We've all heard the news by now. But, amidst the politicking and the mockery, the question still remains:
Who is BRAVE enough to confront the Ampatuans?
Madonna Brava
22 November 2009
I was in for a good treat last Saturday night.That's because I had gone to watch Madonna Brava at the VIP theater in Gaisano Mall.
Sir Don Pagusara, a college mentor, had told me about this production in a chance encounter with him in a jeep ride last week. He also told me that admission was free (Who could ever resist that?) and that the play, a "restructured" rendition of Brecht's Mother Courage, was written by him ("This I got to see", I remember myself thinking).
According to Sir Don, the play had already done its rounds in Manila and the Visayas. Now, it was being done in home turf, in Davao City, as part of a weekend-long series of activities organized by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts. Featuring veteran actress Mrs. Shamaine Centenera-Buencamino as Madonna Brava, the play tells the story of a mother and her children, struggling to stay alive in the midst of the violence and conflict plaguing Mindanao.
I arrived early for the 7:30 PM show but the play did not start until well after 8:00 PM (The floor crew had to wait for the special guests to arrive who were, as usual, "fashionably" late).
But the wait was worth it. Heavily inundated with political themes (a necessary prerequisite in probably all of Sir Don's works), the play featured a strong cast, with superb acting from all the members, and a good musical score.
For instance, I was particularly impressed at how the actors delivered their lines. Foregoing the safer method of pre-recording the script, the actors made do with live acting, liberally inserting ad libs and changing dialogues as deemed fit. The dialogues also involved a lot of code-switching (although I cannot verify if Sir Don had purposefully done so in his screenplay) with actors delivering Tagalog lines, interspersed with Bisaya (and other dialects I don't know about).
I'm not really a critic so I won't delve into the other nitty-gritty details. Rest assured, I enjoyed the show. And other than that, the play was indeed an eye-opener for me, exposing perspectives which I would have simply glossed over back then.
I hope the producers are thinking of turning this play into a movie. That's a long shot, maybe, but this play ought to be kept for posterity.
Sir Don Pagusara, a college mentor, had told me about this production in a chance encounter with him in a jeep ride last week. He also told me that admission was free (Who could ever resist that?) and that the play, a "restructured" rendition of Brecht's Mother Courage, was written by him ("This I got to see", I remember myself thinking).
According to Sir Don, the play had already done its rounds in Manila and the Visayas. Now, it was being done in home turf, in Davao City, as part of a weekend-long series of activities organized by the National Commission for Culture and the Arts. Featuring veteran actress Mrs. Shamaine Centenera-Buencamino as Madonna Brava, the play tells the story of a mother and her children, struggling to stay alive in the midst of the violence and conflict plaguing Mindanao.
I arrived early for the 7:30 PM show but the play did not start until well after 8:00 PM (The floor crew had to wait for the special guests to arrive who were, as usual, "fashionably" late).
But the wait was worth it. Heavily inundated with political themes (a necessary prerequisite in probably all of Sir Don's works), the play featured a strong cast, with superb acting from all the members, and a good musical score.
For instance, I was particularly impressed at how the actors delivered their lines. Foregoing the safer method of pre-recording the script, the actors made do with live acting, liberally inserting ad libs and changing dialogues as deemed fit. The dialogues also involved a lot of code-switching (although I cannot verify if Sir Don had purposefully done so in his screenplay) with actors delivering Tagalog lines, interspersed with Bisaya (and other dialects I don't know about).
I'm not really a critic so I won't delve into the other nitty-gritty details. Rest assured, I enjoyed the show. And other than that, the play was indeed an eye-opener for me, exposing perspectives which I would have simply glossed over back then.
I hope the producers are thinking of turning this play into a movie. That's a long shot, maybe, but this play ought to be kept for posterity.
Collateral
21 November 2009
A short story (Copied from Dagmay.kom.ph)
The unpaved, dusty dirt road seemed to stretch on forever. We were on our way to Pangutusan to visit the farm because Uncle Jeffrey was eager enough to test his brand-new CRV on rough terrain. So there we were, on a farm road bordered by jungles of trees and corn stalks, heading to nowhere. I listened while Lola, Aunt Len, and Uncle Jeffrey chatted the ride away.
Even back in the poblacion, I was already reluctant to go but Uncle Jeffrey persuaded me to. He told me that I should visit Lola’s farm more often because we, her grandchildren, would be inheriting it later on. Inheriting the farm interested me so I went along.
“It has been such a long time,” grinned Lola, gazing out the window. She had not visited the farm for about a year.
“Have you heard anything about Nong Felipe, Ma? The harvest season was supposed to be last month,” asked Uncle Jeffrey.
“Hay, naku. Nong Felipe stole our share again. I bet he already sold all the durian by now. And the bananas too!” my Aunt Len replied.
“It is my fault, actually. I should have visited more often just to let them know I am still the owner, that they cannot get away with anything just yet. But I do not have any means of transport. Your brother’s tricycle is still broken,” Lola responded resentfully.
“Don’t be hard on yourself, Ma,” said Aunt Len, “Even if you had been visiting regularly, Nong Felipe would just say it was a bad harvest and he still won’t be giving you anything.”
After what seemed like a very long time, we finally stopped at a shabby, nipa house alongside the road. Its windows were tattered and its walls had holes. It seemed abandoned and forlorn, save for a dog in the yard who kept barking at us.
Uncle Jeffrey sounded the horn several times before all of us disembarked. And when we did, a short, thin man emerged from the house’s front door. When he stepped out into the light, I could see he had a very aged face, replete with wrinkles, eye bags, creases and a head of white hair. He was a haggard, worn man and it showed.
So, this must be the famous Nong Felipe.
“Good morning, Felipe. We just came to get our share,” greeted Lola. “Perhaps, you still have something to give us?”
Nong Felipe, who was apparently feeling discomfort, blindly scratched his neck. “Ay, manang. I am really sorry. The weather had been bad recently. A lot of the fruits were ruined.”
Uncle and Aunt looked at each other with smirks across their faces.
“But perhaps I could interest you with coconuts. There are a number of trees at the backyard. Maybe, I can climb them up for you,” offered Nong Felipe with a pathetic smile. He tried to be cheerful but appeared miserable instead.
“Well, I think that would be great,” Lola said and all of us proceeded to the back of the house to watch Nong Felipe climb the trees.
It turned out we had to walk a considerable distance to the “backyard”. I had to assist Lola because her arthritic knees started hurting again. In no time, both of us were way behind.
“So, what do you think of the farm, hijo? Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lola was looking around, admiring the wild beauty of her farm. “You know, my father, your great-grandfather I mean, and Felipe’s father were friends since way back then. I still remember when I used to believe that Felipe was one of my brothers. He was my baby brother for quite some time. He and his father used to visit us so often; I started believing they were part of our extended family.
Lola giggled at the memories and like many old people, she did not hesitate in sharing some more. The farm was a wilderness then but my great-lolo, Mang Gardo, and Felipe’s father, Don Berni, both fresh immigrants from Samar, managed to take hold of it by asking the local tribesmen for some land. The tribe gave them this area. In no time, they cleared the land for planting and went on to buy new seeds.
Over time, they managed to acquire more land and slowly, they expanded their estate. The farm was as it was then, a haphazard collection of fruit trees, vegetable patches, and crop fields. But both Mang Gardo and Don Berni did not mind. What mattered was that it was theirs.
Lola and I managed to catch up just in time to see Nong Felipe climb the first coconut tree. Uncle Jeffrey and Aunt Len were sitting on some grass some distance away.
“Manang, maybe both of you should not come too close,” warned Nong Felipe, pointing to where Uncle and Aunt were clustered. “Why don’t you sit there beneath the shade?“
I sat near Aunt Len and she whispered, rather loudly, to me, “Mar, you know what? You should learn how to climb coconut trees and other farming skills. Look at your uncle. Your Lola sent him to the city at a very young age and he does not know anything about farming, let alone run a farm.”
“Of course, I do. All you need is land and some tenants to work the farm and that’s it”, intruded Uncle Jeffrey. “The trick there is to find someone trustworthy to manage the farm, someone unlike Felipe. After that, you visit your farm once in a while and collect the profits.”
I glanced at Nong Felipe, hanging precariously on a tree. I guessed he could not possibly eavesdrop on our conversation. I had to ask: “La, how did Nong Felipe become a tenant?”
Lola paused for awhile and started. “It was a long time ago, hijo. As I remember, Nong Berni had a very sickly wife. Then one time, his wife got sick and he had to send her to the regional hospital. It turned out the wife’s sickness needed a lot of money and so Don Berni asked your great-lolo for a loan.”
“And when Nong Berni could not pay it, he opted to become a tenant.”
“Of course not, silly. Your great-lolo did not agree to the loan. Instead, my father told Don Berni to give to him his share of their land in exchange for the treatment of the wife. Don Berni presumably did not know of anyone other than my father who could help. He accepted the offer, my father paid all expenses and the wife recovered shortly. After that, Mang Gardo invited Don Berni to be the chief caretaker of our family’s estate. This was the arrangement ever since I could remember.”
I prodded. “Why did Mang Gardo not agree to a loan? Why did he demand Don Berni’s land?”
Aunt Len answered, “You see, it was difficult back then. You cannot simply agree to a loan and not have collateral.”
I asked further, “What I mean is they were friends. Why couldn’t Mang Gardo just trust Don Berni with a loan and hope that Don Berni will repay the debt? Why did he have to take Don Berni’s land?”
This time, it was Uncle Jeffrey who replied. “That was exactly why Lolo gave Don Berni that offer, Mar. Because they were friends. In fact, Lolo risked the future of his family with that deal. He agreed to pay for the wife’s expenses at whatever cost. The deal nearly ruined your great-grandfather because the hospital bills were so high. But thankfully, Don Berni’s land was very fertile and had good harvests for the next four years.”
“But poor, old Don Berni”, Lola said. “He could not accept that he was landless. When he became a tenant, he worried about what would become of his children. As far as I knew, Don Berni was a very proud man. He could not imagine his children as tenants working all their lives for his friend. He tried to buy his land back but he could not. Of course, how could he? His only source of income, after he gave his land, was the pay he received from my father. So, come harvest time, it was rumored that he would climb all the fruit trees and get his share of the bounty.”
“That was how Don Berni cheated my lolo and that was also his undoing. He died under a coconut tree. Some of the other tenants said Don Berni climbed it for his usual mischief but ended losing his footing and falling instead. The fall broke his crown. After that, his children took over as chief caretakers. Unfortunately, his children learned all too well from their father”, said Aunt Len, whom I could tell, from her raised voice, that she was fuming with anger. “They steal the harvest as if they still own the land.”
Our talk abruptly ended because of a loud thud. A coconut just fell to the ground.
I was amazed. Not because we filled almost three sacks with coconuts, but because Nong Felipe managed to climb a dozen trees. What a sight: a very old man with scrawny legs and arms, climbing a tree. I could see even Uncle Jeffrey was surprised.
Finally, Nong Felipe, panting, sheathed his bolo and stood in front of lola. “Would that be enough, Manang?”
Aunt Len replied, “Oh yes. This would be enough. But could you get that last piece of coconut on that tree over there? ” She pointed to a tree. “I still see a coconut or two.”
Nong Felipe hesitated for a moment, looked at Aunt Len squarely in the eye, but proceeded to climb the tree. With extreme difficulty, he hauled himself upward. His arms and legs, tense and wiry, were testament to his effort. When he had reached the top, he unsheathed his bolo and swung it.
It missed the coconut. The coconut Aunt Len pointed to was perched too high above, too high for a man like Nong Felipe. He swung his bolo again and again but he could not reach it. Finally, with sweat all over his body and his limbs shaking uncontrollably, a defeated Nong Felipe climbed down from the tree, frustration etched over his face.
The walk back to the road was more difficult. The noon sun was high above us and the air was getting hot. All three of us men were each carrying a sack of coconuts. Once again, I found myself trailing behind with Uncle Jeffrey and Nong Felipe.
“You new here, boy?” Nong Felipe grunted. Beneath the weight I carried, I could only muster a nod.
“That figures. You’re a new face here. Must be one of your Lola’s grandsons, right?”
I did not answer and Nong Felipe interpreted my silence as a yes.
He went on. “What is good about living in the farm is that you get accustomed to the silence. Even the smallest whisper can be heard from afar.”
So, he heard our conversation. I lowered my head in embarrassment.
“You believe what you want to believe, boy. It doesn’t matter anymore.” With that, Nong Felipe walked faster, leaving me behind.
When we went back to the car, Nong Felipe thanked us for coming to visit and we thanked him for the coconuts. Lola chided him about that last climb and Nong Felipe told her he was simply too old. Then we were on our way. Nong Felipe stood in the middle of the road to wave us goodbye as we sped and left him there.
Back in the car, Aunt Len triumphantly exclaimed, “Well, I told you he would be saying those things again. Bad harvest. Bad weather. The man never runs out of excuses.”
“At least, we have a sack of coconuts. I wonder how much this would sell. You should know these things, Mar. You will be running the farm soon,” said Uncle Jeffrey.
But I did not answer him because I was looking back. Staring back at Nong Felipe still in the middle of the road, dust all over him. Staring back at a man who seemed to have lost something.
Inheriting the farm did not interest me anymore.
This story was a product of my first visit to Mama's farm in Pangutusan. She had to talk to her tenant since apparently, he was not doing a good job cultivating and maintaining the land. I later fashioned this story based on the hypothetical situation that perhaps we, the owners, were the bad guys.
The unpaved, dusty dirt road seemed to stretch on forever. We were on our way to Pangutusan to visit the farm because Uncle Jeffrey was eager enough to test his brand-new CRV on rough terrain. So there we were, on a farm road bordered by jungles of trees and corn stalks, heading to nowhere. I listened while Lola, Aunt Len, and Uncle Jeffrey chatted the ride away.
Even back in the poblacion, I was already reluctant to go but Uncle Jeffrey persuaded me to. He told me that I should visit Lola’s farm more often because we, her grandchildren, would be inheriting it later on. Inheriting the farm interested me so I went along.
“It has been such a long time,” grinned Lola, gazing out the window. She had not visited the farm for about a year.
“Have you heard anything about Nong Felipe, Ma? The harvest season was supposed to be last month,” asked Uncle Jeffrey.
“Hay, naku. Nong Felipe stole our share again. I bet he already sold all the durian by now. And the bananas too!” my Aunt Len replied.
“It is my fault, actually. I should have visited more often just to let them know I am still the owner, that they cannot get away with anything just yet. But I do not have any means of transport. Your brother’s tricycle is still broken,” Lola responded resentfully.
“Don’t be hard on yourself, Ma,” said Aunt Len, “Even if you had been visiting regularly, Nong Felipe would just say it was a bad harvest and he still won’t be giving you anything.”
After what seemed like a very long time, we finally stopped at a shabby, nipa house alongside the road. Its windows were tattered and its walls had holes. It seemed abandoned and forlorn, save for a dog in the yard who kept barking at us.
Uncle Jeffrey sounded the horn several times before all of us disembarked. And when we did, a short, thin man emerged from the house’s front door. When he stepped out into the light, I could see he had a very aged face, replete with wrinkles, eye bags, creases and a head of white hair. He was a haggard, worn man and it showed.
So, this must be the famous Nong Felipe.
“Good morning, Felipe. We just came to get our share,” greeted Lola. “Perhaps, you still have something to give us?”
Nong Felipe, who was apparently feeling discomfort, blindly scratched his neck. “Ay, manang. I am really sorry. The weather had been bad recently. A lot of the fruits were ruined.”
Uncle and Aunt looked at each other with smirks across their faces.
“But perhaps I could interest you with coconuts. There are a number of trees at the backyard. Maybe, I can climb them up for you,” offered Nong Felipe with a pathetic smile. He tried to be cheerful but appeared miserable instead.
“Well, I think that would be great,” Lola said and all of us proceeded to the back of the house to watch Nong Felipe climb the trees.
It turned out we had to walk a considerable distance to the “backyard”. I had to assist Lola because her arthritic knees started hurting again. In no time, both of us were way behind.
“So, what do you think of the farm, hijo? Beautiful, isn’t it?” Lola was looking around, admiring the wild beauty of her farm. “You know, my father, your great-grandfather I mean, and Felipe’s father were friends since way back then. I still remember when I used to believe that Felipe was one of my brothers. He was my baby brother for quite some time. He and his father used to visit us so often; I started believing they were part of our extended family.
Lola giggled at the memories and like many old people, she did not hesitate in sharing some more. The farm was a wilderness then but my great-lolo, Mang Gardo, and Felipe’s father, Don Berni, both fresh immigrants from Samar, managed to take hold of it by asking the local tribesmen for some land. The tribe gave them this area. In no time, they cleared the land for planting and went on to buy new seeds.
Over time, they managed to acquire more land and slowly, they expanded their estate. The farm was as it was then, a haphazard collection of fruit trees, vegetable patches, and crop fields. But both Mang Gardo and Don Berni did not mind. What mattered was that it was theirs.
Lola and I managed to catch up just in time to see Nong Felipe climb the first coconut tree. Uncle Jeffrey and Aunt Len were sitting on some grass some distance away.
“Manang, maybe both of you should not come too close,” warned Nong Felipe, pointing to where Uncle and Aunt were clustered. “Why don’t you sit there beneath the shade?“
I sat near Aunt Len and she whispered, rather loudly, to me, “Mar, you know what? You should learn how to climb coconut trees and other farming skills. Look at your uncle. Your Lola sent him to the city at a very young age and he does not know anything about farming, let alone run a farm.”
“Of course, I do. All you need is land and some tenants to work the farm and that’s it”, intruded Uncle Jeffrey. “The trick there is to find someone trustworthy to manage the farm, someone unlike Felipe. After that, you visit your farm once in a while and collect the profits.”
I glanced at Nong Felipe, hanging precariously on a tree. I guessed he could not possibly eavesdrop on our conversation. I had to ask: “La, how did Nong Felipe become a tenant?”
Lola paused for awhile and started. “It was a long time ago, hijo. As I remember, Nong Berni had a very sickly wife. Then one time, his wife got sick and he had to send her to the regional hospital. It turned out the wife’s sickness needed a lot of money and so Don Berni asked your great-lolo for a loan.”
“And when Nong Berni could not pay it, he opted to become a tenant.”
“Of course not, silly. Your great-lolo did not agree to the loan. Instead, my father told Don Berni to give to him his share of their land in exchange for the treatment of the wife. Don Berni presumably did not know of anyone other than my father who could help. He accepted the offer, my father paid all expenses and the wife recovered shortly. After that, Mang Gardo invited Don Berni to be the chief caretaker of our family’s estate. This was the arrangement ever since I could remember.”
I prodded. “Why did Mang Gardo not agree to a loan? Why did he demand Don Berni’s land?”
Aunt Len answered, “You see, it was difficult back then. You cannot simply agree to a loan and not have collateral.”
I asked further, “What I mean is they were friends. Why couldn’t Mang Gardo just trust Don Berni with a loan and hope that Don Berni will repay the debt? Why did he have to take Don Berni’s land?”
This time, it was Uncle Jeffrey who replied. “That was exactly why Lolo gave Don Berni that offer, Mar. Because they were friends. In fact, Lolo risked the future of his family with that deal. He agreed to pay for the wife’s expenses at whatever cost. The deal nearly ruined your great-grandfather because the hospital bills were so high. But thankfully, Don Berni’s land was very fertile and had good harvests for the next four years.”
“But poor, old Don Berni”, Lola said. “He could not accept that he was landless. When he became a tenant, he worried about what would become of his children. As far as I knew, Don Berni was a very proud man. He could not imagine his children as tenants working all their lives for his friend. He tried to buy his land back but he could not. Of course, how could he? His only source of income, after he gave his land, was the pay he received from my father. So, come harvest time, it was rumored that he would climb all the fruit trees and get his share of the bounty.”
“That was how Don Berni cheated my lolo and that was also his undoing. He died under a coconut tree. Some of the other tenants said Don Berni climbed it for his usual mischief but ended losing his footing and falling instead. The fall broke his crown. After that, his children took over as chief caretakers. Unfortunately, his children learned all too well from their father”, said Aunt Len, whom I could tell, from her raised voice, that she was fuming with anger. “They steal the harvest as if they still own the land.”
Our talk abruptly ended because of a loud thud. A coconut just fell to the ground.
I was amazed. Not because we filled almost three sacks with coconuts, but because Nong Felipe managed to climb a dozen trees. What a sight: a very old man with scrawny legs and arms, climbing a tree. I could see even Uncle Jeffrey was surprised.
Finally, Nong Felipe, panting, sheathed his bolo and stood in front of lola. “Would that be enough, Manang?”
Aunt Len replied, “Oh yes. This would be enough. But could you get that last piece of coconut on that tree over there? ” She pointed to a tree. “I still see a coconut or two.”
Nong Felipe hesitated for a moment, looked at Aunt Len squarely in the eye, but proceeded to climb the tree. With extreme difficulty, he hauled himself upward. His arms and legs, tense and wiry, were testament to his effort. When he had reached the top, he unsheathed his bolo and swung it.
It missed the coconut. The coconut Aunt Len pointed to was perched too high above, too high for a man like Nong Felipe. He swung his bolo again and again but he could not reach it. Finally, with sweat all over his body and his limbs shaking uncontrollably, a defeated Nong Felipe climbed down from the tree, frustration etched over his face.
The walk back to the road was more difficult. The noon sun was high above us and the air was getting hot. All three of us men were each carrying a sack of coconuts. Once again, I found myself trailing behind with Uncle Jeffrey and Nong Felipe.
“You new here, boy?” Nong Felipe grunted. Beneath the weight I carried, I could only muster a nod.
“That figures. You’re a new face here. Must be one of your Lola’s grandsons, right?”
I did not answer and Nong Felipe interpreted my silence as a yes.
He went on. “What is good about living in the farm is that you get accustomed to the silence. Even the smallest whisper can be heard from afar.”
So, he heard our conversation. I lowered my head in embarrassment.
“You believe what you want to believe, boy. It doesn’t matter anymore.” With that, Nong Felipe walked faster, leaving me behind.
When we went back to the car, Nong Felipe thanked us for coming to visit and we thanked him for the coconuts. Lola chided him about that last climb and Nong Felipe told her he was simply too old. Then we were on our way. Nong Felipe stood in the middle of the road to wave us goodbye as we sped and left him there.
Back in the car, Aunt Len triumphantly exclaimed, “Well, I told you he would be saying those things again. Bad harvest. Bad weather. The man never runs out of excuses.”
“At least, we have a sack of coconuts. I wonder how much this would sell. You should know these things, Mar. You will be running the farm soon,” said Uncle Jeffrey.
But I did not answer him because I was looking back. Staring back at Nong Felipe still in the middle of the road, dust all over him. Staring back at a man who seemed to have lost something.
Inheriting the farm did not interest me anymore.
This story was a product of my first visit to Mama's farm in Pangutusan. She had to talk to her tenant since apparently, he was not doing a good job cultivating and maintaining the land. I later fashioned this story based on the hypothetical situation that perhaps we, the owners, were the bad guys.
Solved: Case Of The Vanishing 350 Pesos
19 November 2009
Finally, I know what happened to my money.
For the last two months, I was confused every time I looked at my savings account online. Apparently, P350 was being deducted every month from my account. Scrutinizing my account online, the only clue I had about this unwarranted debit was its label; it was labeled "elink".
My initial assumption was that my bank was screwing me up secretly. Or perhaps, the "elink" debit was payment for services rendered for enrolling my savings account online. Still, I wasn't satisfied because as far as I know, this was the first time I experienced this and I've had my account for nearly a year already.
The mystery was finally solved when some mail came. In the mail was a letter from Greenpeace thanking me for my "donation". After reading through it, it finally dawned on me that I had registered myself months before as a Greenpeace donor.
How it all happened, I finally remembered. Several months back, I was in NCCC Mall back then, trying to register myself as a "Boto Mo, I-Patrol" volunteer. There was a Greenpeace booth beside the atrium and, lo and behold, I saw Ate Therese Pardillo, a former classmate, manning the booth. After some small talk, I found myself signing up for this donor program of theirs.
I remember confidently signing up for their program because I knew I had no money in the account number I gave them. But that apparently changed when I got my back pay and, for the next two months, I was an unconscious donor for an organization I barely even knew.
Anyway, what's done is done. At least, I know now where part of my money is going. I just hope that they put that "donation", no matter how small and insignificant, into good use.
Now, I don't intend to stop donating now that I know. But then again, I do hope that I am presented with the option to stop donating when I feel that I'm already financially depressed (On second thought, withdrawing everything from that account is probably a better idea).
For the last two months, I was confused every time I looked at my savings account online. Apparently, P350 was being deducted every month from my account. Scrutinizing my account online, the only clue I had about this unwarranted debit was its label; it was labeled "elink".
My initial assumption was that my bank was screwing me up secretly. Or perhaps, the "elink" debit was payment for services rendered for enrolling my savings account online. Still, I wasn't satisfied because as far as I know, this was the first time I experienced this and I've had my account for nearly a year already.
The mystery was finally solved when some mail came. In the mail was a letter from Greenpeace thanking me for my "donation". After reading through it, it finally dawned on me that I had registered myself months before as a Greenpeace donor.
How it all happened, I finally remembered. Several months back, I was in NCCC Mall back then, trying to register myself as a "Boto Mo, I-Patrol" volunteer. There was a Greenpeace booth beside the atrium and, lo and behold, I saw Ate Therese Pardillo, a former classmate, manning the booth. After some small talk, I found myself signing up for this donor program of theirs.
I remember confidently signing up for their program because I knew I had no money in the account number I gave them. But that apparently changed when I got my back pay and, for the next two months, I was an unconscious donor for an organization I barely even knew.
Anyway, what's done is done. At least, I know now where part of my money is going. I just hope that they put that "donation", no matter how small and insignificant, into good use.
Now, I don't intend to stop donating now that I know. But then again, I do hope that I am presented with the option to stop donating when I feel that I'm already financially depressed (On second thought, withdrawing everything from that account is probably a better idea).
Ninong Paolo
Christmas is near again.
Right now, I'm already thinking about what to give to my godchildren. What toys should I give them? Or should it be clothes? Or maybe, I should settle with food? Will cash do?
For me, deciding what to give to my godchildren is a nerve-wracking activity. That's because I do not have much first-hand experience to begin with. For instance, when I was young, I can count with just one hand the number of times my godparents gave me gifts (2 times).
To digress, I guess most of my godparents had the wrong idea that their obligations ended right after the baptismal ceremony. In fact, that shouldn't be the case. Godparents should always be there to help the parents mentor and guide the child. Also, we must never forget that godparents are also there to give their godchildren presents every Christmas (that's one thing we must never forget!).
Looking back, the most memorable gift I've ever received from a god parent was a Bible, elegantly covered with cloth. My Ninong Cho gave it to me when I was still a teenager. Never mind that it was a Protestant bible and had some books missing (Ninong Cho is a Baptist pastor). But it was probably the most meaningful gift ever, an unlikely but surprisingly useful gift.
Lest you have the idea that I'm handing away Bibles this Christmas, I'm not. My godchildren are still cute little children. There's Jilleen, the pretty daughter of my Uncle Boy and Aunt Bess. There's Ayon, the stubborn but adorable son of my Aunt Bing and Uncle Bibong. There's Junjun, the cute newborn of my Uncle Jun and Aunt Inday. And there's the angelic child of Ate Weng and Kuya Jang-jang named Vincent, the god child I never knew (I wasn't at the baptism that's why I completely forgot that I was his godfather).
Maybe, I would fare better if I ask other people for ideas. Or should I do the thinking on my own? Either way, I'm taking this gift-giving as serious business. So if you see a 22-year old guy carefully scrutinizing wares in the toys department in the coming weeks, chances are, that would be me. Peace out.
Right now, I'm already thinking about what to give to my godchildren. What toys should I give them? Or should it be clothes? Or maybe, I should settle with food? Will cash do?
For me, deciding what to give to my godchildren is a nerve-wracking activity. That's because I do not have much first-hand experience to begin with. For instance, when I was young, I can count with just one hand the number of times my godparents gave me gifts (2 times).
To digress, I guess most of my godparents had the wrong idea that their obligations ended right after the baptismal ceremony. In fact, that shouldn't be the case. Godparents should always be there to help the parents mentor and guide the child. Also, we must never forget that godparents are also there to give their godchildren presents every Christmas (that's one thing we must never forget!).
Looking back, the most memorable gift I've ever received from a god parent was a Bible, elegantly covered with cloth. My Ninong Cho gave it to me when I was still a teenager. Never mind that it was a Protestant bible and had some books missing (Ninong Cho is a Baptist pastor). But it was probably the most meaningful gift ever, an unlikely but surprisingly useful gift.
Lest you have the idea that I'm handing away Bibles this Christmas, I'm not. My godchildren are still cute little children. There's Jilleen, the pretty daughter of my Uncle Boy and Aunt Bess. There's Ayon, the stubborn but adorable son of my Aunt Bing and Uncle Bibong. There's Junjun, the cute newborn of my Uncle Jun and Aunt Inday. And there's the angelic child of Ate Weng and Kuya Jang-jang named Vincent, the god child I never knew (I wasn't at the baptism that's why I completely forgot that I was his godfather).
Maybe, I would fare better if I ask other people for ideas. Or should I do the thinking on my own? Either way, I'm taking this gift-giving as serious business. So if you see a 22-year old guy carefully scrutinizing wares in the toys department in the coming weeks, chances are, that would be me. Peace out.
Reunion
15 November 2009
It was a long time coming. But I was pretty glad we all pulled it off.
You see, last November 7-8, I finally got to meet in person the familiar faces of my classmates in 1R/S/S1/S2, my first year college class. There was Irish, Ate Mahani, Novie, Chona, Joycee, "Brother" Jose, Mark, Joel, and Jade, our honorary member. The gathering was in Dumoy Garden Resort and was supposed to have been a send-off party for Ate Mahani (who was bound for the US to become Mrs. Lindquist, the Malaysian/Filipino/American wife of Kuya Bruce).
Looking back, I guess the ball started rolling when I posted and tagged everyone on a Facebook note, raising the idea for a class reunion later this year. Imagine my relief when I found out that everyone was okay with that proposal (I was actually bracing myself for a thousand excuses from my former classmates. E.G. "busy", "kapuy", "no wawartz", "out-of-town" etc.).
Then, someone (I think it was Novie or Chona? Can't remember.) suggested we do it on the November 7th before Ate Mahani left for the country. So that's what we did.
What happened next was a showcase of brilliant planning. Okay, not quite, but I was still amazed at how everything went well despite some lapses in coordination. A lot of us promised to go but (as is often the case) only a handful came up. Some, like Emir, Nat-nat, Cleo, and Chuckie, had familial obligations to attend to and so weren't available. Others like Go and Donna were not in Davao City to begin with. Still others like Karlo and Jarrold were busy with work. But that was all right; the rule was to simply enjoy the presence of those who were actually around (and if we had been a bigger group, accommodating everyone in the small, reserved room would have been a more complicated problem).
In addition, the event was also not safe from late changes in plans. Ate Mah and the girls had to hop from one resort to another, looking for vacant accommodations. As for the food, with regard to Pinoy standards during outings, we were all going on a diet; there were no pots or any extravagant catering, just last-minute purchases from the local karinderya, some junk foods bought from the grocery, and relief goods brought by those who came later in the evening.
As to what happened during the entire overnight stay in Dumoy, we were basically just trying to catch up with each other's lives and reminiscing the good ol' days. Beforehand, Chona had suggested that I do a program to keep things in order but it was unnecessary in the end (Yes, Chona, I'll still do a program for the actual reunion. No problem on that but I do need help from someone with HR experience. Hehe.).
That night, one of the things I realized was how special these people were to me. These were the people who had been with me during that special first year in college and, though we had been apart for quite some time now, those bonds formed then can never go away.
I also realized how blessed I was to meet such a diverse cast of people, each from a different background. All night, I was regaled with a lot of stories: "Bro" and his exorcisms, his formation in the rural countryside, and the religious life. Joel and his trips to Cotabato, Red Cross kidnappings, and motherhood counseling with Ate Mahani. Mark and his exploits in DTI. Irish and her NGO experience with the natives of Malita. Novie and her stories about her mother, Malita, and the bananas of Santo Tomas. Chona and the HR work life of PWC. Joycee and her insistent interrogations with some key males in the group. Ate Mahani and her plans for the US. Jade and her beauty secrets and her prized glittering headband.
All in all, it was a good night, a night I thoroughly enjoyed. Before we all bade goodbye to each other one more time, we agreed that the actual reunion was to push through this December. Let's see what happens then (I hope more of us can come).
Even now, I'm already excited. Cheers to 1R/S/S1/S2!
You see, last November 7-8, I finally got to meet in person the familiar faces of my classmates in 1R/S/S1/S2, my first year college class. There was Irish, Ate Mahani, Novie, Chona, Joycee, "Brother" Jose, Mark, Joel, and Jade, our honorary member. The gathering was in Dumoy Garden Resort and was supposed to have been a send-off party for Ate Mahani (who was bound for the US to become Mrs. Lindquist, the Malaysian/Filipino/American wife of Kuya Bruce).
Looking back, I guess the ball started rolling when I posted and tagged everyone on a Facebook note, raising the idea for a class reunion later this year. Imagine my relief when I found out that everyone was okay with that proposal (I was actually bracing myself for a thousand excuses from my former classmates. E.G. "busy", "kapuy", "no wawartz", "out-of-town" etc.).
Then, someone (I think it was Novie or Chona? Can't remember.) suggested we do it on the November 7th before Ate Mahani left for the country. So that's what we did.
What happened next was a showcase of brilliant planning. Okay, not quite, but I was still amazed at how everything went well despite some lapses in coordination. A lot of us promised to go but (as is often the case) only a handful came up. Some, like Emir, Nat-nat, Cleo, and Chuckie, had familial obligations to attend to and so weren't available. Others like Go and Donna were not in Davao City to begin with. Still others like Karlo and Jarrold were busy with work. But that was all right; the rule was to simply enjoy the presence of those who were actually around (and if we had been a bigger group, accommodating everyone in the small, reserved room would have been a more complicated problem).
In addition, the event was also not safe from late changes in plans. Ate Mah and the girls had to hop from one resort to another, looking for vacant accommodations. As for the food, with regard to Pinoy standards during outings, we were all going on a diet; there were no pots or any extravagant catering, just last-minute purchases from the local karinderya, some junk foods bought from the grocery, and relief goods brought by those who came later in the evening.
As to what happened during the entire overnight stay in Dumoy, we were basically just trying to catch up with each other's lives and reminiscing the good ol' days. Beforehand, Chona had suggested that I do a program to keep things in order but it was unnecessary in the end (Yes, Chona, I'll still do a program for the actual reunion. No problem on that but I do need help from someone with HR experience. Hehe.).
That night, one of the things I realized was how special these people were to me. These were the people who had been with me during that special first year in college and, though we had been apart for quite some time now, those bonds formed then can never go away.
I also realized how blessed I was to meet such a diverse cast of people, each from a different background. All night, I was regaled with a lot of stories: "Bro" and his exorcisms, his formation in the rural countryside, and the religious life. Joel and his trips to Cotabato, Red Cross kidnappings, and motherhood counseling with Ate Mahani. Mark and his exploits in DTI. Irish and her NGO experience with the natives of Malita. Novie and her stories about her mother, Malita, and the bananas of Santo Tomas. Chona and the HR work life of PWC. Joycee and her insistent interrogations with some key males in the group. Ate Mahani and her plans for the US. Jade and her beauty secrets and her prized glittering headband.
All in all, it was a good night, a night I thoroughly enjoyed. Before we all bade goodbye to each other one more time, we agreed that the actual reunion was to push through this December. Let's see what happens then (I hope more of us can come).
Even now, I'm already excited. Cheers to 1R/S/S1/S2!
Still Alive
06 November 2009
Haaay. Finally, the hiatus has come to an end. Now, it's time to explain myself.
Kuya Kim, a cousin of mine, mentioned to me earlier tonight that he found out this blog several weeks earlier (To digress, we were attending the first birthday party of Kyrstine, the adorable little angel of another cousin of mine, Kuya Aji, and his wife, Ate Gladys). That brief mention reminded me that I had an online life to attend to and I had a blog that needed fresh content.
For those who are wondering what has happened to me since September, here's the news. First, I got busy, or more specifically, I finally landed a job after four months of soul searching and job hunting. I'm now a sleep-deprived, slightly harried employee for a commercial bank somewhere in the outskirts of Lanang. That alone explains why I haven't been online for so long and why my writing career - if ever there was one - has halted to a stop. Simply put, I don't have the time nowadays, nor the energy, to use on more leisurely and lofty pursuits.
I am certain however that somewhere in the near future, I can strike a balance between work and play. But right now, I'm so busy absorbing the aspects of my work, I've become a model workaholic: early to work, no time to play, that's my life now, what more can I say?
What about my plan for pursuing further studies? Well, that has been put on hold too. Now is simply not the time to pursue those things especially when someone's a probationary. But I am still interested and I intend to go back to school real soon.
What about networking? For that, I'm taking it real slow. I've been learning some new stuff every now and then and I have some plans which I hope I can pull off later this month.
In the end, I think the only casualties of my current busy status quo are the social networking sites and online tools of my not-too-distant past. I miss checking Facebook and Plurk every day. I also miss sifting through the hundreds of emails, newsletters, and spam mail in my four email accounts. I miss reading interesting stuff in the web.
Haay. Still, I can't go back to where I was then. My vacation's over. I just hope I can still update this blog every now and then.
Now, it's time to go. My brother can't wait to use the computer and I can already smell blood if I don't get off my seat this instant.
Kuya Kim, a cousin of mine, mentioned to me earlier tonight that he found out this blog several weeks earlier (To digress, we were attending the first birthday party of Kyrstine, the adorable little angel of another cousin of mine, Kuya Aji, and his wife, Ate Gladys). That brief mention reminded me that I had an online life to attend to and I had a blog that needed fresh content.
For those who are wondering what has happened to me since September, here's the news. First, I got busy, or more specifically, I finally landed a job after four months of soul searching and job hunting. I'm now a sleep-deprived, slightly harried employee for a commercial bank somewhere in the outskirts of Lanang. That alone explains why I haven't been online for so long and why my writing career - if ever there was one - has halted to a stop. Simply put, I don't have the time nowadays, nor the energy, to use on more leisurely and lofty pursuits.
I am certain however that somewhere in the near future, I can strike a balance between work and play. But right now, I'm so busy absorbing the aspects of my work, I've become a model workaholic: early to work, no time to play, that's my life now, what more can I say?
What about my plan for pursuing further studies? Well, that has been put on hold too. Now is simply not the time to pursue those things especially when someone's a probationary. But I am still interested and I intend to go back to school real soon.
What about networking? For that, I'm taking it real slow. I've been learning some new stuff every now and then and I have some plans which I hope I can pull off later this month.
In the end, I think the only casualties of my current busy status quo are the social networking sites and online tools of my not-too-distant past. I miss checking Facebook and Plurk every day. I also miss sifting through the hundreds of emails, newsletters, and spam mail in my four email accounts. I miss reading interesting stuff in the web.
Haay. Still, I can't go back to where I was then. My vacation's over. I just hope I can still update this blog every now and then.
Now, it's time to go. My brother can't wait to use the computer and I can already smell blood if I don't get off my seat this instant.
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