Ten Years After

Fireworks light up the sky and the Quezon Provincial Capitol in Lucena City during the run-up to the town fiesta.

Went back to Lucena for a get-together reunion with my batchmates. It's a good thing it coincided with the town fiesta. Here are some photos of my friends over there. :)

241 (My Favorite Song)

I want to live forever
Inside the nights and days.
Wishing on a silver cloud,
Crawling across the moonbeams.
A summer night in heaven
Between the stars and waves.
Race across the old bonfire;
Trample on my heartbeat.

I wanted to turn you on
My favorite song.
Wanted to be near you
But somebody owns you now.

I love you with a fire,
Ablazing till times end
But what good is a heart
When it shudders to speak.
I guess it's too late now.

"I wanted to turn you on
My favorite song.
Wanted to be near you
But (of course) somebody owns you now.
(And) I tried to live somehow
Somebody owns you now" (Repeat 2x)

Somebody owns you now

Sleeping

November 21st, 2005 at 12:58 pm

I wonder sometimes, if, in sleeping, one is able to stop time. I imagine, doing nothing somehow keeps the status quo. Like how water in the glass remains constant, or how the worn shirt stays in the bin. Or how the slippers don’t move.

I wonder, if there’s magic in all of these that some things in constant, never changing.

I wonder, too, if we can, do the same with friendships, or lovers or the consequences of these relationships. Would remaining stagnant be actually better than moving it forward destructively.

What is then, the reality. Those scenes you see when your eyes are closed? Or the ones you wish your eyes are closed to.

Post-mortem
What was happening last year? Ah, yeah, first anniv of break-up whehehehee. You can read this at my other blog, devoted solely to musings. Click
Dreamweavers.

The Story of Argie, and the Countless, Nameless, Others

I never have felt so strongly about a small story until this one.

A 13-year old boy jumped into a creek in Brgy. Sto Domingo, Quezon City at around 3 p.m. The boy, Argie Tugbo, did know how to swim. According to his mother, Maria, he would usually swim in Amoranto with his cousins. This time, however, he was with some acquiantances in Sto. Domingo. Maria related, that his boy would never have done it. Except that this time, he did, because one of the boys with Argie dared him, or scared him that if he did not, he would hit him in the head.

So the boy did. But the current was too strong for his fragile body that after a few minutes afloat, he disappeared into the dark murky water of the creek.

I got a call from the office at around 9 p.m., advising me to cover it. On the site, I saw Maria milling around, puzzled. Where was my boy? And where were the rescue teams?

Maria told me that they had alerted barangay officials about the accident. But, apparently lacking in equipment and skills for that kind of emergency, they just waited alongside Maria. Did they hope, I wondered, that Argie would just miraculously sprung out of the waters and lay previous fears to rest? I did not quite understand the helplessness, accepting it was much harder.

There was an MMDA rescue team on standby, however, which gave the whole situation a semblance of urgency and action.

But it still was unacceptable. I., our desk assistant had informed me that the Coast Guard team had gone back to their office after learning that the current at the creek was still strong. I looked down and saw it wasn't so.

I was shocked at such disregard. I imagined, what if Argie had been my niece or nephew. Or son?

Restless and on the verge of giving up hope, Argie's cousins, Johnny Abas and two others decided they would do the search and retrieval themselves. Aided by strong emergency lights from the MMDA, they scoured the murky creek whose water level has since gone down.

A few minutes later, and a few meters away from where Argie had jumped, they found his body, face down, lifeless.

Maria nearly collapsed in utter shock. She was shouting and crying for help.

From the looks of it, Argie was dead cold. But a sliver of hope shone when one of the rescue team members said she felt Argie breathe.

I don't know if she really did feel him breathe. But still, I appreciated that act of giving hope when there was obviously none. It suspended, perhaps, the fear, allowing those who were confronted by the unimaginable adjust to accept the logical.

Argie was dead on arrival at the Orthopedic Hospital. His cousins were inconsolable. Johnny saw me when they were bringing him in. "Irereklamo ko lang 'yung Coast Guard (I'd like to complain against the Coast Guard)," he said before he entered the emergency room.

I waited for him outside. I thought that wasn't a bit too much to give. Maria had the same sentiments.

On my way back to the office, my cameraman commented, "Ganun talaga 'pag mahihirap 'no? Pababayaan ka na lang (that's just the way it is for poor people. They couldn't care less about you)," he said. He couldn't be any more right about it.

The story merited a less than a minute treatment, as a vtr sot story (meaning, a short description of what had happened and a soundbite). I would have wanted to write it as a full story considering the elements. But it couldn't compete with other stories such as the victory of Romi Garduce's ascent to the Mt. Everest summit and his successful return to the base camp.

There are, and were, other stories like Argie's. Stories of utter hopelessness, of despair, that wouldn't even see print or broadcast. A sad reality but unacceptable still.

And this reminded of why I ever got into journalism in the first place. My professors were diligent and wise enough to advise that journalism is never for the selfish. You don't do it to be a star or to be famous, or to be rich. There is a higher value in taking on this craft. It is about seizing a little of its power. Its power to shed light on otherwise, disregarded issues. Its power to provide a voice to the voiceless. Or achieving a little sense of equality.

It's not always easy, as this craft, is also a function of business interest. That's why one should muster a little courage once in a while not to stray away from one's conviction. To balance, even on a personal way, business interest and advancing certain advocacies. Some day soon, another means not excluded, one can be fulfilled hopefully.

Re-Birth Redux

It was a lot easier than I thought.

I was initially hesitant to go home to Lucena last weekend because of the two letters I got from my Mom and brother (turned out, contrary to what my brother had written in his letter that Mom didn't know he wrote me). I thought I didn't want to discuss it anymore. I have, as in a matter before the Supreme Court, submitted my reply. It was a closed book as far as I'm concerned. They know now. And there's nothing left to discuss.

But there is such a thing as tying loose ends. I didn't wish for it but I guess fate has a way of doing things for us, you wouldn't know it just happened. It is what Paolo Coelho has called "conspiracy of the universe."

At the wake, I tried to evade the issue. I was successul until I invited my cousins to go to a bar (Mom said we would go home at around 2 a.m. so I thought what the heck, the wake was at the town proper where most of the bars were). I was bored and the alcoholic in me was restless. My intention was to have some fun.

Well, we did.

And this is the story of a very un-telenovela tale of coming out (in a postmortem sort of way since they already knew).

I told a friend once, that the world's best truth serum is the beer. It goes for me as it did for my ex (wehehehehe. All his angsts used to just flow out when he was drunk).

The spirit of my ever favorite beer, SanMig Light was upon us. My younger brother was visibly more drunk than I was (and so were the rest of my cousins hehehehe. It's a family trait hekhekhek). So he mentioned casually that my other cousin, Ate Leah, knew about the so-called secret and she was in denial. (I don't know in what terms she expressed her disbelief but I didn't want to bite more than I could chew). So was my Mom. (Again, I didn't seek any details).

But some of my cousins who were with us in the group said they knew and didn't mind. It helped, I guess, that I did not put up a "straight" front whenever I'm in Lucena. I have always acted the way I acted so they weren't shocked at all.

Little did I know that my brother has become sort of a spokesperson for me letting everyone in on the secret. Or a whistleblower, depending on the motivations you could read into his actions. Hehehehe. But I guess that's just his way of dealing with the discovery. I read somewhere back in college that when one is uncomfortable about a decision or a position, or a discovery as in this case, the natural tendency is to discuss it with friends to find some sort of resonance or affirmation.

But all's well that ends well, I guess. There's nobody else in the world who doesn't know my secret (except perhaps my Dad? hehehehe).

I came out when I was 24. After two years, this is my second re-birth.

Kuya Dario, 61

I was back in Lucena this weekend to bury a beloved Uncle, Kuya Dario.

He was the one who opened my love for the arts and photography. When I was little, we would go to their house nearby where, inside, several paintings were hanging, as though in a museum. And I was forever awed. There were paintings of his children, Kuya Cheno and Ate Leah, and landscapes ala Amorsolo. He entrusted me with his brush one time, when he was doing a billboard (back when billboards were still made of wood and paint). He did the outline of the letters and allowed me to fill them with paint as one would a story book.

He showed me the first ever SLR camera I have ever seen when I was a kid. I didn't know how it functions then but I remember telling myself that one day soon I would learn how to use the camera. In college, when an opportunity to enroll in one of those electives were offered, I enrolled in a photography class making good my promise to follow up on a childhood fascination.

As we grew up and my cousins and I transferred to Manila for work (some are still there) Kuya Dario's special role in the family did not change. He was, at the time of his death, the surrogate father to my pamangkins. Francine, now 5 (or 6?) has been blessed to be given this attention.

Francine called her "Tatay" and it was Kuya Dario who named her "Mot-mot" owing to an eye infenction she used to have when she was little.

When Mot-mot's family comes over to our compound (where the ancestral house is located and we're living in) on Sundays, Kuya Dario would peek into their house and as if on instinct, Mot-mot would know he was there. Mot-mot would grab her slippers and immediately ask Kuya Dario where they would go.

Until the time of his death, my cousin, Miled, did not know where Kuya Dario and Mot-mot went for their weekend date. "Sa tabi-tabi lang," Kuya Dario would answer when Miled would ask where they had their lunch.

At the wake, Miled recounted, people she never knew would ask her if Mot-mot was the tisay little girl that Kuya Dario would bring to a restaurant in the town proper, Golden City.

"Alam mo, mahal na mahal ni Dario 'yang batang 'yan," Winston, the tricycle driver who brought Kuya Dario to the hospital when he had his attack, told Miled.

After the burial yesterday, Miled said that Mot-mot had reminded her to bring the watch Kuya Dario had given her. But Miled, somehow forgot, because they were in a hurry.

Mot-mot, I thought, was holding on to the last gift Kuya Dario has given her and wanted perhaps, to tell his Tatay, before his graveyard, that she would forever keep it.

But do kids ever comprehend death. After Kuya Dario was buried, Den-den, his first ever apo said, "Na, na (Wala na), tatay," he seemed to be informing us as if to tell us that he understood. There was no sadness, however, in his eyes, perhaps only acceptance that some things do end.

When Den-den grows up, we will remind him of his Tatay and how well he loved him. One day, perhaps, when he's old enough to access the Internet, I would show him this.

Because such was Kuya Dario's generosity. There were so many gifts, tangible and otherwise, that Kuya Dario gave us. For that, and the memories, he shall forever be remembered.

No Surprises

I got letters from two unexpected senders: my brother and my Mom. Because of its nature, I won't discuss here the details of the letters but will instead highlight some important points.

My mother knows now, officially. I didn't bother to ask how she reacted, suffice it to know that she now knows. My brother let her in on the secret ("not actually a secret to those who read your blog on the Internet," my brother wrote). Turned out he could read my blog so he printed some of the entries and, lo and behold, gave it to my Mom (I could imagine a hearing where the prosecution offers evidence against the accused).

It's quite a relief to let the cat out of the bag, so to speak, to the people who should have known it first.

Summer Part 2

From top (l-r): A cultural show at Tam-awan Village; A bulol watches over the whole village; Anton and Wayne pick strawberries; Red luscious strawberries

Hundred Memories

Hundred Islands was the beach stop for me and my friends this year (first of many many stops hopefully).

I was with R., I., and J.



We left for Pangasinan on Friday. We sorta miscalculated the hours on the trip, we left at 12 m.n. and thought we'd arrive there at 5:30 a.m. But nope, we were there at 3:30 a.m.!

I. had said that some staff of Mayor Braganza had reserved a room for us but when we were there and sought somebody named "Thelma", Marjorie, the hotel staff, said she didn't know her.(Turns out later on that Thelma was with the boat ticketing office).

"Try Louise,"I told Isao. (Hehehe).

It took a little while before we could find a substitute room. Rey was helpful enough to use the room with 14 (!) beds, which we aptly called "the dorm". Since we arrived there very early, we decided to sleep a little bit and woke up at around 8 a.m. If it weren't for the noisy Koreans, we would have slept the whole day.

First Island



After breakfast, we set out to check out our first island: Marcos Island. It was a medium sized island with a dash of shoreline. Jann brought banig so that's where we sat and placed our things.

All we did there was drink beer, eat, sunbathe, eat again, sunbathe again until we met Claire, a four-year old Ilocana lovinlgy called "Basang."


Claire

You can tell from the color of Claire’s skin that she has spent half a day under the sun and she was obviously having fun. She was oblivious to our arrival. Just a couple of meters away from the shoreline, where the level was not even knee-deep, Claire would “dive” and flap her little feet. And then she would emerge, parting her hair that has covered part of her face, breathe deep and dive again.

Her father, J.R., striked up a conversation with our group and offered Claire’s floater. It was small but enough to carry our bodyweight. It was for babies actually. That’s when we asked Claire’s name. Of course, the little girl didn’t mind us. She was fine having fun by herself.
Claire had four instant yayas and yayo with us. At one point, I asked her if she wanted some sunoil on her which, to my surprise, she liked, never mind if the oil wouldn’t help her much since her skin was already dark.



After lunch, that’s when Claire really opened up. She was pulling a sea grass so I pulled my pamangkin tricks and pretended that it was hair. Placed the seagrass on her head and said it was such a beautiful and long hair to have on her head. She liked it. And reciprocated. She asked that I kneel down so she could put the seagrass and on my head. When she did, I gamely posed and asked her to pretend she was having my picture taken.

“Picture! Picture!” I said.

“Click!” she responded, quickly opening up both her palms as if to immitate a camera’s flashbulb.

(more, photos on flickr badge)

Afterglow- INXS

Here i am
Lost in the light of the moon
That comes through my window
Bathed in blue
The walls of my memory
Divides the thorns from the roses
It’s you and the roses
Touch me and i will follow
In your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorrow
As i let you go
I will find my way
When i see your eyes
Now i’m living
In your afterglow
Here i am
Lost in the ashes of time
But who owns tomorrow
In between
The longing to hold you again
I’m caught in your shadow
I’m losing control
My mind drifts away
We only have today
Touch me and i will follow
In your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorro
wAs i let you go
I will find my way
I will sacrifice
Till that blinding day
When i see your eyes
Now i’m living
In your afterglow
When the veils are gone
As i let you go
As i let you go
Touch me and i will follow
In your afterglow
Heal me from all this sorrow
As i let you go
I will find my way
I will sacrifice
Now i’m living
In your afterglow
Bathed in blue
The walls of my memory
Divides the thorns from the roses
It’s you who is closest

Penitence

The pillows told me what I have been denying. The ashtray, now empty, takes time to fill itself up. Even my stereo plays a different tune: melancholy. The writings on the wall and I couldn't ignore it.

But I shall overcome. Like I have, in the past, and now.

"I've been spiraling," I texted R. "I thought I was over," I thought to myself.

This morning on a newspaper:"Forgive and be healed." R. shows it to me.

"I have forgiven," I tell her.

"... but you have not healed," she completes the sentence for me.

For You, Two Seasons Or More Ago

I like watching people sleep. Particularly you.

It's as if, I am awaiting you from a long journey. And I am selfish. I want to be the first to welcome you when you open your eyes.

It's also like you're being born again and I am your proud mother/father. One look in your eyes and we are connected, a perpetual bond is forged in between.

Or if it is me sleeping, I would like you to be the first one I see. It will be like I never left. Or have come back to home. I nestle between your chin and your chest.

Had that chance once. Some two seasons ago (because in this part of the world, there are only two). Before my father died. After I had died (but I am, right now, slowly being resurrected). When I met you for the first time.

I had that chance once. Only once.

You are awake. And I am left dreaming.

Press Freedom in the Philippines

In the News
from The New York Times.

The Philippines Wages a Campaign of Intimidation Against Journalists

By SETH MYDANS
Published: April 3, 2006

MANILA, the Philippines — The Philippine news media, among the most exuberant and freewheeling in Asia, are coming under serious government pressure for the first time since the rule of Ferdinand Marcos more than 20 years ago.

Philippine soldiers patrolled the headquarters of ABS-CBN, the nation's largest television network, in suburban Manila in February.

Along with hints that the government may restrict public assembly, the campaign against the press strikes at the heart of the freedoms won in 1986 when Mr. Marcos was driven from the presidency by a popular uprising.

The pressure involves warnings, watch lists, surveillance, court cases, harassment lawsuits and threats of arrest on charges of sedition. No members of the press have been arrested, although three journalists have been charged with rebellion. No news outlets have been shut down, although troops surrounded several television stations for more than a week recently.

Journalists say the situation is particularly unnerving because of the uncertainty of what is happening or may happen to them.

"I have a number of people on my list," Justice Secretary Raul Gonzalez said in a recent television interview. "We are studying them."

This aggressive posture follows a one-week state of emergency imposed on Feb. 24 by President Gloria Macapagal Arroyo in response to what she said was a coup attempt involving an array of enemies who have been calling for her resignation.

Since then, the police have broken up several gatherings that were seen as critical of the president and have briefly detained some participants.

The gatherings included an annual celebration of International Women's Day on March 8, in which a congresswoman who opposes Mrs. Arroyo was detained, in the words of the police, "to get her out of harm's way."

They included a mock beauty pageant in which each contestant was to be made up with a mole on her face in imitation of Mrs. Arroyo.

They also included something that at first seemed like a joke — small weekly protests at which participants did nothing more than buy a cup of coffee at Starbucks. The protesters got away with that one, but on March 19, the same group was dispersed by the police while walking through a park wearing T-shirts reading "Out Now," an evident reference to the president.

Officials have spoken of intelligence they received about planned gatherings in the same manner they have talked about monitoring reporters — vaguely, seemingly counting on the uncertainty to be more intimidating.

The director of the National Police, Gen. Arturo Lomibao, has told news outlets that they must conform to certain unspecified standards, which it will be up to the government to interpret on a case-by-case basis.

He referred to a new catchall regulation that bans "actions that hurt the Philippine State by obstructing governance including hindering the growth of the economy and sabotaging the people's confidence in government and their faith in the future of this country."

Apparently, the goal of all this is to promote self-censorship, said Maria Ressa, senior vice president for news and public affairs at the ABS-CBN Broadcasting Network, the nation's largest.

"It's crazy," she said. "You don't know what's happening but you feel they can move on you at any time."

Ms. Ressa has been a leader in demanding clarification of the government's policies toward the press and in filing a class-action lawsuit to bar prior restraint.

"There is definitely fear and uncertainty," she said. "When government officials say, 'We have the power to shut you down, we have the power to look at your content,' it's intimidation."

Editors and news directors say they have prepared for possible searches or arrests by backing up computer files, setting aside bail money and instructing their staff members on their legal rights if the police enter their offices.

The government has singled out in its threatening statements the Philippine Center for Investigative Journalism, a small, aggressive group of journalists led by Sheila S. Coronel, a prominent journalist.

The center's exposés of corruption, presented during congressional impeachment hearings, helped bring down Mrs. Arroyo's predecessor, Joseph Estrada.

Government officials have said they may charge Ms. Coronel and members of her staff with sedition, but they are imprecise about who may be charged and on what evidence.

"It's very insidious," Ms. Coronel said. "They say they are studying filing sedition charges. They say they have lists, but they don't say who is on them. This is not how the game should be played. We know our rights, and we should not be harassed by psychological pressure."
Ms. Coronel was one of a group of young women who were reporters and became well known for defying Mr. Marcos in the early 1980's, a time when journalists were being harassed and arrested.

"People went to prison, people died for this freedom," Ms. Coronel said, "and if you give it up it is a betrayal of all the sacrifices that people have made in the past, people I know personally. It really makes me mad."

People Power in Two Places

OPINION

In France, thousands of students are turning up in the streets to protest a law that would allow companies to fire those under 26 without cause during their first two years in the job. Unions have joined the students in protesting the law. Protest leaders have refused an invitation for talks from Prime Minister Dominique de Villepin unless he rescinds the law. News accounts say that the protest actions have gone to call for the resignation of de Villepin.

It's the re-emergence of people power in France. The opposite is happening in the Philippines.

People power has largely been discredited. After two successful revolutions that toppled two Presidents, people power has largely been criticised as a short-term solution to long term, systemic woes. Some have even gone as far as to say people are tired of it. "People power fatigue" is a term recently coined to describe the disinterest.

But there lies the danger.

Once you describe to this idea that people power is no longer effective then we are giving the government the right to do whatever it wants to do.

In a recent report (Destabilization of the Nation) I did for Reporter's Notebook" Bayan Secretary General Renato Reyes admits that it's hard to muster enough crowds for protest actions against the government. Bayan alongside other anti-Arroyo groups are pushing for the resignation of President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo.

It's a dangerous trend.

Don't believe your friendly neighborhood politician when he says people power won't work again. Maybe it hasn't yet. But recent failures do not invalidate its effectiveness.

Because people power is the only thing we have. When government can use the law to further its interest, where and to what else do we turn to?

Summer Song

"So Sick"
Ne-Yo

Mmmm mmm yeah
Do do do do do do do-do
Ohh Yeah

Gotta change my answering machine
Now that I'm alone
Cuz right now it says that we
Can't come to the phone
And I know it makes no sense
Cuz you walked out the door
But it's the only way I hear your voice anymore
(it's ridiculous)
It's been months
And for some reason I just
(can't get over us)
And I'm stronger than this
(enough is enough)
No more walkin round
With my head down
I'm so over being blue
Cryin over you

And I'm so sick of love songs
So tired of tears
So done with wishing you were still here
Said I'm so sick of love songs so sad and slow
So why can't I turn off the radio?

Gotta fix that calender I have
That's marked July 15th
Because since there's no more you
There's no more anniversary
I'm so fed up with my thoughts of you
And your memory
And how every song reminds me
Of what used to be

That's the reason
I'm so sick of love songs
So tired of tears
So done with wishing you were still here
Said I'm so sick of love songs so sad and slow
So why can't I turn off the radio?

(Leave me alone)
Leave me alone
(Stupid love songs)
Dont make me think about her smile
Or having my first child
I'm letting go
Turning off the radio

Cuz I'm so sick of love songs
So tired of tears
So done with wishing she was still here
Said I'm so sick of love songs so sad and slow
So why can't I turn off the radio?
(why can't I turn off the radio?)
Said I'm so sick of love songs
So tired of tears
So done with wishing she was still here
Said I'm so sick of love songs so sad and slow
So why can't I turn off the radio?
(why can't I turn off the radio?)

And I'm so sick of love songs
So tired of tears
So done with wishin' you were still here
Said I'm so sick of love songs so sad and slow
Why can't I turn off the radio?
(why can't I turn off the radio?)
Why can't I turn off the radio?

Summer Sea

After two years I was back at her feet. This time, I swim confidently and take in the sun while I enjoy a few minutes floating.

Summer is here and I am renewed.

From the moment I saw that blue vastness, I knew I've recovered myself. There was a tiny pang of loneliness still but it quickly vanished, like the foam on the sand.

There was a sense of liberation, which, however long it took, was cherished for its coming.

I was back at her feet, but she knew it was a different person.

Last night when we left, I looked up the sky and saw the same constellations and for a minute wondered, if they would be the same constellations that P. would see. It would then be like we were looking into each other's eyes once again.

But suddenly, like epiphany, I muttered, would it matter?

I examined the black sky's vastness. What was that saying? "There are many fishes in the ocean?" The stars are as plenty as our chances of finding that one great love.

Some day, a shooting star will announce his arrival.

Mothers Know Best

This morning, my Mom had enough of my refusal to send some moolah.

"Why do you not always have money? I know you have a hidden agenda. I did some research," my Mom texted.

"What are you talking about?" I replied, suggesting the improbability of it all. Research? (Mayeb she meant investigation.) Like how? She has not even seen where I live and assuming she knows, she has not set foot in Manila in the past two years or so. If she desires so, she will need the help of my cousins who have not ever seen my place even. It's like my general address is Quezon City. And Quezon City is not small.

I don't need counter-intelligence to say she is working on a hunch, at the very least or what we call in Filipino "duda." But even the word "hunch" suggests something has a basis.

My fear has been confirmed. When my friends convince me to "out" myself to my parents I decide against it. Considering her context (she lives in the province) and her awareness about homosexuals, it would be more stressful to be out than helpful for any of us.

One such instance I'm trying to avoid is that she would accuse me that I'm--what's the rough translation of "nanlalalaki" in English?--It suggests that homosexual relationships are based on economics; of one paying for another in exchange of whatever. Fortunately for me, my first boyfriend never asked me for anything, and neither did I ask anything from him (aside of course from eternal love whahahahaha).

So when she texted me: "Baka nanlalaki ka na d'yan!" I felt a little affirmed. It was the right decision not to tell her.

"Of course, not," I replied, avoiding to argue any further. There's no use arguing my case.

There's no use telling her what she already knows.

I've Been Tagged

Four jobs you have had in your life:
1. news desk assistant
2. news editor, philippine collegian
3. flash report, writer
4. contents editor, www.peyups.com


Four movies you would watch over and over:
1. El Bola
2. A Very Long Engagement
3. Kill Bill 1
4. Kill Bill 2

Four places you have lived:
1. Quezon City
2. Batangas
3. Lucena
4. la pa. wanna take me in?

Four TV shows you love to watch:
1. American Idol
2. Will and Grace
3. FRIENDS
4. American Idol Ulit

Four places you have been on vacation:
1. Batangas
2. Boracay
3. Galera
4. Sagada

Four websites I visit daily:
1. www.inq7.net
2. www.nytimes.com
3. www.villagevoice.com
4. www.crimsonpage.blogspot.com (under duress)

Four of my favorite foods:
1. oysters
2. special chelo kebab
3. adobo
4. sinigang

Four places I would rather be right now:
1. In Spain
2. On a beach
3. In a spa
4. At home, sleeeeeeepinggg.

Seven friends who I have tagged that I think will respond (i'm keeping my fingers crossed)
1. myla
2. isao3. (list your name here)
4.
5.
6.
7.

Shameless Plug

This was taken from my former professor's blog. Hehehehe. Sir Paolo, I'm originally a Theater Arts Major then shifted to Journalism at my father's insistence. Hehehe. Entry here.

Joseph the Dreamer
Apr. 11th, 2005 04:02 pm

Seeing Joseph Morong's face on television as he reports for 24 Oras makes me proud...and quite old! Wasn't it only a few semesters ago when I met him and his classmates for Comm II (now known as English 10) at the National Institute for Geological Sciences? It was one of the academic years where the university had a shortage of classrooms for English and general education courses in Palma Hall. Most of the English junior faculty were assigned to far-flung buildings like the NIGS.

Joseph was in that section composed of MassComm and Theater Arts majors that included Neil Ryan Sese. Joseph was having problems with some of his blockmates...or rather, some of them had problems with him, and I recall this because they came over for consultations about this matter. But it was just some minor tampuhan--personality differences that easily resolved itself as the semester progressed. Other than that, I always looked forward to Joseph reciting in class. He had the beginnings of that naturally modulated voice that we hear on the news. It was a pleasure to see and hear him bug Eddie Gil to explain how he could solve the national debt problem.

I'm not sure if Joseph started out in theater arts then shifted to MassComm (I know several theater majors from that batch shifted out). Today he's a familiar face on national television delivering the news responsibly and doing public service. If I could go back in time to when he had doubts about his direction in college, I'll tell him he'll have a kooky interview with a man with an awful toupee waiting in his future. And also that he'll be in Basilan to cover the Bangsamoro peace process. This was his segment in last week's Reporter's Notebook, and from the looks of it, there'll be more segments waiting to be made.

A Parable Told

"Son, when you grow up, be careful," a father bird told his son.

"Things are not always what they seem to be," he added. The young bird listened intently, though the look in his innocent eyes say, he has yet to understand fully what his father was saying.

"Sometimes, it's safer to stay with your friends. Keep a small circle, so flight is easier," the father told his son.

"Cherish your freedom. Fly freely. That's what your wings are for. Challenge yourself. Stretch your horizon," he continued.

"Other birds may be envious," he admonished his son. "And that's probably because you fly higher, or you have stronger wings, or maybe you have more colorful feathers," he said.

"It's easy to stoop down to their level but resist the urge. You cannot change them. Instead, cherish what you have. That would be your best revenge, if you have to, at all," the father bird told his son.

The look in the young bird's eyes said he may not be able to understand the lessons yet, but some day soon he would.