Makalantaw lang ka nagasaot, enjoy na sanda. For this, Uya was voted as the Most Dependable Senior on graduation day.
Jesusa was from the section 3. She was a barrio girl – pretty, conscientious, and simple. When she walked, her back was always straight, as if it was supported with a tourniquet. She was tall and she seldom smiled – a younger version of Miss Tapia, kulang na lang eyeglasses. She was always serious and talked about topics which were interesting only to those who vowed to become old maids. Her look always meant a warning, like ‘Don’t touch my things!’ or to that effect. Boys evaded her.
It was therefore a big surprise that a shy somebody suspected of having no tongue would marry a clone of Miss Tapia. What happened?
Then I talked to Miss Tapia, ahh si Jesusa gali, over the phone. She talked confidently, her choice of words were very professional. She talked in straight English, always on the bright side, and never hinted on having been born a shy and simple barrio lass. No wonder. At the time she spoke to me, she was a Sales Training Officer of a real estate firm. Her work required her to speak daily before groups of sales executives and applicants of diverse backgrounds. Her Miss Tapia qualities really worked for her.
I have not seen Uya since high school graduation. I thought, just like any shy farm boy, he could have faded in the recesses of his elders' farm, plowing the fields and threshing the rice, and thankful that the soles of his feet were as thick as the sole of Adidas rubber shoes because he could no longer wear shoes as his corned toes were now shaped like a fan. I reckoned that because of his conservativeness, he could be chewing bettle nut (naga-mama, with accent in the 2nd ma) to scrimp on toothbrush and he could be listening to Tiya Dely and noontime drama over Bombo radio to while his time. But I was mistaken! When I inquired about him, I was informed that he finished his college degree and was seldom in his parents' home, because he had built for his own family a palatial abode in an exclusive subdivision in Manila. When I had a chance to talk to him over the phone, I was floored. His voice was familiar. But he was now lacquacious. He could talk about anything with authority, because now, he works as a Marine Engineer in a shipping firm plying the international route.
And how did he court Jesusa? With candor and in so many words. Uya really had a tongue! Di ba sa trabaho nya na-imbento ang term na sisid-marino?
And how did Jesusa answered Uya? With confidence and resignation. Di ba training officer sya? She saw in Uya the sincerity and dependableness she was looking for in an ideal subordinate, ahh husband pala.
The couple's two grown-up children bound them together with the ceremonial chord.They were blessed with two children – the eldest is a girl who now works as a professional Pharmacist, and the second is a boy who is a BS Architecture student in the University of Sto. Tomas.
The couple celebrated their 25th wedding anniversary with a renewal of vows at the Caleruega chapel. The flowers were bought by the couple from Dangwa. Together with their kids, they lovingly worked and arranged the bridal bouquet and church decorations. The bride wore a gown by a famous couturier which she and her daughter re-sewed to fit her daring figure. Her hair and make-up were by David Saloon, which according to the bride, she and her daughter re-touched and re-touched to the point where the David Saloon work was erased and only the hefty price tag remained. The sponsors were the couples’ friends and big-time former bosses. And the motley crowd inside the chapel were only close friends and relatives. All the ladies were in gowns. And all the gentlemen were in barong or suit.
Uya and Jesusa, no longer barrio kids, but still attached to the old traditions of the barrio, like living a simple but lasting and happy married life.
Indeed, it was a far cry from the wedding in far away Bgy. Calayo in Cabatuan, where the whole population including the dogs partook of the celebration.@
Friday, August 21, 2009
Today is August 21.
Today is a HOLIDAY in the Philippines. No work. Today is a big blessing to many who have to make quality time with their families.
But why is today a holiday? Insa?
I tried to refresh my memory of the days that made this day significant. As I juggled with my memory, I was also browsing the Facebook of somebody whom many thought was like me. And I thought I was like him when I was his age - a student leader, aware and involved with social issues, and brimming with idealism and enthusiasm. But I have not fully grasped the depth of his leanings and involvement. Maybe I was biased as I've always regarded him as a child. But seeing a picture in his Facebook jolted me.
As regards him, this was the third time I was jolted to the fact that he has grown.
First time was, when I saw hairs in his armpits. We were in Bohol then, during our annual family long travel. It was hot and we were in sleeveless shirts. It was not the first time that I saw him in similar attire. But this was the first time I saw the hairs. Astig. I always thought he was just a kid. Ngayon, puwede na makabuntis.
The second time I was jolted by this kid-turned-man, was when I heard him speak in a public forum. I knew he was a good public speaker as he was a student leader. But he had never practiced his speeches before me, if indeed he was even practicing. And I never had the opportunity to attend any activity where he spoke. But in this public forum, both of us were slated to speak. And friends who attended were ready to make comparisons. I surmised, he was a very good speaker. And, no, I didn't realize he had grown. On the contrary, for the first time I realized that I HAD grown. I had never entertained the thought of being old. But this time, yes, I felt old. Because here was a man of the next generation, who proved he was ready to take over. Yes, he was good if not better. Yes, I felt old. As many of my classmates and contemporaries looked and acted old. But age is just in the mind.
And now I was jolted again.
His Facebook was nice to read. He looked good in his pictures now that he is with his parents abroad. He looked better now as compared to the last time I saw him when, as his guardian,I accompanied him to NAIA. And I knew him more by his Facebook - his love for country, family, friends,travel. But then I saw this picture. Could he be reading my mind? Can he walk on a path untrammeled by me and still head for the same destination? That picture was of a man he had never seen as the man died before he was born. That man was not as big as Satur or Mao because that man was only big to those who had faced him and worked with him. I thought that nobody knew that man because he was not fodder to contemporary media. And it really jolted me to see THAT picture. To me, whoever in the next generation who admired Lean might have thoughts deeper than mine. Whoever thought Lean was worth emulating is destined for greater heights. Because I knew Lean. I had rubbed elbows with Lean. I'd been there before to tell the great things done by Lean. Yes, the picture I saw in the Facebook of my nephew was that of LEAN ALEJANDRO. And to me, August 21 is not only for Ninoy but also for Lean and for the many others who lighted a candle during the dark nights of the Marcos dictatorship and had died without seeing the light of a new day. @
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Lubong kag boobs
August 16, 2009. 2:00 pm. Cabatuan Roman Catholic Church. Lubong ka tatay ni Esay. Ang 2:00pm nga misa nahimo nga 2:35 pm kay ang una nga requiem mass para sa lubong ka tatay ni Noni Baldeviso nagbuhay kay raku ang picture taking. Insa nga kang lubong ni Cory waay man it picture taking?
Another social occassion para sa class as represented by Bebot, Gloria, adopted klasmet Magda, etc. Ang mga etcetera amo ran ang waay tanda it picture.
Si Gene kag Elsa pagkatapos ka misa kag picture taking. Nagasunod sanda sa lungon pa-gwa sa simbahan.
Ang darwa nga diya nga naka-itom ma-umpisa ron kuno mangumpanya. Ti nami bala ran pamatian sa lubong? Daw nagapanulay sanda nga magraku ang patay para raku man ang tinion para pangumpanya. Astig gid.
Pagkatapos lubong, masigpangita ron ka purungkuan para magkaon. Amo lang gid dya ang ginahulat nanda. Paki-click ang picture sa tuo. Amo ran ang ginlub-ngan kay Nelia Orrica - ang tambok nga baye kang elementary kag high school. Ay patay ron tana? Nadumdoman ko, nanugid tana nga ginpabusong tana ni Langlang. Diin ron gali si Langlang? Patay ron man? 
Pag-umpisa ka panaw ka lubong may nag-entra pa gid nga isa. Baw daw nagaparada tanda sa piyesta. Daw waay tanda nagakumpanyar. Halin sa simbahan asta sa patyo, waay tanda ti ginhimo kundi maghiri-hiri. Nagakasadya tanda. Ti mayad bala ran? Ang iba nga ginhagad kag waay mag-agto, ginlibak. Amo ran nga kinahanglan mag-agto kaw gid kon ginahagad ikaw. Kay kon indi gani, ikaw pagalibakon. Mirisi.
Baw diya tana daring gid ang dating. I-click ang picture to enlarge. Para ma-man-an kon tunay. Pero gin-sara niya man sa sunod nga pic.@
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Heaven
Today, I woke up at 6am. As I got down from our upstairs bedroom for my coffee, I saw the message indicator of my cellphone was blinking. Suddenly, I felt uneasy. Ano naman natabo kay Nanay?
My mother lives in our ancestral house, while I live 25km away. My mother had a near fatal stroke 12 years ago. Since that time, she has a hard time moving around.
As I looked at the blinking light of my cellphone, I remembered the time I visited some relatives during a fiesta. When I left the house of the 8th relative I visited, I noticed that the message and call indicators of my cellphone, which I left in my car, were all lighted. When I opened the flap, I read that I had 7 missed calls and 8 unopened messages. The first message I opened was from my sister. Drtso ka na lg CT. Sakay kmi ambulanc. Was this message for me? Wr ka? Bring namon Nanay CT. Sa ambulanc na lg kmi sakay. Then a message from my nephew. To wr ka? Ri kmi Ramon Tabiana hosptl. Dala namon Nanay. I didn't open the other messages. I called my sister. She informed me Nanay had another stroke.
Ano naman natabo kay Nanay? Then I gingerly opened the first message. Basi ma-stroke ako.
The message began,
Long time ago,
It was not about Nanay. I heaved a sigh of relief. Ah, it's going to be a good day. Then I scrolled down the message, as it was typed a few words in a line, in a strip tease manner.
persons who
sacrificed
their spirit,
their life,
identity,
wealth,
laughter,
wer called
Saints.
Today,
they r
called
Before I continued scrolling down, I anticipated the next word would be Heroes as it is now Arroyo-bashing season. But I was wrong as the next word was
Husbands!!
And the kicker,
Happy
FATHER'S
DAY.:-)
It was from my banker friend. And the other messages (more were still coming) were greeting me the same.
Then my daughters came down, kissed me, and greeted me with the sweetest HAPPY FATHER'S DAY.
I was so delirious, I nearly had a stroke. It was heaven.@
Friday, April 10, 2009
The next generation of astigs
Call it the improvement of your angkan. If you can't make it during your time, be sure your children carry on the baton for you. And succeed where you miserably failed. But without rituals, you still can be a father/mother of an intellectual. You got a personality bursting with x-rated hormones, that you can arouse the primal desires of even the most anti-social geeks in school? If you have such a personality, then marry yourself into a family of board topnotchers, summa cum laudes, or academecians wearing horn-rimmed glasses with half-inch thick lenses. It will be hard to adjust in the beginning. But you can always try reading Time and The Economist when your partner or family is around. And switch to jologs komiks and vernacular tabloids na kaya mong intindihin when alone in the toilet.
This is the story of many of our classmates. Grabe gid handom nanda mag-valedictorian. O mag-honorablemention man lang. Pero daw di gid kaya. Kahit ano pang klase ang gagawing pagsusunog ng kilay.
The past hohor roll only had names like Aurora, Henry, Roselle, Bambi, Helen, and Marilen. It had no names like Edward, Lydia, Ephraim, Magdaleno, nor Gemma.
Ti, ano bala natabo kay Edward M, he with the short semi-atrophied tongue, bcoz kahit name niya di kaya i-pronounce. Kaya tawag sa iya Edwald. Anyway, handom gid niya mag-honor student pero pang section 2 lang gid ang IQ. So after marrying, he schemed night and day to father a would-be valedictorian. Ambot ano ginhimo niya. Siguro ginputos sa encyclopedia or pages of Advance Algebra ang inunlan sang baby niya. O siguro he read the whole of Canterbury Tales and the Legend of Lam-ang, inspite of his atrophied tongue, in front of his infanticipating wife. And presto! His son became the valedictorian of his CNCHS class. Kitam? Di man nakaya ng Tatay, kinaya naman ng anak.
Remember Lydia M, the one with the frizzy hair, dark skin, and motor mouth? She too had hidden valedictory desires. Pero bisan section 1 siya, the IQ had never risen from the level of the average section 1. Kaya kahit anong memorize niya ng Periodic Table, Pythagorean Theorem, and Oh Captain, My Captain, hangang imagination lang talaga ang pagiging valedictorian niya. O delusion. Kahit honorablemention, di niya nasungkit. So just like Edwald, she schemed night and day to conceive a valedictorian. Secret daw niya. Methinks she listened to Beethoven, Mozart and Bach the nine months she was pregnant even if her neighbors thought the sonatas were funeral hymns heard only in the funeral parlors of Crisme, Puga, and Baylon. Pero success naman. Her son was the valedictorian of his CNCHS class. Lydia is now prim and proper, minus the frizzy hair and motor mouth. Daw Nanay gid kang valedictorian.
Si Paray, aka Efraim P, may pabugal man. Salutatorian ang bata niya sa Regular Class. Hiposun lang si Paray sang hayskol. Pero grabe bunal. He married young sa isa ka beauty sa lower year. Possibly, they too attended seminars and yoga sessions on how to make an intellectual from their so-so genes.Probably, they consulted astrologers on how to time their libido with the ripening of their priciest seeds. Or read Shakespeare, or Edgar Allan Poe, or the Atlas before they switched off the lights or before they consumated their desires, whichever came first.
Not to be outdone, Magdaleno I, aka Magdo, also produced bright kids, one of them a Salutatorian. To note, his elder kids are all studying in UP. First time I saw his daughter in an inter-school IQ competition, I could not believe that Magdo was her father. Up to now I still referred to her as Magdo's adopted daughter. Bcoz, during our time, I could not imagine Magdo representing CNCHS in any interschool IQ challenge. Bisan sa contest nga patayog-tayog ihi daw indi gid siya ka-qualify. Pero, back to my opening thesis. I commend Magdo for reading the dictionary cover-to-cover in front of his pregnant wife, and for doing all the rituals sa libro kang mga mal-am to produce honor students because he could not become one during his time.
This observation was only based on the students of Cabatuan National Comprehensive High School. There was no formal study yet, nga pang-thesis sa graduate school, on the children of other classmates who are studying in other schools. It is possible that there are other surprises that await us. I heard that the children of a high school classmate from Barangay Bacan were honor students in the Laboratory School of the West Visayas State University.
BTW, remember Gemma B, the one who was so silent in section 1, she could be mistaken as a mannequin or a cloth thrown over a desk - waay gid abi ga-hambal bisan maglabay pa balabaw sa atubang niya indi gid mag-ek! Poise man gihapon nga gapungko nga daw mannequin. But her son was also a valedictorian in Puyas Barangay High School, was a DOST scholar in college, and he aced the Electrical Engineering board exam on his first try. Gemma could have followed her own ritual to produce such an intellectual. A talk with her mother revealed that since day 1, Gemma hammered on the psyche of her son that she is a close relative of her class valedictorian.
So, sa mga frustrated valedictorian diyan, if you didn't make it during your time, don't lose hope. Your kids just might clench it, kon ginhimo mo ang ginhimo ni Edwald, et al. If not, your grandkids just might. Or your great grandkids. Mga astig gid. But, frankly, if you happen to be laon, baog, or madre, I rest my case.@
Ga-patad ka sa LOTTO? I-memorize ang numero nga ini....
