Teaching and then Some

Two days of drinking and a day (and two more of teaching), I think with these, the two-week "mandatory vacation" as T.P. puts it might be too short.

Monday I went to a resort in Lucban with George and Obel for some updating. Of course, that wasn't without drinking hehehehe. Afterwards, we ate at a local pizza station which serves gourmet pizza, "Ground Zero".

Yesterday, I met up with a high school bestfriend, Mervin, and drank 'til the wee hours of the morning. I thought I felt my kidney ached from so much alcohol, hehehhehe.

Today was the heaviest day, by heavy I mean, work-wise. My former advisers at the high school paper where I served as an editor in my third and fourth years were happy to hear I was "vacationing". So they seized the chance to get me to teach the new hirees of the paper. I was just happy to oblige.

I thought I would be teaching some 10 or 12 students. That was my idea of how big the staff was for a high school paper. I wrote a diagnostics test to determine the level of awareness of the students as far as newswriting was concerned. It's a three-page document with six items that would introduce them to the concept of leads, headlines, straight news, featurized news, inverted pyramid style and the pyramid style, and of course, newswriting.

Before I went to my former high school I asked Ms. Vinnie, one of my former adviser, how many copies I would need for how many students.

"53," she replied.

"Are you serious? Dalawang section na ng students 'yun," I told her jokingly.

She was. When I went there, I was an hour late for my "training/seminar." A roomful of students had been there since 5:30. I thought I was scheduled for 6:30 p.m.

On the board, "Welcome back, Kuya Joseph," were written.

It was indeed a homecoming. After almost 10 years, I was back to my former newspaper. The first ever serious experience at journalism.

Tomorrow, I will be teaching them the basics of newswriting. Hopefully, after this, one or two souls will be inspired to pursue journalism as a course and being a journalist as a way of life.

It was said, that the worth of a man's life is not measured by wealth, or fame, or connections. The measure of one's life, is the number of people who you managed to touch, inspire, guide.

I am a product of those who have touched my life, former schoolpaper advisers, former professors at U.P., kindred souls who in some way were sent for me to guide me in my path.

When they beckon, I will not hesitate to heed their call.

Hiatus

It is becoming a trend that a shift occurs at this period. In 2003, I climbed Mt. Pulag, a personal feat that signalled a paradigm shift. Walking back to the office, I remember then, after I had come from the trip, I felt like a different person. During that period, I was transferred to the day shift and handled special reports until I was entrusted with the justice beat.

That time of the year, has come again. This time, I will attempt to disappear. It would be nice to pause, to halt, to stop. Or to take a breather, a break, a hiatus.

I will be gone for two weeks, two weeks that could offer me a myriad of possibilities and an opportunity to try the impossibilities. I can take a chance if I want to, risk if I can. Or I can evade, escape, hide. Whatever, I shall welcome it with glee, as though it is a natural, logical consequence, not of the act that caused this, or the overall plan of the One who sees.

I will miss writing stories. But I will, this time, enrich my personal story with new memories. I shall miss the sketches I do for the trial I am covering. But this time will give me an opportunity to assess a bigger picture which is my life.

"Enjoy the (imposed) break," someone has said.

"Don't take this negatively," someone advised.

I will and I'm not. Don't worry. I am at this point in my life where even I, have noticed is several steps from where I used to be. True, I'm a different person now. "Reformed" was the word used. I agree.

I shall drink and get merry. In this kind of job that I chose, a pause is a halt that refreshes. And renews.

Independence Day

Loneliness is an addiction.

The early dawn was awakened by the news of your arrival. "We saw P. last week," Philip told me, matter of factly, unaware of its impact.

"Oh yeah?" I said, trying to feign disinterest.

I tried to immerse in the music blaring in the bar.

"Where? And when?" I finally turned to Philip. I couldn't help myself.

"Last Tuesday, at Starbucks. With his boyfriend I think," he answered.

"How did he look like?" I asked.

"The same," Philip said.

"How about his boyfriend?"

"I couldn't remember how he looked like. He's that forgettable," Philip said.

Does it matter if P.'s boy is ugly. Truth of the matter is that he's with him now.

Does it matter, conversely, who P.'s with at this point?

None of this matter.

It's been a year since I sent him the independence day email. In it, I attached a photo of the burning teddy bear I had given December 2003.

One year, thence, I am still colonized by my past which is my master.

Birthdate

Your Birthdate: October 17

You tend to find yourself lucky - both in business and in life.And while being wealthy is nice, you enjoy sharing your abundance with others.You put your luck to good use: you are very ambitious and goal oriented.Often times, you get over excited and take on more than you can manage. Your strength: Your ability to make your own luck Your weakness: Thinking you can do it all Your power color: Bronze Your power symbol: Half Moon Your power month: August

What Does Your Birth Date Mean?

Garbage In Garbage Out

I'm at Nelson's place where he's sorting out his old stuff for his upcoming garage sale. Norah Jones' is complementing this weekend chill-out.

Going back to the subject of garage sales, I can't help but wish purging (it's the second time I used the word this week ehehhehe) emotional baggages was that easy: an old t-shirt from a previous coverage flies into the carton box; an short-sleeved polo that looks outdated joins the future ex-properties.

There was even an old, and I mean old framed photo of his ex (can't tell who for privacy considerations). "You shouldn't sell this, you should BURN it!," I admonished him.

"I'm selling the frame for fifty bucks," he said.

And just like that, all that the pictures represented before amounted to nothing. Or maybe, P50 pesos.

Shortage

One way to "solve" a problem is to look away.

Department of Education Officer-in-Charge Fe Hidalgo shouldn't "feel sorry for herself" (as she had said) for divulging the reality that there is classroom shortage (I wonder if we lack teachers, too. Oh I bet we do).

I am a product of the public school system. I am a graduate of Quezon National High School and I saw for myself, back in 1992 until 1996 that there's a shortage (aside from classrooms, books). My classmates and I were a bit lucky, and also those in the "higher" section, because we were provided with rooms and there were only around 30-45 students per classroom. But just the same, that would not erase the fact that most of the other students didn't have classrooms. And even our section was not spared from holding some of our classes in the school's grandstand. And the pergola.

Both my parents are teachers and I could tell it wasn't easy teaching students under the shade of trees. Focus was a problem. And for the teachers, it was quite stressful because they had to speak in a louder voice and all.

I remember my father being exasperated about the disinterest in education of some of his students. He was handling the lower section and he wouldn't simply buy the reasoning that education wouldn't mean a thing to their lives. So why study?

But I guess you really can't blame the students if they'd rather work early and skip school. Work gives the instant bread. Add to that the school environment. I don't know how you could convince students to study hard and focus on the lessons while they're nearly drenched in rain (Kara David had a report last week about a school where students bring umbrellas inside their classrooms because the roof was leaking) or toasted under the sun.

I got a chance to interview Ms. Hidalgo today at the Palace after the roundtable discussion at the Kalayaan Hall with the President herself. I would have wanted to tell her that she should have stood her ground. She's from the Dep-Ed and at that time the President accosted her for revealing the classroom shortage, she should have said that was simply the reality. She has the authority to speak on the subject anyway.

Turning a blind eye to the problem, won't make it go away.

It's called delusion.

Shift

"He marked a shift," I told Ruth about what had happened in Lucena with U.

"I think I'm ready," I was surprised as much as she was that I said it.

I was ready to risk it again. Only that time I knew it wasn't a game. U's married now and I can't have him. But I was fine with it.

I was merely rehearsing.

Rehearsing again how to abandon my fears and spiral into that wonderful feeling of loving someone and being loved back.

In the process I was purging all of P's memories. I'm no longer his. And I shall love again, like I loved him.

It was like him cradling me. Sometimes, I would wrap my arms around his waist while we were seating. Gently, I would kiss his neck and he would lean. I would meet his cheeks with the softest kisses.

I was merely rehearsing.

But epiphany dawned on me. I know I am ready.

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.

Remember the Date

Greek

There is a Duncan Sheik song that mentioned "Morpheus".


Morpheus

?? Which Of The Greek Gods Are You ??
brought to you by

People Power Redux

Been tired since yesterday and today wasn't better.

I came from Panamao and Tiptipon, Sulu yesterday to cover the Balikatan exercises there. Left at around 5 a.m. yesterday which means, I only got 2 hours of sleep before the flight. Wasn't able to have some shut eye during the visit because we had to work of course. I thought I could rest the next day, which is today.

But I got a call at around 7:30 a.m. reminding me that I should be early for work. I thought the desk person was referring to my 9 a.m. shift, but later found out that what he had said was that I should be at work at 8 a.m. but that's another matter.

Anyway, the reason for the early call time was (at least) initially, people power celebrations today. What I didn't know was the newsroom had been buzy already. Talks of a quelled coup attempt, etc.

I was deployed to cover the rally of Akbayan, Laban ng Masa group. The group was with UP Prof. Randy David, former UP President Franciso Nemenzo, and Akbayan Representative Risa Hontiveros.

The initial plan was to push on to Edsa Shrine. I thought they wouldn't have any problems. They whizzed pass the policemen who blocked them on their way out of the Circle.

Their number grew to about 10,000 (at least according to a rallyist). On the street, they would encourage the uziseros. Their invitation was met with claps, clenched fists, and cheers.

I thought they could go to EDSA Shrine but when they reached Santolan, it was clear, that the the fist of the government would quell them.

There were negotiations initially between the rally group's leaders, Hontiveros, David and Nemenzo and Quezon City Police Chief Nicasio Radovan. But the police just wouldn't let them pass.

The signal to disperse was given. The firetruck beamed their hose toward the rallyists. Within minutes, rocks were being hurled at the policemen. I was on top of the firetruck on the side of the police, I was worried I might be hit. But I guess I was lucky.

Some 18 rallyists were arrested. Later on, I discovered that David, Ronald Llamas, and Atty. Argee Guevarra were arrested (they were later on released).

Hontiveros was safe and so was Nemenzo.

"I remember Martial Law twenty years ago, during the time of Marcos," Nemenzo wryly said.

Fate has a way of reminding how lessons should be learned.

364 Days Of Loving

It's morbidly convenient to have had my Father pass on on Valentine's day. It's been a year and I should be somehow thankful. For one, it saved me (and will, from last year onwards) from the trouble of jumping on this bandwagon of commercialized love (need we, for example, be reminded of our commitment, of our task/obligation to our beloved on this day when it should have been a given).

Yeah, that's just my jaded me speaking.

Today, I'm wearing black. I have as equal right as those who want to wear red on this day.

Lest, I be misinterpreted, let me just say that when that person comes along, I want to be original. We will celebrate that magical discovery and then eventual union of two lost souls, all year round, every second of every minute, every minute of every hour, every hour of every day, every day of a week, every week of a month, every month of a year.

Except Valentine's Day.

Alarmed

Modern technology has failed me.

Sunday morning, I woke up to a dead XDA. Curious, I examined why the alert light (or whatever it is you call it) was neither green (in which case, it means it's fully charged) or red (which means I have a message/missed call). But when I attempted to turn it on, I noticed that even the screen was blank. Resuscitating it by way of changing its batteries didn't help.

Good thing it was a weekend, otherwise, I would have missed my alarm or calls from the office (about a sudden change in schedule).

So it dawned on me that what I thought would be a perpetually reliable XDA would no longer be. I managed to revive it after a couple of minutes but I knew the dependability factor was nil.

During a break in my coverage I bought an alarm clock, my first since college. It's made of plastic and has three options for alarm: the regular beep, a bird's sound and a rooster's cock-a-doddle-doo. I like the third option.

I'll see if it's any better.

Good Night, And Good Luck

A guiding light.

"We will not be driven by fear into an age of unreason, if we dig deep in our history and our destiny, and remember that we are not descended from fearful men -- nor from men who feared to write, to speak, to associate and to defend causes that were, for the moment, unpopular."

-Edward R. Murrow

Durable

The most durable plastic, I discovered, is not made of resin, but of human skin.

Broken

brokeback
Originally uploaded by josephthaddeus.

The most truthful things are the things we do not say. We are afraid, for example, to admit certain feelings, to acknowledge certain connections, for fear of reprisal, or rejection.

"More than a gay film, it is a film about longing," I told some friends who were asking me about "Brokeback Mountain."

They didn't want me to reveal the plot so I just gave them that overview.

Watching it unearthed some feelings and memories I thought I had forgotten.

But well, certain things remain the same for certain reasons.

Star

CLOSE TO YOU
words & music
by mike villegas

there's nothing i won't try
just to make you mine
to get a little closer
would be so divine
and everytime i see you
you make me come undone
i always watch you near me
in you i found the one

CHORUS
oh why don't you smile
my only star
shine on baby
smile my only star
smile my only star (2x)

with you by my side
girl it feels so right and
now that i'm close to you
i could stay all night/
no matter where i go
no matter what i do
in the end your smile
brings me back to you
you shine so true
i can't believe you're mine
and everything
may change but to me
you'll always shine

Home

Me, Dana Batnag, a former professor, Joyce, and Tina.

Last Saturday, January 14, was a chance to go back to my college, the College of Mass Communications (CMC). It was a reunion of some sort, in preparation for the college's 40th anniversary in 2007.

It's headlined "Tawag Ka Ni Aling Suming!". This proved to be quite effective, at least to those of us who knew about the event and attended it. How could we refuse her?

But, as it turned out, Aling Suming was not there. But there was a short video clip of her message. The event was, at best, nostalgic. I don't think there's ever one masscomm student without an anecdote about Aling Sums. Mine was when I called her way past office hours and at home to check on my average, if it made the laude cut (which it did). To me, it showed her dedication and devotion to the students of the college, to which we are forever grateful.

T.P., a fellow alumni, related how she would remind her of her P.E. subject. L.A., even said, Aling Suming knew of that time when she broke up with her b.f. at that time, D.B., who was also with us during the homecoming.

But seeing Aling Suming again was a bonus. The homecoming was a (literal) trip to memory lane and a chance to relive our days of decadence back when.





P.C., D.B., and L.A. each won a bottle of red wine during the raffle. D.B. thought it would be nice to drink them in the premises of the college. So we did along with O.C.

After dinner at Treehouse at the ISSI, we trooped to the college once again, at around 7 p.m. or 8 p.m. P.C was able to borrow a glass from no less the admin office (a consent to the act, obviously, hehehehe). Music was provided by D.B. via his laptop.

All of us are working in the same station so we seized the time to catch up on the latest what-have-yous.





Between shots (yeah, we had to pass the lone glass around) of red wine, were anecdotes about the college, former professors, and work. It was a good experience to unwind, to find one's bearing again, to be reminded of where we all came from.

It was like returning home. In our life journeys, it's easy to lose sight of what we really had wanted. To lose sight of the ultimate dreams of our lives. It's easier still to be sidetracked, to lose courage, to surrender.

Home, in whatever form or denomination, always reminds us of who we are, and what we are capable of.

Dreams

What is this they say about dreams? That they are your subconscious speaking?

Last night, I dreamt of you. I was watching a European TV news program where you were featured. Wide shot first of your ship. And then various sitners (situationers). Then the camera zoomed in on you. Then you flashed that smile. Ah, that smile: the crinkled nose, the slit eyes, your beaming teeth.

And then the feelings crashed in like tidal waves.

Do I miss you?

I deny and yet manifest it.

Suppose

Suppose, I look into your eyes like I did last night, will you discern what is hidden?
Suppose, I stretch out my hand, will you grab it, like a helpless survivor in the middle of the ocean?
I lean back against the wall, supposing, and wait for you, will you sit beside me?
If a shooting star crosses, will you be there to hold my hand?
Suppose, I don't tell you what I want to tell you, will you still know?
Words, sometimes, deny intentions.
Will you be comforted, by my silence?

Winter

In the winter, I was told in a story when I was little, some Earth creatures hibernate. They prefer to let the harsh winter wreak its havoc on nature. It's neither escape nor surrender.

When the snow thaws and the sun shines, they are back on their feet, resuming and claiming the lives they ought to live.

Read this on New York Times.

All things are ephemeral. We are pained and wounds heal.


'Spell "World" Backward'
By BERNARD COOPER
Published: January 8, 2006

The last place my increasingly forgetful 85-year-old father wanted to be was sitting beside me in the office of a geriatric specialist. The doctor leaned forward at her desk and locked eyes with my father. "Has it been difficult for you to remember things recently, Mr. Cooper?"

"I'm fine," he said.

"I'm sure you are," she said. "But if we test you today, we'll have a base line to compare against
future tests."

"Future tests?" He looked as if he'd tasted something sour.

"I'm going to ask you several questions," she continued, "and I'd like you to answer them one at a time."

"How else would I?"

"How else would you what?"

"Answer them, for Christ's sake!"

The doctor jotted a note. "We'll be working from what's called the Mini-Mental State Examination," she explained, "and I'll score your answers as we go along."

Dad adjusted his Miracle-Ear. "So test me, already."

First she asked my father to tell her the date. I silently answered along. He got it right. I was off by a couple of days. I scooted my chair closer. Now I had something to prove. I felt as if my father and I were opponents on a quiz show.

"What state are we in?" "City?" "Hospital?" "Floor?"

Not until she whispered "Bernard" did I realize that I'd been muttering answers under my breath. But I was sure my father hadn't heard me. And anyway, I got them right. Dad, on the other hand, didn't know what floor we were on. But he probably would have known it was the third if he had been the one to push the elevator button instead of me. The mechanics of recall are delicate, so iffy and contingent.

My father lowered his head and laced his fingers together in his lap. He had the shamed, inward look of a man who knows he has blundered but doesn't know how.

"Mr. Cooper?" she asked. "Are you ready to continue?"

My father nodded. His head seemed heavy, as if with answers that would soon elude him.
"Spell 'world' backward," the doctor said.

"Why 'world'?" Dad asked, peering over his glasses.

Because the world is backward, I said to myself. Laws are repealed. Iron rusts. Logic unravels.

"I suggest you don't overthink the questions, Mr. Cooper. Just try to relax and let the answers come."

Dad deliberated on every letter. "D. . .L. . .O. . .
R. . .W?"

She recorded his score. "Now, please repeat the following list of items in the same order: Apple, penny, table."

My father cocked his head. "Did I get it right?"

"You haven't repeated the items yet."

"Not those," he said. "'World.' Did I get it backward?"

"Ask me at the end of the test."

"Suppose I forget?"

"We should move on to the next question," the doctor insisted. "Now, kindly repeat after me: Apple, penny, table."

"Why can't you tell me now?"

"Apple, penny, table," she persisted

"Apple," he said at last. "The rest I forget." He dismissed his insufficient recall with a wave of his hand, but he looked at me to gauge how he was doing. I smiled noncommittally back.

Next she held up her pen. "Can you tell me what this is?"

"A ballpoint," he said. "Does it have your motto on it?"

The doctor told him that men and women in her profession didn't, as a rule, have mottos. Then she noticed that there were, in fact, words printed on the side of the pen. She held it horizontally and squinted. "Hot Water Management Service," she read. "Where could this have come from?"

Was the question part of the test?

"Pens are everywhere these days," Dad said. "But what the hell is a Hot Water Management Service?"

We hadn't a single answer among us, not a guess or a speculation. The doctor continued to gaze at the pen, turning it as if she might find other phrases. Beyond the hospital window, the sky above the city deepened into dusk. The office walls dimmed, our faces growing vague. A clock ticked on the desk, and I felt in my bones that the three of us, second by second, were being drawn toward a vast and eventual forgetting. Nothing we could do or say would stop it. One day this room wouldn't be remembered by anyone now sitting in it.

Bernard Cooper is the author of the memoir "The Bill From My Father," to be published next month by Simon & Schuster and from which this essay is adapted.

The Year for Librans

Libra: Sep. 23 - Oct. 22

Since your amenable Venus ruler visits every sign in 2006, you’ll have a shot at everyone, primarily, for the first two months, a respectable Capricorn. Romance and/or recreation with an Aquarius in March, partnering with an Aries in May, traveling with a congenial companion in June and bonding with your boss in the summer. Save October for your self; that’s when Venus, passionate Mars and the creative sun get together in your sign. As for finances, not to worry; protective Jupiter has your money house covered.

from VillageVoice.

Fully Empowered

That's Pablo Neruda's book (translated by Alastair Reid) which is the nth gift for myself. And this is where I'm taking my cue for what I'm going to do in 2006: re-start, begin again, but not without remembering lessons learned. Like mantra, the poem, "Past" shall be my guide.

Past
Pablo Neruda

We have to discard the past
and, as one builds
floor by floor, window by window,
and the building rises,
so do we keep shedding --
first, broken tiles,
then proud doors,
until, from the past,
dust falls
as if it would crash
against the floor,
smoke rises
as if it were on fire,
and each new day
gleams
like an empty
plate.
There is nothing, there was always nothing.
It all has to be filled
with a new, expanding
fruitfulness;
then, down
falls yesterday
as in a well
falls yesterday's water,
into the cistern
of all that is now without a voice, without fire.
It is difficult
to get bones used
to disappearing,
to teach eyes
to close,
but
we do it
unwittingly.
Everything was alive,
alive, alive,alive
like a scarlet fish,
but time
passed with cloth and darkness
and kept wiping away
the flash of the fish.
Water water water,
the past goes on falling
although it keeps a grip
on thorns
and on roots.
It went, it went, and now
memories mean nothing.
Now the heavy eyelid
shut out the light of the eye
and what was once alive
is now no longer living;
what we were, we are not.
And with words, although the letters
still have transparency and sound,
they change, and the mouth changes;
the same mouth is now another mouth;
they change, lips, skin, circulation;
another soul took on our skeleton;
what once was in us now is not.
It left, but if they call, we reply
"I am here," and we realize we are not,
that what was once, was and is lost,
lost in the past, and now does not come back.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

Tuwing Pasko, malamig, para mas maramdaman ang init ng yakap ng mga mahal/minamahal. Mas mahaba rin ang gabi, para mas masarap ang inuman at kwentuhan. Uso si Santa at mga anghel, para matandaan na walang limitasyon ang imahinasyon para sa ating kahilingan. Panahon ito ng pasasalamat sa mga pinagdaanan at natutunan kahawak ang kamay ng kaibigan, sinta, ina, ama, anak, kapatid, kabiyak.

Maligayang Pasko sa Inyong Lahat!

---
Postcript

A friend, Claire, surprised me with a text all the way from Australia. ;P Wishes me that I can find the person who will take of me, finally.

No Claire, it's not intrusion. That's the best thing one can ask for anyone: the warmth of being loved.

I wish you, and all of my friends, that we all will be safe and warm in the arms of our loved ones.

Merry Christmas! :)

My Stars Say

Mercury Square Mars with an orb between 1 and 3 degrees Since you tend to be rather irritable and sharp-tongued at times you require a partner with a sense of humor who is not too thin-skinned. You are bright, curious and restless and enjoy the company of those who are equally high-spirited and enterprising.

Sun Conjunct Pluto with an orb between 3 and 5 degrees Power struggles plague your relationships. Either you become the dominant partner out of a fear of being controlled or you become very passive, controlling indirectly through guilt or manipulation. Your father may have been emotionally abusive to you.

Mercury Quintile Jupiter with an orb between 1 and 3 degrees You have a quality people trust and you are often sought after as a confidante or an advisor. You have high moral and ethical standards and it is imperative that anyone you're close to is a person of the highest integrity. You prefer well-educated people.

Like I Don't Know (Hahahaha)

You're an ENTP
ENTP

Ok. Ready? You like to chase the novel and complex. You have faith in your ability to overcome any challenges you face...highly independent...value adaptability and innovation...you encourage and value change...

You need freedom for action...you resist hierarchy and structure...you push against all odds to further your projects with your entrepreneurial tendencies...you can argue and find the flaws in any position...

How'm I doing so far? You rarely accept things just as they are...you like to test new meanings and relationships..when you don't get what you want, you use your cleverness and ingenuity to bring people around to your point of view...when you choose a career, you tend to set flexible goals that allow you to incorporate new information and accommodate to new circumstances...
"Keep your options open" is your middle name... you like to explore the "road not taken." Your flexibility can look like indecision to others who don't have a clue about you..you take advantage of opportunities...you realize potential of many things because of your ability to see connections and relationships between SEEMINGLY unrelated things...you cannot be ordered around, but rather handle things best when they are *suggestions*....like posting more on the Storm Palace BBS you love excitement...

Competence is key to you.. you don't take advice or respect someone you don't see as competent...you want work to be enjoyable..you're a relentless learner. Knowledge is important to you...you use your enthusiasm to get others involved in your learning...you learn through give-and-take discussions and by questioning and challenging others....you like challenging your teachers and colleagues...limitations are mere challenges to you...you take initiative, and once the ball is rolling, you like to turn it over to someone else...

You like to organize logically and strategically....your work space might not LOOK organized, but underneath it all is a system that works for you. You like to have an impact...you need a job that allows you to be innovative. you like to take risks and explore...an open calendar for the weekend is really appealing...you're often "in on the latest things..."...you like travel, 'cause it allows you to open up new vistas and horizons (corny, huh?).

Falling in love happens when there's a good "fit" with another person...you often know after the first meeting whether there's any "real potential"... you may not like to commit until that right person comes along...therefore you probably won't settle down early...you don't like to lose at ANYthing you undertake...you're a born enterpriser...

Things to be on guard for: you have a great fear of looking dumb or incomp- etent..you may tend to think you have the perfect solutions for problems, and may become competitive when others challenge you... you might start to think that you're the only one who's in on the truth of things, so you might not like to listen to the input of others...you may have the tendency to overextend yourself as you jump in on lots of ideas without considering how long it takes to work 'em through... commit to too many projects? ...you are a rebel.. you find it difficult to accept standard operating procedures.. and hate HAVING to follow exact rules or policies...learn to work within the system.

ENTP: "Each New Thought Propels"

from this website.

Last Christmas

Let us count the days past by way of memories collected:

Last Christmas ... R. first met the object of her desire.

This Christmas, she's trying to forget him.

Last Christmas ... I was reeling from a break-up.

This Christmas, though with a few shards from the past, I'm, at least, getting there.

Last Christmas, T.P. invited me to her house to celebrate Christmas there (I was, unfortunately, on duty last year).

This Christmas, we have at least three more friends to celebrate the yuletide season with.

Last Christmas, I don't know if I know N. already.

This Christmas, well, he's been missing in action. (Hehehehe) Hopefully in the arms of his beloved.

Last Christmas, K., well, hasn't won the P1-M challenge yet.

This Christmas, she has, a beautiful home with whom she will share all the new memories of love and giving, everything else that money can't buy, with J. and J.

Between last Christmas and this year's, it's in the gap where we carefully tread to forge new friendships, renew and push on to better ourselves.

There's something magical about Christmases, that's why I use them as landmarks of personal progress. The point after all, of life, is to celebrate, the memories shared with those that crossed our lives.

Gazebo

The wind gently blows eastward, where you are tonight.

In my peripheral view, I look for you, thinking you are sitting far from where I am. Hopefully, the glass walls in front of me will at least reveal your silhouette. But you are not there.

I look behind me and find you. Three steps are all that separate us.

The wind gently blows eastward. I take a puff. I let the smoke escape, gently, from my lips to yours.

There Are Days

There are days such as this one when all you want to do is hibernate, or escape. The former, is more preferable but not possible considering my job. Escape, well, yeah, maybe in the form of a trip to the movie house or a haircut or shopping. Or all three of them.

I wanna tell you a story. I'm sure you've experienced it one time or another. But I'm certain you've met their kind:

A fly is sitting atop a carabao. And suddenly he thinks he's bigger. The fly kept on yacking and yacking and yacking 'til a bird pooped on the carabao's back. Finally, a reminder of where he has been.

Everyday, Figuratively

The Executioner

Nguyen executioner revealed by Alan Shadrake, 28 Oct 2005 (Photo & Report from News.com.au)

The hangman who will execute Australian drug trafficker Van Tuong Nguyen in Singapore has been revealed as a semi-retired 73-year-old grandfather.

In a matter of weeks, Darshan Singh will place a rope around the 25-year-old's neck and say the
words he has spoken to more than 850 condemned prisoners during his 46 years as Singapore's chief executioner.

"I am going to send you to a better place than this. God bless you."

Nguyen's hopes of escaping the gallows receded further yesterday when the Singaporean Government confirmed that it would not make an exception for the Australian.

Mr Singh has officially retired from the prison service but is called upon to carry out executions, for which he receives a fee of $S400 ($312).

Until now, his indentity has been a closely guarded secret in Singapore.

Officials rarely comment on capital punishment, which is carried out without publicity behind the walls of Changi prison.

But The Australian can reveal today that the 73-year-old grandfather, who lives in a modest, government-owned apartment near the border with Malaysia, has been asked to execute Nguyen unless the Singapore Government gives an unprecedented last-minute reprieve.

Mr Singh told The Australian yesterday that under the Official Secrets Act he was forbidden from speaking about his work.

A colleague and close friend, who spoke on the condition of anonymity, told The Australian that Mr Singh wanted to give up his hangman's responsibilities and live quietly in retirement but the authorities were having trouble finding anyone to replace him.

"He tried to train two would-be hangmen to replace him, a Malaysian and a Chinese, both in the prison service," the colleague said.

"But when it came to pulling the lever for the real thing, they both froze and could not do it.

"The Chinese guy, a prison officer, became so distraught he walked out immediately and resigned from the prison service altogether."

Nguyen will meet Mr Singh a few days before he is executed and will be asked if he would like to donate his organs.

On the day before his execution, Mr Singh will lead him to a set of scales close to his death-row cell to weigh him.

Mr Singh will use the Official Table of Drops, published by the British Home Office in 1913, to calculate the correct length of rope for the hanging.

On the day of Nguyen's execution, Mr Singh will be picked up by a government vehicle and driven to the prison, arriving at 2am local time (0400 AEST) to prepare the gallows.

Shortly before 6am, he will handcuff Nguyen's hands behind his back and lead him on his final short walk to the gallows, just a few metres from the cell.

Mr Singh joined the British colonial prison service in the mid-1950s after arriving from Malaysia. When the long-established British hangman Mr Seymour retired, Singh, then 27, volunteered for the job. He was attracted by the bonus payment for executions.

Mr Singh is credited with being the only executioner in the world to single-handedly hang 18 men in one day -- three at a time.

They had been convicted of murdering four prison officers during a riot on the penal island of Pulau Senang in 1963.

He also hanged seven condemned men within 90 minutes a few years later. They had been convicted in what became known as the "gold bars murders", in which a merchant and two employees were killed during a robbery.

One of the most controversial executions in his career was the 1991 hanging of a young Filipina maid, Flor Contemplacion, who was convicted of the murder of a co-worker, Delia Maga, and her four-year-old son, on what many believed was shaky evidence.

He carries out the executions wearing simple casual clothes, often just a T-shirt, shorts, sports shoes and knee-length socks.

To mark his 500th hanging four years ago, four of his former colleagues turned up at his home to celebrate the event with a couple of bottles of Chivas Regal.

Mr Singh boasts that he has never botched an execution.

"Mr Seymour taught him just how long the drop should be according to weight and height and exactly where the knot should be placed at the back of the neck," his colleague said.

"Death has always come instantaneously and painlessly. In that split second, at precisely 6am, it's all over."

Mr Singh was an accomplished cricketer in his youth and was often opening bat.

"He is a keen soccer fan," his colleague said. "His favourite team is Manchester United. He watches all the English Premier League matches he can."

When his colleague asked him why he had stayed so long in such a gruesome job, he replied: "It's all I know. It has become my bread and butter."

"He also used to cane convicted criminals after training in this field," the colleague said.

"The pay then was 50cents per stroke. He could wield a cane as well as he could wield a cricket bat."

Mr Singh lives happily with his second wife and is close to their three adult adopted children.
His first wife left him years earlier because she could not accept what he did. He had kept it a secret from her for years.

Mr Singh reportedly spends time getting to know the condemned prisoners, especially those who do not receive visitors or religious support.

"He is a very kindly man and although it's his job to end their lives he does feel for them," his friend said. "Mr Singh tries to comfort them if they are completely alone in the world at such a horrible time."

The Parable of The Anthill

Beneath, in the sublayers of Earth, a kingdom thrives.

An old man tells this story to a young boy. He says: "To find where the Queen Ant lives, follow the trail of the smaller ants. On their arms, they carry, sustenance for the Kingdom and their Queen."

"But why do they have to work for her?" asks the young boy. "Doesn't she have the same number of feet and arms to work equally amongst them?"

"Certain things are created in a certain way. It's just the way it is. The Queen Ant is the one who breeds. In a sense, she's vital to the Kingdom. Without her, then there would be no other ants. The present ones will die and witle. And soon enough, the Kingdom will perish," the old man explains.

"But without the worker ants, the Queen will not have her nourishment? They could just store the food they gather elsewhere. Doesn't the Queen owe her life to her workers?" the boy asks again.

"They can do that. But that's disobedience. And the Queen has no tolerance for such behavior," explains the old man.

"But why do they have to follow?" the boy looks into the old man's eyes. "Don't they have any other choice?"

"Again, young boy, things are created in a certain way. They don't have to be acceptable," the old man says.

The young boy, looks at the trail of worker ants at his feet, then follows then traces them. A couple of steps ahead, an anthill is found. He kneels and picks up a worker ant.

"You will never have to work for her again," he tells the ant and puts him on the trunk of a mango tree.

"Up there, there are ripe mangoes for your picking. You can have them all to yourself," the boy says.

The boy runs into the ricefield beaming. The late afternoon breeze against his face. He picks up a kite and flies it.

Work 'n Shop (for Good Times!)

At the office during the tour of the foreign participants in the office.


During the farewell dinner hosted by the office.

Third Blog

I've acquired my third blog via a lucky ticket from wordpress. I decided that it will be primarily for literary outputs (sans the personal anecdotes, angst, whatever you can actually read here). That's just to avoid redundancy.

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.

read more Dreamweavers.

Back

I'm back at work. Went to this one-week seminar-workshop on investigative journalism last week which my office co-hosted with the Asian Institute for Broadcasting Development and Friedrich Ebert Stiftung. 'twas great. I thought initially one week would be a bore but it turns out bitin. I met some journalists from other countries like Shane (from FijiTV), Jee (from ITV in Thailand), Yuyun from Indonesia, Kul from Thailand, too. I was with another colleague from the news department and two from our public affairs department. There was also Ricky (Carandang) from ABS-CBN. Will post photos soon after I uploaded them. :P

Crash

Last Friday, I was tasked to cover Typhoon Ondoy while it landfalls into Aurora. But God was good, it was weaker than predicted and in the morning of Friday, it was all sunshine.

Scenes from an accidental vacation. Had my deepest sleep when I was there in Baler, Aurora. I think the beachfront faces the Pacific Ocean already.


Have you heard the Pacific Ocean ramble?

Whatchalistening To?

Taking timecodes, appearing like a dj. Yaaaaak. Hehehehehehe.

Don't Go Far Off

Pablo Neruda

Don't go far off, not even for a day, because --
because -- I don't know how to say it: a day is long
and I will be waiting for you, as in an empty station
when the trains are parked off somewhere else, asleep.

Don't leave me, even for an hour, because
then the little drops of anguish will all run together,
the smoke that roams looking for a home will drift
into me, choking my lost heart.

Oh, may your silhouette never dissolve on the beach;
may your eyelids never flutter into the empty distance.
Don't leave me for a second, my dearest,

because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying?

--

Tell me, that this is all just fantasy. Don't lead me on. I've surrendered and kneeling at your feet, without you even knowing. Before you, I am powerless.

For you, imagined lover.

Shameless Plug

from www.igma.tv

It's probably too small but I'm right there on the webby. Hehehehe. Today's highlights. We're on rotation ehehehe.

PGMA: "Protect The Dignity of this Country"

Militant groups condemn the rape of a 22 year old Filipina by six US Marines.
Source: www.bulatlat.com

Justice Secretary Raul Gonzalez today said President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo called him up and ordered him "to protect the dignity of this country" in reference to the rape case of a 22-year old Filipina by six US Marines.

"That speaks volumes. I take it to mean that we have to respect Philippine laws while following the provisions of the Visiting Forces Agreement," Gonzalez said.

This is the first time the President has ever spoken on the issue. She has come under criticisms from various militant women's organization over her perceived silence on the issue.

"It appears, she didn't want to rock the boat as it were," Senate Minority Leader Aquilino Pimentel said in a television interview.

Arroyo is perceived to be a staunch ally of the United States. The rape case, a first since the VFA was enacted by the Philippines and the United States, is said to be a litmus test of the treaty.

Fingers-Crossed

One afternoon, my eyes found yours, and from that moment, I knew you owned me.

I tried to brush it aside. But one morning, you passed by and I was reminded. And I knew there was no escaping.

You awakened in me, something I, for so long denied. Been badly burned and I still am chaffed. But then again, you remind me that something is not won, unless it is waged.

The terrain looks familiar. How many times have I passed this way? The familiar landmines. The enemy foxholes. The charred remains of a conquered territory.

I am scared.

But I promise this time, I will learn from my mistakes and not back out. But will be more careful.

New Fave

"You're Beautiful"



My life is brilliant.

My life is brilliant.
My love is pure.
I saw an angel.
Of that I'm sure.
She smiled at me on the subway.
She was with another man.
But I won't lose no sleep on that,
'Cause I've got a plan.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.

Yeah, she caught my eye,
As we walked on by.
She could see from my face that I was,
Flying high,
Fucking high,
And I don't think that I'll see her again,
But we shared a moment that will last till the end.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
I saw your face in a crowded place,
And I don't know what to do,
'Cause I'll never be with you.

You're beautiful. You're beautiful.
You're beautiful, it's true.
There must be an angel with a smile on her face,
When she thought up that I should be with you.
But it's time to face the truth,
I will never be with you

Thorn Bird

Lifted this from jiji's.

Thorn Bird

THERE is a legend about a bird which sings just once in its life, more sweetly than any other creature on the face of the earth. From the moment it leaves the nest it searches for a thorn tree, and does not rest until it has found one. Then, singing among the savage branches, it impales itself upon the longest, sharpest spine. And dying, it rises above its own agony to outcarol the lark and the nightingale. One superlative song, existence the price. But the whole world stills to listen, and God in His heaven smiles. For the best is only bought at the cost of great pain... Or so says the legend.

~~~~~~~~ o 0 o ~~~~~~~~~~

Sometimes, grief is unfathomable as silence.

Christmas

Christmas will be a little different for the family this year. There will be no Christmas tree, as per wishes of my Mom.

"Wala naman si Daddy, eh," was my Mom's curt reply to queries of my bro on why we still haven't put up a tree this time of the year.

It was pointless, of course, to convince her otherwise. This will be the first year we won't have Dad around. The first New Year without him. October 30 was the first birthday he wasn't with us. And the first Undas that an immediate family member is under the ground.

So many firsts, it almost feels like we're starting over again.

Starting over. How difficult is that. Had my fair share. Mom's undergoing one right now. Not very sure how she's coping but hopefully the reunion with her siblings on Christmas that I'm planning will somehow take away her attention from her grief. Not to say, she doesn't have to. Only, not during the holidays.

"In spirit, he will always be with you," a tita emails me from California.

Back

So I'm back (from outer space).

I had a restful 3-day vacation in Lucena. Did nothing there but sleep, eat, smoke, sleep, eat and smoke again. Had my fill of Mom's and my bro's cooking (sheesh, my younger bro knows how to cook now and I'm left with dialing skills to contact delivery.)

Anyway, I'm in that vacation mode still (somewhat) so I'm just gonna update you soon. (As if there are people who actually bother about my blog ehehheeh).