UP there!

UP Dilliman

UP on a weekend

I never dwelled on the 'what ifs,' but I did ask myself once "What if I made it to UP?"

 

Not so long ago, I went to the University of the Philippines (UP), the bastion of great minds and dreams, not to get an education, but to kill time. I would have wanted to study there, but passing the UPCAT was not possible that time, so I ended up some place equally excellent, I would say. :-) 

In my high school, when I asked people how to get to UP, the response I would get was take the UPCAT; now in my  adulthood, the answer differs: I was told to get a PHILCOA jeep, then take another jeep, IKOT. If lost, ask. I made it to UP by commute to admire its greenery, the campus, the invisible yet palpable presence of greatness. I have the greatest admiration for people of who have burned the midnight oil to be among the UP alumni.

But the UP of my dreams has been in the news lately, not for its outstanding achievements but for the death of one of its students. 

There is nothing more I can contribute to issue that has already been discussed in every platform known. However, I do share the sentiment of many on the avoidable loss of life of a promising scholar. May she be the last of those who died because institutions and policies and other external forces drive them to take their own lives.

I was once a teacher who failed students, but only did unreluctantly so for 'deserving' students. What I was not very comfortable doing was handing them a notice of non-payment or partial payment of tuition fees which the Accounting Office released weeks before the exam. So, instead of calling out their names in class, I just discreetly leave the notice on their desks. My own three-year grade school experience in a private school reminded me that I should not let my students experience what I had experienced. 

I transferred to government schools when I reached second grade, and I am forever grateful for this transfer. I was exposed to life. At some point I was in a rowdy class of sixty; we were contented with manila paper for our visual aids; the old books which were issued to us at the start of the year served their purpose until school year ended; the simple classmates I had, whose parents were ordinary folks, taught me the value of humility and simplicity. I could go on detailing the education I gained from my grade school to graduate school in government education institutions.  But, then, it appears now that not all students in government schools are as fortunate as me. 

Happy Holidays! It's never too late

Christmas 2012 was the first time I was away from any member of my immediate family who were all in Mindanao, except for my OFW brother. I was in Manila, celebrating Noche Buena and Media Noche with my wonderful aunt's family in Paranaque. It was a choice to be away from Mindanao, and I was quite content with this choice. Don't get me wrong; I adore being with my family. For Christmas 2012, I simply wanted to experience being away from them.  The initial plan was to stay alone in my own unit for the Christmas Eve. But, nah, it wouldn't make a happy story to tell friends and colleagues when we see each other once we report to work. So, Tita Mila's it was. Nevertheless, there was a semblance of family, and for that I was thankful. Truly, Christmas is a good time to bring family closer. This brought me to think of the many Filipinos abroad who are away from their families, including my brother who is in a country that doesn't 'do' Christmas. 

The day after Christmas, brother started posting Facebook pictures of his housemates with all their Christmas fare sans the Philippine Christmas staple ham. He and his friends seemed happy. So was I.

We make our own Christmas story, wherever we are, whomever we are with. My story was that of gratitude. There are so many things to be grateful for. Twenty twelve was a blast!

The year that passed has brought me nothing but greater appreciation for life's many blessings.  I have been blessed in every possible way imaginable. I went to this:

THE Taj Mahal

I stopped being credit card dependent.

I bought a four-inch foam for my improved condo unit.

I traveled internationally and domestically.

Singapore

I made more friends.

I inspired one friend to get her own house.

I work with the most fun and inspiring people.

I was able to buy my nieces nice Chinese dresses.

I reached 10000 hits on my blog! hehe.

I reached the 29th year of my existence.

For all of these, I am grateful. Thank You, Wonderful Giver!

Spatial

There are times when I don't know which is right. Or left.

My spatial intelligence is close to non-existence. Because of this, I might not even be able to learn how to drive. You see, I am seeing the necessity to have a car now because of the demands of my work. Other than not knowing how to drive, the OTHER BIG obstacle is buying one. I was being brave when I checked out a car store near my place. I was looking around, asking the right questions and looking very interested. In all fairness to me, I was eager to have my questioned answered, and I did not waste the car dealer's time. Blah, blah, blah.... he talked of the differences of the cars, the functions, the speed, and finally, our talk came to the money part.  Well, he did not exactly  blurt all the money details; instead, he wrote them down. I left the store with that tiny piece of paper in my hand. My car of choice was Hyundai i10. Small and 'cheap' compared to all the other cars on display.

I was doing my math : downpayment + (monthly installment x 5 years)+ parking space + gas + maintenance. I may be lacking in spatial intelligence,  but my arithmetic is certainly not as bad. The sum made me scratch my head.

I was thinking which of the things I enjoy doing I should sacrifice. I listed them down:

1. movies
2. massage
3. eating out
4. home appliances and furniture
5. vanity (moisturizer and lotion)
6. occasional shopping
7. chocolate and ice cream
8. travel

 Let's stop at eight. 

I think between buying a car and not, it's best if I am able to distinguish right from the other right first

My Summer so far....

I no longer ignore the twenty-five centavos like I did before. When the jeepney fare hike was implemented over a month ago, the “benchingco” suddenly regained its worth. Recently, the FXs had their share of increase also. There is nothing Juan can do about this but to accept. However, airline companies seem to be on the reverse side of things; seat sales, promos and other forms of discounts lure passengers to take the plane. The advertisements come in such an opportune time as everybody is agog to leave Metro Manila for a change of environment or whatnot. Just about everybody I know has had plans for the summer, but I, on the other hand, intend to stay nearby. 

Let me share some developments in my life that made me choose to stay home. 

The door to my own room, finally!

1. I finally have my own room! After four years of sharing a studio unit with sister, I now have a room of my own. I paid a price of P30,000 for the priceless prize of privacy. My 30-square-meter unit looks smaller now than before because I had someone build two rooms out of it. But the size does not matter because the four walls shielding my obese body as I put clothes on are worth all the money I poured in. I think sister is as happy as I am because she would not have to hear my snoring every night!
2. There’s work, of course, which I will not discuss any further because it will just upset me. Hehe.

Despite my choice to stay home, Metro Manila still does offer me reasons to enjoy my  summer, my way. 

My niece, mi sobrina

When my sister graduated from college , my folks came and they brought my niece, Jerica, with them. She had so much fun. She thought Manila was all fun. Imagine, she was able to visit a total of ten major malls in just a week in Manila, and ate everything her index finger beckoned. It was a joy seeing my niece having fun, and it was good having a kid around. 

Easter Sunday mass

Yeah, I did a bit of religious stuff, also, during the holy week. This was taken on Easter Sunday. While my co-volunteer friends, who are my Visita Iglesia companions, went to Bicol, I stayed home. It was a pretty quiet week. But I got bored eventually. So, on April 9, Araw ng Kagitingan, I got myself a Wi-tribe modem.  Now, I'm writing this post at home and will upload this post the moment I am done. I need not wait for my kind neighbor's unsecured Wifi connection.

Aliwan float with Reyna ng Aliwan candidates

I did a bit of cultural experience, as well. It was fascinating to witness the parade, the dances and the performers at the Aliwan Festival. I might just watch again next year. I hope you will, too.

Commonwealth Avenue

When an invitation to a batchmate's daughter's first birthday party came, I just had to say yes. Kiddie parties and free food are always fun! My trip to the party venue has been the longest I have taken so far this summer --- two hours from Sucat to Quezon City! hehe. I was happy I went.

One full month is ahead of me before summer officially ends. There's a lot more work now than before, but I am going to make whatever's remaining to be as fun as all the summers I had.

Another excuse

Scene at work: Media Briefing at DFA

I tell myself that I'm not to make a habit of having single post per month. Hence, this, my second for the month.

I look back, and I remember how exciting it is to fill every blank page with words and thoughts that I care to write about. I have come to realize also that readership, although desired, is no longer a priority.This blog has become an extension of myself. When I don't put an entry, I feel as if I have forgotten scrubbing my nape! I have known all along the reason for the lack of post, but I don't go on blaming work completely.

The first two months of real government work has been an eye-opening experience. I recognize that I have so much to learn to be at least satisfactory in my work. I am setting a high standard for myself because my work calls for it. I don't wish to divulge an incident, but this one particular made me shake like a leaf at the slightest sound of a certain person's footsteps. I pitied myself that time. It was then I prayed the loudest to take the fear off me. No one deserves to live in fear, and no one deserves to spread it.

Days after that, at the strike of six, I head home, the FX taking me farther from work, a relief from all the horror of work,but the next morning, the same vehicle brings me closer to whom I was avoiding at work. But did I dread going to work? No, I like what I am doing. My purpose of working surpasses anything that stops me from doing what I must. I will prevail, this I tell myself.

If I don't write as often, I'm probably redeeming myself from that incident, and I tell you, it will take a lot of redemption.

I took a photo of this ad inside a cab. Sometimes, I take the cab if I don't leave the house early enough.

Weight post

I was carrying one extra bag to work this morning. My ex-soldier workmate then commented, "Dami mong dala ah."

I had to admit that I was going to the gym later after work.

Further interrogation took place. "Bakit? What made you?" asked another male workmate.

"The mirror. I didn't want what I was seeing," I told them, eliciting a few laughs. I have gained some extra pounds from all the eating and the new job! I have not been doing my laps in the pool as I used to. 

During lunch, another workmate observed that my lunchbox was small. Yeah, it is small, and before its contents were consumed, there was no rice in it. I really am serious about losing weight.

When asked by the same workmate why I was dieting, I said in jest, "My market value is depreciating."One person added, "Yeah, meat market." I laughed with them.

What I am to subject myself into in the next few days will not be a laughing matter. I shall go to the gym often and shed off that unsightly sight that causes some of clothes to retire early. This day, December 6, 2011, I weigh 154 lbs. I intend to lose ten or more in the coming weeks. When I lose all that weight, I will be happier. I need not have to see a Santa Claus in me this Christmas.

Happy World Teacher's Day!

While waiting for a ride this morning

I have to admit that I felt a sudden pinch somewhere when I received a "Happy Teacher's Day" greeting this morning. The many months of training in my new job has temporarily made me forget that months before the classroom was my workplace, but my present co-workers would often refer to me as the 'teacher' in a batch of diverse occupations. I guess I could not shake off that title, and I am not willing to part with it completely even when I am taking on a new career. Once a teacher, always a teacher they say.

I do miss being a teacher. I miss my former co-teachers. I also miss my nice students.

The teachers who have been part of my life - former teachers,  former co-teachers,  and present teachers - deserve all the gratitude they deserve. Much of what I have achieved in my short life is attributed to the teachers who shaped my life. So, I texted all teachers in my phonebook, with a message saying thanks.  I felt better.

If you can read this post, thank a teacher.

Teacher's Day Morning

Passenger Series 5: Blogger

I want to write in Filipino for this entry, but the words don't come out as fast as when I write in English. I do not want to take my time writing, for I am in McDonald's using its free WiFi connection. It's almost dinner time, and other customers will want to use some tables. I am down to my last few bites of my burger as I write this.

I needed some time off from all the cerebral activities we do at work.  I wanted to be around strangers and drown in their unfamiliar noise while I think of mundane and worthless things I wanted to do. In simple terms, I needed a break.

Fortunately, break for me is spilling out my thoughts onto this screen, with the hope of readership from a stranger or strangers. I honestly do not want to know who is reading this. My reader statistics, although low, are good enough reminder that someone bothers to click on this page.

Commuter wishes to talk to you.

Dear Reader, I seldom get to think about life now, which saddens me. I was full of reflections and dreams. I don't romance my idealism anymore as I used to. I would have wanted to waste precious time recalling my beautiful past and dreaming of my uncertain yet exciting future. It's through these that I feel alive. Now, I have become more engrossed in the pressures I have imposed on myself. I get by, still, but I am not liking that I am becoming too hard on me. Poor commuter is stressing himself out. 

Forgive me, dear reader, for boring you out some more. I guess this is just one of those moments that needed some venting out. I hope this, too, shall pass like all the other 'moments' I have experienced. I have strong faith, this I already know.

Thank you. I feel slightly better.

I have work the next day, Saturday. Boo! Have a good weekend!

Not me! A sleeping passenger

Commuter

Respect

In my first week of work, the guards by our gate were greeting me good morning. I guess that is what formal office wear does to a person. Have I gained their respect to merit me a greeting every morning?

Back when I was a teacher, the greetings came naturally as this was how students should be, but that did not necessarily mean that they respected me. I would like to think that they did, but I would also understand if they did not. I have long learned that respect is gained, not given.

Now that I am in a new organization, I'm surrounded by many people who all possess one quality I highly admire. They are all brilliant individuals. Their powers seem to emanate from the breadth of their intelligence. Being surrounded by them makes me feel insignificant, but it is this inadequacy that makes me put on that nice shirt every day and take that FX to work,  so I could learn more and do more.

===================================================================

Yes, I have started with my new work. I praise the Lord! The week has gone by so quickly, but the speed draws me closer to more things that I am to explore. During the first three nights, I slept very late because I was kept awake by the mixed feelings I was experiencing --- anxiety, excitement, nervousness, confusion, etc.

The nights after that were better. The upcoming days seem to look the same.

This work seems to be very different from what I had in my previous work. Although all we do is listen to speakers and lecturers the whole day, I seem to feel drained when I get home. Hence, I just want to sleep. Hence, I would not be able to write as often as I want to.

But I must keep myself sane. Thus, this incoherent post. Thus, this comforting thought that I am still able to write.

Charity

It feels as if I have made it as a writer when an article I sent to the Philippine Daily Inquirer was published for its Youngblood section last April 16, 2011.  I was euphoric. I could not believe that I made it there. hehe


Here it is....
==================================================================



 CHARITY

MY MOTHER is a good woman. She is wonderful and does good deeds like charity and civic work. But one charity work I don’t exactly approve of is her almost daily contribution to the Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office (PCSO).

This kind of charity, I suppose, must be either infectious or hereditary. My dad and my older brothers support each other in the same altruistic endeavor. It is only me who has not taken after them in this regard. But although I do not support them, there is a part of me that wants them to succeed because their success could be translated into charity work at home. I’m sure I’m going to get a share of any winnings because, as I said, mother is a good person.

My parents have provided us with a beautiful four-bedroom house equipped with all the modern conveniences to keep their grown-up children at home. No doubt they will definitely give us more once either mom or dad wins that huge lotto jackpot.

My mother often talks of giving money to this and that cause, buying us this and that thing, and going to different places should she win the lotto. I listen to her dreams; in fact, I am thrilled that mother can still come up with fairy tale-like scenarios at her age. However, with the excitement I feel when I hear her stories comes the distressing thought that mother might have finally resigned herself to the idea that financial advancement can only be achieved by luck. This thought saddens me more because mother is not the only one who subscribes to this belief. Majority of Filipinos do—just look at the long lines every time the lotto jackpot hits P50 million.

The queues have made the PCSO chairmanship one of the most-coveted government posts nowadays. There is just too much money made in this office, most of them coming from poor Filipinos who shell out at least P10 a day to bet on their favorite number combinations.

I am not sure if the transfer of the PCSO to the Office of the President is a good move. But one thing is for sure: it continues to make money wherever it may be. In its many years of operation, betting in lotto has become a habit for many. Office workers, construction workers and simple folks rush to the betting stations as the cut-off time draws near. The visible outcomes of their constant patronage are the many ambulances parked at the PCSO complex and the assistance that numerous patients get in government hospitals.

To say that the recipients are lucky would not be exactly right. It is either they are indigents or extremely sick. I thank God that I am neither of the two. I do not intend to receive charity under those conditions, although I am certain that help will come in whatever form when the need arises. Filipinos have always been like that.

So, the news about Filipinos being the most charitable in Asia did not come as a surprise to me anymore. I have stopped being surprised at the immense capacity of Filipinos to share their resources. When “Ondoy” happened, there was an outpouring of help everywhere. The typhoons and other calamities before and after that drew the same kind of generosity. What was newsworthy about the survey, however, was that our poor nation was willing to give more than our richer neighbors.

The sight of the poor giving whatever little they have never fails to astonish me. In the school where I work, I see my underprivileged students give out coins from their tattered purses when donations are asked.

When I tried to analyze the matter, I was led to think that it was probably because of our Christian upbringing. Maybe it was, but most, if not all, religions preach charity.

The Catholic church I go to discourages parishioners from giving money to the street children waiting outside the church. Apparently, some people do not heed the priest’s advice. The growing number of street children outside the church indicates that goodwill to mendicants is thriving.

Maybe, this is what fuels charity in our country. For as long as someone is in need, there will always be someone who will give. Or it could be the other way around: for as long as someone is willing to give, there will always be someone who is ready to ask. And who would not accept charity? “Grasya na ’to,” one would say.

Generally, we are a good people. This goodness, whether innate or indoctrinated, is what drives our altruism. Some vicious entrepreneurs take advantage of this goodness to jumpstart their business by sending out hundreds of street minions to seek investments, a.k.a. alms. The good people’s “investment in heaven” turns out to be something else.

The same principle is practiced by many wise individuals or groups who milk people and institutions by coming up with “foundations.” In the process, they shield their precious funds from taxes. I can only hope that the money reaches the supposed beneficiaries.

At this very moment, someone is receiving charity. Before I can even punctuate this sentence, I know someone is giving out charity. Inside a cubicle in Quezon City, Rep. Manny Pacquiao’s staff is still drafting letters to endorse to a third party the many solicitation letters his office is getting.

Before the late night newscast, I wait for my mom’s loud shriek or call to announce that she finally got the winning combination. During those countless evenings that I failed to hear such an announcement, I go to bed and mentally prepare myself for work the next day. Before I fall asleep, I tell the Lord that P2 million will be just fine.

Ralf Roldan, 27, is a teacher in Alabang.

Packing with a P!

Oh well, I made it back to work just after two days of absence. I go back to work today, Wednesday, and there is not a trace of lump anywhere. I am beginning to doubt my doctor's diagnosis; it could have been also the dental cleaning and filling that could have gone wrong, which I had last Friday. I am not sure anymore. I am just glad that things are better now.

There is nothing left to do here in school now. My clearance has been signed, and all remnants of my De La Salle Teacher identity have been turned over to the Personnel Department. Packing will be done next. I brought with me two cloth bags where I am to pack my stuff with. Packing! Packing! Packing! This should not be a problem to me. I am good at it.... More than ten years of flying to and fro Manila has made me a good packer! Too bad, this summer, I am not going to make use of my packing skills elsewhere. I shall be a prisoner of my  fourth-floor three-window unit the entire summer. I don't mind. It will be a blast. I'll just think that while the rest of the of the fashionable and moneyed people fo Manila are doing their rounds of the hottest summer destinations of the country and the world, I shall be basking in my long-deserved break and  will be grateful for the great things that I am enjoying. My summer break will be in anticipation for something greater, something grand.

Happy Vacation!

My last week at work might be spent at home. My doctor told me to stay away from people after she confirmed it was mumps I was having.  This was not my idea of bidding farewell to the people, and if I made it to school, I would limit my interactions with them.

So, I am here in my condo unit, listening to the radio as there is nothing good on free TV nowadays while trying to compose this blog post which I will publish the moment I smell unsecured Wifi connections around.

As I wait for this big lump on my left jaw to disappear, I stay on bed and live the life of a bum, and I am starting to like it. This is life for the next weeks;  I am thinking of keeping  two-day old shirts on me, reheating of  three-day old food, dreaming  and staying on bed. It is  almost like the ideal life, but, no, it won’t work for me. I have other concerns to think of like, how many more pieces of  underwear do I have left until my next laundry which I plan to do in the distant future, or where will the next blackhead grow so  I could prick it with an unsanitized hair pin which I have been keeping within my reach.

This is my vacation, and I have to content myself with it. I don’t mind it though. I am not complaining, but I am not thanking my mumps for making it early for me.  It’s best this way, I guess. I will not have to see my friends’ faces as we officially bid each other farewell, and, besides, it’s not very sightly to see my over-grown left jaw as we do that. But a swollen jaw is preferred to a swollen scrotum which may happen to someone with mumps, and if that happened, that would give me more reasons to let my brother, who is staying with me now,  to do my laundry and cook my meals. And that’s a happy vacation?

Day Tour

Countdowns are no longer reserved for New Year revelries or radio's top ten most requested songs. Mine happens to last for few days. Soon, I shall hit April 15, an end to a glorious seven-year stay as a teacher in De la Salle Santiago Zobel School. It will be over soon. And I can't help but feel a tinge of sadness as I leave a school I have served for a long time. I can't claim to have changed a single student's life through my work as a teacher, but I am sure I have made some very good friends whose daily presence will be sorely missed.

Since the students are off to their summer break, all teachers, who are still reporting for work, face the computers, turning the computer area into a common scene in a neighborhood computer shop where some play Plants vs Zombies, spy on Facebook and watch countless videos on YouTube. In between our computer sessions are our long talks and equally-long lunch breaks. We cease to become school automatons who are hard at work, for we resume our more casual selves in our talks and games.

Ten-months of hard work are capped by a relaxing time at school. It can be boring at times, though. (thus, this blog post!) But I am not complaining. Since it is stress-less, I make time to reconnect with old friends and reinforce friendship with present ones.

I finally get to go around and do things without thinking much of work. One such opportunity was my co-teacher's daughter's baptism. I came for the lunch reception at Gerry's Grille - Market!Market! in Taguig, of course. Although late, I still managed to feast on the sumptuous food waiting for me. The food was good as with everything free, but it was not as memorable as my commute to and experience in Fort Bonifacio, Taguig. I have known all along that there was a shuttle to Fort Bonifacio although I have not taken it before. So, I got off at Ayala MRT station after boarding the bus in Sucat, looked for the terminal, and found myself in a quite unusual Philippine bus terminal. I had to fall in line to pay for my ticket; then, I entered a spacious waiting area with  chairs and real order! Is this how rich bus terminals are? Just after a few minutes, our bus came and left with still vacant seats to fill.

At the bus terminal

It was a day tour of Fort Bonifacio as my last recollection of the place was a dinner many months before. I don't mind appearing 'provincial' as I gawked at every structure mushrooming the complex. It was a treat, and also a not-so-true image of the Philippines for it displayed a very rich Pinas. It may not be a real reflection of the country, but perhaps it is a model of how other cities in this country is to become. I hope so.

Pedestrians at Boni High Street

Photographer photographed

Open spaces at High Street

Together with my co-teachers who were my age, I explored Market!Market! and Bonifacio High Street. Like the many penniless beings all over, we were contented with our exchanges of jokes and stories as we took our comfy spot on one of High Street's open spaces.

I left Fort Bonifacio before dusk. It was earth hour that day, and it was no longer fun to be staying out.

Earth Hour scene at our condominium complex

Goodbye!

A view from the Jollibee store in ATC

The school year is ending, and so is my employment with the school I have served for seven long years.

Around this time last year, I was also bowing out  of the school that I had been teaching for six years. With my resignation letter in place and clearances accomplished, I was waiting for the official last day of my employment. What to happen after my last day was still very uncertain, though. There was no definite work nor schools willing to take me in. The numerous jobs I applied for weren't calling me back. It was truly a difficult time.

I was having mixed feelings on my official last day of work. A part of me was rejoicing, yet another part of me was dreading many things; one of them was the possibility of me being unemployed, which was something I had not experienced before. Immediately after graduation I was the toast of my family and classmates for securing a job in one of South Manila's best schools. I was earning good money and became financially independent. I feared that my fortune might change. I did not want that to happen.

I had my phone with me, waiting for that ring from an employer. No ring took place. Acceptance, something I had very well managed to do, was a painful comfort. I took that big risk of resigning from work without an assurance of a replacement work; therefore, I must bear the consequences that went with it.

I have never regretted anything I did.

Midday of my last day, I did not regret saying "yes" when I was offered  to teach in the night school after my boss learned I was still waiting for a job offer. It was a perfect set-up, I thought. I would report to work at one pm since I had planned to work on my master's paper in the day. In addition, I bargained for one thing.  I told them that I could resign within the school year I wanted provided that I give them one month's notice. My last day became my first day of employment.

An hour after that offer, my phone rang. It was the school along Ayala Avenue in Makati asking me if I was willing to teach Communication Arts.

It has been a year since those life-changing decisions had to be made. I am making one as I write this. Every day I make decisions. The decisions I make chart my future.

My leaving the school, this time for sure, is a decision I have made. I do not fear my future now although I will be technically jobless for a month. I am unceasing in my prayers now. I know good things will happen out of this. I shall not be afraid, I tell myself.

...will be changing routes soon

Adulthood

Man waiting along Makati Avenue

How I relished the moment when I was mistaken for a student and was given a student discount not so many months ago in a jeep, but the truth still remains that I am getting old. Each waking day is a day closer to old age. Morbid it may sound, but it’s definitely true. An existentialist once  said that we start to age the moment we are born. No one can defy the course of nature. Knowing this fact, I have learned to embrace this reality and the responsibilities that go with it since there's nothing much I can do about it. The number I write for age seems to be proportionate with the responsibilities I carry. But like I said, I embrace it, or I think I do.

The moment I started receiving my cellphone bill, at 21,  was when I felt I was becoming an adult. Growing up, I saw my parents pay the countless bills we got. Hence, I have always associated bills payment with the maturity and responsibility of an adult individual. I did not enroll in those automatic debit facilities that some banks offer because I enjoyed going to SM to personally pay my bills. At first, it was a joy lining up, with the bill and cash on my hand; however, years after that cellphone bill, I saw myself paying for more bills which I started to detest doing: there's the Meralco, Maynilad, Citibank, Pag-Ibig that came. They seem to be calling for my attention every pay day! When  that happens, and it happens all the time, I regret growing old. At this point, I just really want to on my parents' nest again, carefree and debt-free! But my parents opted to give me their wings which I accepted wholeheartedly. I am flying alone, and it feels lonely sometimes. I thought that the power of adulthood is endless, but the things I do as grown-up seem to be pulling me down. My wings are clipped by the bills that make it under my door.

In times like these, I rely not on my wings as SM Bills Payment beckons; I take the jeep. I go there everytime with a clearer plan for much more important kind of maturity. I will be free from all these obligations very soon, I tell myself. I can't wait when that happens. But for now, I shall endure,  I shall learn. I guess it's part of growing up, or, perhaps, I have not grown up yet.

Skinned

Jeepney passengers

It's the most embarrassing, and, at the same time, the most heartwarming experience to be spoken of in a very high esteem, especially when it is done in a room full of total strangers, by someone whose opinion you value. I experienced this when I recently gave a talk to a group of college students in Manila. My friend had to introduce me as the speaker; she projected me as someone who deserved a star named after him. hehe. I am  maybe exaggerating a bit, but that was the effect on me. I never thought that a single-page letter-sized resume spanning seven years of work history could present me as such. My resume is not much, I tell you. If it was something, it would have scored me some college jobs, or at least job interviews when I was applying  for them last year. However, the small details that were not part of my resume were the ones that I was particularly happy about because the information she added was based on her personal knowledge and perception of me. Here is one reference to this blog:

 “…he maintains a blog in which he makes a seemingly mundane activity a source of insight, inspiration, and intellectual realizations. His writings reveal a patriotic Filipino citizen behind the mestizo appearance.”

Well, she said it not I, and I am not going to affirm what she says about this blog although I would like to believe that they are true, but my statistics indicate that I have not been able to sustain readership.  That will not stop me from writing, however.

Going back, of the other things she said about me, I was quite surprised with the ‘mestizo’ label. I don’t think you’ll ever spot me in a jeep as my looks cannot demand any attention. Years ago, I might have had that light complexion, but the same cannot be said now.  Years of exposure to the environment, neglect and aging, perhaps, have all contributed to the state of my skin. When I take my shirt off, I see the outline of a white shirt on my body. My face and neck and my arms have shade different from the body.

Having lived in a coastal city in my growing up years, I was making the beach my weekend destination. I did not care much about my complexion. I had many classmates who were light-skinned, and they did not pay much attention to it. Only when I got here in Manila did I realize that having a light complexion was a prized attribute. 

Since I share the many Filipinos’ mentality that white is beautiful, I try to reverse the changes. I did buy those sunscreen and whitening lotion to even out my arms and face. Nothing has worked as I seem to jell well with most Pinoys as the months pass.

I am not embarrassed revealing this; jeepney and tryke drivers seem to be as concerned with their skin as I am. I see them put ‘sleeves’ on them. If not scrutinized well, the flesh-colored ‘sleeves’ with designs look like real arms heavily adorned with tattoos.

With the lifestyle I am living, meaning the commuting, the swimming and the walking, I am foretelling a darker future. I am not so desperate that I’ll to be taking those injectibles and tablets soon, however. I’ll probably stay away from the sunshine vitamin as much as I can.

I’m not to be undressing in front of people as the uneven skin and the lard-infested body are not a good sight to behold; however, anything that exposes me through the work I do and the life I lead will be a preferred form of stripping.  I realized that the introduction my friend gave me was an account of a life that had lived acceptably. I think I like what I heard. I think I intend to keep my life that way.

I hope I did not sound proud. I am just grateful, that’s all.

Jeepney barker

Danger

View from the front seat

After some time, I finally had a good 'me' time. I watched the Adam Sandler - Jennifer Aniston rom-com flick alone. People find it weird that I enjoy watching movies alone. Actually, those two precious hours in a DECENT dark airconditioned theater keeps me balanced. Call it by any name but truth remains that I thrive with my brand of sporadic solitude.

It was a romantic comedy, and I was watching it alone during the movie's  first day of release. As expected, couples cames; I even saw dancer-actor Rayver Cruz and his babe Christine Reyes. I entered the theater alone and left alone after its last screening. At 12:30 am, I was out commuting. My travel to Sucat Interchange from Alabang was shorter than the time I spent at the bus terminal. Since there were fewer people out, filling up the bus with passengers took a much longer time than usual. The longer I stayed on that ordinary bus at the terminal, the more I was making myself prone to danger. On a day after  payday, one must be extra careful. Although I was cashless like every day of my life, I had with me my netbook and cellphone.

I lived through that episode unscathed. However, I had to take one more jeepney ride to get home, hopefully, before dusk. An empty jeep passed and I took the front seat which I thought was the safest place in a jeep at night. Halfway to my destination, a seemingly nice girl took her seat beside me and started putting on her earphones as she played music from her mobile phone. Next she did was take out a cigarette and light it. Great! It was just what I needed after an exhausting long day at work. I tried not minding her since I was just a few minutes from my place. So, I instead faced the driver to see him turning right at the Petron station two blocks away from my place.

"One fifty," the driver told the gasoline attendant. I looked at the girl with her cigarette at hand.

"Hoy, alam mo ba bawal yan dito?!

"Kung gusto mong mamatay huwag mong idamay ang iba!

"Gago ka ba? Tanga ka ba?"

These would have been the words I wanted to say to that girl. I stared at her instead, fuming. She was an unfeeling b@4#h! I wanted to give her some beating. My passivity was winning over necessity. She ought to learn something. I was thinking of things to tell her when I finally arrived at my stop. Forget it. She would die of lung cancer, anyway.

"Para, ma." The vehicle stopped, and she stayed in her place. She was expecting that the whole 153 pounds of me to easily go out of that door with her cancerous body blocking my way. Ok. No more Mr. Nice Guy.

Too bad she did not completely hear what I told her. I did not get the chance to pull her earphones from her. Let's just say that I was happy with what I did. I had a good and peaceful sleep after. I hope she did, too.

Luxury

Despite his choice of public transport, Commuter craves for luxury once in a while. Occasional trips to restaurants and places would be those. But he aimed one kind of luxury to be enjoyed for the rest of his life. The commuter's choice of luxury, if you can call it that, would be a condominium unit which he would acquire through PAG-IBIG.

After four years of dormitory living in college, and several years with Tita during his early working years, he looked for a place he could call his own. And he did. He did overtime work, accepted tutorials, edited books for a private company and lived a pauper's life for a year (and still does) to own a piece of property in the metro. He recalls his poor moments  and  feels proud everytime people express admiration and even envy for his small studio unit. He considers it to be his achievement to have a property to his name, with very limited help from family and friends.

In his place, he is welcomed by guards after getting off the jeep. When a large portion of Paranaque City was bathing in deepwell water, here he was swimming in Maynilad water in the condo's swimming pool. Affordable eating places and grocery stores abound, too.  It suffices to say that he is happy with his place.

In his 30 square meter-mansion, he is king. However, his little sister, who studies in Manila, takes her rightful place as princess and maid at the same time. He doesn't mind having his sister live with him; that's the most he could do  for her parents, which is to look after their daughter and give her a training in domestic life. She washes his clothes, prepares him her saltiest adobo, and helps pay his electric bills. Fun, right?

Lately, he has not been wanting to go home. He finds ways and reasons to be out of the house. He wants to be away.

You see,  he is the only one with a place in Manila; his place seems to be the perfect place to crash for his Mindanao relatives. Yes, they are welcome. Yes, they are family. Yes, they are grateful for his 'hospitality.' But it is when the small studio is full of voices that he is truly reminded why he got the unit in the first place.

He paid a big price for something he wanted.  He now pays a bigger price for something he does not want. He would now exchange his dwelling for the cheap price of privacy.

My Home Sweet Home

Street violence or something like it

In one of those few instances when I didn't get to commute during my college years, I experienced my first ever street violence or something like it.

During college every Christmas, I go to Zamboanga for the obvious reason. I had lived a very simple life in high school in Zamboanga; college in Manila, however, was a different story. Zamboanga life was limited to the school, mall, beach and my house, of course; no Saturday night fun at all! But since college came and I was introduced to the fun and thrill of clubbing in Malate, I asked permission from my parents if I could do the same in Zamboanga and attend the  December 30 New Year's party at the most happening club in my city. I also asked them if I could get my cousin to drive our jeep. My wonderful parents said yes to all; finally, at 19, I got to go to my first ever 'authorized' night out! Fun! Fun! Fun!

Being the president of my high school class and quite a friendly character on campus and one of the few who had gone to Manila for college, I danced with all the people in my school circle as if I made up for lost time! I had beauty queens, pretty and simple girls to exchange dance moves with. Apparently, I did not have with me the latest Manila moves, but it was fun nonetheless. Later in the evening, we had a bit a booze and fun stories being exchanged by everyone. I was just too excited to see all my friends in a place like that. Although a bit tipsy, I had my focus on  just them and ignoring everyone else who was a stranger. Like all the good things, this one had to end also.

At the parking lot of the club as I was about to take my seat by the passenger side, I received a sudden blow from my left ear, and then, another at the back of my head. Instinct told me to go to the back seat to avoid further harm. I instructed my cousin to drive but he was also attacked by a man with a steel rod. !@#$! This can't be happening, I told myself. All I wanted was out of there. The people around, even our friends, were helpless. They knew the four guys who surrounded us.

Someone must have intervened or the guards came, this I didn't know anymore. I only saw my cousin hit the accelerator the moment he saw the road was clear. It was one of the fastest trips home. I got off the vehicle the moment my cousin parked the jeep by the driveway. I repeatedly pressed the door bell until my mother, who had sensed that the constant bell ringing meant something, opened the gate to see me bleeding near my ear.

What transpired after that was like a scene in a Filipino soap opera with elements of drama, action and dialogues of vengeance! hehe.

New year's eve we were at the police station and at the government hospital. We were able to identify the main guy who had attacked us.

The guy came with his mother. The police said the most we could do was file damages for slight physical injury. The poor mother was apologetic. No word came from the asshole.

We were not keen on filing a case; I had my studies in Manila to think of.  We just made them see that we were not the types they could mess up with.

The remaining days of my vacation was spent at home doing phone calls and eating the season's leftovers.  I learned through my classmates that the mauling incident was because of my dancing with my beauty queen classmate whom my perpetrator had his eyes on. #@$$#!!! He must have felt threatened upon seeing a new face dancing with his babe. I also learned from my beauty queen classmate that there was nothing between the two of them, and that she was sorry that it happened to me. I did not anymore doubt the veracity of my female classmate's statement. Just one look at the guy and you would know that his match could only be a vermin.

I am heading once more to Zamboanga for the holidays and for our 10th year high school reunion. I will be seeing my classmates' faces once more, only them, I hope. I intend to make the reunion as my only itinerary this time. Holiday visits to the police station and government hospitals are never fun.

Travel mates

A cliche: "It's not about the destination; it's how you get there."

No. It is still about the destination. hehe.

But the getting there part could be just as memorable as the destination especially if you have good company travelling or commuting with you. Just what makes a good company? I can't seem to answer this as I, myself, do not think I am a good travel companion; however, my being a 'not good' travel mate highlights the goodness in others. No travel story is ever good without conflicts; same goes for stories! Travelling in groups especially a group trip that is well planned shouldn't go wrong UNLESS you have companions who can't seem to jell well with the group. These people should be last seen at the terminals or detained at the immigration! hehe. I am lucky, though, that the people I travel with know how to adapt and are sensitive to others. Travelling in small number is always preferred; the group's manageability should always be considered.

Since I cannot talk about my experiences as a good companion, I shall base my list on my observations done on whom I call good travel mates.

1. They smell good most of the time. It is quite acceptable to sense a slight change in odor towards the latter part of the day.

2. They are game!

3. They aren't bossy. Inang demokrasya should prevail!

4. They are sensitive and adaptive.

5. They are physically fit for long walks and running.

6. They have their own money!

7. They are literates. Map-reading 101 grade should be at least B+.

8. They are attentive.

9. Their stomach clocks are synchronized with others.

10. They are never late.

This list may still be improved or increased. My commute and travel have mostly been done alone. If and when I get to travel in groups more often, I would probably know more, and eventually take on their good traits to become a better travel companion.

Now, who wants to take me to the moon?