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Activism As The Last Option

28 July 2009

Okay, I admit it. I'm a fan of Pilosopo Tasyo. Or more specifically, I'm a fan of his way of thinking.

If I remember correctly (Please correct me if I'm wrong), it was Tasyo who advised Ibarra in Noli Me Tangere to keep his head down, to first court the powerful officials of the land to the extent of figuratively (and perhaps, literally) kissing the hands of the friars and other almighty beings. This had to be done so Ibarra could push through with his plans to improve his town by making sure he had the backing of both the politicians and the friars. By then, his political influence can be so overwhelming that he can now attempt more ambitious attempts at social reform (And who knows? At that point, he can probably subvert, with assured success, the powers-that-be and ultimately undermine and transform for the better the rotten Spanish-era socio-political system). Tasyo encapsulated this philosophy best in the parable of the wind-battered stem, which, while weak, bends with the wind as not to be destroyed at its infancy.

Having introduced Tandang Tasyo's way of thinking, I proceed by saying that I'm not a believer in activism as a potent social force. No, it doesn't mean I hate activists (I have friends who are), nor does it mean that I find activism unnecessary or ineffective ( Rallies and protests are effective but to a certain extent if I may add). What it simply means is that I believe it isn't the best solution out there for the serious reformist.

This is because activists operate, not within, but outside the traditional sphere of power and influence. One can argue against this by saying that some activist organizations have made great leaps by installing their key personnel in Congress and other high offices. But we also have to admit that these "key personnel" are but a puny minority in a group otherwise infested by people with vested interests and corrupt minds. In such a group, it's very hard to win.

One can continue arguing against this by saying that, if majority is the key to winning, activists have the upper hand. For instance, it cannot be denied that activists can mobilize a great deal of people to join rallies or to voice out their discontent over a controversial bill or action. In general, a politician's weakness is the ballot box, and anything which will threaten a politician's number of votes is instant Kryptonite. In other words, having a huge number of people go against you or your bill/proposal won't exactly do wonders to one's political career. But organizing an entire populace to rally against a perceived, malicious agenda is simply too inefficient (the process itself requires too many resources) and the odds for success aren't quite that good either ( Activists have railed against "bad" laws only to have them still in force several years later).

Having said all this, the other solution to social reform that I see is basically what Pilosopo Tasyo proposes and that is, to act small, go inside the organization and start from there. That means establishing meaningful relationships with top-rank officials, winning their trust, building rapport with the establishment, while remaining firmly grounded to one's own idealistic agenda. Then, when the time comes, one has all the backing in the world , all the political leverage, when one pursues attempts at social reform.

What I just said can be considered anathema to activists since the nature of their advocacy hinges on maintaining a confrontational attitude against the government. It's probably not an overstatement to say that activists thrive on confrontation. But this sort of confrontation only produces enemies and most of the time, these enemies are the exact same people you have to win over for your cause to succeed!

Perhaps, one other dilemma confronting this questionable solution is the fact that one has to network with political personalities of questionable character and/or reputation. For a hard-core activist, this implication is nothing short of despicable ( It's like sleeping with the enemy!). But such a solution has already been applied a long time ago by a carpenter named Jesus, who sat down with the so-called "sinners" and succeeded in bringing them into his fold.

Simply put, confrontation as a means to social reform is untenable and as long as "activism" maintains this kind of stance, it will never be good enough for me and thus, will remain my last option for social reform.

Maybe, in another post, I can elaborate my point further by going into the details of my position. Until then, peace out.

Text Messages 8

24 July 2009

Sometimes, some forwarded text messages are so sentimental but you never tire of reading them because they were sent by someone special. I, for one, have received the corniest messages but if it came from a certain person, I just roll my eyes, smile and continue reading...

...and yes, I don't forward these messages.

Time maybe so fast that we can't guess how long this friendship would stay but even if time keeps us apart, even when chances pushes me out and away, remember that I'll never stop to care because despite my absence between gaps and distances, the promise of you and me being friends remains, lasts, and persists. It may not be under the arms of togetherness and bonding. Beyond words, beyond spaces, beyond hindrances. Friends till the end. This is my commitment signed by: Gyl
Argyl Serrano, July 23, 2009

Destiny belongs to those who believe in the beauty of their dreams and have the courage to pursue it. Don't stop when you're tired. Stop when you're done!
Jeff De Leon, July 22, 2009

Juan: Oi, unsa na? Pinya? Hatag beh.
Pedro: Hatag? Asa ka adtong nananom ko? Adtong nangharvest ko? Adtong naglisod ko? Asa ka?
Juan: Napriso man gud ko. Nakapatay kog laog.
Pedro: Awww...kuha lang. Kapayas, gusto ka?
Mary Ann Andicoy, July 21, 2009

A smile makes us look younger while prayers make us feel stronger and good friends? They remind us the beauty of Life.
Ate Cathy, July 21, 2009

Pacquiao: Honey, buksan mo na yung sweets.
Jinky: Saan? Ang lambing mo naman, may pasalubong ka pa sa akin.
Pacquiao: Yung sweets ng ilaw. Ang dilim, you know!
Mary Ann Andicoy, July 21, 2009

Great friendship is about two main things: First, is to find out the similarities and second, is to respect the differences. Take care
Charlotte, July 20, 2009

Parrot said sa niagi nga boy...
Parrot: Batig nawong!
Boy: Sulti paka ana usab, patay jud ka!
Next day...
Parrot: Pssst!
Boy: Unsa man?
Parrot: Kato gud! Hehehehe.
Rogelyn Donor, July 19, 2009

Minsan ang pag-ibig parang ibon: kailangan pakawalan, kailangan palayain. Babalik yun kung sa iyo pero kung hindi, hala! Pintika! Yaters! Talagsa ra ta maghigugma, mulupad pa!
Mary Ann Andicoy, July 25, 2009

One day, all of us will get busy with our lives. No more drinking sessions, long hours of talks, or even SMS. Some will get married, won't have time. At such a day, you will look outside your window and see the good old memories flash you by and you will get a smile with a tear in your eyes and think, "I wish I could go back". I sent you this message because I want to thank you for the memories you left in my life. Thank you for the friendship.
Ate Cathy, July 18, 2009

A hot girl in a resort walks to a guy.
Girl: Do you know how to swim?
Guy: (boastful) Why? Mura kog swimmer?
Girl: No! Mura kag nokos!
Mary Ann Andicoy, July 17, 2009

I'll be isolating myself from the rest of the flirt, promiscuous gay world starting today.
Kit Loma, July 15, 2009

A very useful asset is not a head full of knowledge but a heart full of love, with an ear ready to listen and a hand willing to help.
Mary Ann Andicoy, July 11, 2009

To all my friends who did love me, Thanks! To those who fooled me, soon it's my turn! To those who made me feel sweet, I hope it will happen again! To the person who loves me, I love you too. To plastics, Go plastikan tayo! To people I've hurt, forgive me! And to the person who is reading this, you know where you belong.
Ate Cathy, July 10, 2009

Use Difference and Differences in a sentence!
Kuan..."You'll be Difference and I'll be Differences. It's a love story, baby, just say yes."
Edwin Gutierrez, July 9, 2009

Sosyal nga girl nipalit ug Ice water
Girl: Ayu.
Tindera: Unsa man?
Girl: Palit daw ug mineral water...kadtong sachet.
Edwin Gutierrez, July 8, 2009

"Bombing In Mindanao"

21 July 2009

First, the prologue.

I like watching news with the old man. He rants out at just about everything he sees and listens to on the evening TV news. Despite his seemingly obnoxious comments, one redeeming factor he has is that he is fully aware of just how crappy much of the news shown on TV really are. And, apparently, he has no pity for the news reporters who must churn out whatever news bite there is, no matter how crappy, in order to keep their jobs.

Last night, I was in yet another stage of "developing my socio-civic awareness"; my dad and I were watching the NBN evening news. We came to the part when the news anchor began reporting about another bomb blast in Cotabato. However, to the distress of my father, the headlines below the screen said "Bombing in Mindanao"!

The tirade was almost immediate. Why "Bombing in Mindanao"? The blast happened in Cotabato so why couldn't the headlines read "Bombing in Cotabato" for crying out loud? Why implicate the whole island? Why reinforce the general perception that Mindanao is a dangerous place when the truth is most of the island's cities and provinces are peaceful and safe?

In the end, Papa could only frown at the screen as Mama finally suggested he write about it to somehow correct the error in presentation (which he won't because, well, he just won't). What compounded the issue was that the news was from the National Broadcasting Network and a government-owned entity at that (Chances are, the company is blissfully unaware that they are jeopardizing the economic development of an entire island by its false generalizations). As if to make matters worse, the news about the bombing in Cotabato was also aired on Q, with the same headline.

I was left to ponder the question: Why? Why would the news reporter do that? Is it to make his news bite more news-worthy or more sensational? Or is it simply because these reporters are not that familiar with Mindanao geography so they use the name "Mindanao" quite blatantly just to keep things simple? What could be the probable reason?

The next question that went through my mind was: Why only us? Why don't they apply it to incidents outside of Mindanao (example: "Bombing in Luzon", "NPA attacks in Visayas" etc...)? Why the "preferential treatment", you might say?

Come to think of it, it's unfair really and I think this issue is as old as my lola's house but it's still here. I do hope, as always, that things will change. Maybe, we should have an awareness seminar of sorts for this issue. Or, on the other hand, maybe it's more practical to stick to hate mail.

If so, I better start writing...

Saydlayn

20 July 2009

A short story

Alas-sais na sa buntag. Dugay ko kamata. Naog sa silong, tulog pa si Manay. Samuk. Wala napuy pamahaw. Balik sa kwarto. Dali-dalig ilis panglakaw. Bahala na walay ligo. Kung kabalo ko sa mga aplikante, halos kasagaran sa ilaha wala pa puy ligo. Gawa sa balay. Sugod ug baktas. Pasaylua jud ko Nit, wa napud ko kamatag sayo.

Pagkita sa gawas sa opisina, daghan na kaayo'g nakalinya. Hapit tanan mga babaye gikan sa bukid. Akong tagna? Taga-Cotabato, kay naka-kombong tanan. Mga Muslim. Edaran na pero naa puy uban nga batan-on pa kaayo. Asa sila padulong? Katabang paadtog Middle East?

Giingnan ko kaniadto. Kasagaran sa ilaha, muabot ug Dabaw gabii pa lang. Tapos, dinha na mangatulog sa gawas para pagka-ugma diretso na ug linya. Dira napud mukaon, mao nga nagkatag ang agi kay bisan asa na lang ipanglabay ang plastik ug dahon sa saging.

Molinya na lang ko uy. Kung tama ang tagna, ika-singkwenta pa ko sa linya. Ayos na ni. Karon, asa na si Nit?

"Kaganiha pa na sila kadlawon ba!" Si Nit. Pahunghung pero klaro nabwisit.

"Sus. Kung ingon ana ka ka-sayo, ikaw na lang sana nilinya."

"Mura pug kabalo ka mu-storya ug tawo, no? Ayaw nag hawa. Madugay-dugayan pa ta dinhi."

Nihawa si Nit. Tama siya, madugayan pa ko. Wa ko kabantay, nidaghan na'g kalit ang mga tawo. Hapit na alas-syete, musugod nag abot ang uban aplikante. Mga walay tarong tulog, wala tarong kaon.

Ang uban aplikante, wa na nilinya. Nagtapok na lang dapit sa entrans. Sigurado ko, plano ani, musingit unya pag-abri.

Alas-syete y medya na. Sugod nag kainit, pati mga ulo. Si Nit, sige pag suroy-suroy, nangitag tawo. Gikulbaan na mao nga naligo nag singot. Sugod nag kasaba ang mga tawo sa pila. Sigeg pangatawa, pangasaba sa mga musingit, pangutana kung unsang buhaton, sige'g istorya. Ang uban naghilom-hilom pa, sigeg tan-aw sa kalsada, sa langit, lalum ang mga gipanghuna-huna (siguro).

"Saudi mo padulong, day? Basi rape-un lang mog Arabo didto", ingon sa usa ka lalake sa unahan sa iyahang gika-istorya na babayeng Muslim.

"Hoy! Pagpilag tarong! Bawal na nang singit-singit dira! Kining mga bayhana, dili ni pwede diri ba", pangasaba sa usa ka lalake na dakog lawas.

"Unsa mani uy! Pilipino lang man ta tanan diri. Naa pa juy mag-maru-maru. Maglinya'g tarong!", hirit pa sa usa ka babaye na nagbitbit ug bata.

"Excuse mem saan po ba magsisimula?", pangutana sa usa ka chicks sa likod. Halata na sosyal, ug naay pagka-tanga. Nagtuga-tugag suot ug high heels.

"Dili na man ka kinahanglangan maglinya, nay. Priority man ang senior citizen. Didto namu atang sa entrance."

"Maayo sana, butangan nilag lingkuranan ning linya. Para di ta maglisod ba. Mga pila pa gud ta ka oras maghinulatay diri", reklamo sa usa pa jud ka babaye. Palibhasa, kung kinsa tong datu, panay reklamo, ug kung pobre, walay saba-saba.

Hapit na mag-alas-otso. Niabot na ang gwardiya. Asa naman ka Nit?

"26 naka day? Mura pa man kag minor. Peke ning birth certificate nimo no? Asa imong Voter's ID? Peke mani! Itum kaayo!" Gipag-initan ang usa ka aplikante sa may tumoy. "Kinsa diay imong Papa? Wa ka kabalo sa ngalan sa imong amahan? Dili man siguro ni imuhang certificate. Aguy. Di jud ni pwede."

"Alangan, mubutang kog wala diri. Wala man jud gender akong birth certificate," ingo pa sa usa ka murag seaman sa iyahang kauban.

Gikuhit napud ko sa likod. Si Nitoy. "Ding, naa na. Nagbayad na siya. Muduol siya unya. Lalake, tabaon. Naka-pula ug polo."

"Sige. Pila iyang gibayad?"

"Three hundred. Kung mupila pa ka hangtud sa entrans, naa pa siyay isingit. Pag-umangkon niya. Mudagdag daw siyag usa ka gatos."

"Ayaw na, Nit. Daghag maka-matngon, basi daghag ma-bwisit."

"Kaw bahala. Padulongay na siya."

Niabot nang tawo. Naka-polo ug pula. Tama, taba jud diay. Naka-kwintas bulawan, pulseras. Rolex ata ang relo. Shades. Politiko ni. Igo lang ko gitapik sa likod ug nag-ilis namig pwesto.

Nagbitbit nag yabe ang gwardiya. Alas-otos na.

Lawak nami ni Nit palayo. Tunga mi sa three hundred. Mantas pud nig agi si Nit. Katong tawo na to, pirti tong kadatu. Tapos, igo lang ko ingnan na three hundred lang iyahang nakuha? Pagka-animal. Nag-ngisi nang buang. Kabalu ko sa imong pagkamaru, doy. Ugma na ka.

Balik tan-aw sa pila. Gi-abri na ang opisina. Ug kalit-kalit, ang mga tawo na nag-istambay sa daplin sa entrans, ningdagan pasulod. Pati ang mga nasa pila, nagdasok pud. Nag-unhanay tanan. Stampede.

"Hoy! Unsang gamit sa linya? Pag-linya mog tarong!" Nishagit pa ang usa ka aplikante. Pero wala na siya nadunggan kay nagkayagaw na tanan. Ang lalake na naka-polo ug pula, pula napud ang nahung sa kasuko. Sigeg Ingles, nabwisit. Sigeg suksok, pero di kaduol sa entrans sa kadaku sa tiyan.

Nag-ngisi na lang ko. Mamasada pa ko. Hantud ugma puhon.

Note: I wrote this story prior to leaving for Manila. This was supposedly the second of my two entries while applying for a spot in the Davao Writers Workshop 2008. The idea of this story was formed while lining up for my passport in the DFA. About a year later, I found out that such sideline jobs are actually commonplace, particularly in TV game shows.

Comeback

19 July 2009

This morning, I fumbled some lines and forgot some cues on the way to what would be an exceptionally normal comeback.

After being absent in the scene for more than a year, I once again donned the long-sleeved barong for this morning's mass. I arrived early to practice reciting the readings only to find out that I was supposed to be the commentator. It was the 31st National Disability Rehabilitation and Prevention week and two blind lectors where chosen to read the Scriptures.

I initially freaked out at this change of plans. That's because, on the one hand, being a mass reader was no sweat. All I had to do was memorize the cues when to go to the lectern and, after the readings, participate as part of the laity for the rest of the mass. But on the other hand, being a commentator was a different thing. It meant I had to consciously familiarize myself again with the flow of the mass and jot down a few things to remember by. In the end, there was no turning back. I was the commentator and, with sweaty palms and shaking hands, I did my job.

Fortunately, everything ended quite pleasantly. I did what I had to do and forgave myself for some nasty errors on my part, all of which will be forgotten by parishioners as the days trod on. The good thing about this exercise was it helped calmed down my nerves and reassured me that I still have it (whatever that is).

...which reminds me that I have another assignment on Tuesday. Hope I would be less of a nervous wreck by then. And sometimes, I do wonder where my self-confidence goes for vacation.

Oo nga naman, Lord?

Most Improved Student Award

17 July 2009

Last night, when I was contemplating on what I wrote during a previous job entry, I hit upon this weird idea: why not give a special award for students who have shown the most positive improvement in academic and extra-curricular performance for the school year?

Then it hit me how absurd some claims are regarding this whole award-giving practice prevalent in schools. One such claim is that awards are there to bolster the whole student body to work harder in class. Such an assumption actually follows what seems to be a logical process. First, a top-notch student gets an award for an achievement. He is formally awarded in front of his peers and on the stage.

This moment, I believe, is the most crucial function of the award. That's because the awardee is exposed to the supposed "adulation" and applause of his peers, reinforcing the awardee's desire to strive harder in his studies or in whatever he is doing. It also has a second function, that is, it also inculcates and stimulates the same desire to do better among the awardee's peers or among his batch mates, such that the entire student body is motivated to work harder in the hope that, one day, they will be the ones who will climb up the stage and receive the same recognition as the awardee.

I'm not quite sure if I got it right on the motivation part (I'm not a Psychology major after all) but I'm pretty sure I have the process covered. And I also know that there must be a flaw to this whole common sense approach on the rationale for having an awarding ceremony. That's because one factor that is usually overlooked is the perception of most of the students. To put it simply, most students don't identify themselves with the awardee on the stage and, with this, the whole logical process described earlier falls apart. In this case then, any awarding ceremony is futile when it comes to trying to fulfill the second function.

This leads me to my proposal. Aha! Why not initiate a Most Improved Student Award in schools today (a.k.a the MIS-award)? The main criterion for the award is already written above and the technicalities will simply have to be sorted out per school.

But why would this award be considered a necessity when schools right now are already handing out a lot of awards to their students every year? One way to answer this is by looking at the demographics of those students who are often the recipients of these awards. Other than varsity players, most of these recipients come from the elite group of the batch. In my experience in High School, majority of the awards go to the students of the honor's class. The problem is students in the general sections don't identify with the honor's class. Hence, they are not motivated to pursue the same awards as fervently as the honor's class students do.

Enter the MIS-award. As the name suggests, the recipients of this award will usually come from the greater majority of students who are struggling in their studies. These recipients are students who may not be at the top of their batch but have shown a significant improvement in their academic standing. These recipients are most likely problem students who, thanks probably to the guidance and support of their class moderators and classmates, have "heroically" changed for the better over the course of a school year. Don't these kids deserve an award too?

Basically, the MIS-award solves the identification dilemma because most students would identify with this awardee, who is very much a part of their demographic: a student who is not as gifted in terms of intellectual acumen but has nevertheless been able to achieve a personal landmark, whether it be passing all subjects for the first time or simply making sure he or she doesn't receive an axe for a grade. Chances are, the student body as a whole would be more motivated to study harder because of this exemplary performance as compared to, say, someone who won the National Quiz Bee or who won a national leadership award.

So there it is. I've ran out of steam but before I end this, let me clarify that I'm not saying that adding this award in the recognition ceremony will make a big difference. I don't have research to back this up. But I do believe this proposal can help.

A Chat With The Devil

16 July 2009

A short story

Daryl had prayed enough.

He had been inside this church for several hours, waiting for the last moment for a calling, a voice maybe. Still, he had not heard any.

This ancient church of stone, brick and wood does not divulge its secrets easily. Even the many saintly statues adorning its facade have not betrayed an echo.

He looked at their lifeless eyes and saw nothing to reassure him. It has been a year, he thought, and after a year of reflection, of discerning, he has not achieved even a bit of inner peace.

With a sigh, he slowly walked out of the church, the most frustrating part of his day. Every morning, he kept thinking that things would be different, that he would finally hear what he wanted to hear. Yet, every afternoon, it was the same thing. More disappointments. More frustration.

"Hi, there."

Daryl looked up and saw a man. He was smiling. The man, about fifty years old, was dressed immaculately like a lay minister, in slacks and the white long-sleeved barong. His posture exuded confidence and his face hinted of an arrogance of someone who seemed to know everything in the world.

"Hello. Do I know you?"

"Oh yes. You do know me. I just came by to see how well you are doing."

"I'm doing fine. And you are..."

"You must be Daryl Monsanto of the Saint Luke's Seminary. I hear you will be returning to the seminary soon to submit your decision to the rector."

Daryl thought this man must be someone checking up on him. "Yes, you are right sir. However, I haven't made my decision yet. May I know your name?"

"Of course, I understand. You haven't made a decision yet. In fact, you haven't heard anything, have you? No voice, no "calling", no signs of any sort."

Daryl was surprised, "Excuse me? How did you know?..."

The man let out a laugh and roared, "Ha! How did I know?! Of course, I know everything about you! I am the DEVIL!"

Then it was Daryl's turn to laugh. Families of mental patients shouldn't let their ward roam the streets. "Okay sir. If you are trying to play a joke on me, it won't work. But if you are lost and need my help, tell me where your house is and I will take you there. Your family must be really worried..."

Daryl began to approach the man but suddenly, he could not move, as if his entire body had turned to stone. He could not even breathe. Daryl began to panic.

"I guess you do not understand me, Mr. Monsanto", said the man, a scowl replacing his earlier gleeful smile. "I am the Devil. And I want to have a little chat with you. Would that be all right?"

As Daryl was about to faint, the Devil tapped his shoulder. In a flash, Daryl could move and breathe. He collapsed on the pavement, still trying to catch his breath. He looked up with fear in his eyes.

The Devil smiled again, "I assume I've made my point.I apologize for that. People nowadays are so skeptical, don't you think? That is why I had to resort to violence just to have them believe me. Make no mistake, that is not my nature. But sometimes, someone like you pushes my hand. Now, let's take a walk on this church's magnificent gardens, shall we?"

They began walking. Daryl was silent for a long time. His body was still shaking from the incident earlier. His mind was exploding with ideas: Is this really the Devil? If not, then how could he have done what he did awhile ago? Why is he even here? Is this my sign? Is God telling me something? Perhaps, he is here to dissuade me from being a priest!

The Devil interrupted his thoughts, "No, God isn't telling you something, Daryl. Nor I am here to dissuade you from what you want to become. I have only a few minutes to spend with you anyway so why don't we start talking?"

"What do you want with me?", fumed Daryl, with fists clenched.

"You can relax now. Don't be afraid. I'm not going to hurt you nor was I bent on killing you then. I came to answer some questions that have bothered you since."

"And what are those?"

"Tell me, Daryl. When you were young, you wanted to be a priest. You always had this image of you raising up the host and the chalice to heaven during the Eucharist. A beautiful image. And you would imagine that every time a priest would raise the host and the chalice in mass, bolts of lightning would come down from heaven, touching both, transforming them into the body and blood of Christ. You had such a vivid imagination."

"Yes. That was before."

"That was before? What changed, Mr. Monsanto? Oh, I know. You grew up and a lot of things changed. You saw the world, with its unexplainable evil. You realize that, despite the claims of many, the Bible is indeed fallible, your religion is flawed and everything is absurd. Am I right?"

"So? What are you driving at?"

The Devil grinned, "I would have preferred a longer prelude to what I have to reveal but since you are very intent, then I have to be frank with you. Until now, you keep asking yourself: why is the world this way? Why, after centuries of human civilization, behind the illusion of progress and change, the world as you know it is still wretched and disgusting? Well, let me tell you the truth. Because this is not the world! This is already Hell!"

Daryl stared blankly at the Devil.

"What? This is already Hell?"

"Yes. And lest of course you do not believe in me, I'll have to do to you again what I did before. This is Hell, Daryl. This thought has been lurking in your mind ever since and now I have come to confirm it. Face it."

Daryl began to stutter. This was insane. In seconds, the questions began coming out. "But, how could this be hell? In hell, you don't see priests, monks, rabbis, sheiks roaming around, do you? Even more so, you do not see Holy Scriptures or anything of that sort in Hell!"

"Before I explain myself, Daryl, I will rebut your arguments. First, contrary to what you have been "taught", Hell is the shadow of the world. The world does have its God-fanatics like its priests, monks, rabbis, sheiks and so on. Hence, it is understandable that Hell features these classes of men here too. It also has the "Holy Scriptures", albeit a more morbid version of the real scriptures found in the world. Everything is the same in Hell as it is in the world but Hell is, shall we say, more depressing."

The Devil stopped talking, looked around and pointed at the distance, at an old priest at the church entrance conversing to some women.

"You see that priest? He is a pedophile. Six boys and counting, spanning a career of twenty years. You quit being an altar boy when you were still young. Am I right, Daryl?"

Daryl froze. Nobody ever knew.

"That was because you were molested by a pedophile priest. Unfortunately, you escaped and you vowed to become a priest someday to cleanse yourself of your imperfect past and to somehow redeem your view of priests and of priesthood. However, you have always asked yourself why a man of God can do such a thing. Well, the answer is simple. You are in Hell and everyone here is a sinner. That is why we have vicious murderers, rapists, criminals. And no matter what the government does, still they are here. That's because you were all criminals to begin with even before you all got here. You have heard of original sin? That's because all of you are reborn into Hell already damned."

"As for the Scriptures, you could not comprehend why the Word of God could be riddled with so many fallacies, imperfections, and mistranslations. You could not comprehend why some passages of the Bible could not be reconciled with historical data or are vehemently antagonistic of your notion of an all-benevolent God. Let me tell you. The Scriptures here are corrupted, Daryl. They bear no semblance to truth. Even its version of Hell is far from what it is in reality."

Daryl pondered this point. He realized that they have stopped walking and are now sitting on the grass. A smile crept up to his face.

"If what you are saying is true, then I must be relieved. I always thought of Hell as a place of eternal fires and torment. From what I am seeing right now, everything is more pleasant."

"But this is torment, Daryl. Certainly, this is not the traditional Christian version of Hell but it is certainly Hell still. Everyone may still have "family, love and friendship" to comfort them here, but that does not hide the fact that everyone here has anguish and hopelessness. I know you feel it in your gut. Everyone feels wretched. Why is that so? It is because there is no God here, Mr. Monsanto."

"That can't be."

"Oh, yes it is. You wonder why there is no voice, no calling up to now? It is because there is no God to begin with. God is silent in Hell. Not even his Word can reach this place. That is why, despite contrary opinions by many of you, there can be no realization of ideals in here. Justice, Hope, Peace, Equality and all those crap are to remain only as figments of your imagination, always in the conscious but always impossible to realize. In your judicial courts, many may find "justice" but there are countless other people who will never ever find it in their stay here. That goes for those who pursue peace, or whatever. They know, deep inside them, that it is impossible. They can only do so much and that is frustrating. That is torment."

"Is this our only punishment?"

"Apparently, no. You all are also condemned to a finite, senseless existence. You are forced to live in Hell, where Evil is rampant and ultimately unexplainable, where meaning and purpose is never found unless artificially constructed by you. All souls, when they die, either go to Heaven or Hell. You know that. The difference is that when you go to Heaven, you get eternal bliss. When you go to Hell, you live miserably and die. When you die here, your soul vanishes forever."

"No more afterlife?"

"This is the afterlife. A lot of people still believe in it, that when they die, they go somewhere else. But this is their "somewhere else". After this, there is nowhere else to go."

They both were silent for a long time. Daryl gazed at the sunset. Very beautiful, he thought, but very tragic too.

Daryl broke the silence. "Let me guess. Your telling me all of this is part my of my torment, am I correct? You know that I could have been ignorant yet blissful instead of knowledgeable but morose."

"No, this is not your torment. But if it makes you feel that way, then that is your fault. The reason I am telling you all of this is because you need to know this to perform your next job well."

"Next job? What job?"

"To be my minion, of course."

Daryl smiled at the Devil. This is certainly pathetic. "And what made you think that I can be your minion?"

"You are qualified enough. What you did with your life is already a benchmark of what you can do for me. You were already acting like my minion up there."

"I don't want to know about that. But why do you assume that I will pursue working for you?"

"That is easy. Aren't you feeling a little bit curious? Everyone here is reborn without a hint of their past lives. Are you interested to see what the world is again? Of how different it is from here? We are two worlds away from Heaven after all."

"If I were to accept your offer, what would you make me do?"

"Oh, now we are getting somewhere. You are interested."

"Don't push your luck. I am not saying anything."

"Minions collect souls. They try to cram as many souls into Hell as possible."

"And why would I do that?"

"It's a trade secret. I will tell you when you accept the job. That would be your privilege as one of my new comrades. But for now, I can only tell you that I'm planning a revolution, a revolution that will save your souls from this dismal place. But in order to do that, I must achieve critical mass. Listen, I'm running late for another appointment. Here is my card. Call me if you have decided. And lest we forget, I advise you not to pursue that vocation of yours. Now that you know something, I feel that you would be less inclined to pursue that line of work. Goodbye."

The Devil handed Daryl a gold-plated business card and walked away. Daryl examined it for a long time and every so slowly slid it into his pocket. He let out another sigh, stood up and looked at the sunset again.

Clearly, there is more reflection to be done.

Note: I wrote this story prior to leaving for Manila. This was supposedly the first of my two entries while applying for a spot in the Davao Writers Workshop 2008.

Taxi

It still surprised me why the taxi driver gave me back my money. It happened last week when I was acting as a babysitter for my sister on her way to ballet class. We rode a taxi and the meter read P72.50. I gave P75.00 but the driver promptly gave back to me P5.00 because, apparently, he didn't have loose change with him. The fact only dawned on me by the time the taxi sped off:

I was in Davao City after all.

Back in Manila, riding a taxi meant going into psychological warfare. If you happened to be in the wrong place (like I always was), you had to wait for 48 years before a taxi magically appears. On the other hand, if you were in the right place like the malls, you had to contend with falling in line along with other passengers. Nothing bad with this really, except that it could waste 30 minutes to 1 hour of your life. So, even before you can ride the taxi, you had to be emotionally ready for the whole ordeal.

And when the taxi comes, you also have to steel yourself for likely rejection. You have to voice out your destination with the right words so it won't appear that far or that deserted. And you also have to learn how to slam the front door just right and frown with seething eyes when the driver denies you.

And when you're already riding a taxi, you have to be extremely vigilant lest the driver veers you off the wrong way. Also, when it's time to pay, you have to pay big time. Manila taxi drivers are notorious for asking extra. If you are a cheapskate, you need not worry but if you are someone who wants to avoid trouble, you can find yourself digging deeper into your wallet.

That's Manila for you. But I was already in Davao City and I had to remind myself time and again that these humble taxi drivers are the good guys; that they would never fail to give me my exact change or sacrifice a measly P2.50 if they don't have any; that they would never reject any passenger and would probably even tell me where a particular place is if I didn't know.

Still, I would find myself tensing up a bit every now and then while riding a taxi. Maybe my Manila experience isn't that easy to shake off.

That's also why I don't like pompous Manila people who come here and pay our taxi drivers extra because they are doing a "good job". For crying out loud, these people are justifying additional monetary compensation because these drivers are doing the right thing which is comparable to giving, say, a postman some money for delivering your mail. I don't know about the side of our taxi drivers (They probably like tourists very much), but this practice is quite nonsensical and can be self-defeating if permitted to persist.

Why do I say so? Well, I'm just worried that our taxi drivers might get used to the idea that they "deserve" tips. And if that happens, then it's Manila once again, with taxi drivers withholding spare change or, even worse, demanding additional payment. Even now, I shudder at the thought.

Actually, I started writing this post last June but delayed publishing because I didn't know how to end it. Until now, I still don't. But who cares, anyway?

Lectors of San Pablo

12 July 2009

Last night, I had the opportunity to catch up with a group of acquaintances in Davao: the Lectors and Commentators of San Pablo Parish. They were having their monthly meeting and I thought of joining them just to see some more familiar faces.

How I got involved in this group stretches back when I was still a college kid. As an English major, I was looking for ways to enhance my communication skills and Mama had the idea of me trying out for a spot in our church's lectors. Fortunately, there was an "audition" for lectors in our church one Saturday night and I was lucky enough to join it.

So that was the beginning and, ever since then, I've read the scriptures countless times for countless masses. What impressed me about the group (and kept me going, I should add) was the spirit of volunteerism. For something as mundane as reading Bible scriptures for the mass, we still had to sacrifice a bit of our personal time and resources in order to do so.

Last night, I met once again the usual suspects: Ate Cris, si Tatay, Sir Alex, Attorney Cruzabra, Ate Agnes, Bernie, In-in, Elaine, Ate Hannah, Jonah, Ate Eva, the indefatigable mother-daughter duo: Ate Effie and Ylen. Add to that were some new recruits, professionals and youth alike. Sadly, there were some people I hoped to see but who weren't there, like Ate Cathy, Ma'am Susan, Sir Ronald, and the rest who weren't able to make it for the evening's gathering ( I sure do hope they are not yet part of the attrition rate).

Honestly, even before I arrived for the meeting, I already had reservations about joining it. I wasn't sure if I would still belong, considering I've been missing in action for quite some time now and the last time I met these guys was last year during the Christmas party.

But I was touched because I was still warmly welcomed by the group despite my year-long absence. Sure, there were some questions about where on Earth I was but I have to admit that I was deeply moved when they smiled, greeted and chatted with me (You really have to start cherishing and loving these people, Pao). Despite the simplicity of the gestures, those were enough to get me started again.

And, boy, am I getting started, with my own set of masses to serve. And truth be told, I really love second beginnings and I also love this group. Peace out.

Cop Rapist

11 July 2009

There must be a special place in Hell for crooks such as these:

Meet Cesario Darantino, a former cop who has been accused of rape by no less than six women, including the wife of a fellow police officer.

I just happened to read the Sunstar article this morning and I was utterly disgusted by this news. As far as my opinion goes, the three worst types of crime in this world, based on the psychological impact on the victims and the sheer evil necessary in the part of the perpetrator to commit the crime, are murder, torture and rape. Yet this rape case descends to a new low because the suspect in question is a cop, a public servant whose task is to serve and protect (not to mention that he is also sullying the occupation that my cousins are into makes him all the more despicable).

I don't know about you but I believe that, here in the Philippines, if a woman accuses a man of rape, there's a very, very, very big possibility that the suspect is guilty. That's because accusing someone of rape takes a lot of courage and in this chauvinistic country of mine, there are many societal factors which try to silence the victims. For instance, in this particular case, there is always the very real threat of the suspect exacting "revenge" or for a "high ranking official" to turn his cowardly back on the women by withdrawing support. Clearly, the person who accuses someone of rape has a lot to lose and so little to gain. So forgive me for judging the suspect guilty until proven innocent because the odds of the women telling the truth is quite high (and haven't I told you that most of the rape victims are also police officers?).

In the end, all I can do is hope and pray that these women be granted justice.

And can somebody cut off this man's organ too? Thank you.

I Am The Dog Grave Digger

10 July 2009

Okay. Forgive me first for being gross.

That's because I just have to relate what has been happening this week. Last Sunday, our flea-ridden family dog, Shobi, surprised us all by giving birth to originally "six" puppies. My sisters commented that the number was just right because we were six siblings after all ( I don't actually mind naming a puppy "Paolo").

But over the next few days, a nasty smell pervaded the house and it was clear that a puppy just died. Since I was the bum, the responsibility fell on me to be the grave digger. I found the puppy carcass conveniently thrown out of the dog cage so I started burying the poor fellow. That night, I told my sister there were seven puppies originally since I counted six after burying the dead one.

However, that wasn't the last of my troubles. The smell didn't go away and it was apparent that there was another dead puppy out there. I searched again but to my consternation, there wasn't any corpse. Mama reasoned out that the smell might be caused by Shobi's dried blood or placenta or whatever fluid came out during the birth.

Then this morning, after I washed our dog (Anyway, if you don't mind, can someone recommend me an effective anti-flea/lice dog shampoo, especially something that kills ear mites on the spot? Thank you.), I found the second puppy. It was only skin and muscle filled with maggots all over. The probable reason why I didn't discover it earlier was because it was covered with dust. So I set out to dig up another grave and I buried the poor creature. I told Papa there were eight puppies originally, six alive and two down.

In my family, this cycle often pervades: one family member brings home a dog. But another family member takes care of the dog (often, this job goes to Mama). Then, when the dog dies, the ones who usually bury it are the Bataller brothers: that's me and my two brothers. Rarely does the perceived "owner" take part in burying the dog. This is probably why I'm not that keen into dogs, or pets in general, because the dirty, smelly job of disposing them fell on me (or, if I'm lucky, to my brothers).

I believe my brothers and I already have a lifetime of stories on burying dogs. For some odd reason, our dogs never live to a ripe old age. We've buried dogs which were hit-and-run victims. We've buried dogs bloated to twice their size because of all the gases inside their corpses. We've buried small dogs, medium-sized dogs, and large dogs. We've buried dogs in the morning, in the afternoon, and in the dead of night.

In fact, if some future archeologist would decide to dig up our house, chances are he would be overwhelmed by the number of dog skeletons surrounding our humble abode (He'll probably deduce that our family is a band of dog serial killers).

So what am I driving at? Well, it just dawned on me that if ever there was a criteria for what a real dog owner should be, one prerequisite should be included: that is, the owner must have buried his own dog in the past. That's because burying a dog takes courage and only real owners can stomach the entire venture and still love the dog so much as to utter a few sincere words of farewell afterwards.

I think I'm going to stay away from dogs for awhile.

Question Marks in Shrine Hills

09 July 2009

This morning, I chanced upon a news bit concerning the rapid site development in Shrine Hills and, let me tell you, it was not good news.

As a brief background, even before I left for Manila, parts of Shrine Hills had already been denuded of trees in preparation for the development of high-end hillside subdivisions. I remember silently grimacing to myself every time I passed by the Alexian Brothers Matina Health Center along McArthur Highway. That's because every time I passed that certain landmark, I would always gaze up at the huge backdrop of the Health Center: the towering facade of Shrine Hills in the distance, engulfed in trees as it commanded the entire horizon. Nowadays, every time I pass by, all I see are huge mansions precariously nestled in the hills, pavements running to and fro, and some trees who seemed to have lost interest in producing their own foliage. That's the situation then and now.

The news bit actually just confirmed a common sense assumption I had a long time ago. According to the reporter, most parts of Shrine Hills have been considered at risk of landslides. This is definitely bad news for the property developers who have already started their site preparations.

The news bit also featured a clip of councilor Avila calling for more exhaustive studies about the feasibility of developing properties in Shrine Hills in light of this alarming revelation. But I had to stifle a giggle because any real estate development in the city had to pass through the city council first, implying that most of the sites being developed in Shrine Hills already have the blessings of our dear councilors.

Now, I'm tempted to say, "I told you so!" although I didn't quite say it. But then again, hindsight never fails to make everyone appear wiser and more prudent. I hope the city council has the will to rectify their previous decision and thus avert any future tragedy.

Text Messages 7

08 July 2009

Inbox getting clogged..again...

When it rains, all birds fly for shelter but the Eagle alone avoids the rain by flying above the clouds. Problems are common to all, but attitude makes the difference.
Jeff De Leon, July 8, 2009

Anak: Nay! Nay!Unsay meaning anang "RIP" sa sementeryo?
Nanay: Dah! Anak pud oi!
Anak: Unsa lagi nay ba?
Nanay: Ku-an...kanang, "Return If Possible"...
Ate Cathy, July 7, 2009

Stages of growth and development.
3 to 8 years old: paramihan ng toys
9 to 18 years old: pataasan ng grades
19 to 25 years old: padamihan ng syota
26 to 35 years old: pagandahan ng asawa
36 to 45 years old: palakihan ng income
46 to 55 years old: padamihan ng kabit
56 to 70 years old: padamihan ng sakit
70 and above: pabonggahan ng libing
Unknown number, July 7, 2009

10 points for healthy living:
1.) More veggies, less meat
2.) More vinegar, less salt
3.) More fruits, less sweets
4.) Chew more, eat less
5.) More water, less soda
6.) More deeds, less talk
7.) More sharing, less desires
8.) More sleep, less worries
9.) More walks, less rides
10.) More laughter, less anger!
Ate Cathy, July 7, 2009

We humans have two great problems: the first is knowing when to begin; the second is knowing when to stop.- Paulo Coelho, The Zahir
Unknown number, July 5, 2009

As you observe the ricefield, you would notice which heads are bent and which ones stand up straight. Well, the empty heads are standing tall and high but the heads that are filled with grains are bending low. Indeed, the true great and strong people are humble and gentle. And they don't mind bowing low. Humility brings blessings.
Ronald Jalmasco, July 5, 2009

Friends may change and friendship evolves, but it will not truly end because friendship is not merely a one-time trip but a lifetime journey.
Ate Cathy, July 5, 2009

Day by day , we learn to grow. In growing, we learn to give. In giving, we learn to love and in loving, we learn the real essence of life.
Unknown number, July 4, 2009

Worry destroys our Thinking disrupts our Work destroys our Poise disfigures our Face. So get rid of it! Bible says: Why worry when you can pray?
Argyl Serrano, July 3, 2009

If you can't be a pencil to write anyone's happiness, then try at least to be a nice rubber to erase someone's sorrows.
Rogelyn Donor, July 3, 2009

The funny attitude of our friends is when pagmaka-uyab na, di na ta pang-replyan.
Edwin Gutierrez, June 27, 2009

Girl: Tingin mo ba 10 years from now, magkaibigan pa rin tayo?
Boy: Hmmm? 10 years? Malay mo...magka-apelyido na tayo.
Sobrang cheeeezy!
Edwin Gutierrez, June 27, 2009

Kung ang patak sa ulan kay Red Horse, mubaha pa kaya?
Edwin Gutierrez, June 27, 2009

Masakit ba ang ulo mo? Wala yan sa sakit ng ulo ng magulang mo sa iyo!
Edwin Gutierrez, June 24, 2009

Quotes from the greatest warriors:
I came. I saw. I conquered. - Julius Ceasar
I shall return. - Douglas McArthur
I will fight iniwan, iniwer, and initaym...you know. - Pacman
Edwin Gutierrez, June 24, 2009

Peep! Peep!
Padaplin mga walay load. Kay mo-agi ang Unlimited. Sakay mga All-Text. Kabit mga GaanText! Puyo mga busy...
Edwin Gutierrez, June 24, 2009

Anak: Tay, unsay english version sa utot?
Itay: Wind of change
Anak: Eh, kanang walay tingog?
Itay: Sound of silence
Anak: Kanang utot na naay kaubang igit?
Itay: Dust in the wind
Anak: Kanang wala tuyoa na utot?
Itay: Mao na ang gitawag nga Careless whisper
Edwin Gutierrez, June 21, 2009

How To Be Happy For The Rest Of Your Life

03 July 2009

The other day I was rummaging the contents of my wallet in search of my college school ID. I found the usual stuff: some money bills, ATM cards and receipts, my school ID, a blood donor card, a business card of sorts from a T-shirt company, and some plastic card protectors.

I also found, on the front part, a piece of board paper with some written instructions on "How To Be Happy For The Rest Of Your Life" written in purple ink. On the background of the paper was a smiley face. Wow. I did have this in my wallet for some time now. As I remember, this was given to me by a lay minister after an early morning mass early last year. As for the content, here goes:

How to be happy for the rest of your life:
1.) Choose to live a God-centered life
2.) Choose to be thankful
3.) Choose to be happy
4.) Choose to forgive
5.) Choose to love others
6.) Choose a sense of humor
7.) Choose to work at something meaningful
8.) Choose to be optimistic or positive
A merry heart is a good medicine with no bad side effects

Some of you might say that the instructions are quite generic, bland even( and do I dare say quite naive? There are situational factors to consider after all). But I do appreciate the fact that the instructions remind me that happiness, first of all, is and will always be a personal decision, a decision which one can make every day. Also, happiness is simply a matter of personal disposition and is not contingent on whether a person is wealthy or has many friends.

So right now, I'm resolving to renew this commitment to be happy every day. And I'm quite glad I have this set of instructions in my wallet as my kodigo.
 

Pangitaa Gud

Ang Pulong Sa Ignoy