Highway Drift

Armchair Columnist

2008-09-03T00:50:00.003+08:00

Sorry for the absence in the past couple of months. I was in other realms of the Intarwebz, pursuing some rekindled interests. Meanwhile, the country has again treaded upon interesting times.

I've been active again in the Philstar feedback section and have been engaging in debates with posters who either are sympathetic to the MILF, unwarily bought their propaganda, or simply unaware of history. One such debate brought up a series of good posts from me, which I would like to quote here:

You seem to be hung up with the 1996 peace pact with the MNLF which has obviously failed. Accept it, with what is happening now, the peace pact with the MNLF failed to achieve peace in Mindanao. You put the blame of its failures with Erap's all-out war with the breakaway MILF group and this is where I point out to you that the problem existed even before that all-out war. The peace agreement itself was flawed, and I list here some of the reasons:

1. It did not cover the other existing armed groups most notably the MILF and the Abu Sayaff.
2. There was no provision for disarmament of the MNLF.
3. There was no guarantee that it will lead to the development of ARMM, which would have prevented discontent.
4. There was no guarantee that MNLF has total control of its members, especially Nur Misuari, such that all would fulfill their end of the bargain.

I agree that I have the benefit of history when I give my analysis. But that's what history is for, so let's learn from it for a change, shall we?

You quoted FVR's speech proclaiming himself a peacemaker and according to Scripture, peacemakers are worthy to be a son of God. I'm sorry for FVR but I have a higher standard before I would call one a peacemaker, especially a peacemaker worthy to be a son of God.

I say a peacemaker is one who has created peace and sustains that peace.

First we have to be clear of my idea of peace. It is not simply a truce or an absence of battles. People may not fight, but if there is enmity between them, there is no peace. Peace should at least be a condition that discourages conflict to thrive in the first place.

So you see for me, being a peacemaker is more than creating peace pacts, but in making them last.

As for Erap's all-out war, it was another chance to negotiate correctly from a position of strength. We could insist that they (MILF, NPA, Abu Sayaff) disarm and cease from supporting terrorism and submit to authority or else be annihilated. With the removal of armed conflict with as a distraction, we could finally build infrastructure, provide education, boost agriculture and other social services in Mindanao

This was actually done before by Magsaysay against the Huks. All-out war or all-out friendship, he offered and also delivered. The Huks were defeated and rendered irrelevant. Unfortunately, he can't sustain it. The government can't sustain it. The festering problems causing discontent remained, and it was not that long after when discontent again reached a boiling point and the NPA and the MNLF were born.

They say poverty and conflict is a chicken and egg problem. The way to solve it is to break the cycle by choosing to decisively tackle on one first and then leverage on the gains to tackle the other. Erap and Magsaysay chose to tackle the conflict first and got favorable results. Well and good. Now tackling poverty proved to be more challenging and it wasn't helped that both were cut short in doing so. For Erap, it's also his fault--the irony! Gloria seems to want to tackle the poverty first, and as expected is also having difficulties. It also didn't help that her negotiators don't know how to negotiate (I assume they were hoping to prevent further hostilities from the MILF so as not to interfere with the ever so slow economic development) and there are foreign meddlers all around. Also, just as the MILF leadership is having credibility problems by having lost commands, Gloria's scandals have also lessened her and the government's credibility in striking a deal she will keep.

If I would add, FVR, to his credit, also focused on economic development first and did better than Gloria. It's just that he could still have done better. And then there's the problem on continuity that has been plaguing not just the peace process but other development projects. Does that mean a term extension is needed? Not necessarily. But with the inconsistency I'm getting from Malacañang, I am seriously considering the conspiracy theory that the President is seeking agitation that would be enough to justify martial law and a term extension, although the usual government-bashing will also never be of help in peace-building.

Actually, I'm not surprised with this administration's incompetence in negotiation. I could mention many instances, most of which have been in the news. Instead, let me share a more personal anecdote. This happened when I was still in college. Our Political Science instructor also worked in the Department of Foreign Affairs (DFA). One time, in explaining her lengthy absence, she mentioned having been part of simulation exercises in negotiating with the MILF. I asked her if they simulated the scenario wherein foreign terrorist organizations are aiding the MILF. She said they only considered the ideal setting to show their good faith. My jaw dropped. Why call it a simulation in the first place? Besides, why should the MILF know about it? In fact, I would've been more comforting for me if she merely stated that details of the simulation were confidential.

For more in-depth analysis, I'd rather refer to Dean Jorge Bocobo (DJB) at Philippine-American Commentary. Though I may not agree with him all the time, especially when he goes hard-line, I appreciate his courage to openly voice out unpopular and non-PC (politically correct) opinions that I myself would rather be subtle or diplomatic or even silent about, especially in this blog. The political pundits in the Philippines could be quite vicious, and I'm not looking for trouble. Good thing for DJB, he has superior research skills, and actually go deep into the root of every contention more efficiently than I could. For instance, he's been questioning the legitimacy of the "ancestral domain" claim and showing the danger of its mere suggestion. He also brings to light the feeling of guilt for one's predecessors' mistakes that he says explains why some people would be fine with appeasement. His views are complementary to my predominantly problem-solving approach.

For the historical perspective, a newspaper archive is your friend. Below are some interesting links mainly due to the sense of deja vu:

A 2002 editorial entitled Bare the Details
Soliven ranting about a 2002 appeasement deal

May Nostalgia (Part 2)

2008-06-09T16:00:00.003+08:00

Oh great, an entry that's about topics from the previous month was only finished now. Anyway, hope the delay would not hinder your enjoyment. Part 1 is here.

Santacruzan and Flores de Mayo

Most people equate Santacruzan with the Reyna Elena, but at least for us (the community elders to be exact), it is mostly about the novena on the Holy Cross itself. While the elders are the ones who lead the prayers, provide guidance and ensure the attendees' best behavior, it is an ad-hoc youth committee that took care of the organizing of activities and soliciting of funds. As for the children, they are there to have fun while avoiding the scolding. Our Santacruzan being focused on the prayer and festivities sounds more boring than those which had the lovely ladies, but read on and discover that our experience ironically did have its share of the sexy (more naughty and scandalous, I dare say).

My first experience with Santacruzan was being given snack tokens while peering from the house to check out the flimsy-built chaplet filled with people at night. I was too young to join then, but for the children a few years older than I was, they were unable to grasp the concept of "blessing" that one would receive for participating, so they were given material blessing in the form of night snacks after the novena. At first these were simple tokens like sandwiches, chips, fruits and kakanin (rice-based gelatinous snacks). There may also be champorado (choco rice porridge), arroz caldo and inulog-ulog (sticky bite-sized balls made from ginger). Drinks consisted of fruit juices or chocolate. Kids would line up with their bowls and cups. For stricter sanitary reasons, I would prefer the packed ones that I could store and consume the next day. Later on, ice cream was included in the giveaways; that was a luxurious treat already. I wonder what sophisticated confections they would serve nowadays.

By the time I was ten, I would join the prayers. Unlike the other children, I had no problem with the long, repetitive and monotonous utterances since we had longer evening family prayers. In fact, I considered the Santacruzan a more enjoyable alternative. For me who had a curfew by about six and seven in the evening, there was the novelty of being with my playmates at night and participating in those nighttime activities I was usually deprived of. (Usually, these are just the same games we played at daytime, just that darkness could give different playing conditions as well as a different mood: Hide-and-Seek, Tag and, later on, Truth or Consequence. There might be others, but too bad I have forgotten.) The last part of the novena was sung, and this would liven up the children. The singing would indicate that the giveaways would be a few minutes away. We also got a kick with one song that had Spanish lyrics and a weird melody.

The last day of the novena was the fun-filled day for the kids. Events would start early in the morning with the blaring of the mobile sound system. (Actually the fun would start the night before with the preparations, which usually was the hanging of banderitas, while a karaoke machine provides the music.) As soon as the sound system is up and running, parlor and folk games would commence. There would be statue and paper dances¹, the piñata, palo sebo, lemon race², water relay, bring me, basagan ng palayok³, musical chairs⁴, eating and drinking contests, pahabaan ng gamit⁵ and the rough Coconut Football.⁶ Developments in the TV variety shows gave us Pera O Bayong, among others. We even had a literal peeing contest!⁷ Aside from joining the scramble for candy and coins, I never really participated in the games, until I discovered our tomato variation of the Easter Egg hunt, which fits well with my hide-and-seek prowess. The games go on all day and only takes a break in the early evening to give way to the last novena. Afterwards, we would dance until the dawn (well, they actually, I was forced to retire by midnight). I was fascinated by the disco lights and the dance music back in the 90s was fun, even though I hardly knew the steps.

I remember one scandalous incident that happened amidst the merrymaking in the last night of the Santacruzan. I think I was eleven years old then. In the afternoon lull between the games, I stumbled upon the neighborhood young men unrolling cigarettes and replacing the tobacco with something else. It drew my curiosity, and the lads offered in jest that I join them. Even if they claimed it was different than smoking, I declined, sensing they were still up to no good. Days later I got to know of the smoldering gossip that the same group of youths had successfully enticed one comely household help who was new to our place. It turned out the cigarettes were laced with marijuana and they had a trip by the darker part of the neighborhood while the flashing disco lights enhanced their psychedelic experience. One thing led to another and the maid found herself gang-banged while the loudspeakers drowned out their moans. No charges were filed, and the maid simply left our neighborhood. That's the Philippines for you, despite histrionics in media, your life and your purity are still cheap in reality.

As a side religious celebration to the Santacruzan, at every three o' clock in the afternoon, the children would gather in the chaplet to do the offering of flowers to Mama Mary. This is called the Flores de Mayo, and was supposed to coincide with the blossoming of the flowers in May. The limited appeal it had for me back then was when we would line up with our flower offerings, boys and girls would be paired. I thought it was a good chance to be with my childhood crush, but it never happened. Consequently, aside from helping my friends gather flowers, I had never participated in it anymore. I don't know if they continue with this tradition since, aside from the one in family compound, there's not much flora in the neighborhood now. Besides, I don't think my relatives would allow the flowers to be plucked from their precious plants, which I think are for sale.

Things got different when it was our generation's turn to be in the youth committee. Being part of the committee meant soliciting funds or donations in kind (basically going around begging in the neighborhood), facilitating the construction of the chaplet, grouping the families that will sponsor the chaplet decors and the food tokens for a particular night of novena (requires a good grasp on the latest neighborhood squabbling), and organizing the games and dance for the final day. I had been offered the top position, but I declined. My excuse was that I had summer classes, but was just being lazy. Later on, I learned that being the president meant doing all the work because the other officials suddenly made themselves scarce; thus, I more vigorously declined any nominations.

We were never able to replicate the awesome experiences of the previous final days of Santacruzan of our younger times.⁸ It was either we never had the contacts that would offer us the really awesome lights and sounds for free, or we never had adequate funds when collecting from the neighbors. For our excuse, it was the time of the Asian Economic Crisis back then. Fortunately, things had returned to the level of the good old times. However, our generation had outgrown all these, and it would be up to the next generation of children to find the Santacruzan an enjoyable tradition, hopefully minus the scandals.

Footnotes:

¹ For additional challenge, candies and coins were thrown around, and the spectators to scramble to get their share. The player who moves to join the scramble loses the game.
² Players gyrate to make the spoon stringed to their hips propel the calamansi (the local substitute for lemon) and be the first to make it reach the finish line.
³ We even had the variation where a tomato would be squashed. Hilarity ensued when the blindfolded player veered off course and started hitting spectators.
⁴ We call it "Trip to Jerusalem," a curious name.
⁵ Teams lay their stuff and themselves on the ground to determine which team made the longest queue. Some go all the way and strip down to their undies for the win. Of course everyone starts the game wearing layers of clothing and numerous accessories.
⁶ An unripe coconut husk is carved with niches for money and the husk is covered in grease. Men scramble for the slippery loot and the one holding on to it when the time expires wins.
⁷ The older ones would heckle the uncut, yet there was one uncut boy who used his prepuce to spray out his pee farther than normal using the Bernoulli's Principle.
⁸ I mean, Christmas lights instead of at least the discotheque? It was that pathetic!

May Nostalgia (Part 1)

2008-05-26T23:46:00.004+08:00

Back when I was a kid back in Naga City, the month of May marked the second half of summer vacation. Suddenly there was the realization that my playmates and I should be making the most of our freedom before school resumes. It's no wonder then that we would have most of the traditional activities scheduled in this month. Most places in the country would celebrate their feast day during this month. As for me, I recall three things that I associate with this month and inspire me to indulge in nostalgia.

Agua de Mayo

As a grown-up, I have come to hate the rain due to the inconvenience it deals me while commuting to and from work (maybe I should just blame the corporate world for insisting that we wear fancy and impractical clothing). Then there would be the dark and gloomy atmosphere that dampens the spirits (though it could be good for writing). However, back then, when we really didn't have any work to do, and the summer heat punished us every languid afternoon, we would welcome precipitation and allowed ourselves to be bathed as we played in wild abandon.

Of course, there is some occasional rainfall during April, but the month of May has the heavier and more frequent downpours. In fact, the first heavy and prolonged rainfall of this month is called the Agua de Mayo, and bathing in it carries a certain good providence, particularly in terms of health. We do know, of course, that we might instead weaken our immune system and catch a cold, skin infection or electrocution if we do not take precautions like soaping, rinsing and drying immediately upon signs of either the rain abating, the wind strengthening or lightning flashing. But where's the fun in that?

As for this year, the rainy season has come real early with tropical storms already forming. It would be good to recall that May 2006 also got its share of tropical storms, and we all know that that year's typhoons were strong. Consequently this year's rainy season might end up with its own share of destructive typhoons.

May Beetle / Salagubang / Amamanggi

Basic information can be found in Wikipedia. I'm not sure of the particular species prevalent in this country though. The adult May Beetle actually goes out of its underground cocoon as early as March and stays aboveground to feed and mate as late as July. It is also known as "Salagubang" in Tagalog and "Amamanggi" in Bicol. (The latter due to the fact that the bug is more active in the evening--banggi or banggui in Bicol--and one could see them flying, eating and mating as soon as the sun has set.)

The May Beetle has been a childhood curiousity for us, just as dragonflies and grasshoppers are. What makes it acquire more novelty is its seasonal appearance. Other characteristics that make it appealing to us are its being more docile and less flighty than the other insects; thus, the May Beetle can be kept as pets by simply supplying it with leaves (particularly mango leaves), until it decides to fly away (especially when evening comes) or when the mess made by their droppings becomes unbearable.

The usual way to get the beetles is to shake them off the trees as they sleep during the day. In our neighborhood, they favor staying in mango, tiyesa and chico trees, although they can feed on any tree actually. Some trees are too sturdy for kids to shake, so an adult is asked to give them a more vigorous shakedown. The bugs fall off and assume their defensive or sleeping posture, which is to keep their legs and antennae glued to their bodies, stay perfectly still and rely on their relatively hard exoskeleton for protection. However, we can coax them out of that posture by simply blowing on them (we make them return to sleeping mode by enclosing them within our cupped hands while we clap). Later on, as I get to be more knowledgeable of the beetles, I can even spot them high up the trees. A big clue is the presence of freshly-eaten leaves. Having them on sight leads to a more targeted capture. Another way to catch them is to pester them as they fly around by evening. Then again, my obsession in collecting a virtual swarm of the beetles quickly waned after that summer when I crammed them all in a Star Margarine container. As I mentioned above, it was an unsightly and smelly mess.

Aside from merely collecting these bugs, kids also use them for amusement. The most common is to tie them on a thread and make them fly around like mini, self-propelled kites. Tying the beetle up requires skill and patience, all the while repeatedly making use of the wake-up and sleep routines described above (which aren't foolproof, by the way). Meanwhile, as the bug version of wrestling, other kids stick two bugs back to back with a bubble gum and see which is the stronger one who regains its upright position, in the process lifting the weaker one back side up with legs flailing around helplessly. To complete the gladiatorial exploits of these beetles, they are also made to race in various ways. The straightforward one, walking towards a finish line, is fraught by the risk of some of the bugs flying away. The less flight-prone races involve them digging either into or out of a pile of dirt. The digging races simulate what the bugs do naturally: they dig out to mate and later dig in to lay their eggs.

The beetles do have a practical use aside from being playthings: being food. I hear that they are fried to edible perfection in some places, though I have yet to encounter such dish and try it myself. On the other hand, I did feed the bugs to our poultry and pet birds for their special dose of protein.

Indeed it was quite a hard life for the May Beetle back when we were the rulers of the playground. Nowadays, most of the beetles have gone elsewhere since most of the ground has been covered in cement and the fallen trees have not been replaced in our childhood neighborhood.

(Part 2)

Fantasia (Part 10)

2008-04-13T15:35:00.002+08:00

Months had passed since the practice tournament, and Daniel, Romulus, Gorgo and their Masters Dionysus and Wilbur were once again in Legacy City for the Final Tournament of the Challenge of the Intellects, the most prestigious competition of its kind in EveAlone. Their entry to the finals by itself was actually through a stroke of luck: they had actually lost in their penultimate round, but a new rule stated that the best performer among the losers of the penultimate round will be allowed to participate in the finals. The Masters had ruminated that perhaps the confidence gained from winning the practice tournament might actually mislead, and it was better that they come in the finals as underdogs with nothing to lose. Of course for a proud Knight, competing as an underdog would already be shameful, but at that point what mattered to Daniel was another chance to go to Legacy, another chance to see Helen.

The need to go to Legacy was somewhat driven by a rekindled rivalry between Mervin and Daniel. The former was the first to have gone to Helen's city and even to her home, mere days after she and the other guests had left Ceres. The devastation of the storm was still evident throughout EveAlone, yet for Mervin and the other visitors, having the company of their lovely hosts made the City of Legacy such a radiant paradise.

It took another month for Daniel to have his chance to return to Legacy, and it was through a Codix tournament to determine the champions of EveAlone who would be sent to the Imperial Codix Tournament in Manille. The tournament itself proved to be a failing venture for the Knights, and Daniel had resigned himself to the fact that his Codix skills were not meant for showing off in competitions. What Daniel would like to fulfill though was to drop by Helen's class and behold her beauty once again, as well as to do a little favor for Dominic.

The good acolyte had brushed aside his disastrous episode with Angela and had resumed his two-year-old correspondence with Kirsten. He had sagaciously remarked how he had allowed himself to be enchanted by a fleeting angelic sight when all along was a girl in Legacy whom he had been sharing thoughts and dreams with ever since he was in Second Group R. Daniel and Mervin had ribbed him on his old-fashioned exchange of letters with Kirsten. The two, on the other hand, had embraced the speed and convenience of the Message Jewel for keeping in touch with Helen.

The Message Jewel proved useful indeed for Daniel when he successfully made arrangements to meet Helen and Kirsten after the tournament. Overcast skies above Legacy had hastened the arrival of evening as Daniel entered the Citadel of Aqueaon. The other Codix champions of the Pillars had tagged along to also see their friends at the Citadel. Daniel's previous visit to the place had been deeply impressed upon his memory; thus, he found his way quickly. The sight of the Aqueaonians' moss-green vestments had never been a more welcome view. Unlike the Fourth Group of the Pillars, which had more than a hundred wards, the Fourth Group of Aqueaonians numbered to a little more than three dozens. Consequently, it simplified Daniel's search for the two young ladies.

He found Helen first, and her presence made him feel like he won the Codix tournament or maybe even higher stakes, like bragging rights against Mervin. After some small talk, she helped Daniel look for Kirsten. Dominic's pen pal was all perky when they found her. She was of course eyeing the covered cage Daniel was carrying. "Kirsten, behold a special delivery from Dominic," Dominic announced as he uncovered the cage with a flourish. Kirsten was expecting something, but her eyes still widened when she saw the puppy inside. It was of a kind bred in the Empire of Qin, where her roots originated.

Daniel noted Kirsten's reaction then remarked within earshot of Helen, "hard to top that."

"Oh, it's alright" was her automatic reply.

The fun times was ended when the Masters announced that the dark clouds were from another storm. They should better leave immediately else they would end up stranded like the last time. When they had boarded the ferry, a fellow Codix champion said to Daniel, "dude, you could've at least matched Dominic's gesture to Kirsten for Helen."

"Well, I did tell her--"

"I heard that. No excuses. She wasn't expecting anything, but that's the point." An exaggerated sigh, "you may have been good in Codix..." Daniel left the conversation to save his ego from further damage. Instead, he joined the main talk aboard the ferry about the Emperor being put to trial for excesses that had scandalized the nobles.

This talk was still prevalent later on when they were traveling to Legacy for the Finals of the Challenge of the Intellects. At that time, people were discussing the recent ouster of the said Emperor.

At the tournament itself, the champions of the Pillars realized that the creators of the tournament, however, were wise enough not to include such a recent and hot topic in the questions in their competition. Daniel and Romulus were instead struggling to keep their measly lead. Daniel's numerous blocking spells were easily dismantled by their opponents, while the latter's own spells have caused more trouble than expected. The Codix puzzles were also impossible to break. Then there was also the factor of the unfamiliar terrain, wherein the local champions were actually receiving help from not-so-innocent bystanders. The only things that seem to play to the Knight's advantages were the unpredictable challenges themselves, with some of them requiring knowledge not usually taught in the academies, and these fringe breakthroughs were the key factor for their small lead.

The Final Tournament was down to its last few minutes. The champions of three other academies had found the last few challenges, which if surpassed would take the lead from the Knights. Daniel and Romulus, on the other hand, had not yet found their last challenge. "Maybe there isn't any challenge left," Daniel said to Romulus, who was consulting one of the scattered Heraldic Mirrors for their status.

His fellow champion nodded. "I think that's what the mirror says... Shit! Someone's got our lead!"

That made Daniel rush to have a look too. "That means we have to grab the other two teams' challenges before they could surpass it, but we'd have to split and take on both teams at the same time. Tough."

"Not if they're distracted by their challenges."

Romulus quickly overwhelmed one team by throwing them aside with his sheer size and strength. He looked at the challenge and realized that it involved something about Magic.

Meanwhile, for the other team, Daniel was about to do something uncharacteristic and unprecedented of him in all the tournaments he had competed: use an offensive spell.

"Fumoffu! Second Raid!"

A strong gust blew away the other team. Daniel got a challenge that involved Literature. It would have been better if Romulus got it this one, and Daniel hoped that Romulus didn't get a challenge in Magic or Codix. Upon closer inspection, the opponent was almost finished with the verse about love that was required of them; one line was just one syllable short from the proper meter. Daniel grabbed the quill and replaced the word "her" with "Helen." Challenge surpassed. Even if Romulus failed, they had a chance for a tie-break.

It turned out there was no need for tie-breaking. The Magic challenge Romulus encountered had been taught in the Pillars. The Masters were amused by the tactic their champions had employed, but a victory was a victory and the Knights went to Legacy's central bazaar to celebrate and check out the artifacts that they had won. However, the only prize Daniel wanted was to see Helen.

On the way to the bazaar, Daniel saw that the adjacent plaza was drowning in a sea of moss-green uniforms. It was a celebration for the successful revolution in Manille that was supported by the Aqueaonians. Sensing that this may be his only chance at that time, he dove into the crowd. A little asking around easily led him to Helen, just like before.

She was surprised by the unexpected sigh, but with the recent turn of events, she had learned to expect the unexpected. The two exchanged stories about the news for the past few days. Then Daniel told her about the good news in the Challenge of the Intellects.

"By the way, it's quite surprising that the Aqueaonians did not make it to the final tournament. Aside from having a worthy adversary, I was expecting that you'd be there too. For inspiration."

A soft giggle. "But I guess it wasn't needed anyway, right?"

"I guess so too. The mere thought of you was enough." Daniel showed his share of prizes. "Uhm, here, have these, a thank you for the inspiration."

"Oh no! Keep them. You've won them so they're for your enjoyment."

"Are you sure?" Daniel noticed that Master Wilbur was waiting for him. "Very well, I think I have to go."

Silly guy, Helen thought with an amused smile as she watched Daniel walked towards the bazaar.

(Anime screen capture from The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya Episode 7)

Close Calls

2008-03-30T21:28:00.003+08:00

It had been the week for final exams for most schools. Undeniably, it would be around this time that cramming is at its peak, but with increasing levels of difficulty and wave after wave of daunting tasks, only the best can pull it off and win the high stakes involved: pass or fail. My advice therefore, although it might be late for this school year, is to not attempt cramming in the first place.

The final exams themselves are such fine examples of torment for students. I've narrated before of one such instance to comical effect. Indeed, in the end such stressful episodes of student life do end up as memories that surfaces to the office rat who's slaving away for a crucial presentation the next day. As for myself, I recall two glistening memories of final exams that have given me a real scare.

-oOo-

The first was my finals in Linear Algebra in my sophomore year. For this course, our batch of math majors was split into two classes. One class was under this brilliant young man, who unfortunately was disposed to utilize scare tactics like tough homework and recitation questions. Then there was his infamous set of conceptual statements which require some amount of mathematical proof for the students to determine its veracity. (An easier approach suggested by one of our sharpest minds was to formulate a counterexample.) The other class was under this gentle lady with a motherly demeanor. She was nevertheless just as skilled with the subject and her long experience had resulted in numerous contributions (which if I'm not mistaken, includes the correction filter for signals beamed from deep-space probes). Her theoretical constructs truly boggles the simple minds who were tasked to derive from them illustrative mathematical insights.

The students in the former class had been terrified of their instructor, and this has kept them on their toes. Thankfully, most of the more adept minds were also with them, and had assisted them quite ably in their studies. I was lucky enough to be in the latter class, yet the subject itself is very challenging, giving us no room to slack off considerably.

When the finals came, I was in a precarious situation grades-wise. In the two hundred points available from more than ten items in the two-hour exam, I had to get more than a hundred to pass the course with a grade of D. I needed twenty more to pull off the average C grade. Upon receipt of the questionnaire, the first to pop up were the dreaded statements that taunted for a "true" or "false" assessment. Since they required no display of a solution or proof and provided relatively low points, I brushed them aside and went for the rest. More than an hour later, with significantly large minutes wasted wrestling with the mind-boggling constructs, my estimates showed that I was still short of the passing score. Oh boy, it was like dangling at the edge of a cliff! There were two more items to be tackled; would they be enough? Interestingly, the answer for one came after small effort and the proof for the other was routine. I barely made it to passing. Slightly relaxed now, I answered the true-or-false part by basically deluding myself of having found a counterexample or a hint of proof.

Immediately after the end of the exam, a kindred friend and I whooped it up like we just stepped off a roller coaster ride of a lifetime. Others opted for a cigarette. Surprisingly, even those whom I never saw smoking before puffed wantonly like they had just climaxed from an intense and steamy act of lust.

When the report cards were distributed, I was expecting a passing grade of D. The mortality rate of the other class was real bad: a significant number of batch mates failed the subject. Behold my surprise when I got a C+! My classmates noticed that their grades did go one notch higher as if a statistical curving was implemented. But that still did not explain why mine went two notches higher.

It was only months later when I chanced upon a pile of exam papers for disposal at the Math Department that I got to explain my grades. It turned out that I actually scored enough in the finals to get a C. How? My answers (or should I say delusional guesses) in the True or False part actually delivered enough points to get me there. Oh bless my most unexpected luck! I kept that paper to remind me that even in the direst circumstances one could still prevail. Even if years later I no longer have a clue on the meaning of the equations and figures scribbled on it, I still remember its life lesson.

-oOo-

The second was the finals for Statistics in my junior year. This particular Stat class we had was supposed to be a masters' subject being taught to undergrads. Twisted, wasn't it. Anyway, we had for our professor a lively one who had a quirky and colorful fashion sense. Her teaching style could somehow be reminiscent of elementary school, but it does serve some purpose considering the inherent difficulty in the course. Indeed it was a struggle throughout the semester, and long test results were agonizing. The challenging part for me was the memorization of numerous steps in some procedures, so even if formulas and charts were allowed to be seen there was still something else to worry about. Then again, maybe I was just lacking in practice exercises.

On the night before the final exams, my plan was to review my notes from the beginning. Not the best way to go about it, admittedly, but it should get me somewhere, especially on the concepts and the procedures. All was going well until a few hours before midnight, then the lights went out. Normally, our in-campus dorm would have the power back on via generator, but it must have been the wirings themselves that had the problem, meaning the generator would be of no help. The technician would only be available by morning, so we had to bear it the entire night.

Surely, it could have been worse. At least I was merely reviewing my notes. Others were actually cramming a ten-page paper, a program or their thesis and who knew what could have gotten busted in their computers. The outage appeared to be limited to the dorm building only since the other school buildings were all lit up, so the solution, aside from studying under candlelight (which I've done before, so this should be no big deal), would be to go to those places. On the other hand, some were caught up with the novelty of the prolonged darkness and silence. These people opted to hang out for a while (equivalent to a few hours) and just had a chat with dorm mates. Of course, I was with them.

Later on I resumed my studies under candlelight (to keep the time I suppose, and I wanted to study alone since the other buildings had been filled up with dormers and tend to be distracting--excuses, excuses). It turned out to be an all-night endeavor, which I was not a stranger to anyway. I'd just take breakfast and have a bath later; the exam would still be at nine. Unfortunately, by six in the morning I was drowsy and went to bed.

By some providence, I jolted awake at nine o' clock. The test was starting! There was no time for bath and breakfast, and a dormer knew what to do with this kind of situation. After fifteen minutes I was in the examination room and was answering away. There were some final exams that bored me within the two hours that I had to complete them, but I don't think this was one of them

I got the barely passing mark in Statistics. A significant number of classmates were not so fortunate, so I should be thankful. It got me thinking of other outcomes if I did not wake up on time. Waking up on time had been a problem of mine up to this day, so it must have been something that I actually got to do it back then when it mattered. What were the odds?

Drifting Thoughts 06

2008-03-16T23:33:00.010+08:00

Last February 23 to 25, I was in Baguio. It was my second visit to the City of Pines; the first one was 18 years ago. Eighteen years! What a loser. That's what happens when you're born last in the family, at a time when your parents have long settled down and fended off the travel bug, parents who are overprotective to the point of locking you up. (Sorry, just had to rant about that frustration of mine. Anyway, I'm on my own now so no there's point in blaming the past if I still keep myself from discovering the world.)

This particular weekend was the time for Baguio's Panagbenga (Blossoming) Festival, which is highlighted by a parade of flower-decked floats similar to the one in Pasadena, California. I actually learned of the schedule only at midday of February 23 and, with nothing¹ to do on a three-day weekend, decided within minutes to join the trip that would be leaving five hours later. This was quite uncharacteristic of me, who would usually plan trips more than a week beforehand. One consequence of this would be forgetting to bring a jacket!

Aside from my failure to bring a jacket, the trip was riddled with bloopers. There was this two-hour delay when a rendezvous that supposed to take place in Trinoma ended somewhere in Balintawak.² Then there were a series of wrong turns along the highway as well as driving in circles in Baguio City itself.³ These extended the usual six-hour trip into eight, and at three in the morning hotels were fully booked, of course, so we opted to sleep in the car in Burnham Park. This had given us a good chance to acquire a great vantage point for picture-taking, which we eventually got at the overpass of Abanao Square. The series of unfortunate events continued after the parade: a lost wallet, a corrupted memory card, allergy-induced colds and a vehicular parking mishap. Nothing to worry about, I keep mentioning in my mind like a Zen mantra, I'd experienced worse,⁴ it could have been worse.⁵

Indeed there was not much to worry about. Baguio's temperature at that time was a little higher than 20 degrees Celsius, which incidentally puts it in the same temperature range at the office. I felt like a native when walking around in a T-shirt. The coldness only bothered me twice: the first was when it rained on the parade, which is easily solved with an umbrella purchase, the second was when it got windy at night when I was in the cathedral, oh how I wished to huddle up with that cute lady sitting beside me at Mass.⁶

My sightseeing was partly an attempt to relive some obscure childhood memories. This time I got to enjoy the view at Camp John Hay and posing on horseback at Mines View Park while back then my childhood fear of heights actually got me agitated. Some childhood memories can't be relieved, though, not during Panagbenga anyway. The influx of tourists practically filled up Burnham Park, and shops crowded Mines View.⁷ If I want to enjoy the place, I'd have to visit some other time, when there would be not that many people from where I come from (the "lowlands"). The swollen number of vistors actually amplifies the fact that the city is overpopulated. Going through downtown, I had this impression that this supposedly tourist city is no different from a congested, dilapidated urban area in the lowlands. Then there's the pollution. Old vehicles contribute much to it; thus, it's a spark of hope that the electric jeepney was introduced to the city and featured in the Panagbenga Parade.⁸

¹Actually, I could've written a blog entry.
²What do you expect from people unfamiliar with the place?
³Substandard road signs disappear at night. Add to that the observation that most drivers in the North keep their headlights at "high" for maximum glare. Drivers in the Bicol area would be courteous enough to switch to "low" upon meeting oncoming vehicles.
⁴I was thinking of my three-day trip to Catanduanes ten years ago, where I got badly seasick (but didn't puke, hah!) and, being another trip taken on a whim, I brought no luggage whatsoever.
⁵Like falling down the mountain range.
⁶Virtuous maiden, please comfort your shivering brethren.
⁷Not unlike what happened to the view of the Cagsawa Ruins in Albay.
⁸It's interesting that the electric jeepney can actually handle the sloping streets of Baguio.

-oOo-

I know it's already Holy Week, but I'd just want to let it out my system. Valentine's Day just came and went last month. There should have been part 10 of Fantasia--that love story I'm writing for over a year now--released for the occasion, but inspiration became scarce. My IM status message indicated that the current unattached space was a bug in the program that is my life. 'Twas Singles Awareness Day indeed. Thankfully, by the afternoon of V-day, I had wizened up to admonish myself not to let Valentines ruin my ideals on love. The hopeless romantic lives on.

The Day of Hearts seemed to be a non-occasion this year. Some couples I know had avoided the date and its accompanying high prices and full bookings. Back then, my friends and I, made it a point to have some celebration. A simple lunch or dinner would do. The most memorable among them was what we in DS made up as a week to show our love to our organization. It was complete with an exchange gift, a Cupid courtship service and a big concluding party.

We also had some Valentines celebration in our office last year. Unbelievably, I won a dating game consisting of multiple choice questions to determine compatibility. I stayed on the conservative side, and it cracked me up to discover that the secret searchee was none other than a batchmate of mine. No romance in there, but I could've appreciated a "dinner" compliments of the company (too bad there's none).

Maybe those little distractions were all that I need to keep away from the V-day blues.

-oOo-

It dawned upon me that summer is here when the recent readers stumbled upon this blog when searching for Casa Remo Apartelle. They all end up to this entry of mine.

To Kill a Crashing Bird

2008-02-29T23:05:00.008+08:00

I was supposed to write some travel entry--significant since it had been 18 years since I last went to that place--but the photos aren't available yet.

-oOo-

With the nation's penchant of getting preoccupied solely on the current political circus, Filipinos might be blissfully unaware that the United States and China had started war in outer space. Of course I'm exaggerating. Or am I? Allow this writer, whose education in world politics consisted mostly of reading Tom Clancy, to comment on a recent development just above the earth's atmosphere.

More than a year ago, on December 14, 2006, a US satellite, supposedly a spy satellite (a "bird" in Clancy slang), lost communications shortly after entering orbit. It was calculated to crash back to Earth in a little more than a year.

Weeks later, on January 11, 2007, China successfully tested its anti-satellite (ASAT) capabilities when it shattered its own defunct weather satellite with a ground-based ballistic missile in a kinetic strike (meaning, no explosives were used, the high-speed impact itself provided the destructive energy). The secrecy of the test and the resulting orbiting debris field that until now is a concern for space mission planners provided fodder for a US-led international criticism.

One year later, the spy satellite, known as USA-193 or NROL-21, was almost due for its fiery plunge to the ground. Around this time, the United States floated around its plan to shoot down the bird, citing the chance that the hydrazine fuel tank of the bus-sized object may survive re-entry and pose a hazard to people over an area of two football fields. While hundreds of satellites have made planned or unplanned deorbits, they all have almost empty fuel tanks. In this particular case, since the bird had no contact with controllers so early in its mission, the hydrazine was never used up in orbital maneuvers--the fuel tank was still full.

The plan was to modify the software of the ship-based AEGIS missile defense system to better recognize and track the falling satellite. The range of AEGIS could reach the edge of space, but the bird was moving faster than the ballistic missiles AEGIS was originally designed for, so tracking the falling object might be problematic. A modified SM-3 missile, the type recently used in missile defense tests, would be launched from a ship to destroy the satellite via a kinetic strike. A successful hit should destroy the fuel tank, and the satellite fragments should be too small to survive re-entry or pose significant damage. Striking at low altitude would ensure that most of the debris would fall to back to earth within weeks, compared to the Chinese high-altitude ASAT test. Three cruisers would be positioned in the Northern Pacific to provide three chances of interception.

On February 21, 2007, amidst an ongoing lunar eclipse and earlier concerns on bad weather, the shootdown pushed through with spectacular results at the first attempt and with a video to boot that showed a brilliant explosion indicating possible destruction of the tank and dissipation of the hydrazine fuel. The US government had been harping about its transparency regarding the shootdown, wherein the public had been informed before, during and after the event. In an apparent diplomatic one-upmanship, they were willing to share with China information on the strike.

Critics, however, doubted the reasons behind the shootdown. The probability that the satellite would crash on a populated area was very low (only 3 percent, if I wasn't mistaken). Cynics wonder why the United States suddenly became concerned about the potential human tragedy. Perhaps there was classified information or technology that the US would not want to be in the hands of other countries. Others pointed out the $60 million price tag. Surely it could be cheaper, although more complex, to just evacuate an entire city if things ever came to that. The shootdown could also legitimize the Chinese ASAT test and spark an arms race in outer space (as if there is currently none).

Technically speaking, the shootdown isn't good enough to be bragged around as an ASAT capability. The bird was destroyed at an altitude of only 247 km. No satellite could sustain an orbit that low because it would encounter significant atmospheric drag. The Chinese ASAT test, on the other hand, was aimed at a satellite 865 km high up there. What the activity demonstrated though is the capability of AEGIS to accomplish objectives beyond its original air and missile defense purpose. With a successful hit at first attempt, AEGIS surely works as advertised and even more! Russia indeed has valid worries that the Americans were actually flexing its missile defense muscles. No doubt valuable data for a variety of, at the very least, military purposes had been gleamed from this activity. I would also think that planning may have started a year ago, when the bird was determined to crash with a full load of hydrazine, but if the government was to be believed that planning began only in January, then the speed in implementing modifications on existing systems when the need arises could prove to be a crucial tactical factor.

What's with the suggestion of using the space shuttle to scoop out the bird? At such a low altitude, the shuttle would be in danger of encountering drag and falling back to earth earlier than scheduled. The shuttle Atlantis was actually on a mission to the International Space Station during those times, and only when it had landed back at Florida did the shootdown commence.

As for a new Cold War where outer space is the new battlefield, I've been hearing of analysis that the Chinese have noticed US dependence on satellites in warfare: reconnaisance, communication and navigation. And if Reagan's plan pushes through, the future might see orbiting defensive and offensive platforms. It does follow that China would endeavor to counter this American capability via ASAT weapons. With no direct casualties, destroying satellites seems to be a politically correct tactic in future wars. The US is also trying to be one step ahead with their research on satellite protection and even self-repairing satellites.

I think, though, that China would rather compete in economic terms, as it had done so throughout history. If I may wager, it would be a United States, in some form of desperation, which would initiate a military attack against China. This is where the Chinese ASAT capability comes in: destruction of the navigation then communication then reconnaisance satellites may stop a conventional attack. To continue the offense or to push things further with unconventional means would prove to be messy, and hopefully the Americans would come to their senses before that happens.

Maybe I've been reading too many Clancy novels, watching too many action movies or playing too many computer games to have thought of these things. After all, these are just speculations and shouldn't be taken seriously at present. If there's any mention of the jostling among the superpowers in local politics, it is again connected to the NBN scam, wherein the President is being accused of giving the Chinese territorial and economic concessions, among others, in exchange for paltry loans and projects. If the public has been numb to appeal on morals, then an appeal to nationalism might do the trick.

If it were not for a news article buried in Philstar, I wouldn't be aware of this shootdown. There was no mention of this event in the Philippine blogs I frequent save for one. Both actually connected it to an earlier fallen spacecraft, Skylab. This space station flew and fell in the '70s, the decade before I was born. Back then, the Philippines had been included among its probable crash locations, causing a stir among the population. Its remnants eventually crashed somewhere in Australia, but the stir in the Philippines must be considerable enough that people here do remember it.

(Photos from Wikipedia, which in turn must have sourced it from the US government)

A Tale of Two Political Scandals

2008-02-08T19:58:00.003+08:00

The first political scandal is obvious enough because it's all in the news. Since it's a little too early to be conclusive about this particular episode in the never-ending thriller of Philippine Politics (I normally do not write commentaries early in the game, it's just that the second political scandal pushed me to blog now), there's not much I can do besides making fun of the cover photo in Philstar last February 8.

Maybe I'll just share what I have commented in Philstar.com last February 8 and 9. It was largely uncontested by even the rabid ones so I guess it has passed a moderate litmus test (or maybe, even if a couple considered it "comprehensive," most just ignored my very long comment). Here it is, slightly edited for Highway Drift standards:

Okay opposition, I'll help you with this, because I also like to have some change in the country... Why does it seem you can't win "fence-sitters" (your term) and some moderate pro-GMA to your side, when as far as I know, with the clumsiness and spinelessness of the administration, you should already have done so by the previous years? Let me enumerate my observations so far:

1. You are still operating under the personality-based politics we have in the country wherein personal attacks are given premium. You rely too much on witnesses. This explains the penchant for labeling those on the other side as paid hacks while ignoring some doubtful aspects of your witnesses. This also explains the perception that the opposition is just the same as the power-hungry people in Malacañang.

2. You rely too much on media, especially broadcast media. What if the administration finally decides to gag the media once and for all? You could turn to the Internet, but as far as I know you don't have the same clout here as you have with broadcast media. In fact, the clout you developed in media has turned some people off and explains the perception that media is already biased.

3. You can be as closed-minded with morality as the government can be closed-minded with the economy. Close-mindedness is a turn-off, but your disadvantage here is that you can't enforce your close-mindedness with military might. Perhaps you have rebel military factions with you, but using them would only undermine the morality card you're playing.

4. You are not original. Spark another EDSA uprising? Force the government to declare some sort of martial law? The problem with lack of originality is that your moves are anticipated.

5. You are unwilling to fight the government on its own terms, the courts for example. Why? Are you incapable? Is it because, like in no. 1, you already dismiss the courts as under government payroll?

6. You lack a great leader to unify all of you and address these observations of mine as well as other possible weaknesses that a truly competent leader can detect. You lack a leader that will make the leader of the other side puny in comparison.

-oOo-

The other political scandal is somewhat closer to my heart because it involves my college alma mater, and somehow it tangentially concerns things I was involved in back then.

There's a common wisecrack among Ateneans that happenings in the national political scene are reflected within the Sanggunian, the university student government, also called Sanggu for short. For instance, during the Erap Impeachment and EDSA 2, the Sanggu president was also ousted by impeachment (due to corruption, if I remember correctly). On and off talks of constitutional change this decade have resulted to a new constitution for the student body last 2005 (I was part of that years-long effort which was challenged by a lack of voters in plebiscites as well as the yearly change in leadership). Actually talks on changing the Philippine constitution has continued, and in Sanggu yet another proposal for a constitutional commission is in the offing.

Now, with the ouster of De Venecia as House Speaker as well as the Lozada misadventure threatening the Arroyo presidency, Sanggu has pulled another equally shocking scandal with the belated discovery that Karl Satinitigan, this year's Sanggu president, was actually not enrolled for the second semester! (Read all about it in the theguidon.com, the student publication's online edition.) It's like discovering that since 2004, Her Excellency was no longer a Filipino citizen--but Chinese! (Though, in her case, that would explain everything, hehe.)

Well, since this is "just" a student council, we could say it's a good practice for coping with extraordinary measures, especially with the things happening in the national scene. However, the rude shock of knowing that the student government has been rendered rudderless hit Ateneans at the worst possible time. And I'm just referring to Ateneo-scale proportions.

First of all, a shadowy opposition group calling themselves "The Gadfly Society" (inspired by the original gadfly Socrates) had surfaced this year to anonymously lambaste (in their blog gadflysociety.blogspot.com as well as spam email) the Sanggu as well as the student body and the university in general on their "failings" in fulfilling an "Atenean social duty" (in the Liberation Theology sense, perhaps). Their style has far from impressed me (refer to my Philstar comment above) but they do have valid points. As far as I'm concerned, though the are enjoying the political fallout and basking in renewed notoriety, they apparently have no hand in this expose; because, if they do, Karl would have been out by the start of the sem. It's a stretch of imagination that they have kept secret this knowledge. At the very least, perhaps we could give them credit for smelling Sanggu's bleeding wound this school year and becoming emboldened just as leftist groups get emboldened at the time of scandal-laden administrations.

Secondly, Karl has recently been mentioned in blogs due to his statement regarding the Manila Peninsula Siege. I must agree that his statement could be written better, but, personally, it's pathetic how some in the opposition (U know who U are), in an apparently desperate move, would (under guise of education via reality) pick on a student-written position letter that had the misfortune of taking a neutral stand regarding the siege (see again my Philstar comment above). It's even more pathetic how they use the letter to further whatever is their stereotype of the Ateneans, the youth or the elite. In light of this incident, I guess they would snicker in a feeling of vindication, but I say: what they did is still unfair and recent developments, although usable against the persons involved, will still not prove any stereotypes at all.

Rather, the issue here is what to make of actions, statements and decisions Karl had entered in official capacity, when he was already ineligible all along, like the one mentioned above. I guess this is another job for the Student Judicial Court (SJC). I'm actually impressed that they seem to be a competent body at these trying times. It is their investigation that has made sense of things. On the other hand, the Gadfly or The Guidon, if they are truly worth their salt, should have come up with the expose way before the court.

In the aftermath of this turmoil, continuing scandal has been fuelled by the statement of the acting president, the former vice president Cabreira. The general impression is that the remaining officials are suddenly putting the blame on Carl while washing their hands of any fault. There are accusations that Cabreira is just a mere puppet of a rival party's presidential contender for the coming elections. "ROTC Corps Commander, Sir! What is happening to our campus?" Karl may have already asked this as he is wheeled to the hospital due to backstab wounds, and he suddenly understood what De Venecia is going through.

So much for long-winded official statements, at the end of Tom Clancy's Debt of Honor, immediately after a horrific attack killed off almost the entire government leadership, Jack Ryan's first words after being sworn as president are simply "let's get to work." But that's fantasy US politics. What we have here is authentic Philippine politics, and you can't get more Philippine politics than this!

Wait, actually, there's more!

A recent comment in The Guidon article linked above from someone who dreams of being a Jun Lozada points a very serious blaming finger on a wide range of university personalities and groups. Actually, I like this Guidon "witness" more than the real Lozada because of the all-out testimony; s/he even linked a campus opposition figure to the Gadfly. What I find bothersome is that s/he had pointed the complicity of the Office of the Associate Dean for Student Affairs (ADSA) and the Office for Student Activities (OSA) to keep secret an earlier issue regarding resignation of Sanggu officers. If this is proven to be true and dots are connected, then all the Sanggu officers involved in this conspiracy are impeachable for betrayal of public trust and violation of the constitution! (Though they're lucky the semester is almost over.) This could also possibly answer in the worst possible way my initial question on why the school administration did not issue notifications on Karl's enrollment status in the first place. (Too few have been asking this. Are most afraid they'd hear exactly wannabe Lozada's kind of answer?) My own unpleasant experiences back in freshman year come to mind (but those are for another post, though I can't promise to write about it).

At this point, this issue is still developing, and I've realized I've just churned out no more than a narrative with commentary. For cutting-edge opinion, I guess it's better to refer to the people who are closer to the action:

I like how her personal take on things somehow connects the two political scandals.
Good take on the issue, as expected from an Atenean Political Science major. I was already a senior when I noticed the growing similarity of the school council politics to that of the Philippine government. Before, I perceived the Sanggunian as more of a corporate management team, and the politics involved as more of office politics. Or was I just naive to think that there's actually a difference in the first place?
Tatot Quiblat delivers with a great take on leadership in the general sense. If he's still with OSA though, I'd like to hear his side on the grave allegations against OSA.

Flash Back 2012

2008-01-28T22:07:00.000+08:00

The top search terms that led visitors, mainly from the US, into my blog involved an impending end of the world by the year 2012. It appeared that my entry of more than a year ago had been one of the top search results for queries about "2012" and "end of the world." Actually, the most common search string would be one in denial: "2012 is not the end of the world." That made me chuckle, though the funniest for me was "how to prevent the end of the world in 2012." For some time, I actually topped the "how to prevent" search results!

I had mentioned my earlier post, the scientifically sound predictions for 2012: the alignment of the center of the Milky Way with the Sun as seen in the sky (the effects of which are open to speculation) and the height of solar activity leading to solar storms (that can damage satellites and power grids, among other things). Other events converging on that year, or specifically December 21, has fired up the imaginations or fears of the general public. Some of these events have been mentioned in Wikipedia. There are the astrological speculations on the said alignment. Also, the Earth might have a close encounter with some heavenly body. On the other hand, there could be an "elevated consciousness," a "superintelligence," a "singularity" on that point in time. Or, with talks on global warming, there could be an environmental/geological upheaval and depletion of resources, which could lead to war. The comprehensive collection of Dire Gnosis adds to the mix aliens, Kali Yuga (the Indian equivalent of the fallen state of humans) and predictions from indigenous tribes. My own explorations of the Internet have led me to The Fourth Turning which claims a cyclical nature of Anglo-American history. Of course, around 2012, there will be another crisis, but the book is optimistic that a new generation of Heroes would rise to the challenge. In a future entry, I'd discuss more on generations, but for now Wikipedia can provide an overview.

In all, the journey towards 2012 is either that of destruction or of enlightenment. Then again, maybe nothing will happen, but that will be a big boring disappointment.

The convergence from various sources: cultural, religious, historical, scientific and pseudoscientific, with some of them arriving at a 2012 conclusion independent of each other, could be quite compelling. It's no wonder fiction isn't far behind. The Wikipedia link on 2012 also provides references in the arts and popular culture, but anime is not listed, so I'll provide two.

The first one, RahXephon, has explicit references to 2012: its timeline indicates a re-emergence of a lost civilization a week before December 21. The rest of the story features battles between music-powered giant beings in a conflict between humans and the race of the lost civilization. I hear it's a mind-bender, but since I haven't watched this anime, I comment no further.

The second one is a real classic: Macross, also known in the West as Robotech (an adaptation that branched out to its own story). In its timeline, by 2010, humanity was almost wiped out in the first Space War with an alien race. Two years later, the first space colonies leave Earth to spread humanity and culture throughout the galaxy. The concept of fighter planes transforming into robots leading to spectacular dogfights in outer space captured my attention to its awesomeness. Its breakthrough use of music and war romance also made it attract a wide variety of fans. I actually stole the title of this entry from the collection of music videos made in line with the launching of the first colony.

Twenty-five years worth of movies and TV series later, the franchise is back with its latest offering, Macross Frontier, which tells the story of a colony traveling to the center of the galaxy by the year 2059. Two stills from the special premiere of this latest eye-popping animation series now adorn this blog entry.

-oOo-

Speaking of catastrophic events of cosmic proportions, Mars had a close scare when news of an asteroid impact came out last month. This asteroid, named 2007 WD5, passed by Earth (as close as 7.5 million kilometers) and was on its way to the red planet. On the event of an impact, this 50-meter space rock would produce a crater on Mars similar to the one in Arizona.

There actually had been one other documented celestial collision. Back in 1994, astronomers pointed their telescopes, Hubble included, to the Jupiter as 21 fragments of the comet Shoemaker-Levy smash into the gas giant (if just one of those chunks had struck Earth, we're goners). The difference this time, aside from Mars being a terrestrial planet like Earth, is that there are Martian probes in orbit and on the surface. These could check on the impact and return richer data, which could prove valuable in our own defense against falling space rocks.

Observations crossing over the New Year increased the probability of impact to as high as 3.6%. This wouldn't amount to much, but reaching the same level of probability of impact within the next hundreds of years is already rare among other Near-Earth Objects. Further observations within this month, however, reduced the chance of impact to 0.01% and the asteroid would deal Mars a close shave as it passes to within 4,000 to 26,000 km. Oh well, too bad there would be no interplanetary fireworks for January, but I'd still be counting down to 30 January 2008 18:55 UT+8, the estimated time of impact or closest encounter. Blame it on the movie Armageddon that showed how countdowns could be cool, especially when it counted down until the last second to catastrophe.

By the way, there would be a bigger one which would also give earth a close shave at around the same time.

-oOo-

One movie caught my attention while I was scanning the list of films for this year. It was a remake of The Day the Earth Stood Still, a 1951 film about a visitor from outer space named Klaatu and his invincible robot. I had watched the black and white original two years ago via Google Video (the movie's old enough to be part of the Public Domain, thus can be distributed for free) and was amazed at how they pulled off the "primitive" special effects. It could still induce the desired audience reaction fifty years later! Perhaps the iconic theremin music helped. The movie's message for peace had retained its lasting impact from the Cold War to the present War on Terror.

What got me really amused with this remake was that Klaatu will be played by Keanu Reeves. I could imagine him turning Klaatu into a Neo, and with a possible change in the script, might actually do some kung-fu fighting again. I don't know if the producers would include a 2012 angle to this one, but I'd be watching this remake, even if only for the lulz of seeing The Day the Earth Stood Still get remade into The Matrix.

Fantasia (Part 9)

2008-01-20T09:51:00.000+08:00

Previous parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Daniel awakened to a flooded neighborhood. Fortunately the floodwaters were subsiding in a few hours, the rain and winds were gone and only the dark clouds remained. However, the village would still have to clean up from the mud and debris left behind by the overflowing river. Obviously he would not be allowed to roam around the city, so he made himself useful in the clean up. He fumed when rain fell and delayed everyone's work.

Red was returning to his own house with food for the next two days. He was supposed to buy food from whatever enterprising store would open that day, and he had braced himself for the high prices he expected from Merchants. Fortunately though, some Knights had been galloping around Ceres fulfilling their chivalrous task of distributing food for the suffering citizens, and he got most of the essential goods for free. The flood didn't threaten his neighborhood, but a sudden downpour caused flooding on the road back home. Good thing he decided to ride a carriage. He saw Dominic and Crag outside the house collecting rainwater, for the well was muddied. Not far away, Helen was soaked up in the rain taking a bath. Red remembered Helen asking him if it would be alright if her sister Emmie could also stay in his house. Emmie was also a guest for this year's interscholastic visit but was assigned to a different group. The returning homeowner went out from the carriage and inquired, "leaving so soon?" Helen nodded. Red showed his bountiful catch (it wasn't a purchase) and insisted that she stay for breakfast.

After breakfast, Red noticed the long face on Mervin. Oh please, he thought, Helen will be gone for just a few hours! Dominic was also uneasy, for Angela was taking too long at the Box of Conversation. Harvey was checking up on her. Later on, Dominic appeared to be confiding a plan to Mervin who seemed warm to it. Kindred love-struck spirits. The two then approached Crag who seemed amused at whatever that was. Amusement, Red thought, they'd be needing a lot of that, stuck as they were in the house until tomorrow. He had learned that the boats and carriages that would bring all the guests home would come to the Pillars tomorrow morning. He had also chatted with Gorgon who lived by the same street and got the details on the concluded tournament. The entire household struggled with boredom for the entire afternoon. The thought of working on scholastic requirements actually passed their minds and they shuddered that such a thought ever came up.

Daniel had managed to sneak out his house later that same afternoon. He reached the street leading to Red's house, but he suddenly stopped on his tracks. He'd been moving along by sheer compulsion: that was how he sneaked out and how he hurried to Red's place. Yet now his compulsion told him to stop, and he couldn't argue with it. All of a sudden, there was another downpour, but Daniel had brought his cloak for such eventuality. The street at Red's house became flooded, but not that bad as to deter Daniel's boots. The rain strengthened though and he doubted if he should go on. Gorgon saw the motionless cloaked figure out in the street and called out, "hey Daniel! Out to see Helen? She's not there; she went to her sister."

Thunderclap. Daniel waved Gorgon off in what he supposed was a gesture of thanks. He stood a few moments longer on the flooded street. His cloak had kept him dry, yet he was feeling the rain. Then he started moving again towards Red's house: might as well check on the others. He tried knocking on the gates, but the rain was louder. It was no use, he surmised and then walked away.

On the way home, a carriage sped along close to Daniel. Inside the carriage, Helen wondered whether the cloaked figure they passed by avoided the splash. Beside her, Emmie saw what happened and exclaimed, "that guy didn't even dodge it; he could've been ran over! What's up with him?"

At Red's house, everyone figured it was best to nap the boring afternoon away and the thunder failed to rouse them, except for the homeowner himself. Lethargy kept him from getting up though. A short time later, he strained his ear to determine if it was knocking he heard outside. Finally, the sound of hooves and carriage wheels had him scurrying to the gate to welcome Helen and Emmie.

The long afternoon nap had everyone wide awake later that night. All were engaged in a second round of card games. Since acolytes don't gamble, Dominic was a spectator, but he seemed just as anxious as last night's losers who were hoping to win back their Zennies. His eyes glanced at Angela from time to time, just as Mervin would glance at Helen then Emmie then back at Helen again. On the other hand, Angela kept on glancing at the Box of Conversation wondering when Harvey would summon her for a talk.

A short while later Helen and Emmie took their leave for they were too sleepy, being the ones who didn't nap that afternoon. With that, Mervin made a sharp look to Dominic as if accusing him of some delay. That startled the acolyte and he rose abruptly.

Dominic cleared his throat. "Ah, guys, I was just thinking, uhm..." Emmie continued to the bedroom, but Helen turned around to listen, to the delight of Mervin. "That since we, uh, didn't have a farewell ball this time, uhm..." Dominic stared at Angela, who glowered at him in bewilderment. He was taken aback, but found his composure to gesture to Crag to get his guitar. Suddenly, the Box of Conversation lit up and chimed. Angela jumped towards it. Sure enough, it was Harvey.

"Thank goodness you're up!" She whispered breathlessly to Harvey, but that didn't conceal to everyone the relief she felt that he finally made his summon.

Dominic remained speechless at the turn of events. It was Mervin who screamed in frustration, to everyone else's amusement. So that was it, Red thought. He noticed that Helen had gone to join her sister in bed and wondered why Mervin hadn't taken the initiative this time.

As Dominic, Mervin and Daniel lay in their respective beds, thoughts of where they had gone wrong and what might have been kept them from sleeping soundly.

Disabusing Some 2007 Notions

2008-01-08T00:03:00.000+08:00

The year 2007 is over, but before we "move on" to a new one, I would like to touch on some events and notions of this year that, thanks to the media, have been blown to ridiculous proportions.

First up is the media circus swarming over the death Marianet Amper in Davao City. They say, based on a note she left plus a cursory examination of the household, it's the poverty that had drove the poor girl to suicide. Perfect! The news producers must have thought while leaning back on their plush seats to process the situation. This angle should be hyped up because it is such a "convenient truth" for profit, if not for power.

Later on, when the discussion among ivory towers died down a bit, the infamous mayor of Davao, perhaps more as a defense of his economic handling of the city and a defense of political allies, launched an investigation to see if Marianet has been a victim of an abusive father. Some evidence actually pointed to this angle, but, oh, this would ruin the sensational alignment of an innocent death, poverty, hopelessness, corrupt administration and farcical economic gains! An alignment that could finally provide the spark to topple the said corrupt administration and prove once again the awesome power of the Philippine Free Press and avenge the murders inflicted upon their kind.

Don't expect the issue to be given its proper conclusion, though. Later still, the mutiny at the Manila Peninsula, the spark for a power grab, have fizzled out and some media personalities have been detained for processing. "Processing?" The government should never have the monopoly of double-talk! Forget Marianet, this is a personal attack against media!

Too bad they haven't even considered my theory that what have driven the girl to suicide are the earworm voices of Sean Kingston and JoJo warbling the lyrics below to a pleasant beat and chord progression that is familiar to everyone since Ben E. King:

You're way too beautiful girl
That's why it'll never work
You have me suicidal, suicidal
When you say it's over
Damn all these beautiful girls
They only wanna do you dirt
They'll have you suicidal, suicidal
When they say it's over

I'm way to cool for ya boy.
That's why it'll never work.
I'll have you suicidal,suicidal.
When I say its over.
Damn all these beautiful girls.
We're only gonna do ya dirt.
We'll have you suicidal, suicidal.
When we say it's over.

-oOo-

Speaking of the Manila Peninsula stand off, there is this particular defense for media's actuations before, during and after the incident at the Pen. Most pundits have been debating about the right to information vs. the duty of the police and police overkill vs. police SOP among other things, but there was one statement that gave most some pause: if none of the media people stayed put, Trillanes, Lim and company might have been killed. Most have apparently accepted this as a valid line of thinking. Indeed, in exploring this idea one might assert that if there was complete media coverage of Ninoy's arrival back in 1983, he would never have been killed.

This, however, is an oversimplification because it does not take other factors into consideration. Consequently, it requires a lot of assumptions, which could be telling. First it already assumes that someone is out to kill somebody. Otherwise, it assumes that the mutineers will shoot it out to the death. Still otherwise, it assumes a poorly trained and undisciplined SWAT team. Bottom line, there appears to be a distrust to the authorities (may they be de facto or de juris, with or without moral ascendancy), or an effort to create mistrust, or, further still, pandering to a possibly distrustful public. Perhaps it is but natural for media to be critical of the authorities; therefore, this is acceptable.

Other assumptions would be that the killing would take place inside the hotel under their watchful eyes. This one is dismaying, because it lacks imagination. Rather, it somehow reeks of naive self-importance: the mere presence of media can decide who lives and who dies. They should have considered that media can be used and have been used to broadcast murder and that their complete coverage would be rendered powerless in saving lives, instead creating a more potent "chilling effect." Oh sure, the killer may--repeat, may be caught on camera, but they are assuming the murderer will allow him/herself to be identified, an assumption that could cost the very lives of the media people. Ah, but they are willing to die for the right of the public to information, aren't they?

It would have been better for all if they railed against the curfew. Maybe, a legal attack wouldn't prosper since the administration has done its homework and has conjured a legal block, fair or otherwise. But the opposition could have injected more malice to this overreaction. In the end, the media preferred discussing about themselves. In addition, compared to the stand-off and the curfew, the media aspect has more gray areas and touches on their area of expertise; thus, it has more fodder for further analysis.

-oOo-

In the end, I'd like to share what I've written in the Philstar Feedback Section (subsequently deleted by the moderator, I wonder why) back when the debates were raging about the media handling of the Manila Peninsula stand-off:

Philippine media is like a pendulum swinging from authoritarian control to anarchy. Marcos started this pendulum's swing by holding the bob to the side of state control, and when his iron grip was forced to let go, the bob swung wildly to the opposite side. Shall the media then slowly swing back to being nothing more than a government propaganda arm? Who could be the great leader whose hand shall still this swinging and restore the bob to its stability at the center?

-oOo-

Now for some lighter stuff. There is a decor hanging on our Christmas tree that appears not so "Chistmassy." For me, it looks more like a key chain. Then the thought hit me: why not hang on the Christmas tree key chains that can pass as Christmas decor? I'm thinking of the shiny "gold" and "silver" metallic kinds, but of course any key chain may do. It can earn your tree a second look from visitors. At the very least, you save on buying additional Christmas trinkets and at the same time find a way to put those key chains received every Christmas into good use.

(Disclaimer: To those who have given me key chains, be assured that this sentimental chap has remembered and will remember the good memories associated with the gifts. It's just that there are not that many bag zippers and sets of keys where I can adorn with your key chains, so they stay in storage until the ones currently in use get worn out.)

Now if you see this phenomenon next year, bear in mind that you read it first here in Highway Drift.

-oOo-

I've written before about the pathetic excuse for carolers exhaling sounds that could hardly bring anyone the tiniest bit of Christmas cheer. Fortunately for this Christmas season, I've encountered none from their kind. Some singers in fact deviated from the tiresome medley of Ang Pasko ay Sumapit, Jingle Bells and We Wish You a Merry Christmas, and this I've much appreciated. Also, there are still jeepney carolers, but this time, they thump their tin can drums with a more coherent rhythm and none wish for the death of stingy people.

One caroling tactic I've noticed this Christmas is the Stake Out Caroling. That is, the singers stay by an empty house and spring into action when the homeowner comes. Of course the unwitting recipient of Holiday songs no longer has the option of ignoring the carolers. At least they're not staking out to rob someone.

A prosperous new year to all!

Naga at Random - The Follow-ups

2007-12-23T22:46:00.000+08:00

It’s almost Christmas, and my thoughts naturally wander back to the place of my childhood. Going back to Naga City last Peñafrancia Fiesta gave me an opportunity to have some sort of follow-up to my two previous posts.

This time, I managed to go inside Avenue Square and confirm that it truly is a small version of Metrowalk. I was visiting my brother and his family, whose residence / music studio was just a block away, and they invited me for some after-dinner coffee in the local branch of The Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf. The Avenue Square was in fiesta mode and customers from the nearby residential areas came in force (possibly they also brought along visitors from Manila). What caught my attention was the dramatic lighting and landscaping. The ambience in the cafe, as well as the other shops I assume, catered to middle class sensibilities. The wooden furniture, comfy seats, wall decors and the large glass of smoothie I was consuming, generic though they may be, could be likened to coffee shops in Manila.

Speaking of Manila standards, I had also gone inside the E-mall--in its Robinson's Grocery to be exact. From the outside the E-mall looks both promising and imposing. The mini-mall itself was just as large as its local counterparts like Master Square and Robertson's, so the grocery itself was quite small and lacking in shelf space to display a wider range of products, but its cleanliness and orderliness was just as good as its counterparts in the NCR. Too bad I didn't have time to roam around.

-oOo-

I managed finally to get a photo of that Greenbelt impostor in downtown Naga. It's not much though since I just used a cellphone camera as I was riding a tricycle.

-oOo-

Being in the city itself enabled me to be reoriented to its spatial context, and made me form some Urban Planning concerns a la Urbano de la Cruz.

Regarding the housing developments in the frontier barangay of Pacol (as well as contiguous municipalities north of Naga), the increasing affluence of its residents might cause more automobiles in the city since they would go to work and school downtown, which is at least four kilometers away. But downtown Naga (the original Central Business District or CBD1, more commonly known as Centro) is barely able to handle rush hour vehicle volumes, and for parking, vehicles merely park along the road. There's a CBD2 being developed, but it's just bedside Centro and also far from Pacol.

The easiest solution would be to encourage the development of commercial areas in Pacol itself. I must emphasize though that the environmental impact should be minimized to preserve the pristine environment of this originally agricultural area near Mt. Isarog. What I'm hearing is that this is the present track being taken by the city government, understandably so since it would involve less political and financial strain for City Hall.

The other solutions include policies discouraging ownership of private vehicles together with policies boosting public transport. For instance, the car owner would face higher taxes and fees. Environment-friendly alternatives to the jeep and tricycle could be introduced. These may be too drastic and burdensome, therefore unpopular. In turn, implementation and enforcement would require a great deal of government resources.

As for the parking problems, there are vacant lots in Centro that could be opened to parking. At the same time, stricter parking measures (including towing) should be implemented. Multi-storey parking structures may be built on the larger lots. Underground parking is iffy due to the almost yearly flooding episodes encountered in the low-lying areas of the city.

-oOo-

Speaking of transportation, I encountered no hassles in my bus trips to and from Naga last September. I rode Isarog Bus Lines on the way there. I must say, the La-Z Boy seats were overrated for me at least. Sure, it had easy push-button adjustment controls and superior shock absorption that cushioned my butt for the whole eight-hour trip, but I was still in a moving vehicle, and whatever discomfort and difficulty in sleeping I had have was primarily due to the motion, not the seat ergonomics. On the way back to Manila, I rode a Philtranco bus that wasn't speed crazy at all. Lastly, there was no "road kill" encountered this time around.

-oOo-

There's another Naga City nowadays. Residents of Naga town in Cebu chose cityhood in a plebiscite earlier this year. I guess this new city will be known as Naga City, Cebu, while my home city in Bicol, by virtue of its being a chartered city, will simply be called Naga City. For me, who had experienced and is still experiencing awkward dealings with namesakes, all I can say (in my limited Visayan) is "samok."

President Jack Ryan and the TV News Anchor (Part 2 of 2)

2007-12-16T23:50:00.000+08:00

(Continuation. Spoiler alert still up.)

What kind of a president is this John Patrick Ryan? For the enemies of the United States, who by this time have regrouped from their humiliation as narrated in the previous novel, this new president may be skilled as a technocrat, but he was unprepared for leadership and statecraft, a weakness they shall exploit. Indeed, an America reeling from tragedy was most vulnerable, and they shall keep the superpower distracted with attack after attack, like hyenas circling the lion, while they pursue their world-changing goals. (What's a political thriller without the megalomaniac?) For Jack's personal friends, he's a straight shooter, a committed man, and, being a non-politician, someone with the willingness and capability to finally put some order in the government.

Ed Kealty had taken the political bumbling of the neophyte Ryan as a sign, an opportunity for his political redemption. In those troubled times, entrusting the presidency to an amateur was a risk the country should not take. On the other hand, he, Ed Kealty, experienced in the ways of government and beloved by media was ready and willing to take over. His only problem was that his charm was irresistible to women as they were irresistible for him.

Working on the notion that the resignation letter was never submitted, Kealty claimed that he was, in effect, never been removed as Vice-President and was therefore the rightful successor to the late President. This was political suicide, Kealty acknowledged, but in all earnestness before the camera, he would say that he was doing this for the country. At first he put the White House in the defensive, and Ryan, whose temper was a character flaw, would privately fume in the Oval Office. But the presidential Chief of Staff was a great political mentor, and Ryan's sincerity was eventually received by the public: exhortations in his speeches translated to voting trends at the emergency Congressional polls. Even the normally skeptical press had started to cut him some slack.

Kealty sensed his efforts were coming up short. As a last-ditch effort, he turned on Ryan's mysterious CIA past, hoping to play on the public distrust on the secretive spy agency as well as expose the international scandals that Ryan's actions in the Agency had concealed. With a leak from a news special, ironically more favorable to the President, that a print journalist was working on, as well as Kealty's own CIA source, the fallen Vice-President showed to a TV news tandem classified information about the anti-drug operation in Colombia and the defections (and conveniently omitted the part about stopping a nuclear war). Now to catch Ryan unawares, Tom Donner, the younger, more aggressive anchorman of the pair, suggested that they tell the Presidential staff that the tape of an earlier White House interview got damaged and request for a live one at primetime. Later on TV, Jack's eyes widened upon mention of places and names better left unsaid. He could not admit nor deny, but feebly insisted on his position not to comment on CIA intelligence activities.

The fall out was immediate. Colombia questioned the violation of their sovereignty and was worried on the impact to their anti-drug campaign. More importantly, coordination with Russia was hampered at a crucial point when the international threat was growing. Also, the defectors were outed and, thus, their lives were put in danger. Both friend and foe abroad were in agreement that the news anchors committed an act of treason, and in their countries the necessary punishment would have been meted out. But Ryan could only release his rage in private: charges could be filed, but that would only mean an implicit admission. Not that it mattered anyway. Russia for instance, had figured things out, and for them it was merely a matter of reclassifying which information was true and which was false. His enemies, though while acknowledging the revelation that could be Ryan cunning and formidable, took the non-action to the committed treason as another sign of weakness.

Perhaps it could be said that Tom Donner was indeed siding with Ed Kealty, for the latter was good to the media and they were just finding comfort in the familiar. Or perhaps he was just acting out media's role as a watchdog, naturally critical of the government, especially this new one slowly being populated by political outsiders and led by a non-politician with the absence, as of that moment, of the usual checks and balances. Indeed, the Congress and Supreme Court were killed off in the crash, and only the media remained unscathed to check on the administration: what an immense responsibility. The CIA might hide and disclose on a need-to-know basis, but for the media, the people had the right to know who their president was.

On the other hand, maybe it was primarily about the scoop, and confidential information was one hell of a scoop. Maybe it was no different with the journalist whose story they stole. Although the journalist had expressed the intention of helping Ryan, in the end, especially for the journalist's editor-in-chief, it was just one good scoop, and putting the President's past in a favorable light was just secondary.

What about public reaction? Of course, some people would fuss about the violence and the fact that Ryan had killed twice, others would admire him as a man of action, perhaps consider him a hero for a lot of reasons, but mostly because he defended his family. Some would be shocked at the interference to other countries while others would accept it as the roles of the World's Policeman. In the novel, the popular pulse wasn't really given that much attention or it was dismissed as susceptible to spin. This tells something about the government's perception, or maybe just Clancy's.

Meanwhile, the journalist wouldn't take the theft of his story sitting down. He had an idea of where the lies were and he would expose these to get even. He found help in the person of John Plumber, Tom Donner's senior and conservative partner. Plumber had misgivings of his partner's deceptions and was looking for a way out. The new pair of conspirators hatched a plan that involved the anchor's surprise farewell address at his nighttime TV news program and a top story at the journalist's paper with him as co-author.

The expose sent ripples across the media industry and disgraced Tom Donner in particular, but also his TV network as well as TV news in general, as the journalist had hoped it would accomplish, such that the public's trust would shift back to the newspapers. Back at the White House, Jack Ryan might have gloated, but again, no charges were pressed. Maybe he was just too busy dealing with the foreign attacks that had ravaged the country, which even his family was not spared. Moreover, the situations in the Indian Ocean and Taiwan Strait were getting complicated. On top of all these, a war was looming in the Middle East. The expose on Tom Donner was just a small thorn off Ryan's presidential arse.

Speaking of that war in the Middle East, it came to a point that US troops will have to be mobilized, and Tom Donner, as part of an earlier arrangement to be a war correspondent, was shipped along with the soldiers. The first though that would come to anyone's mind, was that Donner would be killed in the heat of battle, and Ryan would actually have his revenge. However, as the full extent of the conflict was revealed and the tanks Donner was embedded with rolled along virtually unopposed, the repentant reporter declared with gratitude how he was given the rare opportunity to witness history as it unfold.

All's well that ends well in the world of fiction. Perhaps this is why amidst the bad news hovering over the country in the past weeks, I immersed myself in the world of Executive Orders as a form of escape or maybe as a way to flesh out the hope that, in a better age, systems fulfill their purpose and persons rise above their differences, contribute their talents and lead all to the path to happily ever after.

President Jack Ryan and the TV News Anchor (Part 1 of 2)

2007-12-11T22:08:00.000+08:00

Coming into the last month of 2007, we were back in interesting times and every blogger had a field day flaunting his or her biases. On the days immediately after the Manila Pen incident, I engaged in punditry at Philstar.com, this time zealously defending my comments by contesting every deletion (futile it may seem, but paraphrasing did get me somewhere) and arguing against other posters foolish enough to piss me off.¹ When the comments started waning and the debate was more subdued, I shifted my attention to friends' blogs. Thankfully, what I encountered was either an absence of a discussion or entries similar to my opinion.²

As for this blog? Well, my way of thinking is not so much like that of journalists and columnists but more like those of historians, futurists and fictionists; thus, I shall not inflict further upon you, gentle reader, high-blood-pressure-inducing appeals to emotions most blogs and columns alike enjoy dishing out at this moment since I might do it poorly (and really induce hypertension). Rather, I shall be sharing a subplot from a novel I just finished recently. A spoiler alert is in order.

Tom Clancy's Executive Orders is the culmination of the career of Tom Clancy's fictional hero Jack Ryan who was introduced to public consciousness in a novel chronicling his exploits as an obscure history lecturer and stock broker thrust into history by saving a family of the British Royalty from the IRA (Patriot Games). Due to subsequent terrorist attacks on his own family, he becomes a CIA analyst, and rises though the ranks to become Deputy Director, Central Intelligence. The novels show him pulling the plug on an illegal operation in Colombia (Clear and Present Danger), facilitating three Russian defections (Red Rabbit, The Hunt for Red October and The Cardinal of the Kremlin) and stopping a nuclear war (The Sum of All Fears), wherein the last one made him quit the CIA.³ Big stuff indeed, all of which could make him a well-loved All-American Hero, which, in turn, he could easily translate into a seat in the government but they were well-kept secrets in the CIA. Besides, he may respect the institutions, but he abhors the politics involved in running them.

Now it so happened that after Ryan's CIA stint, the novel Debt of Honor shows how he got sucked back into the government as the National Security Advisor mainly because he was not someone who runs away from a challenge as well as the opportunity to serve his country. (Aww, ain't that cute? It's even cuter because he doesn't say it like a politician would--out loud for the world to hear.) Like any good fictional coincidence, Ryan's appointment came at a time when America finds itself at war with an international alliance of emerging powers. It was a 21st century war waged with stealth, minimal force, espionage, sabotage and deceit (the last of which involved--gasp!--the US media). And oh, USA won that conflict.

A subplot in that novel was a sexual harassment scandal involving the Vice-President Ed Kealty. In order avoid impeachment and further shame the entire administration, which was busy fighting a war, it was agreed that he would tender his resignation. Jack Ryan's impressive contributions in winning the war made him a shoo-in for the vice-presidency, it did help that he was supposed to merely fill in the vacancy for the next six months before the elections.

There was no stopping Jack's ultimate rendezvous with destiny, however. In a "shocker" of a "heart-stopping climax" as the reviewers had put it,⁴ an unexpected attack killed off the country's leadership--the Congress, the Supreme Court, the Joint Chiefs of Staff, the Cabinet and even the President himself--with only Jack Ryan surviving and immediately sworn in as the new president, setting the stage for Executive Orders.

(To be continued.)

-oOo-

Footnotes

1. My opinion was in the majority, but as the mutineers have shown, stupidity existed and their mutiny had agitated me enough to be in the fighting mood: one rabidly biased idiot got his ass handed back to him with at least one fan cheering me on to boot. Too bad the entire "debate" was deleted; the world was deprived of laughing at his stupidity.

2. If ever there's a different opinion, I don't think they'll be as ridiculous as what I occasionally see in Philstar.com and what I usually see in some blogs out there--one tip, it's so easy too see your bias in this incident if you focus on the mistakes of one side only when it is clear that all sides were incompetent fools playing heroes, villains and broadcasters of a painful comedy.

3. The movie version made major revisions and consequently resulted in a Ben Affleck flop way too inferior to the novel, worse than the usual case with novels turned to movies. How dare they mess up one of my favorite Clancy novels! My other favorite is Debt of Honor. Let's see if they would ever dare make a movie out of that one!

4. It would still be about a decade later that all would be shocked--for real. Though the counterpart events in the real world were under different circumstances, the eerie similarity with 9/11, the anthrax scare and war in the Middle East (in similar chronological order to boot!) would make one think that Tom Clancy had a political crystal ball up his sleeve.

Fantasia (Part 8)

2007-11-09T23:51:00.000+08:00

Previous parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

Despite being stranded frustratingly just a town away from Ceres, Daniel had been keeping tabs with how his friends were faring through the use of a newly developed enchanted artifact called the Message Jewel. It had been an emergent favored item throughout the Empire of Fralippolippi because unlike the unwieldy Box of Conversation, this one could be carried around and, as its name implies, could even be worn as jewelry. It did have some limitations, like at that present moment when the storm was interfering with the ability of Daniel's Jewel to regenerate mana (energy). Before it completely died out though, Daniel had learned from Red himself of Helen, Mervin and Dominic, as well as the rest of the guests and some fellow wards of Fourth Group R, being holed up at Red's residence.

The house was full of youthful boys and girls--and no parents!--all of them full of vigor yet still immature. Daniel was tormented with lewd scenarios that could possibly happen in there. Oh! What instinctual need, what primal urge could be consuming them at this cold and turbulent night?

"Damn, I'm hungry already." Crag the musician was addressing no one in particular when he voiced out the sensation in his belly while going through the kitchen cabinets. The candlestick he was holding barely provided illumination for his search for additional sustenance.

Red, the homeowner, felt obliged to answer anyway. "Well, if it weren't for the prefects we wouldn't be in this situation."

A little while earlier, at around suppertime, the prefects dropped by to check on them. They had to do so, it appeared, because they've learned that there were no parents around, but the people in the house grumbled that the prefects simply wanted to eat, and eat they did upon a significant portion of whatever food Red had saved to pass the storm. The prefects left after being convinced that the collective prying eyes in the household would be enough to ensure nobody fooled around. They don't need to dine to their fill to figure that out, the homeowner rued. Besides, he glanced up the second floor and espied two figures staring out the window watching the storm, Mervin, for instance, had been too love-struck to even think of fooling around. Red noted how Helen giggled shyly over some joke Mervin had told her. It must had been one of those jokes the Fourth Group R had heard a lot of times but still laughed over them. He tuned in to their conversation; the collective prying eyes also had ears.

"You really want to be a Healer? Isn't that real challenging? I hear its Masters will not tolerate any mistake." Mervin was asking Helen about her future plans.

"I've put my heart into it. Of course, there should be no mistakes on matters concerning life and death." What a cute response, Red remarked to himself.

Mervin thought so too as he grinned, hoping to appear supportive. "For my part, I'd always thought I'd be good as a Knight, but I've realized the real thing is dangerous." Fralippolippi was one of the places in the world where monsters still thrive. "Lately I have come to take interest with enchanted artifacts...." That was upon the influence of Daniel, Red thought, but of course Mervin wouldn't mention that. The homeowner clutched his Message Jewel. It had a few mana left. He remembered having correspondence with the champion just before supper. Daniel won in the Citadel alright, but he sure is losing this match by simply not being here, poor guy.

A movement of shadows shifted Red's attention to a candlelit table not far from Mervin and Helen. Dominic was gesturing as he tried to impress Angela with his poetry published in A Merry Land. Another poor fellow. It was obvious to Red that Angela was feigning interest. What everyone actually enjoyed was the funny story Daniel wrote about the Codix Master Wilbur and a storm, which, upon removing exaggerations, was no different from what they were experiencing now. Daniel could be a Wizard indeed, was their bemused comment, for he sort of foretold the storm.

Guitar music filled the house once more. Crag had found a way to distract himself from the hunger. The rest of the guests have long found their distraction through card games. They were now discussing raising the stakes to ten Zennies for further thrill. Which made it faster for some of them to go broke, Red thought, and they'd be borrowing money from him. Of course he'd charge interest, a no-brainer for a budding Merchant like him. The thought of profit finally raised the homeowner's spirits and made him forget his own hunger as he went to the bedrooms to prepare for the comfortable slumber of his guests, be they losers or winners.

One town away, the Light Ace vessel finally continued with the last leg of its trip. The blockage had been cleared and the storm had a lull long enough to allow the boat to reach the port of Ceres. From the port, the wards and their masters went straight to the Pillars. The prefects had prepared them dinner, small consolation for the inconvenience. The prefects did not join anymore; they had their fill earlier that night. Later on, they allowed the use of their carriage to shuttle the wards directly to their homes. No detours allowed, they emphasized to Daniel. The wheels of the carriage splashed water around. The lower parts of the city were starting to get flooded. In the carriage, Daniel could only stare at Red's house as they passed nearby.

Back at home, Daniel, although tired from the competition and the voyage, could not sleep immediately. He had been thinking instead. If there was no storm, there should have been a Farewell Dance that night. In the first place, if there was no tournament, he would have been with Helen for two days now. If things were normal, he would have a fighting chance. For all the planning and re-planning he had done, this night was no different from that night three years ago. And when he remembered where Mervin and Helen would be sleeping tonight, he was crushed. Tonight might actually be worse.

Halloween Ephemeral Thoughts

2007-10-29T23:04:00.000+08:00

Last year, in the height of the blackout induced by Typhoon Milenyo, I chanced upon a ghostly white apparition in the mirror. It commanded me to take its picture, which I dutifully did using my trusty Nokia 3200. What a vain ghost, I thought. The figure apparently read my mind, got angry and promptly disappeared.

It's not just the mirror that may appear scary in this unit of ours. The landlady has a fascination with antiques: tribal masks, Catholic ikons, a Hindu and a Buddhist statue. She displays them at the stairs leading to the unit. It's an effective scare tactic against bothersome children (and maybe the adults too, but it's more probable that they'd steal the figures). Inside, dark woodwork significantly subdues illumination (darkness is her preference, I think, because she's a widow). The overall impression created is that of the inside of a decades-old house, even though the entire housing complex is just over ten years old. My sister-in-law actually reports of a presence here.

Okay, it's ten in the evening, I'm all alone in this unit and I'm writing about how scary it is? I better change the topic before the vain ghost appears in the mirror again.

-oOo-

Just recently, I was playing with a ballpen equipped with a laser pointer and an LED flashlight. It dawned upon me that Harry Potter's lighted wand (lumos spell) may be probably implemented in the movies through an LED device (of course, in the movies, the luminosity would be further enhanced). If I could fashion such a toy wand, it just might sell this Halloween or perhaps during another typhoon-induced blackout, hmm.

-oOo-

I notice that I have this certain fascination with the "Shadow" Jungian Archetype. If I would dress up for a Halloween party, I'd be a vampire or Batman or some other similarly mysterious creature of the night. Indeed I am a creature of the night with my penchant of staying up late and waking up at noon.

By the way, speaking of archetypes, these are culture-based constructs used by the psychologist Carl Jung to interpret dreams. Jung believes that the persons, animals, things and other creatures and objects we see in our dreams reflect the current states of various parts of our personality. Thus if ever we see dark and mysterious characters like a vampire, Batman, the devil or even an "evil" version of ourselves we see the Shadow archetype, which embodies our dark or repressed side. Observe how this character appeared and acted in the dream. Was it dominant or weak, jubilant or unhappy? What did it say? More archetypes representing other part of our personality can be found in our dreams. (Google them!) Note how these archetypes interact with each other in the dream.

Ah, dream interpretation can be fun. I miss my Psychology class. I remember how the teacher could check our 100-item exam papers immediately after submitting, without even consulting an answer key. Applying my psychology knowledge, I figured he was using a mnemonic device. Sure enough, though vaguely, I saw patterns in the answers. In fairness, I needed to answer correctly a significant number of items, enough to get a decent grade, before I could see the patterns and ace the test. The teacher now uses an answer key, just in case another student like me pops up in his class.

-oOo-

Ever stumbled upon the blog of a dead person? I know of one: Julia in the Philippines. Remember her? Her death was actually in the news a few months ago. Note the title of her last entry. Leave her a comment (log-in required). Maybe she might reply from the great beyond.

Makes me think of what would happen to our blogs in the event of our death. Would we also receive loving parting comments? If there's a saying that one must live each day like it's one's final day on earth, then blogging each entry like it's the last you'll ever make just might clear up the trash in the blogging world.

Traslacion Musings

2007-10-14T14:21:00.000+08:00

Last month, I went back to Naga for the Peñafrancia Fiesta, its opening festivities, to be precise. The Peñafrancia Fiesta starts with the Traslacion, the procession where the miraculous images of Our Lady of Peñafrancia and the Divino Rostro (the image of the suffering Jesus on the Widow Veronica's cloth) are brought from the Basilica Minore where She is enshrined to the more accessible Naga Metropolitan Cathedral downtown. This practice started out back in the Spanish colonial past where walking is the main method of land transportation, the basilica no more than a nipa-roofed shrine located in the scarcely populated city outskirts, and the cathedral was located right in the place to be, at the heart of the city.

I'd prefer going to the Traslacion rather than the main event nine days later--the Fluvial Procession, where the Image is returned to the basilica via a river barge (called the Pagoda). Perhaps it's just my aversion to crowds. Actually, the number of people in the city does shoot up during Traslacion, but there's about twice more people during the Fluvial Procession. And speaking of large crowds, fiestas not only attract devotees, tourists and merchants (some aren't even selling Bicol merchandise, for crying out loud), but also shady characters who think of large crowds as both unwitting prey and convenient hiding place, just as what fellow blogger Sidney recently experienced (he too went to Naga last month, but for the Fluvial Procession).

It had been six years since I had last watched or participated in the Traslacion. I guess it's a Bicolano thing to have this itch to participate. It also helped that every school in Naga and its neighboring towns sends a delegation, so from elementary to high school I had been marching, rain or shine, in the Traslacion. My plan was to wiggle my way, by affiliation with my former teachers, into the delegation of my high school alma mater. I was thinking it would also be a good opportunity to brush up with the latest in the school and in the city, hitting two birds with one stone. So there I was walking at high noon towards the usual staging point of my high school, which was a quarter of the way down from the starting point of the procession. (They are still schoolchildren, so it would be enough for them to walk for about a kilometer while the grown-up devotees take on the full route, which is about a couple hundred of meters longer. Yeah, we're tough like that.) I was wearing only a T-shirt, but the heat was getting into me, which is not a good sign. Back then I wore two layers of formal "gala" uniform, but I took the heat in stride. I discovered that recently, the staging area was moved, which meant students now walked about 30 more meters for the procession, no biggie actually.

Finally, I saw the delegation of my high school, but was disappointed. I've been supportive of its recent major changes like a move to a new campus located at the city outskirts (I meant the new city outskirts, kilometers farther than the Basilica Minore) and, of course, co-education, but, as a school that prides itself as a Bicolano, Catholic and Jesuit institution, I hope they retain this small tradition during the fiesta. What I stumbled upon in the delegation was a sound mobile followed by the crucifix, school standards and candles held by the altar servers, followed by senior high school students and teachers then finally some students from the college. I didn't even find the old teachers whom I personally know. This was a token delegation, no different from any other school in the procession. I risk sounding like an old fogey, but during my time, the delegation came in full force, which made it unique among the other schools in the Traslacion. At front was not just the crucifix, candles and school standards but a platoon of altar servers. Then there was a brass band from college (although its recent absence was due to the fact that the school bands were now positioned at locations along the route rather than march with their respective schools). Following the band was a platoon of CAT officers, who will compete a week later in the annual Military Parade. After them were all high school students escorted by all their teachers. Among the students were members of the mysterious religious organization Days with the Lord holding up banners with Marian slogans.

Dejected, I walked away. A few blocks away though, I saw a new delegation that was, in some ways, "unique" and amusing enough to elicit raised eyebrows from me. At its heart, Naga is a conservative city, where values like modesty, apparent if not internalized, are still regarded highly. For instance, the uniforms in its schools are of the long skirt variety (as exemplified by the seifuku in the anime Maria-sama ga Miteru, which, incidentally, is set in a Catholic school for girls, see pic at left), and this fits well with the religious procession the students are participating. But times do change and Naga is not exempted. Recently, the city had welcomed an international school, Brentwood if I'm not mistaken, and they were also marching in the Traslacion. The thing is, international schools sport a uniform of more worldly standards (and the Brentwood uniform in particular uncannily resembles the seifuku of Ghost Hunt with its sailor bow, long sleeves, short skirts and knee-high socks, see pic at right). After the initial startled reaction, the first question that came to mind was why was this not present during our time (Why?!). Then I thought, quoting somebody, "that's hot"--literally speaking--but I guess like any other Bicol resident, the Brentwood students could cope with the scorching weather. As to the question whether there were anime-cute students worthy of their anime-like uniform, it's probable but I could not ascertain since the fiery sun was beating down upon me and I had to move on.

In the end, I had to content myself with merely watching the Traslacion by the roadside together with childhood friends, something which I last did more than a decade ago anyway. At first I noticed that clouds were gathering above the approximate location of the basilica. She has started her voyage, I thought to myself. Slowly, like the pace of the procession, the clouds crept towards our location downtown. I wouldn't be surprised if it brought rain along with it since water was more than welcome in the midst of the voyadores, the tumultuous sea of men bearing the Image of Our Lady (think rush-hour MRT, only with a lot more pushing and shoving and drunkenness and body odor). Either way, there were volunteer fire trucks and civic-minded homeowners along the route willing to hose some relief onto the men. A similar sign of weather cooperating with the festivities happens during the Fluvial Procession where rains would raise the water level in the Naga River so that the barge could float along more smoothly, a feat replicated, just in case, using flood control structures.

The image of the Divino Rostro passed by, and, a couple of hours later, that of Our Lady. Together with the waved handkerchiefs and falling confetti, were raised cameras and cellphones. In the age of 3G and blogs, this centuries-old tradition continues among the Bicolanos will continue to do so for ages to come.

Traslacion photo stolen from Chy.

Fantasia (Part 7)

2007-10-04T00:03:00.000+08:00

It's been quite a while. It might help if you brush up first on the previous parts: 1 2 3 4 5 6

Heavy rains and strong winds drenched and battered the forest right outside the Citadel of Aqueaon. It was supposed to be a mere couple of hours after noon, but the surroundings were as dark as the final moments of dusk. Occasional lightning flashes revealed figures running around beneath the trees. It was the final competition of the tournament, and the champions of the academies that survived the eliminations were racing against each other in looking for clues to find the Trophy of EveAlone.

Even in good weather, the search for clues was a daunting task. Enchanted artifacts scattered across the forest contained the clues, but before these clues could be revealed, the champions must first surpass the artifact's challenge.

"There's the next artifact!" Romulus pointed to something shiny jutting out of a tree branch. Gorgon, another champion of the Pillars, looked around to see if anybody was following them. So far, they were leading the race. The three, including Daniel, were on a lucky roll considering that they have surpassed the other challenges by mere guesswork. They approached the new artifact and were given a challenge, the second to the last.

"It's a Codix puzzle." Daniel instantly recognized the scribbling. Answering this particular puzzle required advanced skill that wasn't taught yet to the rest of his fellow wards back at the Pillars.

At the Citadel, the rest of the Knights and their masters were monitoring the race through a Heraldic Mirror. Wilbur, their master of Codix, also worked on the challenge. The Knights were amazed at how Daniel solved the puzzle as fast as the master did. They cheered as their champions raced to the last challenge. They were clearly on the way to victory.

While the activities at the Citadel went on, the Pillars had decided as a precaution to forego with theirs, including the Farewell Dance later that night. However, plucky youths that the Knights and their guests were, they decided to explore the City of Ceres instead. The weather was still not that adverse, they would exclaim as if taunting the storm.

All the guests of Fourth Group R had decided to shop for local wares at the bazaar and try the delicacies at the eateries. Of course, where there was Helen and Angela, Mervin and Dominic tagged along. Dominic was amused at how Mervin possessed a servile demeanor around Helen. He, on the other hand, was unable to establish his existence to Angela, as there beside her was Harvey, imperious as always. Later, they all decided to spend the rest of the afternoon at the house of Red, a well-off member of Fourth Group R. Red was well off enough to live near the Pillars, in this spacious residence, away from his parents.

Dominic had finally found the chance to get close to Angela when Harvey decided to go home. Yet how shall he proceed? Melodies of popular songs started filling the air. Crag, the musician of Fourth Group R, decided to give in to the group's prodding for some entertainment. They gathered around Crag. Some guys can be lucky to be blessed with talent, Dominic thought. He did notice though that Angela was having a little difficulty in singing along with the rest. Quickly he searched for a particular scroll in his bag, and rolled it down to the lyrics of the ballad being sung. He sat beside Angela and showed her the scroll, "here, this might help." He was rewarded a smile for the gesture. He smiled back at her. He also smiled to congratulate himself for this small victory.

Singing along with Angela was already heavenly for Dominic, but he would have wanted to go beyond that. If only he had more time with her. Ah, but the head acolyte had found favor in heaven, and his desire for more time was duly answered later that afternoon: the weather worsened around Ceres and the group decided to just spend the night together in Red's house.

Meanwhile, the Knights were having a grand time at the Citadel. Food was overflowing and lively music drowned out the storm outside. Actually, they were unable to win the minor contests, but what was important was that they lorded it over the main event. Amidst the celebration, however, Daniel yearned to rush home. He glanced at the trophy the Knights have been proudly displaying. Worthless, he thought. Even though it was not wholly for his own benefit, he had been dutiful to his task. His own quest, however, was at Ceres.

One of the Masters of the Pillars had noticed Daniel's impatience and understood. "I suppose we all have had our fill, let's go home before the weather gets worse," she declared in a kind voice. A Light Ace vessel was waiting for them by the raging river. Though a small type of boat, its sturdy sails proved efficient in harnessing the power of the stormy winds. Thusly, with just an hour of traveling, they found themselves approaching the last town before Ceres.

Daniel would have wanted the vessel to sail faster than that, but fate again intervened. Debris was blocking parts of the river and boats were having a hard time navigating through them. The townsmen had started clearing operations. In the meantime, Daniel was reduced to impatiently walking to and fro in the bridge of the vessel, struggling to cope with the new misfortune that struck him.

Collapse

2007-09-22T22:19:00.000+08:00

I might have been gone for a while, but the title is not about the state of this blog. Rather, it's about the book I've mentioned in my previous entry.

I first got interested with Jared Diamond's Collapse upon seeing the Mayan ruins on its cover and reading the subtitle "how societies choose to fail or succeed." I figured it would be a good research material for the "epic novel" I have in mind, as well as additional information concerning 2012. Well, I never got those things I was looking for, but I still got quite a learning experience.

For the past few weeks, I underwent a re-education in history, at least those of the sample ancient and contemporary societies as Diamond examines their rise and fall or survival through the interplay of five variables, namely: damage inflicted by the society to its environment, climate change, hostile neighbors, friendly trade partners and the society's response. Indeed it is a novelty for most people to view history in terms of the environment, for history is more commonly associated with the social sciences like politics and culture (although the book also takes these aspects into consideration). This multi-disciplinary integration, which lends itself to Diamond's majestic big-picture exposition and analysis, is what I, who would like to think of myself as a jack-of-all-trades, personally like about the book.

Now what could make societies collapse? Four of the five variables are considered givens or things of the past and merely determines, at a specific point in time, how brittle or robust a society's environment is. Diamond gives weight to the fifth, society's response, the only variable where people can be in considerable control. It boils down to problem solving, specifically the steps involved: anticipation of a future problem, perception of an existing problem, creation of a solution and the result of that solution. Failures could arise at any of those steps, and the reasons for such failures may be foolish in hindsight, but on second thought are arguably rational or excusable. Who would fault those who take care of their own interest? How would people notice the decreasing amount of resources if it happens slowly over generations, especially if they are not trained to detect these changes? Why would people suddenly discard traditional values that have defined their society and have made them successful throughout all these years? These are hard and troubling questions because they go deep down into our very selves, our identities, our beliefs, our values. One would think that, despite the intellect and advancements, humanity is still limited, finite and, perhaps, ultimately doomed.

I myself would, for instance, insist that technology will be able to solve our problems sooner if not later, but even to that Diamond has a response: time and again technology had solved some problems only to introduce new ones. Should I then despair, especially now that technology is sufficiently advanced to trigger problems more massive in scale?

No, the correct response is to be humbled and to be hopeful. The fact is, we're still alive after all, in spite of catastrophic failures in the past, and current pressing problems. Among the sample societies in the book, there are success stories from various societies employing various means to adapt and preserve themselves. The human intellect, the knowledge collected throughout the millennia, the advancements though short of perfect will, if used properly, be enough for us to survive. That was one reason why Diamond still wrote the book. He still has faith in the human capabilities, flawed and puny they may be, to still deliver us to survival.

-oOo-

Collapse is written by an American for an American audience. However, the few mentions on the Philippines aren't exactly flattering. Most noticeably, Diamond lumps the country, together with Indonesia, Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia, Madagascar and Haiti as environmental hotspots of the world. Interestingly, he then notes to drive his point, in this same group of countries are also the political hotspots of the world. (Aside from Indonesia, where are the other East Asian and Southeast Asian countries? On their way to First World status, although Diamond points out that being First World, with its wasteful lifestyle and "exported" environmental damage, is not entirely a good thing.)

Another unflattering mention of the country in the book is about short-term lease logging that is damaging the rainforest. We're not talking of illegal loggers here; short-term leases for logging are granted by the government to companies in exchange for taxes and fees. However, the tendency of the logging companies is to acquire as much lumber as they can, and after the lease expires they can actually just run away and renege on their commitment to replant. I remember how, in the year 2004--when Diamond is probably in the thick of writing this book--massive landslides brought about by record amounts of rainfall have wrought destruction at Quezon province, while fallen logs accompanying the mud and flood revealed the culprit. There was this sound and fury regarding a total log ban, which eventually fizzled out. Then the following years saw an increase in the frequency of landslides. Have the loggers already inflicted upon the Philippines the damage they, as Diamond mentioned, already inflicted upon the Malay Peninsula? What could happen next to this poor country of ours?

There was actually one good thing Diamond had mentioned about the Philippines, and it involved sustainable practices, at least on a community level. It was buried somewhere along the footnotes for further readings, though, and can be easily missed. How come we cannot do this in a national level?

-oOo-

I this point I should restrain myself from again proceeding with my usual kilometric ramblings. The temptation is great since, Collapse contains lots of information and realizations that would keep me going. But then, I just might as well re-write the book!

Drought

2007-08-25T23:46:00.000+08:00

In one way, this title can well describe the recent state of my blog. At the surface, there is no new entry to quench the thirst of the handful of readers out there. Yet like the country's recent drought scare, in my mind clouds of thoughts have been gathering, building strength to inundate my blog with my usual kilometric posts.

Speaking of this recent drought scare in Northern Luzon, I can't help but twit with the responses of the nation's leaders to the crisis.

It was already July, yet this year's rainy season hadn't officially kicked in, at least in Northern Luzon. Sure, there were some rains in Metro Manila, but they were too few in the places that matter. Consequently, the water levels in the dams up north of the capital continued their descent, even breaching their respective critical levels. This in turn threatened both the irrigation of vast agricultural areas in the region, which is a great contributor (40% if I'm not mistaken) to the agri-economy, and the energy output of hydro-electric power plants, which were churning out electricity to power the fans and aircon of city-dwellers still inconvenienced by the extended sunny weather.

The government then began sending out emergency funds to mitigate the farmers' losses, step up cloud seeding operations as well as ordering extra coal so that the expensive and polluting coal power plants could shoulder the energy production, which the dams had been rendered incapable of generating. Officials also mouthed reminders to conserve water so that there would be no interruption of its supply for general consumption. The problem appeared to be compelling enough that Church leaders issued out an oratio imperata, a call to prayers for more rain (made more profound because of the Latin, ah but of course: "quid, quid latine dictum sit, altum videtur").

As if on cue, starting just mere days later, three successive typhoons passed by the Philippines. They did not hit the country directly, but instead strengthened the monsoon and brought in more rain. Too much rain in fact for the places that did not need it. It was as if God decided to humor the prayers of the flock when he sent in the typhoons. It was as if the reason He delayed the rains was because the people were not yet ready for the flooding, the disease, the potholes and the falling billboards, among others.

It makes me wonder what would happen if the typhoons started coming only after more than a month since the call to prayers. Or maybe the bishops had been assured, after a long hard look at Pagasa weather data, that a storm may form in a few days, thus they issued the call ad majorem Dei gloriam.

Pathetic. My first impression of the bishops' response is that it is medieval (not surprising though). The government's call for water conservation was a lot better, but considering the other things it can do, I deem as feeble the overall government response (also not surprising).

I would be impressed if the government would use this crisis to push for long term measures to counteract water shortages, boost food security and ensure uninterrupted energy production. I'm not knowledgeable on what exactly are the measures are most fitting for the Northern Luzon area, but I'm sure reforestation and logging control are included. Buried in the news, but also vital would be the DOST/UPLB research for an irrigation system with minimal water usage. Instead, the government focused more in reactive moves like cloud seeding, emergency purchases and emergency funds. Oh well, as I've learned long ago, I shouldn't expect nor depend much from the government. If they push for those long term measures, they would be stepping on the toes of those with vested interests, and for an administration concerned with its survival, this could be a disaster that will impact them much more than natural disasters of which they think they are insulated.

On the other hand, I would be even more impressed, if, in a very simple move, a move as easy as creating daily homilies, a move that would only be opposed by those with vested interests at their own risk, the clergy starts mouthing off that caring for the environment is a moral duty for every devout Christian, that this is backed by a number of Bible passages from the Book of Genesis up to the Book of Revelations. They actually had the chance one Sunday during the height of the water crisis when the Sunday Gospel was an admonition against greed: Jesus told a parable about a rich landlord who decided to build bigger warehouses to amass more harvest only to be told that he will cease to live the next day. It was the perfect opportunity to impose upon the consciences of the faithful that the human penchant to consume more than is needed is a sure way to strain and eventually deplete natural resources, leading to a collapse of the society wherein its members would suffer gruesome deaths from starvation, warfare, disease, crime, natural disaster, etc, take your pick.

I've intimated about these things in my previous entries here and here, but this time I am more sure of where I'm coming from after reading Collapse by Jared Diamond, Pulitzer Prize-winning writer. Because in this book I find some of my armchair speculations and conclusions about humans and the environment validated and backed by the 70-plus-year-old author's lifetime of research and experience.

More on the book in my next entry ;)

The Philstar.com Feedback Section

2007-08-06T23:56:00.001+08:00

Apologies for the long absence in this little blogspot of mine. Aside from my usual glacial pace of writing, I was dabbling with my other interests in the Internet, one of which I'd be writing about in this entry...

A few months ago, the online edition of the Philippine Star made a site upgrade, as seen in the new layout and features, one of which is the Feedback Section. Now before I proceed to the bone of my contention, a quick glance at the sidebar would show that Philstar is my preferred source of Philippine news. A big reason for this is how they present the news and opinions: the two do not mix. The opinions stay in the opinion section and the news stay in the news section, with the former never influencing how the latter is presented. Yes, this balanced reporting could be boring, but at least it gives me less hypertension unlike the other "leading" newspaper out there that seems to thrive in creating sensationalized titles (to grab a buyer's attention?) and selective exposition of facts (this I cannot explain without malice). Curiously though, it's the other paper that's preferred by the "intellectual heavyweights" in the academe and blogosphere.

The bloggers' preference for the other newspaper, especially in terms of linking to its online edition, may be due to the fact that it has a better archiving mechanism while Philstar's archive is incomplete. One more peeve I have for Philstar is that they do not upload the article photos online, which reduces the impact of certain picture-heavy columns especially in the Lifestyle section. But I understand that these two may be due to system limitations, where further upgrades would need a significant chunk in the budget.

What I'll be ranting about is the newly-introduced Feedback Section of Philstar. This feature is truly a bold pioneering move of Philstar and it ups the ante for online Philippine newspapers. Every day, the site registers around 50-100 comments (and even more whenever there are hot topics like the Philippine elections, the Basilan ambush and the Philippine Basketball Team). Commentators come from the middle class conservative people (of course readers have the same mindset as the paper they read) as well as OFWs. There is a gaping absence of leftist commentators, though. I wish there was one, so that I may see them clobbered by the overwhelming conservative majority who can be equally intense in their vitriol!

Even if Philstar is the pioneer of adding a feedback section for their articles, it can easily be surpassed because of two major shortcomings: lack of true interactivity and dubious moderation.

The first reason stems from the impression that the columnists and reporters do not read their work online. Of course they have their complimentary copy of the paper, and if ever they go online, e-mailed feedback would already keep them preoccupied. Ultimately, they do not seem to have the time to log on to the site and reply to the comments of their articles.

If that is not frustrating enough, the second reason is a real can of worms that may:

1. Provide doubts about Philstar's true intentions. Are they really about "truth shall prevail," or are they just like the other newspapers, only with contrasting agenda, just as the cynics of Philippine media have always insisted?

2. Provide another proof of their declining competence (the competition boasts of technical superiority in terms of proofreading, for instance and, as mentioned above, designing websites) especially now that the great ones like Max Soliven and Teddy Benigno are gone.

The Feedback section actually has two levels of moderation. The first one involves an automated censorship of certain keywords in English and Tagalog deemed inappropriate for use in an online newspaper. Aside from the usual cuss words, strong words denoting mental incompetence like stupid, idiot, gago and gaga are replaced with asterisks. The funny thing is, every instance of the keywords, even if they are just substrings of other words, will get censored: for instance gagawin would become *****win. Thus, one would have to mentally uncensor to get what the commentator meant. The automated censorship code seems to be works of amateurs and can be easily circumvented by using Leetspeak, which, fortunately enough, the present crop of commentators are not yet sophisticated enough to adopt.

If one gets past the auto-censor, there is a second layer of moderation that should in theory be the most superior method of moderation available: human moderators. At regular intervals, mods scan the comments and delete those violating the editorial policy, namely comments that are irrelevant to the article, duplicate comments, and personal attacks.

Now it so happened that for August 4, 2007, most of my comments were deleted while some survived. It gave me an opportunity to check the human moderation of the Feedback Section. Below are the details that led to my can-of-worms conclusion above.

Let's start with the two that survived:

Two suspects in the Marines ambush surrender

Said that this new development is a joke
Defended another commentator that was critical of the military and sounded like a Bangsamoro propagandist and challenged the critics to go ask any soldier on their opinion. (I sensed he/she was just dismayed and was being sarcastic by taking on an online persona of a Bangsamoro propagandist, but of course I may be wrong and he/she truly was a propagandist. Ah, anonymity, that's the beauty of the Internet.)

RP students show strong performance in an international math contest

Remarked how the popular culture does not have high regard for math and science and thus no incentive for politicians to push for R&D. Ultimately the grown-up whiz-kids will then move to places more appreciative of their talent.

Then, for the fun part, we have the deleted comments:

Salvage victims

Noted that the comments preceding mine were appreciative of the vigilante attacks.
Remarked sarcastically (probably not detected by the mod) that their statements were surprising and may cause more bleeding to the bleeding hearts out there.
Also said that I got their (the previous commentators') point and that (rather than antagonize them) I would prefer to see this kind of comments as symptoms. (I deliberately ceased completing that statement because I considered it harsher in full: symptoms of a breakdown of law and order. I guess the mod deemed what I've written as harsh enough.)

Bulacan bank robbery

I merely remarked on the stupidity of the robbery gang leader: he was wounded in his escape and went to a hospital. Of course the cops were waiting there to arrest him. He's not supposed to be ignorant with this police tactic because he was himself a cop and I wondered aloud how he could have been accepted to the force in the first place.
Was it deleted because I wrote it in a lowly type of Tagalog one usually hears in TV Patrol?

Controversy over Atenean foreign players

Picked on the Blue Eagle's flair for drama due to its usual close games and that this is what might have made them a favorite of Studio 23 (for the ratings).
Asserted UE will win the championship unless something like the Great Upset of UAAP 2002 should occur.
Insinuated that the Archers expected a win, that's why they pushed the protest only after the game (why not halftime, right?).
By the way, I didn't introduce myself as an Atenean. I abhor playing the Blue Card when stating my opinion because it just might put color (pun intended) to the current discussion on the table. But what if I did--just to save this comment? Nah, not worth it.
My main beef here was that other comments more vicious in attacking DLSU (stating outright that they are notorious cheaters, KSP, dense or egotistic), but they had survived deletion. I was actually dismayed at the sudden strictness with my comment as I had noticed that highly charged threads (like the ones I've mentioned earlier) wrought with inflammatory statements, name-calling and one-upmanship were generally left alone.

Jessica Zafra's Young Star article about her dream

She was asking readers to interpret it for her--heck, she even shared her mood and other background info to establish the dream's context.
Commented that if she wrote this in a blog, I could have supplied her with an interpretation. But since it was a newspaper article, and that she had her own blog and might probably not read the comments in Philstar anymore, I would not bother doing so.
Took a swipe at her blog-like writing in a newspaper and the fact that she's won't be reading the comments, but I still I don't see these as personal attacks.

Come to think of it, maybe I'm just taking this deletion thing too personally. It does not help perhaps that the handle I use allude to its competitor. This might perhaps caused the moderator for that day to consider me a marked man. But anyway, because of this incident, I realized the importance of having my own blog, my nook in cyberspace, my Ivory Tower where I can indulge my armchair columnist tendencies.

By the way, happy 21st anniversary, Philippine Star!

Edit: What a shame! The entry is about a newspaper yet I found lots of grammatical errors in it! That's what happens when I write and publish a post with remarakable "speed." Oh well, what can I do? Unlike a newspaper, I have no editor here but myself.

Drifting Thoughts 05

2007-07-09T23:48:00.000+08:00

First up is the news: observe that my side bar is still counting up the days after the election, and we still have no complete senatorial line-up. But I'm not here for another heavy-handed commentary. Instead, I'd just like to share something I found in the June 28, 2007 homepage of the Philstar.com. Shown then and there was a photo of Rep. Migz Zubiri propping up his legs while watching the favorable (for him) news about the Maguindanao polls. I find it surprising that no blog jester has picked on the picture's potential for hilarity, so I shall do the honors then:

-oOo-

If there is one thing in the news that I'd like to comment on it would be the issue concerning the first Filipino conquerors of Mt. Everest. Well, it's not exactly news anymore, but remember how Dale Abenojar's sherpas has earlier been quoted by the physician of First Philippine Mount Everest Expedition as indicating that Abenojar, whom they have accompanied, has not really reached the summit? Well recently, the Philippine Star has contacted the sherpas of Abenojar, and the guides deny ever having issued that contrary statement and maintained that their Filipino companion has reached the summit.

I personally would want to believe that Dale Abenojar, on his own physical and financial capacity, devoid of the media hype and corporate sponsorship, is the first Filipino to have climbed world's tallest peak. It's a shame that the quest for the first Filipino up on Everest became a rat race, fuelled and escalated by corporate rivalries most notably ABS-CBN and GMA7. What's the glory in fellow countrymen racing against each other to the top, especially if the race is greatly seen not as a noble contest (like the X-Prize that promotes scientific breakthroughs) but as a mere extension of the Network Wars? Competition, one may say, has forced out excellence, but this quest for Everest is better achieved through cooperation (as the team of first Filipina climbers have demonstrated the following year--why is it that in the Philippines, the women are more reasonable?). But if there is no cooperation, the one with the strong sense of purpose must plod through, and that is where the independent climber Dale Abenojar has redeemed the Filipino and trumped the corporate wannabes who have not achieved the restoration of Philippine pride but rather have shown the negative attitudes that burden this nation.

It would be easier and more gratifying to believe if things are just so simple, but they're not. I've read some blogs that tell of Dale's penchant for tall tales and acting like a wuss. Could he have improved and fulfilled his dream, but was tragically viewed like the boy who cried wolf by those in the local mountaineering community that he have pissed off? Whatever it is, in the absence of solid evidence to prove one claim or the other, I stand by my personal preference, because the message of this version of events is in line with what I want to impart.

-oOo-

I finally figured out the existence of some searches that lead to my blog, and discovered an unintended meaning of my blog title. I got to know of something called "Drifting" (picture from the same Wikipedia link), which is, more than a motorsport, a new paradigm in driving. It is popularized by the manga and anime Initial D and the movie The Fast and the Furious Tokyo Drift. Unfortunately for Drifting enthusiasts, Highway Drift is not about the practice of the driving technique in the highway but rather about this writer's current drifting in life while having residential and business addresses located near highways.

-oOo-

To cap a somewhat sports-themed entry, a few words about the just-started UAAP season 70 are in order. I'm actually one of the apathetic students then and now, the one who would be contented with reading about my school's game in the papers the next day and who would watch the live telecast only during important games. Heck, I haven't watched one game live at the gladiators' pit that is the Araneta Coliseum! But now that I have the means, allow me a little bit of ra-ra-rah...

Oh yeah.

Oh yeah!

Now perhaps you might be wondering how I have created this picture as well as manipulated that of Migz Zubiri in this post. No need for Photoshop, and no need to shell out some few thousands of bucks. Behold the open source GNU Image Manipulation Program--the GIMP, in short. Special thanks to Jose for showing me the light.

The image sources for this banner, specifically, is taken from the Broderbund ClickArt collection for Windows 95(!), whose CDs contain the Photodex CompuPic image browser legacy program I have featured (with screenshots!) before. It was a pleasant surprise that these companies are still alive and selling the latest versions of their software. The ancient ClickArt jpeg collection I have with me, for instance, had this awful resolution that the cameraphones of today can rival. Now they have this DVD ClickArt collection, haha. On the other hand, the latest version of CompuPic amazingly features an upgraded version of The Eye! I wonder if it still follows the mouse, though. Come to think of it, with help from the latest software like the GIMP, these really old relics can still fulfill their purpose.

The Philosopher's Tales

2007-06-24T14:28:00.000+08:00

Back in college, I had this nice old professor as my teacher in Ethics (let's call him Mr. R). His requirements were greatly relaxing; it only consisted of a midterm and a final oral exam as well as an optional final paper. Though it seemed that the topics would pile up due to great intervals between the tests, it was actually a breeze to review if one would take down notes from his lectures. Indeed, his class was so relaxing that most of us had, at least in one point in the entire semester, dozed off to his still, small voice. On other occasions though, he had us up and alert with his life stories that he links to his Ethics lessons. What those lessons were, I'm not so sure anymore, but his stories I can still vividly recall...

-oOo-

On his being a philosophy professor, he recalls the time when he was about to graduate. I'm not sure about the details, but it appeared that he had an immersion in a community of indigenous people somewhere in Northern Luzon. He lived with them and taught their children, and he felt fulfilled. Later, when he was back in Manila, he got a job offer from Procter & Gamble (a managerial position perhaps). It came with generous compensation that would make him well-off for the rest of his life. However, in his heart he yearned for the fulfillment he felt in his short stint in teaching. He confided his dilemma to a Jesuit teacher of his, and the priest asked him what he would think of a life of "selling soap" and the rest was history.

-oOo-

Mr. R once had a French girlfriend when he was studying in France. She was blonde, fair and beautiful, but what troubled this teacher of mine was that she was a bit taller than him. It was because in his family, the men would be consistently taller than the women. He went on with the dates, dinners and all those relationship stuff with this nagging quirk of his. Why was it that she, almost the perfect girlfriend, had to be taller than him?

At one point his girlfriend was already entertaining thoughts of marriage. She was willing to undergo surgery to be shorter than him! Even her father had approached him. "I want you to marry my daughter," the old man said.

Mr. R replied, "I'm sorry, monsieur, I can't." Just because she was taller than him.

-oOo-

Still in France, Mr. R had a terror teacher for one of his philosophy subjects. In European universities then, the teaching style was to hold lectures and provide reading assignments throughout the entire term and the student will be grilled in the final exams. A whole month was devoted to the finals and the students would sign up for their preferred schedule.

Mr. R strategized that he should sign up with the terror teacher as his last exam, so that he had all the time to prepare for the encounter. However, upon re-checking his schedule, it turned out that he actually had to take the unwanted teacher's exam first!

It was a common practice then that the French professors hold exams at their homes, and so he went to this teacher's house for his oral test. The resident had just finished his morning rituals when he led the timid and nervous student that is Mr. R to his home office, where there was a pet canary at one corner. The older students had told him to hope that the bird would sing a pleasant tune during the exam. This would put the usually gruff professor in a good mood that would consequently result to a passing grade.

"First question," the professor began (the test was in French), "what kind of man are you?"

Mr. R, frightened at that time, hurriedly wracked his brains to recall everything he learned in the Philosophy of the Human Person. He muttered the beginning of a lengthy spiel, "s-starting off with S-Socrates..."

The examiner banged his fist! "No, no, no!" He growled. Mr. R was beyond horrified.

The professor repeated: "What kind of man are you? Are you Chinese? Japanese?"

"I-I'm Filipino, sir," he answered with great relief.

"Ah, the Philippines. You do happen to have a pineapple party after the finals, don't you?"

Incredulous as the student was to the query, he could only answer in the affirmative.

The real test followed, and the canary did sing a wonderful tune. Later on, though, Mr. R would be unsure whether it was on his own brilliance or the assistance of the canary that he had made the passing mark.

ABNGTTGLOGN Blogger Ko!

2007-06-20T23:32:00.000+08:00

Kakaiba talaga ang bumulaga ba naman sa akin nang tinungo ko ang website ng Blogger. Aba! Ang Blogger ay ispokening piso! Bahagyang baluktot man ang pagka-salin (dahil literal o kaya'y gumamit ng program na pangsalin) ito'y kyut para sa akin. Kung may oras pa ako, marahil itong template kong ito ay isalin ko rin sa Tagalog. Ngunit sadya akong tinatamad ngayon. Kung hindi lang dito sa pagbabagong ito e marahil sa katapusan ng linggong ito pa ako makakalathala ng bagong sulatin.

-oOo-

Garo maray kun an IP address nagtatao kan pinaka-eksaktong lokasyones, bako lang itong kun aring nasyon kita haen kundi pati itong ronga ta. Maurag baga kun sa Bikol ako, ma-Bikol man an Blogger.

-oOo-

Bitaw gyud! (Gamay lang kabalo ko Binisaya. Samuk!)

-oOo-

Hablo y escribo en español un poco tambien, pero tengo que escribir para un demonstracion de mi abilidades, jeje.

-oOo-

Ah crap, enough with this Babel of a post. Feel free to point out my shortcomings in these languages. Admittedly, I write best in English. Besides, my MS Word can only check English.

Naga at Random - In the City

2007-06-07T22:02:00.000+08:00

A quick glance at my sidebar shows how long I've been counting up since Election Day. As of this writing it's been about 24 days and only ten senators have been proclaimed so far.

-oOo-

One of the activities I assigned to myself in my trip back in the home city was to monitor the local elections. My past entry had presented the background for this: on a widely-criticized decision from the local Comelec Division, the Villafuerte camp, whose politicians were contesting key political positions in Naga and Camarines Sur, had managed to succeed in troubling Naga's favorite mayor Jesse Robredo, with a citizenship issue that had failed many times in the past. I was expecting Naga to be a little bit more abuzz than usual with this new development. Instead, it was business as usual in the city. Those I had asked would say Robredo shall win and they say it in a calm and confident manner, no worries at all.

Well, if there was one barely exciting event, it was a fairly massive motorcade organized by the Villafuertes that snaked from their headquarters to the downtown plaza a kilometer away. Ferried by the vehicles was an obvious non-Nagueño hakot crowd carrying placards screaming disgusting sacrilegious nonsense like "Abang Mabulo supports Villafuerte." Surely, those caught in the ensuing traffic jam must have cursed the Villafuertes to hell many times over.

It's still debatable, though, whether the old man Villafuerte would care about his afterlife, but his son Jojo was surely politically damned in the ensuing city elections. To the further chagrin of the elder Villafuerte, the renegade son L-ray was re-elected as governor of Camarines Sur (the people of the province recognized, at the very least, that L-ray had improved tourism with the CamSur Watersports Complex). As a consolation, the old man Luis also retained his spot in Congress, and judging from his appearances in news stories, he currently seemed more interested in pursuing his national ambitions.

It seems all's well that ends well as the status quo is maintained, but what worries me is how the Villafuerte's political clout had suddenly strengthened, notwithstanding the apparent schism of the governor-son from the patriarch. In fact, even though Robredo won with a huge margin, it still took skilled bureaucratic acrobatics from a few good persons to outmaneuver moves to prevent a proclamation, and I'm damn proud that Nagueños are capable of standing by their principles and, more impressively, of keeping cool and refusing taunts that could spark civil unrest. However, what would prevent the Villafuertes from raising another issue against the mayor, or stifling government funds, even those for disaster relief? Clearly, typhoons are not the only challenges to Naga's development boom (recently affirmed with a soon-to-rise SM mall, the first in Bicol).

It would be such a tragedy to reverse efforts to make the local bureaucracy a well-oiled machine. For instance, I liked it that my transactions at the Naga SSS office to apply for an ID took less than an hour even with a lot of people there. Also, it would really hurt if the commercial development popping left and right would suddenly find a less conducive business environment. I would not want thriving spots downtown (called centro by the locals) return to the idle lots that they were five years ago.

-oOo-

Okay enough with the seriousness.

Speaking of the new commercial spots, I'd first like to comment on one edifice that catches my attention everytime I pass it by. And no, I don't quite mean it as a good thing. I can't help but make a second look because its facade is a small-scale replica of the one in Greenbelt 3. Aw, come on! Greenbelt 3 is Greenbelt 3, and imitating its facade is not impressive but tacky! In the first place, there won't be any patrons in there that's as high brow as in Greenbelt. Besides, I don't think conservative Naga is ready for commercialism as blatant and wanton as in Metro Manila. Actually, one Metro Manila is enough; I wouldn't want to come home to another one. A place could be cosmopolitan without losing its identity. Thankfully this aberration is just found in one city block (or maybe I haven't gone around that much).

And then there's CamSur Watersports Complex. If Mo Twister hears about this (perhaps he already did), he'll be riled up like he always does about "Bora." He does have a point about the abbreviation of Boracay: there's such a place called Bora Bora and it's not in the Philippines, so alluding to this foreign beach (again, tacky) does not help local tourism one bit. Now unlike the one-syllable-longer-than-Bora "Boracay," "Camarines Sur" is indeed a mouthful (not to mention it eats up texting space at 13 characters long.). I may excuse it in text messages, but I'd prefer that the name of the province be said in full. The people from that place have grown up calling it "Camarines Sur" even back when it's just a nondescript province that one passes by on the way to Mt. Mayon as well as the province that gets mentioned in typhoon reports. Oh, so it's like a transformation: with newfound "glamour," the province is now called CamSur?

I also passed by the well-known Avenue Square (temporary link because the main URL has expired) along Magsaysay Avenue. Currently lording over the strip of restaurants, Avenue Square boasts of the hottest gigs in the city, drawing in celebrities like Parokya ni Edgar, Brownman Revival, Heart and Echo, Imago as well as wholesome Spongebob to scandalous FHM models. (Are they cover girls or just extras? This shows that I haven't read the magazine for a long while.) Pictures over the Internet give me the impression that this prime location in Naga could be what Metrowalk is for Pasig (heck, locals are proud enough to compare it to Greenbelt, again Greenbelt). However, it was the afternoon of Election Day when I passed by, so all I saw was a plain two-storey building housing new-in-Naga establishments half-full with customers (some enjoying free WiFi). Maybe I should drop by again in a full-blown gig and see Avenue Square in all its pimped-up glory.

Naga at Random - In Transit

2007-05-24T22:01:00.000+08:00

As stated in my previous entry, I went to Naga City last election weekend. I kept my senses alert in order to observe the political drama that was unfolding there, but I got to absorb more stuff and generate more thoughts than I expected. Not a problem though, as they would all be blog fodder.

I went to my home city by bus, as I usually do. It was an eight-hour trip on the average, so a lot can happen in that period of time. One such unfortunate event was of the bus breaking down in the middle of nowhere. Back in college, I did have a fair share of this kind of misadventures. I remember one morning, when we were on our last leg of the journey to Naga, smoke was suddenly emanating from the underbelly of the vehicle and was filling up the interior. It got to the point that I was breathing through the aircon vent. There's a little exaggeration there, but you get the point.

Speaking of air conditioning, I can't tolerate the frigid temperatures; I prefer the air cool, not cold. Better yet, I'd open the windows; there are some parts in Quezon province where the air is good that you'd wonder how you survive the Metro pollution. I hear there's some sort of pollution field around Metro Manila wherein once inside, the temperature suddenly jumps and the breathing isn't as relaxing as in the countryside (ah the smell of trees and fields and manure).

Back to the broken down buses, those second-hand buses from Japan. In college, I rode Highway Express, said to be the pioneer of the CR-in-the-bus. I put up with the sudden repairs in some desolate location because, as far as I know, they had safety-conscious (slow) drivers. Compare that to speed-crazy Philtranco whose buses would cut the trip to Naga down to six hours or cut short your life. We once passed by two Philtranco buses that bumped into each other somewhere in Quezon province. What's with the need for speed? In night trips, I don't need to arrive early; I prefer that I arrive in either Naga or Cubao with the sun already shining. By that time, the MRT and LRT are already open and jeepneys are plying their routes; thus, I am no longer at the mercy of taxi and tricycle drivers who charge "special" nighttime rates.

Moving on, I guess the frequent repairs and mounting customer dissatisfaction took its toll on Highway Express, and the company closed shop by the time I graduated. I now ride Isarog, another slow-driving bus line. They seem to focus on comfort although I have yet to ride their bus with the Lazy Boy seats.

Their buses break down too, as what I experienced in this recent trip to Naga. I was originally reserved for the single-seater bus, but due to some mechanical failure, the vehicle didn't make it to Cubao. We unlucky passengers were transferred to a double-seater with jump seats at the aisle for that added cramped feeling. Knowing that sitting on jump seats are never comfortable, much less sleep inducing, I was still fortunate to be assigned a normal seat by the aisle. However, assigned to the jump seat beside me was this middle-aged lady. Now, I would just be tormented if I did not show some care, so I offered to exchange seats. She kindly declined. Chivalry is dead. Or perhaps she merely judged herself hardier than this young man with a skeletal build. During the trip, the bus had to make a few stops for impromptu repairs, so much for being a replacement. It crossed my mind to demand a refund, but I am too merciful for my own good, a sad day for consumer rights, to think that the daughter of the owner had been my classmate in a college elective.

All these delays expectedly made the sun rise on our trip while still three towns away from Naga. Heck, we even managed to snag traffic when the bus broke down in the middle of a one-way passage. Now how the heck would the National Highway become one-way? Blame it on the last-minute roadwork courtesy of the local politician who hopes to get re-elected. One consolation was that we arrived to a city that was wide awake, and I got to ride the jeepney instead of a rip-off tricycle.

Speaking of jeepney rides, it seems that after two years of daily commuting to work via the jeepney, I have gotten used to them. Thus on the day of my arrival, instead of resting, I was on the road to places I shall write about in my next post. Add to that the destinations I have reached on foot, an indication that this young man with a skeletal build does have a great walking range or that the big city of his childhood has shrunk in scale in the perspective of the Manila-based grown-up.

On the trip back to Manila, I rode the Amihan bus. In the process of shifting gears to move out of the Naga City Integrated Bus Terminal, the engine just died on us, and the driver had difficulty restarting it! I was about to decide that this break down took the cake among those I had experienced, but the advantage of being in the terminal meant that help was immediate. The engine woes proved to be a minor hiccup as we commenced into a smooth trip through light traffic. This was a day trip, so I got to see Lamon Bay (pictured here) while going through the Quezon towns of Gumaca and Atimonan, arguably one of the major highlights of the trip (it's even more dramatic when going the other way, towards Naga, since at Atimonan, the road descends and opens into a view of the bay, just like in the movies).

Lastly, a Naga-Manila trip's not complete without witnessing "road kill" like the two unfortunate Philtranco buses I mentioned earlier. Well in this trip I saw one right before entering the South Superhighway. A small truck rammed into a roadside Laguna residence, and the carnage seemed fresh because the pedestrian kibitzers were still gawking at the dazed and bloodied driver inside the wreck. Our bus conductor and driver discussed the victim's fate, with one of them declaring that an amputation of both legs would be inevitable.

Pabaon / For the road:

While I ride the bus occasionally, my friend Arlene commutes to work everyday in this mode of public transport. Expectedly, she has a fair share of bus tales starting with this one.

More info on going to Naga is found in the city tourism site. There's a link to an updated PDF file for trip schedules and rates. I also got the map of Camarines Sur in another of its links.

Drifting Thoughts 04

2007-05-10T00:17:00.000+08:00

Last Saturday, I was supposed to go out with some DS people for a rare bonding session. It was to be held somewhere in Pasig, in an area I'm not familiar with. I was to test my "pathfinder" skills: the ability to go to an unfamiliar place primarily by using a map and, only if no other choice, asking the locals. Pasig was a notoriously difficult place for me, having been lost there twice, so I "cheated" by exploring the environs with my officemates when we had a lunch out the day before. Besides, the stakes were high this time since instead of just me, I had to accompany a friend going there (although I'd prefer getting lost with good company than getting lost alone). Well all these came to naught when the arbitrary quorum wasn't reached and the activity was cancelled.

All was not lost however for my need to attend a get-together and to practice my path-finding skills. On that Saturday I did get to know of another gathering, this time with my course-mates, over at Quezon Avenue. All I needed to know was the general area starting from the MRT station. I found the destination after a long-distance walk, and had more than enough time to reward my efforts with a halo-halo and to still get restless by waiting for the others.

Our gathering was a sort of sending-off for two of our friends (a third one was absent) who'll be working overseas for a year. After a tasteless dinner at a place that's more apt for a drinking session, we sang until our throats (or just mine) felt sore at the nearby videoke and then made some celebrity sightings at Starbucks-ABS CBN (with no TV for a year, I really had no idea they are celebs; all of them looked ordinary to me).

On the way home at three in the morning, I passed by sidewalk vendors sleeping soundly while their wares are still on display. It was good to know that none among the passers-by picked up those unguarded items. Dear reader, cling on to this sign of hope while continuing with this entry.

-oOo-

Behold the editorial cartoon of the Inquirer last May 3. Were they merely being naive about military stuff, giving the Air Force a good-natured ribbing about its clunky widow-makers, or, now that the military has been somewhat humbled, were they displaying their anti-military bravado, which is reasonably fashionable nowadays? (By the way, the cartoon was badly drawn since the punch line would be read first; better if the kid and the general switch places.)

Let's get the facts straight. Back in the Vietnam War, the US Air Force has suffered Huey crashes from the hands of the Vietcong. How did the guerillas pull it off? Rocket-propelled grenades? Snipers? A well-aimed shot may work, but why waste precious ammunition when one can just lay a web of wires along the path of a low-flying helicopter a la Spiderman? Yup, these flying babies are vulnerable to things that can snag its whirling blades--dramatically reducing their lifting power or tragically diverting them towards a collision course. And yes, the pilots won't notice a menacing wire or string until it's right in front of them. In fact I was actually surprised that a Philippine Air Force official admitted that their Hueys have been "disabled" before by Mindanao rebels using the lowly kite.

More than the issue of antiquated military hardware due to corruption and incompetence, the media has overlooked the issue of safety. And when I mean safety, I do not just mean saving a soldier's life, I mean saving the lives of the flying public as well as those down below. You see, aside from helicopters the lowly kite may also get sucked into one of the engines of a 737 and jeopardize its take-off. It's a very probable scenario; since, like in Cebu, kites are being flown in the vicinity of airports, and while this is prohibited, the rule isn't being enforced. Why didn't the media hyped things up by emphasizing this more troubling possibility? They might be merely ignorant about these things. Or, given the election fever nowadays, are they more attracted to the chance of criticizing the corrupt and incompetent military, and by association, the administration? Unfortunately, the Air Force officer didn't help dispel the impression of incompetence, at least in PR skills, when he himself did not raise this safety issue when he was being interviewed.

-oOo-

Well, look what the Supreme Court has forced the Comelec to reveal: party-list nominees who are identified with the administration, and more than that, have spotty reputations.

The left is not exactly immaculate on the party-list issue. First, they also enjoy government funding in the form of pork barrel. Second, they have the support of the largest private army in this country: the NPA. Lastly, like any traditional politician, they want to horde party-list votes by attacking all the other parties they can discredit. Suddenly being pro-administration or even moderate or neutral is a mortal sin.

Considering that these leftist groups and the administration have been doing attacks and counter-attacks with each other, it would be better to just cancel out the parties identified with the two. One would still find more meaningful parties that are not that obnoxious or notorious but rather silently fulfilling their role in truly representing the marginalized.

-oOo-

Recent developments have troubled my home city. A Comelec Division had ruled on a complaint back in 2004 regarding Mayor Robredo's citizenship. It's an old, overused, futile attack against Robredo, but this time the camp of Luis Villafuerte managed to pull it off.

For the complete coverage, I present Willy Priles's blog. Focus links: Historical Background, Family Drama, Foreboding (see the last part), The Watershed Event. (There's supposed to be an entry where Willy speculates on the election plans A and B of both Villafuerte and Robredo, but I can't find it anymore. Is it deleted?)

I have long been planning to go home this summer. Having missed the opportunity during the unusually long Holy Week break, I suppose the election weekend would be a good alternative since the horde of travelers will not be that massive. But I never expect to come home to this summer tempest. Curiously though, this scandal had strengthened my desire to go back to Naga--perhaps due to the youthful "foolishness" of wanting to be where the action is.

I reply to this madness with a picture originally taken by Randy Villaflor, posted online by Willy, and crudely edited in MS Paint by yours truly:

Fantasia (Part 6)

2007-05-06T13:59:00.000+08:00

Pictures nixed from the Ragnarok online website (screenshots).

(Part 1 2 3 4 5)

The first day of the competition at the Citadel of Aqueaon commenced without a hitch. As the other contestants spent their day brainstorming for their speeches, essays and paintings, Romulus expectedly dominated the first part of the eliminations test consisting of History, the Arts and Culture. Daniel got by the test with a respectable score, but what was more significant for him was that he had met some of Helen's friends who were also participating in the contest. Helen, on the other hand, was at home preparing for her visit to the Pillars. It was mid-year vacation for most academies, and with the exception of those attending activities and tournaments like the ones being held in the Pillars and the Citadel the wards are free from their scholarly burden for a couple of weeks.

Early the next day, Daniel was up and about even when the sun had barely risen. The Knights' Master of Codix, Wilbur, noticed his excitement. That day was for the second part of the eliminations with the test consisting of topics in Codix and Magic, his area of expertise. More importantly though, Helen was to leave in a few hours. The sight of the omnibus vessel near the Citadel prompted Daniel to prod Wilbur allow him to go where it was docked.

When Daniel arrived at the dock, however, he suddenly felt unsure of how to proceed. It had been three years since they last saw each other. Would Helen still remember him who, back then, was masterfully shoved to the sidelines? He realized too that in his rush he was still wearing his house clothes.

Daniel had no time to ponder on these jitters, for Helen had appeared by the vessel's port. He beheld the glorious sight of a young lady. She sported shorter hair (looked good on her) and appeared more slender (no more baby fat) wearing her, well, moss green jumper (some things did not change: the color of the Aqueaonian uniform is still comparable to that of the greenery on moist surfaces).

Her face lightened up when she recognized the young man waiting outside. Ah, how her eyes twinkled: the same round expressive eyes that captivated admirers three years ago. Daniel could at first only offer a sheepish smile, overjoyed that she did recognize him. When he had recovered his senses he asked--"how does it feel to be going to the Pillars again?"--anything to start a conversation.

"I feel ok, I guess, since, well, I've been there before."

Both parties engaged in some small talk and a little flattery.

"...and, oh, when you meet Mervin, do send him my regards." Daniel considered himself as being fair when he mentioned his friend's name.

"Mervin who?"

This amused Daniel to quite an extent, but he knew also that Mervin would have an entire two days to re-introduce himself unhindered.

"How do you find the Citadel?" It was Helen's turn to ask.

"It's great; I felt at home instantly." Further small talk about the tournament followed, the better for Daniel to make a good impression in this short meeting.

Then an awkward silence. Was it that Daniel could only look mesmerized at Helen's shy smile or that Helen could only smile shyly at Daniel's mesmerized look?

"Uhm, I think I gotta go, it was nice seeing you again, Helen." A good impression may have been made, but, for a thorough expression of the pleasant outbursts happening in his inner being, Daniel was incapable at that moment.

"Same here. And, yeah, good luck with the tournament!"

More than luck and training, it was inspiration that made Daniel top the eliminations for Codix and Magic later that day.

As the tournament raged on at the Citadel, emotions raged at the Pillars, at least for the new scholastic wards and a handful from Fourth Group R. For instance, there was visibly star-struck Mervin who had been tailing Helen like an escort for the entire day. By late afternoon, they had been staying at the exhibit of A Merry Land, which was popular among visitors, as expected. Dominic had been eyeing the exhibit from his own post at the Guild of Acolytes exhibit and can only sigh: the writers, artists and editors of the literary scroll had broken the monopoly of the guilds of Magic and the Medics, when could be the acolytes' turn?

Dominic had been deep with his thoughts for his guild that he barely noticed a visitor from one of the academies curiously eyeing the portraits of the acolytes in action. "Excuse me, are you the one over here?" she finally asked, pointing to a portrait of Dominic with the High Priest of the Pillars.

"Yeah, it's me," Dominic managed to reply before being overwhelmed by the beauty that was before him: an apparition who had long black hair flow smoothly down to the waist and lips carrying an easy smile. Alas for Dominic, it was a beauty, which like Helen's, had a doting escort who interrupted the conversation.

"Angela, I see you've met Dominic here. He's the holy man of the Pillars." With these words the pompous lad imposed his presence, and turning to Dominic he spoke with a flurry, "by the way, Dominic, this is Angela from the Tower of Aganard." The Aganardians were rivals of the Aqueaonians in Legacy City, as the Greyhounds were the rivals of the Knights in Ceres.

Dominic knew there was nothing holy with how Harvey had introduced him to the heavenly Angela. But at least he was there to do something about it, he thought, unlike Daniel who was helplessly stuck elsewhere.

Actually, Daniel, despite all the limitations imposed upon him by his duty, did not consider himself totally helpless; because, he had a plan. The tournament would end by the next day, and they would return to the Pillars by evening. At around that time, the Farewell Dance would be starting. Even in that small time, Daniel had hoped that he may be able to reverse his embarrassment four years ago. Of course, an announcement of their victory at the tournament would help vastly. He could imagine it: Master Wilbur and Master Dionysus making the important announcement within the program; the victorious contestants, including himself, being presented to the audience, their clout made known not only to the Knights but to the Aqueaonians, Aganardians and other visitors; Helen being invited to dance by him, this time making sure that Mervin and any other admirer would be kept away.

The last day of the tournament came, and the Knights woke up to a cloudy morning. The Wizards of the Empire had predicted a further worsening of the weather until the next day, but the tournament will go on. Daniel never included in his plan adverse weather like the storm threatening EveAlone. He suddenly considered the prospect of being jeopardized even before he could set the plan in motion.

(To be continued)

On the Spot

2007-04-23T22:19:00.000+08:00

It's almost a year into my blogging foray. I reckon it's time for some assessment.

Last month, I received special mention in Señor Enrique's blog for having potential of sorts in this blog of mine. With the recognition coming from him, it means a lot to me (read further to know one of the reasons). This peculiar meme is supposed to originate here, wherein each blogger is tasked to highlight five blogs that stimulate the intellect. In this part of the blogging world where I lurk, it's an impossible task to limit the recognition to just five; thus, I would just go with Señor Enrique's criteria and name those bloggers that are still "small-time" for now but have great potential waiting to be unleashed. This is still a long list, though, so I would limit my choices among those in my links (as of this writing).

With the modified criteria, I suppose it's safe to say that Philippine Blog Awards 2007 finalist Nostalgia Manila, Photobloggies 2007 Best Southeast Asian Photoblog Awards finalist Sidney and Philippine Blog Awards 2007 Best Photoblog Señor Enrique are overqualified. Nevertheless, do visit them and experience the Philippines in the past and in the present through their words, images and videos.

Without further ado, behold my list, in no particular order, of Five Bloggers of Great Potential:

Untold Pinoy Stories -- Nick's not-so-blind items taken from the repressed or forgotten collective memories of Filipinos are told in a style that will blow you away.

utakGago -- When I first encountered Kevin in his previous blog (he changes URLs a lot), the huge following made him loom larger than life. Now a fresh grad from high school, he remains the opinionated fellow who can discuss anything and everything under the sun.

Kamurawayan (and Meljohn Art) -- Ever since my high school days, Meljohn has been the go-to guy when it comes to designing T-shirt graphics, among other artistic requirements. Now with two blogs of his own, this accomplished visual artist shares the Bicol experience to the rest of the world.

Gusot -- Jonell is a creative mind whose stories sway your emotions. His current blog holds but a fraction of his literary contribution in the Internet.

A Nagueño in the Blogosphere -- From hard-hitting commentaries to Bicol-related links to poignant family stories, Willy delivers straight from Naga City.

The above-listed are hereby appointed to spread the link love in their respective blogs.

Now I feel bad; most of my blog links are left out. And these links belong to personal friends! Actually I have long intended to write an entry about those listed in my links, and I guess this is the right time.

The one person who made me sign up for a Blogger account way back in 2002 is Toj. It was for membership to a now defunct group blog of math majors, the title of which, by the way, was where I got "Everybody Counts" from. Why defunct? Well, unlike her, we were yet to grasp the concept of blogging. She is the first blogger that I know of, and the one with an online clout while still in college. Such prominence has setbacks though, as her insightful posts on relationships get plagiarized often. Back in college, I also found Kerwin's blog. Ever since then he has been the pop culture observer. He is actually a quiet type, and his superior math and writing skills are very effective in encrypting his personal messages.

My other math contemporaries have since wised up to the ways of blogging somewhat. The first among my after-college discoveries is Krislan's blog containing thoughts (angsty and otherwise) of a third-world petit bourgeois. These are thoughts that I could relate to (enough that I could expose his hidden agendas), but would hesitate to voice out and consider them taboo or brash or unpopular. Unfortunately, the need to preserve the means of keeping body and soul together prevailed, forcing Kris to hide his blog from potential employers using the new Blogger privacy feature. I've discovered also in quick succession (because they're networked) the blogs of my math friends Maymay, Joy, Tago, and Sam, among others. Theirs are personal blogs for now, but the few posts they have hint at their incisive thinking (guess who got Manolo Quezon's attention).

One final factor that pushed me into blogging was another blog discovery from another group of friends. There was once a bad day at work that had me reeling from multiple problems. But today I no longer remember the details of those unfortunate events; instead, what I remember was that due to some sense of longing or an urge to seek refuge, I searched for blogs pertaining to my college org, DS, and found Ailen's LJ. One particular entry, amongst funny snippets of life and deep personal reflections, led me to the comforting conclusion that the "magic" that made DS membership worthwhile is still there among its current members. In light of this happy thought, I left the office with a smile.

Ah, behold the power of blogs to uplift! I guess an organization that proclaims "we take care of you" will attract membership from the right kind of people most of the time. And so, even with their varied topics, there is this common streak of idealistic melodrama and lighthearted fun among the blogs of Ces, Maan, Rita, Pia, Arlene and mine. An additional note on Maan's blog: rather than brushing it off as one of those blogs with nothing but lyrics, consider first that we share the same taste in music, and her personal sharing provides dramatic context to the songs.

Finally we have the awesome blogs--in Tagalog "astig", in Bicol "ma-orag." Kate is a friend from back in high school. She rarely posts, but if she does it's heartfelt and profound. Marlon a.k.a. Mr. Pencil is a recent discovery. Following the footsteps of Jonell, it's unbelievable how he deftly uses the metaphor of the pencil in all his posts so far.

There you have it. With them, my blogging experience is made more worthwhile, so from this one-year Highway Drifter, a big thank you.

Fantasia (Part 5)

2007-04-10T22:31:00.000+08:00

(Part 1 2 3 4)

It was sunny and windy all over EveAlone on the day of the trip to the practice tournament. The vessel transporting Daniel and his teammates got a boost from the strong winds. Rather than let thoughts of Helen distract him, he recalled the electrifying competition he just had recently, one of the reasons he needed this practice tournament.

It was a month after the War Games that Daniel and Romulus had their turn to face two beautiful ladies of the Greyhounds in the second round of the Challenge of the Intellects. In this round, the Knights led in the earlier Speed Level, but that lead was diminished by the Greyhounds in the Written Level. In particular, Daniel was suddenly struggling to find the answers. Two more questions remain with the Greyhounds leading by one.

The second to the last question was a surprisingly easy one about the Codix. Everyone answered it, but Daniel pointed out one small detail missing in the Greyhounds' formula. The Knights tied the score.

The last question was asking the name of an enchanted telescope recently built that would peer through the stars for a light human eyes were unable to see.

"It's Bubbles." Romulus suggested the name of a similar but more famous telescope.

"No, the Bubbles sees regular light; besides, it has been in use for a long time now, not newly built." Daniel was wringing his brains, "dammit! I have seen the image of that thing in the news scroll; I just can't place its name!"

As expected, everyone answered Bubbles, but the correct answer was Cassandra. "Argh! So that's why it was at the tip of my tongue!" This greatly frustrated Daniel because Cassandra was also the name of the girl Mervin had fallen in love two years earlier. She was from the neighbor of the Pillars, the Sepulchre of Isis, an academy exclusive for girls. It was another interscholastic visit, and that time she was the girl everyone was smitten with. Daniel wasn't similarly attracted to her pointed nose, fair complexion and cheerful smile, but curiously, it was him, rather than Mervin, that Cassandra would recognize for the following years until he leaves for apprenticeship in Manille.

In the subsequent Clincher level, Romulus correctly answered the first question, which was about Literature. The second question, which was about Magic, disoriented Daniel. The Greyhounds got the answer. The third question about a History quote was similarly disorienting and was punctuated by a tense silence as the contestants thought it out. Romulus showed his mastery of History when he saw through the question, winning the round for the Knights and avenging their defeat at the War Games.

Rather than dwell on the details of his embarrassing performance, Daniel decided to join his teammates in their silly games and conversations: time to let others help him escape from his nagging thoughts.

Meanwhile, back in the Pillars, in its exhibition hall, Dominic was instructing the Acolyte trainees in assembling their guild exhibition for the contest tomorrow. Portraits of the acolytes providing assistance in religious rituals adorned their area. Still to be arranged were samples of religious artifacts used in those rituals. However, Dominic was somehow unsatisfied with their exhibit. An overly religious display, admittedly, could be quite a bore.

Dominic signaled a break from their work. He looked around the rest of the exhibits in the hall. One that easily stood out was the exhibit of A Merry Land. This year could be the literary scroll's big break, snatching victory away from the perennial winners Guild of Magic and Guild of Medics whose tools and artifacts never failed to amaze. This year, A Merry Land went beyond providing a reading lounge for their scrolls. Their area had been transformed into an enchanted forest, complete with statues and images of the creatures that graced the stories in the scrolls. It was a brilliant idea, and Dominic knew why: two of the editors, Mervin and Daniel, became kindled minds lately, inspired by the news about Helen. It was Daniel who came up with the concept of making the stories come alive, but with him being busy preparing for the practice tournament, it was Mervin who zealously executed the plan to perfection.

Dominic picked up one of the A Merry Land scrolls featured in the exhibit, the one containing a poem he wrote. He looked for that poem, started reading, and winced at his old poetic style--better not let the guests read this particular issue--and he buried the scroll beneath the pile. He couldn't believe his old style was that atrocious. What made it more pathetic was the seriousness he tried to convey. It would have been better if he was merely joking, like that poem of Daniel to Mervin.

That memory elicited a smile for Dominic. In another interscholastic visit, the one after Mervin had given up the hope of winning Cassandra's affections, he was again attracted to another guest from the Sepulchre. Her name was Gwyneth, and with long black hair, chubby cheeks and bubbly black eyes, she was cute as cute could be. Mervin intimated about the girl to his uncle, but he was told that she just might be his cousin. This amused Daniel to no end that he was inspired to write a poem entitled "Who is She in Your Life?"

Dominic made his way back to the exhibit area of the Acolytes. The break was over, they better finish their work before the sun completely sets and the Pillars closes for the day.

Across the campus, the officership training drill for that day was about to be concluded. Mervin would finally deliver his instructions, which everyone had been awaiting all throughout the drill: "Alright boys, we all know that tomorrow, visitors from different academic institutions will be arriving to our venerable academy. As the battalion's liaison for the organizers of this event, I will hereby take charge in mobilizing you trainees as part of the welcoming group." Mervin noted with satisfaction how the troops kept silent and disciplined. "You will, in exchange for the wonderful privilege of being the first to see our guests, escort our beloved guests to their respective rooms and carry their luggage. Hardly a problem, am I right?"

"Sir, yes sir!" It was the loudest response from the trainees for the entire afternoon.

"For tomorrow, I would like to see you in formation by the entrance gate at 0800 hours sharp. Wear your spiffiest casual-type uniform, and show them why each of you deserve to be called an officer and a gentleman."

"Sir, yes sir!"

The commander could not help but add, "and take special care of Helen."

"Commander, there should be no special treatment." Mervin quickly replied. A blush could still be noticed through his face that was darkened by days of marching under the blazing sun.

"Oh don't be so bashful, Mervin, we understand. Besides, I've never seen a luckier person than you, know that? For the next few days, your friend Daniel's stuck in a tournament at the Citadel of Aqueaon while Helen's gonna be guestin' here. And you, lucky you, will be welcoming her with a platoon under your command." Turning to the formation, the commander barked, "Troops dismissed!"

Pilgrims Digress

2007-04-04T17:10:00.000+08:00

Holy Thursday

We start our journey from the Naga Metropolitan Cathedral. It is six in the evening. Others have gone out ahead of us, but it is alright: time does not matter; getting there is what matters. We hope you are wearing your best walking shoes, for we will be spending the entire evening walking. Walking barefoot, though, will make you pious in the eyes of many. It will be helpful if you bring along water, snacks and even your dinner, unless you want to start fasting six hours in advance.

The saying that how ever long a procession is, it returns to its starting point does not apply here. First of all, this is not a procession where people bear a deified ikon around the town; although an air of solemnity still surround throngs of people walking in prayerful cadence. Indeed, we shall end up in another church in another municipality in another district.

We begin with a proud burst of energy: we noisily converse, sing, and laugh until the next municipality.

We then somber down and acquire the prevailing mood of our fellow pilgrims. It is rightly so, we think, for this is the Holy Week and Dios Jesucristo is about to die. The merriment of the Last Supper we had earlier gives way to the agonizing prayer at Gethsemane. Our garden is the National Highway and the surrounding farmlands, and our agony is the early onset of weariness. Like the three disciples, some would stop to rest, but most would start to pray. The latter we do an automated thumbing of rosary beads as we mumble away each Hail Mary in a mechanized yet eerily recognizable manner.

We must have walked more than five kilometers now. Our feet might be feeling sore but we trudge on; we feel our sins getting left behind with every step we took. More so if we do not have shoes and socks to impede their transmission from our body to the earth where they originated and where they shall end--burnt to a crisp in a never-ending infierno. It does not matter that we have not asked forgiveness from our neighbor, returned the things we have stolen, or repaired the things we have damaged. God has forgiven us and that is important.

We may buy water, food, and other things we suddenly feel needed from stores that have mysteriously sprouted along the highway. The Pinoy entrepreneur is there where the business is good, as what is done in fiestas and other religious events: inserting Money and Materialism among the other gods being worshipped, even creating other gods like Wine, Gambling and Vanity among others. We might manage, though, to be spared from offering to the Money God when some altruistic mayor or congressman hoping to be re-elected comes up with action centers or task forces providing free cold drinks, restrooms and first aid.

While we are in the middle of our journey, we may as well go sight-seeing. All too often, we shall see drinkers raising their glasses in praise of the Wine God as they indulge in an extended Last Supper--a last supper indeed for some, whose souls will be displaced from their bodies by the spirits of the alcohol. Some pay homage to the God of Gambling, where it is not only Christ’s cloth that is at stake. Others sing the pilgrims on, while others simply do not care as they sit mesmerized by the God of Entertainment residing in the TV.

We finally enter Calabanga, the destination municipality, and our hearts are gladdened. The atmosphere is festive, similar to the finish line in a marathon race. Others do treat this as a race, speeding up and overtaking lots of exhausted pilgrims. Tough walkers that they are, it is because they know what lies ahead: a kilometer long line of pilgrims desiring to have an audience with the King of kings. To stop as we fall in line is a welcome rest for our weary legs. Then we wait for more than an hour until we can enter an antiquated kapilya.

Finally, we see Him. There He lays--a lifeless wooden body dressed up in fine burial clothes, yet capable of giving blessings and grace. We view Him like that of our departed loved ones. We may pray, weep, then we kiss Him goodbye.

Our bodies are weakened but we are cleansed from sin. We are happy to see Him.

Good Friday

We now go to a friend’s residence nearby. He is expecting us as well as other visitors. He has prepared food and refreshments for all. Some of us may rest our tired bodies on his sofa and fall asleep. Others may keep vigil and tell stories to keep each other awake.

It is past midnight now, but Calabanga is still wide awake, still expecting more pilgrims. A midnight procession is taking place with rowdy boys in center stage. Jeepneys are taking some pilgrims back home. Earlier, they also took into the municipality some pilgrims who consider the sin-cleansing walk unnecessary.

Those who slept wake up to a fine sunny morning while those who kept vigil struggle with their last remaining strength to keep awake. We initially hesitate in accepting our host’s invitation for breakfast before we eagerly partake everything he offered.

To push the boundaries of holiness, some of us will choose to walk their way back home while most would ride the jeepney, discovering that, upon the influence of the Money God who seems to be powerful as Christ dies, the fares are higher than usual.

Along the way home, we see Him again. This time he is alive and in flesh and blood. We see him carrying His cross trudging to an unknown Calvary. He wears a crown of thorns that draw blood from his head. His hair is disheveled, partly hiding a bloodied face filled with sorrow and torment, although he tries futilely not to show these emotions. His white blood-stained robe is torn, exposing a whipped back. Skin has been peeled off His elbows and knees indicating that the sturdy cross has imposed its weight upon Him more than three times now.

Behind Him are ten men and two women dressed in similar fashion brandishing spiked whips. But they are not the Roman soldiers forcing Him to move on (it is the horrible sins committed that is whipping Him forward). They too are trying to hide their agony as they whip themselves at their backs in a synchronized ritual.

The scene of self-inflicted, self-righteous suffering is a sight to behold. But there is neither Roman-Jewish crowd jeering nor women wailing for Him. Some do stare dumbfounded, some wince in sympathy, while most go on with their business. Could this apathy be more painful than the jeers, their suffering in reparation not acknowledged?

One Caucasian excitedly operates his camcorder. When he returns home, he will sell his video footage to some reality program for the whole world to gawk at it all and come and see for themselves. Thus, next year, to the delight of Dick Gordon, we shall accommodate in our group excited Westerners eager to have their innocent minds full of the ideals of human rights blemished by the sight of holy gore, WOW Philippines!

(Note: This was first written in November 2003, based on the pilgrimage to Amang Inulid, the image of the dead Christ, in Calabanga, Camarines Sur. This tradition, although long-running, is not officially sanctioned by the Archdiocese of Caceres.)

Picture Credits:
Naga Metropolitan Cathedral from www.stvictor.org
Cristo and flaggelants from Sidney

Fantasia (Part 4)

2007-04-01T01:43:00.000+08:00

I did not find screenshots from Ragnarok that would convey the action, so I got screenshots from the recent movie 300 instead. Images available from IMDB. Note that these images are merely for establishing the mood and do not depict the actual events in the story.

(Part 1 2 3)

On the day that Daniel left for the practice tournament, Mervin was in the fields of the Pillars observing the formation of trainees for officership. He was waiting for his turn to instruct the troops on a special matter. In the meantime, his thoughts wandered to events that happened more than a month ago...

After finishing the Officership Training Course, Mervin would go on to be the Intelligence Officer of the Knight battalion. They were to compete in the annual War Games of EveAlone. For decades, this was the contest that the Pillars had dominated. The Knights would time and again display to the entire land their superior discipline, arms and tactics, and vanquish any other group that came in their way. But recently, other battalions have stepped up training and have slowly but surely surpassed and surprised the Knights whose morale had been slowly decreasing. Instead, they've been grumbling that warfare had long been gone, that it was the time of Magic, and the Knights have been more successful in that kind of competition anyway: what was the use of competing in mock military battles now?

Ironically, Daniel the champion for Magic, although physically incapable of participating, had been supportive of the martial endeavor. He believed that it would be infinitely better that the Knights show supremacy in all aspects: a sound mind in a sound body. Thus he, together with Dominic, was there at the battlefield on the day of the War Games. They were to document the event for the annual chronicles Tagumpay.

The young troops stood silently in their staging area. Their armor and their shields were heavy but they never moved an inch. Mercifully, since this was only a mock battle, they only carried wooden swords and blunt spears rather than the real ones with heavy steel blades. Mervin was at the lead formation, together with the Commander, while Daniel and Dominic kept their distance from the unmoving mass of armor. This statuesque display was meant to impress upon everyone their discipline, and the stoic mien was meant to unsettle their opponents. But, having witnessed their training, the two chroniclers knew better. The noontime sun was slowly taking its toll on the troops, and one of them silently buckled down. Medics helped the unfortunate one back up, and in a few minutes he was again standing still in the formation.

For Mervin, the veteran of the War Games, standing still was its most difficult part. The boredom could be unnerving, but he must not slide into daydreaming lest he might miss a command. Thus, when the commander finally turned to bark an order, he was aware. It was time. They would now march into a free-for-all battle. Mervin listened to the stomping of their boots and can only sigh. These should thud like there was only one giant Knight marching on the field, but what he heard was like that of a giant caterpillar instead.

A battalion from an obscure academy in a rural town of EveAlone engaged the Knights. Suicidal fools, Mervin thought, but fighting them could still be a good warm-up. "Close formation! Raise shields!" He heard the Commander's orders and couldn't help but sneer. "We'll fight with shields ... and only shields." The troops laughed in agreement. They would push the opponent out of the field, which by the rules would constitute sure defeat.

On another battalion, they used spears only. The blunt spears and wooden swords were laced with red dye to indicate a successful hit. Anyone who was marked but would still stand up and fight would invite disqualification for his or her entire battalion.

At last the battalion of Greyhounds, an up-and-coming rival, decided to engage the Knights. In earlier War Games, the Knights would merely belittle the challenge, but this time, their proud disposition was immediately replaced with worry, most especially the officers who know the real score. They leveled their spears to prepare to charge in close formation. But the two lead platoons of the Greyhounds veered to the left and to the right respectively. Mervin cussed under his teeth at this unknown maneuver. Was his espionage and counterintelligence effort not good enough?

"Bravo Company," the Commander barked to the rear, "form platoons, engage flanks! Alpha Company, follow me!" The two platoons of the Bravo Company found action in no time. Meanwhile, the officers and the Alpha Company made a spear charge to the opponent's battalion at the center, but the latter merely marched backwards in loose formation.

"Commander," Mervin shouted, "I think they intend to flank us too!"

From outside the field, the two chroniclers were also worried. "It seems the Greyhounds are finally fighting using their strengths," Daniel pointed out to Dominic. "Before, they keep on engaging the Knights using force against force, but with superior armor and the rough training, the Knights would have the upper hand of course. Now, the Greyhounds fight with speed and mobility while armor would slow the Knights down. The present inadequate and unmotivated training also helps in further slowing down how the Knights shift formation, enabling the Greyhounds to find kinks in their defenses."

"You really know all these stuff, don't you? Why didn't you tell it to Mervin?" Dominic replied in jest.

"Mervin and the other officers have the same vague idea," Daniel sighed, "it's just that the guys under them don't really take these things seriously."

Alpha Company retreated to rejoin the two platoons of Bravo, one of which was surrounded and taking in losses. The Commander issued a series of orders for a formation that will make the platoons defend from the enemy on four sides.

"Well I have to give credit to our guys," Daniel pointed out, "look, there is a part that is receiving attack, but the orders are to move, so they follow the command and do not fight back. Maybe they can still be cited for discipline in the awards."

"Hope so, Daniel." Dominic knew they could only hope. "But the position they are making has an obvious weakness. All the Greyhounds have to do is pour all that they have on one side so that they can go to the center, and slay the troops whose backs are turned."

Mervin thought so too, especially when the piddling force facing them did not dare to attack his side, the officers' side. It was the opposite side being attacked. Mervin knew it was the weakest side. He turned to the Commander.

"Sir, permission to take command of the center, as a contingency."

The commander hesitated, but had to concur. It was just in time: the Greyhounds had found a break and four of them came rushing to the center. Mervin threw his spear to the Greyhounds still massed outside; it was of no use for close-quarter combat. It expectedly missed since the troops simply stepped away. The veteran Mervin was good in sword fighting, and he downed the four intruders in no time. Unfortunately, the beleaguered side collapsed under the relentless attack. Mervin and the few troops at the center faced the spears of an entire Greyhound company.

Daniel was surprised at Dominic's insight. "It's happening almost exactly as you told. Gee, Dominic, never knew a holy acolyte also know the way of violence."

"Well, it's all thanks to you, my friends."

"Oh, don't look at me; I'm just an armchair general."

Their laughter was short. The fact was the Knights were slowly being withered down in strength, speared and hacked, until the last man fell.

"Drop, you insolent fools!" The Commander's orders shifted Mervin's attention back to the fields of the Pillars. The first thought that came to him was that the Commander has caught him daydreaming, for after the War Games were over, he had allowed himself to relax. But before he could perform the command, he saw the trainees carrying out the punishment. They must've done another stupid misdemeanor, he thought. His joyous instructions would have to wait.

Then he thought of her.

Helen was back in his life. What if she came earlier? Could he had fought more fiercely if he knew she was there? Mervin was amused with his wishful thinking. No matter, he assured himself as the instructions he bore came to mind. Tomorrow would be a great day anyway.

(To be continued)

Hold On

2007-03-21T23:08:00.000+08:00

My Fantasia fantasizing was interrupted last March 10 by a far more pleasant matter, a fantasy-turned-reality, so to speak. This activity was so compelling that for the first time in months, I woke up earlier than eight in the morning, just to make sure I wouldn't be left behind even if I knew from past experience that things like these follow an extreme form of Filipino time. However, it turned out well and good that I woke up early; since, to my surprise, everyone had also been up and ready early enough, enabling the trip to commence in record time by eight. After a hurried breakfast and a few minutes wait by the C5 road, I was all smiles when the rented van approached, and, once inside, I chatted with dear friends I had not seen for a while. The places whizzed by: South Luzon Expressway, Star Toll Way, Lipa City, Padre Garcia town, San Juan town, Laiya Beach. In a little less than four hours (another record time, thanks to a driver who's too fast, too eager for comfort), I was back at the Casa Remo Apartelle.

Now approaching its first year in business, the apartelle had maintained the no-frills approach that would appeal to tourists simply in need of a clean and safe place to sleep, eat and leave their things while they explore the beach and the sea. Why bother with amenities like cable TV, which are supposed to be left behind in the city? Doing away with these fancy stuffs to lower the room rate would be far more reasonable for me. Besides, the real priceless treasure would be the warm service provided by the caretakers.

Speaking of the beach and the sea, Laiya had staved off at least for this year the commercialization plaguing other more famous beaches in the Philippines. There was still none of those in-your-face beachside rows of restaurants and videoke bars. Heck, there's even a 10 pm moratorium from the videoke-induced ear torture, at least in Casa Remo. Also, the boats ferrying people to snorkel sites were still occupying a small stretch of beach; thus, they bother only those who swim within their territory. I was able to take one such boat ride and finally saw fishes, colored yellow, silver and blue, swim up close to feed from the bread crumbs we offered. I was even more delighted that two shortcomings I had pointed out in my Laiya post last year were somehow absent this time around: the sea was cleaner now while the stronger pressure of the plumbing system provided enough flowing water for me to have a decent shower.

Curiously, I am giving Laiya and Casa Remo a rare all-glowing review. Perhaps it is due to the timing of our outing; since, this time we got there before the end of classes and the Holy Week vacation. Meaning, we arrived weeks before hordes of tourists from Metro Manila spoil the place with their wasteful habits (city-dwellers, bah!). Furthermore, unlike last year, there was no typhoon the week before to mess up the area.

I think, though, that I tend to gloss over trifles simply because I was in good company last weekend. As I had said in my post last year, if I wanted to make a pilgrimage reliving all those exhilarating emotional memories of college friendship, I should have done it so with these friends. Well whaddya know, good things do happen if one fervently wishes for them to happen.

I was with my friends from the college organization we fondly refer to as DS. There were only six of us in that outing: Maan, Malen, Niña, Ruth, Jacob and I. Others have been tied up with other commitments in home, school or office, on matters that were either scheduled way beforehand or cropped up at the last minute. Due to a routine overtime, even I almost didn't make it if not for a change in the outing's schedule.

From about twenty or more potential attendees, the fact that only six made it is admittedly disappointing for me somewhat, but I do acknowledge, reluctantly, that ever since graduating and being entrenched in our respective work or further education, it is inevitable that we would part ways. It has been two to three years since dispersing to pursue our individual careers. Although we do meet up once in a while, it would never be the same like in college, where every day we would drop by our little org room either to fulfill our "shifting" for our various services or simply to seek amiable company. Gone, too, would be those weekly meetings where we discussed, in no particular order, organization stuff, the latest gossip or what gimik we would do afterwards. When once we thought that the different schedules of classes and locations classrooms already make meeting up quite challenging, even more varied schedules and locations of the different companies and schools we are in now make meeting up almost impossible. Ah, I remember myself one March morning two years ago, also here in Casa Remo. We were wrapping up our penultimate official activity for DS, all huddled in prayer. It was at the point when I contemplated this impending prospect of separation that I was driven to tears: bittersweet tears they were.

Though unavoidable the drifting away would be, I hope we do so with the ties still intact, in such a way that when the call for a reunion such as this arrives, and barring no conflict in schedules nor logistical concerns, almost everyone would attend.

In this outing, one thing reminded me why these are great friends beyond sharing common interests, beyond sharing common opinions, beyond sharing fun moments together. The fact that we can express our misgivings of each other, without the ill feelings is, I think, proof of a mature and strong friendship. More than acceptance, there is that desire to make friends grow. Being on the receiving end of constructive criticism from friends like these have made me aware of weaknesses, an awareness that is more acute than if the remark is coming from, say my boss or even my parents.

It was amusing that even until now, there can still be new things we discover from one another: from confidential interrogations, discussions on love and friendship, and actuations by the beach we got to know of changes, intrigues and the like. Among the discoveries, the most striking and at the same time comforting for me, in the sense that they resonated with my own sentiments, were that we share the gratitude of how this companionship had contributed to our growth to the better as well as the desire to preserve the friendship for the rest of our lives.

The outing was only an overnight stay, and our reunion ended too soon. With a sigh, our present commitments crept into our consciousness. We traveled to Manila in silence, to each his or her own thoughts. We were going back to the "real world" and wallow there until the next fantasy-turned-reality.

-oOo-

Apologies for the delay of this write-up. Immediately after the outing, instead of resting for the week of work ahead, my laptop and me myself was commandeered in the preparations for another journey, this time to a big destination come May, and when I say big I mean literally and figuratively big. To avoid being jinxed however, I won't mention it yet, just stay tuned folks!

(Pictures from Ruth)

Fantasia (Part 3)

2007-03-09T21:36:00.000+08:00

Picture credits: The images below are sample characters from the MMORPG Ragnarok Online of the company Level Up!. I don't actually play it, but the game was what I had in mind as a loose template of this story (template only, so it's not Ragnarok canon), not to mention images of its characters do provide a cute effect, hehe. Pictures nixed from the Ragnarok online website (screenshots and mage skills).

Part 1
Part 2

Scrolls were scattered all around Daniel's desk at his home, one October night three years later. Some of them were partially unrolled, others still closed, while others were full of scribbles. At the middle, fully opened, brightly illuminated by candelabra, was the scroll for Codix formulae that Daniel had been furiously reviewing for more than an hour. In the particular team formed for an upcoming tournament, only Daniel was good at Codix (the others were quite fearful of its power and mystery), so he should better focus on it while he would let his teammates focus on their own expertise. After a few more minutes, Daniel decided he was through with the scroll.

Along with fifteen other Knights, Daniel was preparing for another tournament. Having been in other mostly victorious jousts of the intellect since Second, Third to now Fourth Group R--about three years of fierce mental dueling--this should be a breeze, but in truth, Daniel was distracted.

This never happened before. Back in his stint in Second Group R, thanks to their able mentor and coach, Master Dionysus of the Crafts of Healing, Herbology and Animalism, they dominated other academies in Ceres: a teammate, Romulus was the champion while Daniel got the second prize. The next year in Alchemy, it was Daniel's turn to be the champion. In fact, it was through Alchemy that he was able to go to the City of Legacy, and although it was a losing tournament, he managed to get a glimpse of the Citadel of Aqueaon. It appeared that being able to withstand what his fellow wards jokingly refer to as "lethargic side-effect of the potions" would provide him great opportunities.

It was in Fourth Group R that Daniel truly demonstrated his vast understanding of the Codix and Magic and his skillful handling of enchanted artifacts. First up was a contest on controlling Master Artifacts, also called Enchanters, exquisite large crystals that were adaptable to various uses due to its being highly responsive to all of the known Codix formulations. This contest was held in the City of Manille, Imperial Capital of Fralippolippi, and in facing off against the best of the Capital, Daniel and his team was found wanting. But that never deterred Daniel: back in EveAlone, he participated in even more duels of Magic, the Codix, and general knowledge, where he was most successful. For the latter he thus found himself battling it out in the Challenge of the Intellects, the most well-known contest of its kind in EveAlone due to its being shown in Heraldic Mirrors across the land. These mirrors were enchanted artifacts that show moving images as if peering through a window. Here he battled together with Romulus, who was more knowledgeable in the Arts, and they had surmounted two rounds, the first through a stunning rout of lesser academies while the second through a nerve-wracking close fight against two beautiful ladies from the Lair of the Greyhound. It was in light of this two victories and one more upcoming round before the championships that Daniel was preparing for a "practice" tournament prepared by older youths of EveAlone who were now undergoing apprenticeship in Manille the Imperial Capital.

Although this tournament was troubling Daniel, it was not due to the fact that he had other commitments, like the main scholastic work, as well as in various activities of interest like the regular literary scroll A Merry Land (wherein his first writing was a pathetic and sappy retelling of his misfortune in the dance), the annual chronicles Tagumpay, the mini-guild of Magic and another mini-guild for Codix. Certainly it was not due to his minimal participation in acolyte training, which he joined upon the influence of Dominic who was the lead acolyte trainee. Their friendship started when Daniel realized that Dominic's steadfastness led credence to his wise advice, and when Dominic as well had realized that he should be more open to the realities of the world rather than impose his ideals. In fact, in contrast to his previous aloof stance, Dominic had been more personally involved with Kirsten, a guest from the Citadel, since their meeting in Second Group R. Distance was not a barrier as both maintained correspondence through letters and an occasional chat through the Box of Conversation, an enchanted device that sends to the air one's voice to be captured and spoken in another Box thus enabling a conversation through great distances.

Now what could have stopped Daniel from maintaining a similar correspondence with Helen? He had known her address through that piece of paper that he, in a fit of obsession, snitched from public display, had he not? Well, Daniel chose to concede and forget, and in a selfless gesture (possibly influenced by Dominic) handed the paper over to Mervin to bolster the latter's chances with Helen, since other admirers have been going to Legacy to personally visit her. Mervin, on the other hand, was interested more on the identifier the paper provided for the Box of Conversation in Helen's residence. The two talked of sweet nothings until the elders in Mervin's house noticed how this rampant utilization of their Box was disrupting them from doing business.

It appeared to be weeks of fruitless courting for Helen's admirers. As with Daniel and all the others, distance made forgetting easier for Mervin. It was back to the good old days with Daniel where they'd walk together on the way home and poke fun at anything that amused them (they were joined by Dominic on some occasions). Mervin realized that aside from Helen, he had a lot in common with Daniel. He also joined A Merry Land and Tagumpay to hone his writing skill. And he was also influenced by Dominic to undergo acolyte training. But if Daniel was good enough to compete in Magic and the Codix, Mervin would train and fight as a Knight, the original skill their school was known for. He started out with the humble role of a drummer in the marching band. This developed his musical inclinations that, together with Daniel (who plays the harpsichord albeit clumsily) and other minstrel hopefuls, they tried to form a musical troupe. Later on, Mervin underwent the more rigorous training for officership. Daniel tried to join as well, but found himself physically incapable of performing the most demanding of tasks that any officer must perform with ease. He returned to training for the contests in Magic and the Codix.

Daniel jolted himself from his reverie. What was he wasting his time for? With a sigh, he unscrolled the Book of Enchanted Artifacts. There was no time to be distracted, he had made his choice. Besides he already had a plan, hopefully it would work. No, he had thought about it a lot of times, and had considered the things that were at stake: it had to work. "Helen," he sneered at himself, "I thought I've forgotten her. Now she's back, and, funny thing is, I am allowing her to mess with my life again."

(To be continued)

Fantasia (Part 2)

2007-02-25T17:25:00.000+08:00

Panaginip ko at hangarin
Ang ika'y muling makapiling ('pagkat)
Saan man tumungo, alin mang ngiti,
Nakikita ko'y yung sa'yong labi...

That, and the revelation of gypsy-like outfits beneath their modest folk costume, brought the Knights' Great Hall down. Helen beamed with pride for her older fellow wards in Aqueaon. Mervin was quick to show appreciation. On the other hand, Daniel's reaction was dulled by his confusion.

Shortly afterwards, the dance floor was open, and everyone flaunted their dancing skills, or lack of it (though that didn't matter anyway). The boys' propensity for fun sure was contagious, thought Helen, who, though not of a dancer, found herself enjoyably moving to the upbeat drums of the musicians with Mervin, Daniel and other new friends and admirers. That was until the musicians decided to slow things down, and Helen's heart skipped a bit, for she hardly knew how to handle this new rhythm.

"Shall we dance?" It was Mervin, ever so quick tonight. Daniel held his breath, dazed at was he was witnessing. Helen also held her breath, what could be a polite reply?

"Sorry, but I don't know how," she finally said, "and I'm really tired, let's rest instead."

Mervin, Helen and Daniel sat by the sidelines and watched at how pairs danced the night away, from some with tentative steps to a few with peaceful intimacy. Several other admirers bid their invitations, but Helen consistently refused, stating the same reasons. Daniel was contented that she would refuse all invitations for a dance, with two reasonable excuses to boot.

Indeed she was tired, but resting was still uncomfortable for the Hall was warm, what with all the heightened emotions, so Daniel borrowed a folding silk fan, an item made in the larger neighboring empire of Qin, to cool Helen and himself (and Mervin who was near Helen anyway). "That," Mervin exclaimed at Daniel's fanning, "could hardly carry a breeze!" He grabbed the fan. "Here, let me show you." His vigorous fanning blew away whatever was left of Daniel's spirit.

Helen had rested well enough, and the fan has cooled things down for her, thus eliminating one of her reasons. Mervin moved in for the kill: "shall we dance now?"

Helen clung to her one remaining excuse, "But I really don't know how."

"Don't worry, it's easy. I'll show you."

Di mo pansin 'sang bagay sinta
Ang sumaiyo'y aking kahilingan...
Ano p'ang kawalan, kundi 'di ibigin?
Umaasang ako'y tatanggapin...

The musicians were playing a rousing chorus. Mervin flashed his warm friendly smile and held Helen's hand. Whatever was left of her hesitations vanished all of a sudden. He guided her to the dance floor and there they stayed for a long, long while.

Daniel was catatonic. When the Farewell Dance ended, he walked mindlessly back to his home. Mervin was not only quick, he was also cunning, Daniel thought as he finally lay in bed. He could not believe that intelligent though he was, his mind was still a simpleton's for it could not even conceive what Mervin had seamlessly, gracefully executed that night. That, and alternate scenarios more favorable to him, were the last thoughts in his mind until he finally welcomed the consolation of sleep.

May mga bagay
Na lingid sa kaalaman ko
Ang iniibig
Ay kailangan ding lumayo...
Kung managinip ako
Tungkol sayo ay dalisay
Magkayakap, magkatabi
Magpakailanman...

(To be continued)

Fantasia (Part 1)

2007-02-22T20:08:00.000+08:00

Picture credits: The images below are sample characters from the MMORPG Ragnarok Online of the company Level Up!. I don't actually play it, but the game was what I had in mind as a loose template of this story (template only, so it's not Ragnarok canon), not to mention images of its characters do provide a cute effect, hehe. Pictures nixed from the Ragnarok India official website (link). Pictures were slightly edited.

It was afternon. The sun-drenched hilltop trees of the Aerie swayed with the gentle winds of March. The swishing of the leaves produces a lively rhythm as petals fell from the trees like a gentle rain, releasing its fragrant aroma for the people of the Aerie to enjoy. What a way to punctuate the joyous mood around the hill, as the season marked the end of a year's worth of scholastic struggle. More so for Daniel and his peers, who were to celebrate not just the end of a year but entire decades of quests for mastery. As a reward for their labors, they would attain the Full Order of the Eagle, an honor coveted in the entire Empire of Fralippolippi.

For that particular moment however, the cheerful display of nature did not have the intended effect on Daniel as he walked up to his lodging by the hilltop. The dark fort-like facade of this usually gloomy edifice now seemed to be a welcome refuge for him as he walked inside its dark lobby. "Perfect," he remarked on the darkness feebly illuminated by a single lamp by the newsscrolls. He went through the motions of reading the scroll for the day, yet his mind was quick to wander. Perhaps it would be better for his mind to do so: at least he would not be totally engulfed by the darkness. Thusly, his mind went back to a place and time he left behind, but was unable to forget. Way, way back it went to the Land of EveAlone, way, way, back to seven years ago...

The Pillars of the Knight, a premier scholarly institute of Ceres City, the city right at the heart of EveAlone, was abuzz with excitement. The scholastic wards were having a break from all the scholarly pursuit of the arts and crafts. Instead, there were visitors coming, visitors from similar institutions in EveAlone that answered the call for interscholastic camaraderie.

"The vessels have arrived!" Necks craned and the buzz grew louder. The youngest wards of the Pillars grew impatient. They would have wanted to meet the visitors then and there along the riverside port as they disembark from their ferry ships, but they knew that they had to be disciplined especially for this occassion. The guests would be escorted to them. For now they had to be contented with the distant view of the sails on the ports near the gates of their venerable academy.

Among these restless younger wards was Daniel of First Group R. He had experienced a similar activity before in a different institution and knew somewhat that the selection of guest wards depended on criteria different from the host wards' preferences. But he would know soon enough whether he was right or wrong; from the noise emanating among the other rooms, it appeared their neighbors had started receiving their guests and their room would also do so in a while.

Applause and pleasantries greeted the guests of First Group R. Among them, Helen was mildly amused (or that she hoped was how she appeared). These wards of the Pillars sure were fun-loving and polite, as told to her by older peers from the Citadel of Aqueaon back in the seaport city of Legacy. Too bad these lads were not all handsome as claimed too by her friends, but there surely were some head-turners. What was somewhat unsettling for her and her fellow guests were the fuss and attention their hosts were overly bestowing on them while at the same time these same hosts were approaching them as if an invisible barrier like that of an aquarium exists in between. Ah, the Pillars was an institution for boys only, they were also cautioned by their peers; thus, expect them to behave curiously sometimes. Fortunately for Helen and the other guests of First Group R, there was an exception in the person of Dominic.

Even to the rest of First Group R, Dominic was, to put it mildly, a different person. He trained to be an acolyte, a rare calling, and thus he lived like an acolyte, an even rarer disposition still. He imposed upon himself stiff moral standards that others in the group find unrealistic. More than that were his weekly self-expunging of sins. But what was most abrasive to the group was that he preached all these to them like he wanted to impose it to everyone. Well for that day, Dominic was in his element to the chagrin of the others, for in seeing no malice, he saw no barrier in communicating with the guests.

Meanwhile, Daniel was finding his eyes constantly gazing at this girl named Helen, or that was the name he found on the sheet of paper she pasted on the board. The paper was the output of their first activity used to indicate, among other things, a neutral facial expression she drew to describe how she felt at that moment, and her address in the City of Legacy. He had realized that this Citadel of Aqueaon (it must be her academy since she was wearing its vestments: the moss-green jumper-skirt) did choose their representatives to be pleasing to the eyes. Unfortunately though, what was pleasing to his eyes was also pleasing to others' eyes--many other pairs of eyes, to be sure.

That was Daniel's predicament. He was intelligent, being trained to be a mage, knowledgeable in the various common letters as well as the Codix, the mysterious language of Magic. But physically, he was a wraith; although possessing a gentle comely face, he was tall and lanky, and like the usual mage, lacking that commanding presence in a crowd, much more a reasonable amount of brute strength. For Helen, we was ranged upon young lads of either better resources, face value or other desirable external attributes, not to mention persons more experienced in the ways of romance.

The one person who would know of this predicament was Mervin, who recently had been Daniel's companion in the long walks home from the Pillars, both of them deriving humor from day-to-day things along the way. Perhaps it was his warmth and his quick smile that made Daniel share his new secret. "Don't worry," he said confidently and reassuringly, "you have my support."

Time passed by quickly, on the second night they were already gathering for the Farewell Dance. Outside the Knights' Great Hall-turned-ballroom, just before it opened for the festivities, the young lads flocked around the girl of their liking. Daniel and Mervin, working as a team for the entire day, had engaged Helen in some chit-chat. A number of hopefuls still flocked around her, engaging her in their own small talk whenever they had a chance.

Oh! What could be her charm? Was it the way her long curly hair rise proudly in a bun? Was it the way her round eyes twinkle with sentiments hidden by her silence? Or perhaps it was her roundish face made rounder by her mannerism of puffing her mouth up.

Consistent with tradition, the Farewall Dance opened with a show. Helen was with the group of Mervin and Daniel. Or was it the two joining Helen's group? So far so good, thought Daniel, at last he would be seated beside Helen. But lo! In a quick move, Mervin took that seat beside her.

(To be continued)

Quote Explicit

2007-02-14T10:49:00.000+08:00

Happy V-day everyone! I'll share with you this love quote I have translated from English to Bicol. I have appreciated how this particular translation got the vernacular impact while having some sort of rhyming to boot. I liked it so much that I have forgotten the exact words of the English original! Perhaps my fellow Bicolano bloggers under the "Ma-orag Ini" links can provide the original quote.

An pagkamoot
Garo mabatang atot:
Kun pogolon abang kulog,
Kun pal'wason abang kusog.

Why this particular quote, you may ask? Well, let's just say I was down last Monday with a nasty case of food poisoning, and I'm still reeling from its effects until now.

Sugarfree Prom

2007-02-05T15:52:00.000+08:00

Now why am I posting this famous recent song about the prom? Why this Filipino song that's worthy of replacing those hackneyed prom staples of David Pomeranz? Why not my own prom instead? As you've guessed it, my prom experience is below par, way below even compared to the usual find-a-partner-go-to-prom-and-dance-then-go-home kind of prom experience. (I thought of writing here what happened in one of those proms, but I realized that in all three I was so pathetic I just might lose whatever respect that I have if I did so. Well, at least I attended three proms, so let's keep it at that. All I can say is that the present students of my high school are so lucky since they now have the normal co-ed environment.)

On with the song... or actually the translation, which is done is such a way that, just like last time, it can be sung in the tune of the original. I try to stick with Sugarfree's objective of removing, well, the sappiness of songs by describing images and scenes instead of describing emotions, but if ever I fail that objective, blame it on the translation process.

These nervous hands they do rattle by
With this beating restless heart of mine.
May I, oh instead, be the one,
Rather than some escort, to sit beside you.

Slowly our eyes--in this night unforgotten--
Meet each other in the glance we've taken...

Like a night for you and me
Like we're all alone: they would let us be,
And together we shall dance
Entwined so tight it's like we won't let go,
Won't let go.

Intoxicating like a gin,
Those drifting looks of yours do make me spin.
And then as the night go by on by
My lips and your lips get as close as they can be...

So off we go to this night unforgotten,
And together we are promenadin'...

Like a night for you and me
Like we're all alone: they would let us be,
And together we shall dance
Entwined so tight it's like we won't let go,
Won't let go.

And when our dancing is through (o-oh)
Please promise me you won't let go (o-oh)

Like a night for you and me
Like a night for you and me
Like a night for you and me
Like we're all alone: they would let us be,
And together we shall dance
Entwined so tight it's like we won't let go,
Won't let go.

Like a night for you and me
Like we're all alone: they would let us be,
And together we shall dance
Entwined so tight it's like we won't let go,
We will never let us go.

From the Fall to the Legacies

2007-01-29T23:24:00.000+08:00

It was just within this month when my brother and I were discussing safety in tall buildings. My brother remarked that the buildings in this housing complex of ours were much more safer than the ones in other places he had visited. To illustrate, he said that the presence of canopies, pot holders and raised windows, although unable to completely eradicate accidents, would ensure that only the really darn frisky children would encounter the most severe consequences.

Yesterday, one darn frisky two-year-old boy did suffer the most severe consequence of falling from the fifth floor.

My first inkling of the accident was a terrified wail from the boy's mother. She bawled out loudly and continually of how she was about to prevent it all but was still too late. When I peeked out of our window, the boy was already whisked away for treatment; instead, I saw dazed onlookers staring from their own windows and a throng of kibitzers at the ground. A crying, ballistic four-year-old stares and jumps at a spot surrounded by scattered bougainvillea bracts. He most probably witnessed it all and was heavily traumatized. From the scattered bracts I pieced out in CSI fashion how the boy might have been outbalanced from the fifth floor, plummet through the overhanging bougainvillea branches at the third floor, bounced off the canopy roof of the ground floor entrance, before falling on the cement walkway. My brother's wife, who was at the window before me still saw the immobile body, the right side of the face blackened and bruised, the mouth oozing with blood, and was shakened by the vision for the rest of the day. Actually, everyone in the vicinity were shaken for some time. Even my brother who missed the whole episode by a couple of hours would not bring himself to play the piano. "Play a somber piece, say, the Moonlight Sonata," my wisecracking self still managed some dark humor.

What frustrated me in this incident was that, of the large number of military personnel and nursing students in this housing complex, the first one on the scene was an idle bystander (tambay) who was clearly ignorant of first aid procedures. In a seemingly heroic gesture, he cradled the boy in his arms and rushed him to some transportation to the hospital.

Pathetic and downright wrong!

To manually carry the victim in this instance is the last thing anyone with even the faintest first aid knowledge (that includes me) would do! Doing so may potentially exacerbate any injury to the head and neck like for instance, completely severing the spinal cord leading to paralysis. Instead, one should check on the pulse and breathing while another looks for a stretcher and a neck brace and calls for transport. Lack of pulse and breathing will necesitate CPR like in all those TV dramas. Stop external bleeding by applying pressure with a clean cloth. Etc, etc... Consult a more reputable and updated source for first aid techniques, save lives and be a real hero, not just on style but substance.

It is fortunate that with the help of prayers, building safety features that prevented a direct slam to the ground, and the fact that growing children are more robust than we consider them to be, x-ray results as of this writing amazingly indicate no fractures to the skull and the boy is now responsive to stimuli.

-oOo-

Ugh, what a gloomy entry! Allow me to lighten things up:

At around the same time as the falling incident, I was engrossed with a five-CD Click-Art and font collection from the mid-1990s. It came with legacy software for viewing and editing the numerous images in the CD along with instructions for installing in Windows 95, imagine that. In fact the viewer program was clearly of a different era because it uses a different window theme, a more primordial one. The most funny thing about it was the eye icon for its View button: like a precursor to present-day cheesy Flash objects, this eye follows the mouse pointer around and blinks randomly.

Creepy.

I don't know why, but encountering relics of electronica, especially those of the 90s, gives me a warm fuzzy feeling. Perhaps, it's because of the fact that these were the very first objects that have captured my imagination, and launched me to a quest of knowledge from MS-DOS to Windows to Unix; from Game & Watch to Brick Game (Tetris) to PC games (note the jump, no Famicom to Gameboy to Playstation for me, loser); from QBasic to Turbo Pascal to Java to Unix scripting; from dBase to Access to SQL; from copy con file.txt to Wordstar to Word to Blogger; from 256 KB floppies to 1.44 MB disks to CDs, hard drives and USB drives.

Sigh.

One Last Random Dump of 2006 Stuff -- The Christmas That Was

2007-01-10T17:03:00.000+08:00

From mosquito kill counts to carolers to adventures in a motel and a race track...

Digression: mosquito kill count

two nights ago = 7 sighted, 6 killed
rating: Raid, keeps mosquitoes (thud) dead.

last night = 5 sighted, 5 killed
rating: Dreygohwn Khetowl, bhestah lehmowk teypowk!

What curse has fallen upon us? Last weekend marked the start of an invasion of mosquitos in our unit. It's a strange phenomenon, considering that for the past three months that we started living here, we have almost no flying, whining visitor. Now, not even the afternoon spraying of Baygon could deter them. That's why whenever I see them, I transform into a combination of the Incredible Hulk and the Amazing Spiderman: aside from enhancing the already-occurring Tobey Maguire geeky cuteness and Eric Bana angsty passion (minus the muscles, sad), these pests have provoked my spider-sense, sharpened my spider-like reflexes and fueled the raging urge to kill them all in a rampage.

-oOo-

Applied effective begging

The carolers were at it last Christmas, and I was on my toes dodging them. On one occasion, I espied carolers at the upper floors of our apartment. Instead of proceeding to our unit, I stayed at a lower floor, staring outside, waiting for them to come down. To my annoyance, they lingered at my back instead. One of them finally said, "kantahan na lang natin si kuya dito," then they started their modest singing. I asked them if they had sung at the units on this floor. The one on the left had given them something, they replied, but the one on the right had no one home. I said the generous unit's offer should suffice. They asked me if I was from that unit. I lied pointblank and they knew. However, I insisted, so they left empty-handed. In hindsight, I should've given them something since, at least they still have genuine smiles and enthusiasm. In fact they were slightly better than this one caroler who cornered me in our unit one afternoon earlier. He gave me an envelope, saying that he was from some youth group, and then started a dominantly nasal rendition of perhaps their original Christmas composition. I winced some more when I saw his strained effort to smile. I scanned the envelope for some semblance of legitimacy like organization name, address and phone number, but all I saw was a long Christmas verse I did not bother to read. But since I noticed that his companions were also singing in the lower floors, I, having done some organized "begging" before, gave him a piddling 20 pesos to shoo him away.

I'm a Scrooge therefore? I beg to disagree: I am merely disappointed. Disappointed that the majority of carolers now do not recognize their unwritten duty to uplift, entertain or infuse into the fortunate listener of the Spirit of Christmas. Sadly, the smelly, breathy monotone I hear from kids--from kids, of all the people here on earth!--does the contrary. Please! It's Christmas, keep your depression and despair to yourself!

(Suddenly my conscience whispers, "then do something to remove their despair." And I know it's not about giving them a huge amount. That's like rewarding their current depressed behavior. I know it has to be something else...)

-oOo-

Christmas mini-adventures with officemates

Inside Victoria Court Pasig: I thought it was a strange, perverted activity to do in a motel, but there we were, all 30 of us, men and women, young and old, all raring to do the act. We deviants might have been a sight to behold to the usual couple finding a room for a little tryst. Our collective prying eyes must've made them zoom their car into their room's garage, the door immediately covered so that their persons will not be seen alighting from their vehicle. Privacy Guaranteed, Shh. The usual couple would value this business proposition, but we do the taboo by throwing it to the air, like me sharing things here in my blog. Some are even ready with their cameras. So what did we do? We succumbed to our primal urges. We splurged on food, liquor, and the videoke. The older ones sang their videoke piece while gyrating inside a cage amidst our lusty cheers. Some satisfied their need to rest by wantonly lying on the circular bed. Our material desires were met with raffle prizes. That's it. Now what primal urge were you thinking about?

Go-Kart Racing at The Fort: I was leisurely driving around the course when--BAM!--somebody considered me too slow and bumped me hoping that it would induce more kinetic energy within me. What the...! Oh, yeah, this was supposed to be a race. We were clumsy, bumpy amateurs frequently pulling over for some driving "seminar." When our time was up, a caretaker sought out one particular kart driver who turns out to be me, and told me, in a low and serious tone, that I nearly got him back there in the course. Honestly, I didn't know what he was talking about; things were all whizzing by at 20 kph. Maybe I should've told him I was dizzy from my own driving, at least he might laugh (or he might actually lose it and sucker punch me while shouting to the whole world what a murderous incompetent bastard I am). It's doubly embarrassing given the fact that before our turn, a bunch of pros (I think) showed us how it's done, with all the excitement of neck-to-neck aggressive racing, sharp turns and the occasional acrobatics. And when these racers emerged from their karts, we discovered that, dammit, they were grade school kids!

-oOo-

A blessed new year to all you readers and may the spirit of Christmas still be with you all throughout the year! Salamat Sa Tumatangkilik (SST)!

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More Random Dump of 2006 Stuff -- Picture-perfect Scenes

2007-01-08T22:52:00.000+08:00

I'm no Señor Enrique, who's always ready with his camera to snap a photo whenever he sees a compelling scene. I can only attempt with words to share whatever vision has graced mine eyes...

My return after five years to the Peñafrancia Fiesta was like a prodigal son of Bicol once again visiting his Mother. This mother-and-son theme were what binds the two moments I witnessed back then. I saw the first scene at the end of a pontifical mass in the honor of Inâ (that's how Bicolanos call Mama Mary). The bishop and his entourage of diocesan priests have left the altar save for one young priest. He was holding his cameraphone up, doing what every other person with a cameraphone or digicam was doing: taking a picture of Inâ enshrined at the foot of the Cross in the Naga Cathedral. Here was a showcase of how the latest technology has been integrated into an age-old Bicolano tradition.

The other scene in Bicol has a more secular and general appeal, but great nonetheless. It happened when I visited my brother and his wife's music studio cum home. My sister-in-law, by the way, was the music teacher. Tired from fiesta music engagements, she was taking a nap upstairs, so I interacted with my brother and his two children, both showing prodigious musical talent. (The mathematician in me also saw their talent in numbers when they demonstrated some mental arithmetic and when I gave each a P500 bill--I grinned ear-to-ear when they discussed how many 20s were there in 500. Too bad I couldn't be there to nurture it. Oh well, they can't have it all, a bromide said so.) A while later, the younger one went upstairs and started playing his violin. I also went upstairs and saw him playing to his mother who was probably half-awake by then but still laying on the sofa with her eyes closed. I watched inconspicuously, hoping to prolong this poignant vision of a son serenading his mother.

The third scene I want to share was during the first few days of darkness after the typhoon Milenyo. The night sky was still overcast with low cloud cover while I was walking home from work. The sound of a 737 taking off from NAIA made me look upwards. From my vantage point, I watched as it climbed seemingly straight up into the clouds. In doing so, I noticed a strange illumination effect its headlights were making on the wispy clouds. With the plane at the center, most of the light beam spread out downwards, bearing an appearance of a long white skirt or tunic. At the same time, the light illuminated an area emanating from both wings of the plane, appearing like white wings of a bird. Taken together, it was like the wings and clothing of an angel! I thought it was the one comforting sight for me in the aftermath of the typhoon.

Too bad for all cases, I cannot collect photographic evidence for sharing with others. I hope words can suffice.

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Random Dump of 2006 Stuff

2007-01-04T23:52:00.000+08:00

I'm the kind of writer whose inspiration does not come as often as daily or weekly. If it comes, this writer then rambles on with kilometric prose (again taking his sweet time to type out the words and sentences), edits, hesitates, contemplates, and edits some more before finally coming up with a masterpiece of a blog entry. Consequently, some entries that are in the pipeline suddenly become outdated, or some parts are edited out lest the entry becomes a boring full-length essay. Thus, before these thoughts become so last year, I present to you the never-before-written paragraphs and deleted parts of Highway Drift for the year 2006 (Ugh, it sounds like a DVD special feature!)...

-oOo-

I went home to Naga City last September for the Peñafrancia Fiesta after five long years of missing its fun and blessings. I could've churned out lots of entries exploring different aspects of this nine-day-long festival, but I didn't. Fortunately, it's an annual thing, so I most probably have another shot at it next September. If you can't wait, well, check out the links in this paragraph.

What was the thing about this year's fiesta? It's the time I seem to have reached the culmination of a trend I've noticed in the few times in the past five years that I managed to go back home. It's as if the city has moved on without me. Significant changes have taken place among my relatives and old friends, in the schools I have gone to, and in the city itself. Changes I am not party to. Changes I approach as a stranger, and in turn these changes also consider me as one, an oddity from a different time, five years ago to be exact.

At the same time, it's as if I have moved on while the city stood in time. My friends and relatives speak with an ennui that makes me think of them as static beings. (What's up, I ask. Nothing new, they answer. It's always like this.) While I contemplated moving back to take a break from polluted and hectic Metro Manila living, I was confronted with the fact that I have to deal with baggage from unresolved feuds (petty, childish feuds as I view them now) and unchanging attitudes of long ago (and I when I say long ago, I mean way before I was born). Then I'm hearing of rumors that I was spared, for now while I am away, from new baggage that formed in my absence. Perhaps this disconnect is partly my fault too. I am not the person that would burn the phone lines to keep in touch. I operate more on the mantra out of sight, out of mind.

Perhaps it's a way of telling me that Metro Manila, how ever resentful I am with it, is where I belong now, where I have friends from college and in work, where I have a job and other business opportunities, where I can avoid the mistakes of the past, where I can make for myself a new life. I guess, for a change, it's time to keep in touch with these friends, and not lose them this time, not with all the technology available to connect, not with all those fond memories formed back then, not with more great memories to be formed in the future. It's time to take the job seriously, or at least do what I'm supposed to do while still avoiding stress; else it'll be tough if I get booted out. It's time to make new friends with the neighbors and with the officemates.

And lay off the drama, geez...

-oOo-

I didn't blog about my birthday, for crying out loud! That was last October, by the way. "I'm 22 for a moment," the song 100 Years by Five for Fighting croons with melodious melancholy, and that's the only part of the song I can relate to; I'm deprived of being "on fire" with a significant other, more so "making our way back from Mars."

On a positive note though, some people still think I'm a college student, like the jeepney drivers, for instance, who charge me with the student's fare. And I can still blend in whenever I visit my college to bask in nature and nostalgia. The one particular episode I remember was when I bought tickets for Da Vinci Code in Market! Market! The sales lady, who appears to be of the same age as I asked how old I was. Rather than be immediately flattered, my first reaction was to be slightly irritated by the fact that I will have to compute for/recall my real age. Then I was annoyed that Dan Brown's thriller was R-18 primarily due to hype and unfounded fears. "T-t-twenty," I stammered. "No! I'm twenty ... twenty-one. Yes, twenty-one going on twenty-two," I managed to mutter. Then I was flattered.

But all these mean nothing when the children I'm tutoring exclaim "You're only 22! We thought you were..." Kids don't lie, do they?

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Remembrance of the Wave

2006-12-29T21:54:00.000+08:00

It might have been noticeable that, aside from revealing my fascination for the End Times, I have delved in Apocalyptic themes recently. It happens whenever I'm pissed off enough to rant. I guess, in my helplessness, I resort to the eschatological and seek the ultimate justice. Before everyone gets fed up with this fear-mongering, allow me one last venture into the supernatural, at least for this year.

Last November 13, 2004, I received a forwarded email, the screenshot of which is shown below...

Well, at first glance it looks like one of those dire predictions of the future. By the way, part of that email, which isn't shown anymore, is an article from Phivolcs. This more scientific earthquake projection which coincided with the prediction is what pushed the original author to finally spread the word. What impresses me is that the prediction imposes a deadline: before the year 2004 ends, there will be a great earthquake that will devastate the Philippines, or Luzon to be a bit more precise. Furthermore, there is the claim: the old man has never missed.

I initially surmised that this should be a very strong earthquake, stronger than any other quake before it, to topple down every building in an area and erase an entire town from the map. Anyway, I shrugged, if ever it would happen by the end of the year, I might already be vacationing in Bicol; thus, I would be spared from its full force.

The old man was off by a few thousands of kilometers, and I was more precise with the timing of the event.

I was eating breakfast at our Naga City home when news of a magnitude 9 tremor from CNN Breaking News got my attention. A magnitude 9 earthquake was really strong, the strongest I had heard of in my twenty years on this earth; still, I didn't think this can flatten all buildings within its area. That may be true, but there was something else that I hadn't thought of. Hours later, CNN reported of a tsunami from that quake hitting Thailand and Malaysia, and later still in the afternoon, the same tsunami hit India. Upon the news anchor's query, the scientist at the US Geological Survey related this recent turn-of-events to a Pacific-wide tsunami decades ago. That was the time I had an inkling that this was something big. Later, the waves reached Africa.

The days passed and the kill count grew from hundreds to thousands to tens of thousands. Now it was really big. More than a week later, with the kill count pushing a hundred thousand, ground zero was finally reached by rescuers. As shown in before-and-after satellite pictures, the town of Banda Aceh was in complete ruins, erased from the map as the old man had said.

I guess the old man really did see beforehand these visions I saw in the TV screen. It was just he mistook the similar-looking Southeast Asian faces and places to be Filipino.

Wrestling with the Wind (Part 3 of 3)

2006-12-09T23:55:00.000+08:00

Oh great, this third and last part got postponed for a long enough period to have two more super typhoons pass the country, with the latest, Reming (Durian to the rest of the world), almost threatened another destructive episode right here in Metro Manila. In fact another one is upon the Philippines, Seniang (Utor to the rest of the world), threatening a deluge to compensate for its not-so-strong winds.

Rants

Back to Reming, good thing this latest cloud spiral of doom decided to change course. Else the metropolis will once again get plunged to darkness. Once again the massive power failure would affect the water supply for most parts. How long would another round of deprivation last? Nine days also? Two weeks? When Naga City was struck by Milenyo, with greater intensity than Metro Manila, mind you, they got their electricity back in two to three days. This "provincial city", like other "provincial cities", beat any NCR city by days in fully restoring power to their constituents. How's that for "Imperial Manila"? They can't even back their haughtiness up!

In fact, Meralco kept proclaiming in the news, after more than a week, that they got their systems 99% restored. Was this godforsaken kilometers long stretch of darkness and dryness along C5 composed mostly of military housing and squatters a mere 1% for them? One percent of income I presume? Let all of them suffer, Meralco must have implied when they de-prioritized repair in those areas, as punishment for them having some people that had stolen the cables that would have made the restoration work a lot easier, faster, cheaper, cheaper and cheaper. Let them suffer, these people who had, for the longest time, connected illegally to the grid. What kind of reasoning is that? It's like Globe refusing to repair a bombed-out cellsite because the people in that area have allowed the NPA to flourish or cutting the signal around an area because of too much fraudulent activities. At the very least you do not hear Globe whine openly in media about such NPA-infested areas, and proclaim them de-prioritized. So Meralco is more "honest" then? It's not that I would condone the stealing of the cables and electricity, but should we law-abiding citizen's whose only real fault was to be neighbors with these lowlifes be made to suffer as well? Should we who refused to participate in the orgy of stealing be accused of condoning them? Why not recognize that we are helpless as well, that we can be threatened by these thieves into submission.

That was just for the electrical shortage, but what irked me more was the loss of water. Electricity had only been harnessed by humanity for no more than 200 years, but water has been part of human existence ever since the start. Thus the need for it is greater, more primordial. Water entrepreneurs made a killing with their delivery services for the nine days we had no water. I have no beef with them. Even if they jack their prices up I understood them for they are merely following supply-and-demand tenets. Besides, they are doing honest labor as they pedal around the complex and carry liters up the stairs. What raised my blood pressure was our housing administration that had no qualms of violating laws just to earn a few tens of thousands of bucks per day aside from their usual racket of additional charges for every utility that enters the housing complex. Some wise guy in their hierarchy had the great idea of wrenching open the fire hydrants in our neighborhood. Then they charged hapless residents of a few pesos per gallon with the reasoning that these hydrants pass through their meters. Bullshit! The mere fact that these hydrants had water while the water pipes in the housing complex were dry as a desert makes that assertion doubtful. Besides, these are fire hydrants, to be used by firefighters in case there's a fire. These lucky bastards should be thankful nobody raised this charging of water from a hydrant to the Bureau of Fire Protection. Why not power instead the pumps of the housing complex with generators, wise guy? Oh, that would be costly; all the profit from the rackets will be lost. Yeah you're a wise guy indeed, asshole!

You've noticed I haven't talked about billboards yet. That's because it's the one topic that has been talked to death in public. I'd rather talk about the fallen trees, and fallen lampposts. See how much of those trees were shallowly-planted in some half-hearted attempt to comply with environmental or aesthetic standards, which were feeble in the first place. Similarly, the shallowly-planted lampposts on the other hand are testaments to half-hearted--no, heartless public service (read the book Pork and Other Perks to find out what I mean). Well as for the billboards, I've been observing the humongous one in Guadalupe. Its first ad after Milenyo displayed the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe. It reminded me of how people turn to God once they start feeling their mortality. The next ad, after the billboard reduced its height by about two meters, had Manny Pacquiao on it. So, they'll fight it out now, huh. When Pacquiao furled up under the threat of Reming, the next ad to be unfurled declares the "power of beauty" or something. Great shades of Imelda!

It really was good that Reming changed course. It's not so much the natural disasters that make me bristle, but the man-made disasters that follow it.

Sermon

It makes me think on how Sodom and Gomorrah was actually destroyed. Was it the raining of fire and brimstone that destroyed those cities? Or could it be how the people reacted afterwards that did them in? Maybe that was why Lot was not allowed by God to look back at the city while it was being destroyed. Maybe God did not want Lot's eyes to be defiled by witnessing what the people were doing to each other and not by what the fire and brimstone was doing to the city.

But there is hope. Remember what God promised to Abraham while the patriarch was bargaining with Him about the fate of the sinful city? God said that as long as a few good people remain, the city will be spared. Same thing with Nineveh, when the people changed their ways after hearing from Jonah, the city was spared. Again, before that, didn't Jonah give up on Nineveh upon learning of the prophecy? Could've Jonah seen a cataclysm that was inevitable, like a tsunami, a typhoon, a meteor barrage? Perhaps disaster still visited Nineveh, but because the people have changed, those who survived managed to rise up after the calamity by sheer power of a true community rather than succumb to selfish interests and ultimately, destruction.

Perspective

You think Metro Manila's experience of Milenyo was bad? Remember that it is usually the Bicol Region that faces the full power of a typhoon fresh from gathering power over the Pacific Ocean. And in Bicol, it is usually the province of Catanduanes that has the unwanted privilege of being the first province to meet the howler head-on. Furthermore, being in a remote area, the aftermath could be something like this.

In the aftermath of Reming, this region's unfortunate circumstance has been highlighted once again. This latest super typhoon might rival Rosing in terms of the destruction it has wrought in Naga. But more than that is the tragedy bestowed upon the neighboring province of Albay. It was less than half a year ago that the people in charge have handled with flying colors the disaster mitigation in the light of a restive Mayon Volcano. It is frustrating now that they are left with about 500 dead (possibly more) from the sliding of volcanic debris from the otherwise beautifully inclined slopes of the volcano. As if, in some sinister improvisation, Mt. Mayon was merely waiting for a typhoon with diluvial rains to dislodge the debris it earlier deposited on its slopes, in the end the mystical volcano again pulled a fast one on them.

Help them please, please.

Other parts of the series:
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Not Another End of the World

2006-12-02T01:53:00.000+08:00

Ever since my father persuaded the family to read a series of newspaper articles pertaining to Marian prophecies and a coming "Three Days of Darkness" in an effort to make us turn away from our sinful ways, I had been fascinated by Apocalyptic scenarios (it helps when your father is alarmist especially when it comes to religion). A few years later, my most read part of the family Good News Bible is the Book of Revelations, followed by the Old Testament prophecies. I've read them enough to know that these writings are not really so much glimpses on the things to come but more of messages of hope for the victorious future amidst the present tribulations for keeping the faith. Besides, they don't really give out an exact date, merely signs. But what if there was a given date for destruction? More than that, what if different factors like religious, scientific, social, etc. suggesting various scenarios for the end all converge on that date?

Remember Y2K? I first learned about it in a 1995 article in that good old tech magazine Popular Mechanics. The writer was sharing how he was testing his personal computer (an ancient unknown model by today, I assume) by setting its date to a few minutes before January 1, 2000. While waiting for zero hour, he enumerated what the experts back then believe would happen to vulnerable computer systems when they encounter the year 2000. I don't remember the details anymore, but the fearful scenarios have been well-known even by then. It was due to these speculations that he became curious and wanted to test them himself. His computer was now seconds away from revealing the results...and it conked out. Oh well, he said, better start readying computers for that moment five years away. Yes, they know how to prevent it even back then, but humans are known procrastinators. To illustrate, after reading the article, I understood the principle of Y2K: that computers, processing only two digits for the year, will get confused upon encountering the year 2000 and might do crazy things because of this. However, that was a year before my computer subject in elementary, and not seeing much relevance back then (I was living a relatively low-tech lifestyle in the province), I brushed this knowledge aside.

It was only in 1998 that Y2K started capturing public attention. By this time, it has been colored with other Apocalyptic predictions ranging from Nostradamus, New Age prophets, the friendly neighborhood albularyo, and any other pundit whose story managed to get TV coverage or whose book managed to get published. (That's what happens when the media gets involved.) It turns out the thousand-year milestone has been a favorite end-of-times date. By around this time we get buzzwords like "Y2K compliant" as companies and other institutions rush to protect their computer systems and their business. Others would like to prepare for the inevitable end by stacking up supplies and preparing the bunker, or cave, or, to force the issue, performing rituals like mass suicide. Still, others would just like to party like there was no tomorrow. If the world was about to end, at least they would go down partying. Otherwise, it was a novel experience to do a countdown and watch 1999 turn into 2000. Novel enough for a big party, like what their predecessors did at the turn of the 20th century; thus, we had the millennium songs of Jennifer Lopez, Will Smith, and the Backstreet Boys (Incidentally, their songs and videos contain common themes like the future, the past, the Y2K bug, and, yes, parteeeh!).

Since January 1, 2000 was essentially New Year's Day, I am more inclined to the party aspect of things since it coincides with what I usually do around that time. Also, as seen in CNN, other countries were also preparing their own big celebrations. It came to pass that something global did happen in New Year's Day, but it wasn't a catastrophe. On the contrary, the world was one in partying. The last time the world was one in doing something was World War II. It appeared that the world has markedly improved on its ways, and, as the more optimistic people had predicted, the new millennium will usher in a new Renaissance for humanity.

Not.

Anyway, in the summer of year 2000, I was enjoying the Discovery Channel documentary Mysteries of the Ancient Civilizations. The documentary explored peculiar commonalities among the civilizations like the presence of pyramids, the alignment of structures with constellations, and the presence of a Great Flood myth, among many other themes. In the part about the South American civilizations, they featured the Mayan calendar. This calendar is said to rival the present-day Gregorian system in its efficiency and precision in recording the passage of time. One thing peculiar with the Mayan calendar is its having an end date, says the documentary, and this end date, believed by the Mayans to be the end of Time, ends on (at this point the documentary ups the ante by having the animated gears of the calendar stop one by one, each with a foreboding click) December 24, 2023 (the final gear ends with the most ominous thud).

Oh great, I said to myself, after Y2K, we have to contend with another supposedly "End of the World." By then I would be 39. I guess by that time I had enough experience in my life. Besides, as before, this one's too far away. In any case, I marked the date in my cellphone's calendar.

A few years later in college, I stumbled upon the book Domain by Steve Alten. So much for Discovery Channel dramatics, the book states the end of the particular Mayan calendar cycle is on December 21, 2012, the Winter Solstice of that year. The book is somewhat a written version of the Ancient Civilizations documentary since it also explores the commonalities of the civilizations. In addition to that, though, it provides a fictional answer to the questions surrounding the mystery. I won't spoil it for the prospective readers out there, but the book itself essentially gives it away from the very start, which in my opinion ruins the suspense. It was after reading the book that my interest in 2012 became aroused to the point that I would monitor and research about it every now and then. (The pervasive presence of the Internet, of course, was another factor.) So, what have I found out about it? Just like the year 2000, various sources have offered, some independent of other sources, various scenarios for 2012.

One may conclude that something would happen by around that time, but which scenario would prevail? As a man of science, with Astronomy being my favorite branch, I would point out to two events: one is an alignment of the center of the Milky Way Galaxy and the sun in the sky by December 21, 2012, the other is a heightened solar activity around that year. The former is as sure as the sun rising in the east every morning, while the latter is as sure as the weather prediction for the next few days. The heightened solar activity brings about solar storms. These storms, when headed directly to the Earth, are known to be destructive to technology, although previous encounters didn't produce heavy and lasting damage (But if the Internet is damaged, then it's the end of the blogging world. Catastrophic indeed.) The radiation it brings can also be lethal, but the Earth's surface is protected by the planet's magnetic field. Meanwhile, the alignment basically is just a curious configuration in the sky. As to what it can do to Earth, this one is open to speculation. For instance, a planetary alignment last May 5, 2000 caused a minor stir back then. Mostly it was just media hype. The people had just came from the Y2K non-catastrophe, and also the alignment wasn't really as perfect and spectacular as all the planets in the Solar System queuing up in straight line for a pose. And yes, nothing happened.

December 21, 2012 may indeed turn out a non-event as well. But some of us may do a Haruhi Suzumiya and wish that, for excitement's sake, something just happen to distract us from a humdrum, conflict-filled, angsty life on Earth. Perhaps another world party is in order. Besides, it's just a few days before Christmas anyway.

-oOo-

Links

The most comprehensive database I know of 2012-related stuff is found in Dire Gnosis. This site compiles anything and everything related to 2012, so, although the owner also provides reviews, an information overload warning is in order.

What can mere humans do in face of planetary cataclysm? It's not that easy to stop a galactic alignment compared to tinkering with computer systems. Well, we can wait for the completion of my inter-galactic space ship that will ferry us to the stars, but don't count on me finishing that one on time. Perhaps you may just wait for the aliens to come; although according to New-Age gurus, they may be a bit choosy, if they come in the first place. Instead of running away, isn't it better to face the problem head-on? Well, a group has thought of a way, which in theory, they claim, may be able to influence the cosmic order: humanity must unite, pun intended, to achieve Global Orgasm.

O-kaay.

Whatever happens, at least, when you start getting the media hype by, say 2010, you can tell them that you read it here first at Highway Drift.

Drifting Thoughts 03

2006-11-26T22:47:00.000+08:00

I'm currently in an insecurity funk, blogging-wise. It all started last month when I was searching for a blog from a current student in the high school where I spent the last of my "boyhood days" and the beginning of my "manhood years," as I sung its song back then. Now it's a gender-sensitive "childhood days" and "youthful years" due to a shift into co-education two years, mere two years, after I graduated. Indeed within that year, my school underwent even more changes like a move into a new campus and the return of a well-respected principal. I would've thrived in those changing times, but unfortunately for me, I was in Manila by then, so I can only monitor the issues and milestones at a distance. Ever since I started blogging, I knew that the next best thing from being there is to read about the perspective of someone in there, a high school student like I was before. I was specifically looking for their opinions and pictures on a real gritty competition for my own blog entry that I hope would give my high school justice amidst the hyped competition my other alma mater had recently figured in (the plan is shelved for now, partly because I found no pics, partly because of that typhoon again) . In my search I found this, which opened me up to a blogging network of sorts of students in that school (where this one, by the way, rocks and has potential to rock even harder when she grows up). They, in turn, appear to be fans of this Manila-based high school blogger, who I think had fared well in Pinoy Top Blogs. This is where my insecurity surfaces: why do these kids' blogs, judging from the comments and hits they receive, appear to be more prominent than mine? Well, a quick answer would be because they have a readily available audience: classmates. And from these classmates the network would easily spread to their friends, then friends of friends and so on and so forth. As for me, I started blogging more than one year after graduating, enough time for contact with college friends to diminish significantly. Ironically, one of the purposes of this blog is to let these friends know what's up with my life and allow them a peek into other facets of my self that they failed to see in that introverted fellow they knew back then. Sigh. Officemates? No, I'd rather not let them know of this blog, just in case, if you know what I mean. That's why I would never mention my company, or my officemates' names here. Perhaps when I'm in another job, I'd mention them. Family? Same reason.

Another reason for diminished hits in this blog would be my infrequent posting. Like a former senate president, I may say "quality over quantity," but as with that legislator, I am not excused with this pathetic attempt to gloss over the preoccupation of probing other people's blogs instead of writing my own. Instead I should admit that inertia has me fixed on the blog-reading and an external force should act upon me to make me write. Well, I think this insecurity funk has nudged me somewhat.

I shall soldier on my blogging, slowly but surely. In fact I'm brewing an entry of apocalyptic proportions. No, it's not the third part of my Milenyo series although that one's also in the assembly line (attributing that typhoon to the Apocalypse is so pathetically naive. Bato-bato sa langit ang tamaan 'wag magalit, baka yang ibato sa'yo pang-Apokalipsis na nga). It's supposed to be my Halloween entry but it's also related to the winter solstice, so the delay may be justified.

-oOo-

Last month, the world was in furor over the nuclear testing of North Korea. But underneath the crazy hair, this Dear Leader guy sure had some crazier wisdom in timing his latest belligerent act as the last among those of his co-"Axis of Evil", somewhat recognizing that the nation who had the biggest axe to grind against them would be too busy wielding its big stick against the other two to use it against him. That's why, barely a month afterwards, the noise died down--a record time for a news event like this. This is good though, the world doesn't need another war, especially not in the neighborhood at this time of the year.

In hindsight, I remember the anecdote our Israeli guest trainer shared last month about his stint in South Korea. He was amazed at how seriously the people there took their preparations for war. He said there were frequent reminders over a PA system on what to do in case of attack, presumably from the North. In his country, he compares, they may discuss it now and then, but never in a frequency and scale of that magnitude. It may be a cultural difference, but given his country's past and recent experience, we tended to agree that indeed it was a curious paranoid behavior.

Two days later the test happened.

-oOo-

Sanamagan! Manong Max is now gone! Indeed, as someone had said, he has left a void difficult to fill.

I shall write about him and another Philippine Star great, the late Teddy Benigno in another entry. This Drifting Thoughts entry is not worthy to bear tribute to them.

How to Appeal for Generosity a.k.a. Effective Begging

2006-11-05T21:40:00.000+08:00

This was supposed to be posted in late September, but Typhoon Milenyo got in the way.

It was one of those usual rides to work. The jeepney I was riding on readied itself for the last kilometer of its route towards Guadalupe. With our jeepney joining other jeepneys from different routes all going to Guadalupe, traffic slowed. I decided to close my eyes in my vain attempt to take a nap in a moving vehicle. It was at that point between wakefulness and sleep that a skinny little boy dressed in sandos and shorts and carrying empty cans of powdered milk clambered up our slow-moving jeepney. The barker at the back knew of the young one's intentions but was taken by surprise. He belatedly extended his legs to bar the kid's entry, but the seasoned street urchin merely slithered past him. Without missing a beat, the boy immediately started distributing envelopes to us, passengers, in a fast and efficient manner. Written on them were "maawa na po kayo (please have pity)..." and other possibly heartrending cliches that I did not bother reading anymore. I suddenly remembered that we were in the -ber months and the period of gift-giving was near. Some of the passengers were amused by this boy's antics while others, including the barker, were not. I, on the other hand, resumed (pretended) dozing off. The kid sat at the back of the jeepney, facing away from us, and played random beats (noise) with his cans while waiting, not eagerly, for our generosity. I gave him nothing, and I guess the others also gave little since as he stepped off he muttered, in a nonchalant (rather than angry or angsty) tone, "mamatay sana kayo (may you all die)."

When the boy was gone, one passenger remarked that the kid didn't seem to really need the money. Another agreed and scoffed at the "death curse" as a sign of haughtiness. The barker pointed out that, with half the effort, the little bastard could potentially earn more money out of the passengers than what he could collect as fare. Others assumed that the child was neglected by the parents. I thought that the parents might have been the one who taught the kid to beg, or he was merely working for a begging syndicate, hence the disinterested attitude. If this was so, they trained their pupil awfully bad.

Actually, before this incident pushed me to write, I've been thinking about an article on this topic ever since I encountered those Red Cross people at the MRT. It reminded me of the fund-raising activities I once did in college. Yes, I've done some begging before--contributing to a large-scale, institutionalized and organized effort at that, so I know what I'm talking about. In private conversations with project colleagues, I didn't hesitate it to call it as such. In public, however, prudence dictated that use euphemisms like "asking for a little help and contribution" ("soliciting" is not a euphemism anymore).

Before proceeding, I would commend you, potential beggar of a reader, for choosing this non-threatening way to acquire things. I praise you for shunning the absolutely abominable resort to violence. In violence, you expect to be feared, but there will be some who will never be afraid of you. They will seek not just justice but revenge. Indeed, your use of force will only return to you.

Moving on, I present the following tips under a working paradigm: generosity, like respect, has to be earned. In today's trying times, people will not easily depart from money they worked hard for. It follows then that even begging entails toiling and shedding of blood, sweat and tears.

Without further ado, behold the Tips:

1. Have a purpose, a goal. Make it specific. What is it that you really want? How much does it cost? Money is merely a tool to attain that goal. Woe to you if you beg for money when you don't even know where to spend it. Nobody wants to help a drifter drift along. (That's why I have this blog as my cry for help for someone to get me out of this drifting in life, and as a way to help myself write my way out of it.)

2. Be mindful of the target audience. Make sure they have what you are asking. Make sure you appeal to their sensibilities. How would you communicate your message across? Would a business-like manner work? Or perhaps a dramatic guilt-trip approach? By the way, I find it best to ask from the middle class and up since they have the capacity to give and give big. Also, it's better to be all business about it. A guilt trip will not only make anyone feel bad, it's also over-used. Look: how would you put a price on that guilt or whatever emotion you feel? Business, on the other hand, is all about price and quantity.

3. Behave with dignity. Isn't it horrible to see a filthy, fly-infested beggar sulking under the lamppost? Wouldn't you like to just look away instead? How would you then get what you are asking for, if they wouldn't even come near you? Even desperation might turn others off. Just to make it clear, their dignity is still there, it's just that they refuse to show it. It would be fortunate if a blessed soul would make them recognize that dignity and give them hope, but most probably they will just be ignored or worse, mistreated. It is usually up to them to help themselves. Dress up, look clean (no jewelry, obviously). Remember #2, your appearance should appeal to the target audience. Look and act like a human being and others will treat you as one.

4. People give in many ways; receive in many ways. Beggars can't be choosers, it has been said. If you ask for money, prepare to receive money in the form of cash, cheque, transfer, etc. Although tips #1 and #2 would most likely let you get what you are asking for, take whatever they offer especially if given in good faith. They are earnest in their generosity; it's just that they can't give exactly what you are asking for right then and there.

5. There is one irony with begging: it is always better to do it for the benefit of others, an organization, or a project, rather than oneself. The selflessness, the relevance and the cause of that project or organization makes begging a noble activity worthy of support. People might say, here is an established organization that has the means, or at least the potential to be of great service. All it is asking from them is a little help. Most probably, they'll give.

At this point I invite you to transcend begging as means of acquisition. If you have something of value that you can exchange for something you need or want, well then, now we're talking business!

-oOo-

"Mamatay sana kayo..." Of course, boy, we will all die sooner or later. But as I went on with my daily routine, the words rang in my head: while riding the elevator, mamatay sana kayo; while reading a newspaper article about beggars, mamatay sana kayo; while fighting off boredom, mamatay sana kayo; onboard a speeding jeepney on the way home, mamatay sana kayo....

Wrestling with the Wind (Part 2 of 3)

2006-10-22T14:05:00.000+08:00

In the aftermath, trees, billboards and electric posts were felled by the treacherous gusts that blew like a boxer's punches. Hours of no electricity extended into days. Without electricity, the pumps in our housing complex were useless, leaving us waterless too. Yet this is Metro Manila, and these were really no big inconvenience. The malls were up and running on generators. These commercial edifices were more than willing to placate the boredom, heat and material needs of the urban dweller. The planes were flying as soon as the clouds thinned over the airport and its environs. The next day, I was actually able to commute to to the office without any major hitch. Metro traffic was back with a vengeance (buses made a killing while the MRT was offline). As far as I was concerned, the Globe signal never went off even at the height of the typhoon. Lastly, one significant factor that alleviated major discomfort in our place was the absence of floods, the perennial scourge back in Bicol. No muddy floor to clean up, no damaged furniture and appliance to repair.

After Rosing back then, with extensive damage to city infrastructure and utilities requiring about a week to fix (or wait for reprieve from nature, in case of flooded areas), our semestral break was extended to seven more days (oh joy!). It was impossible to be bored. The flood had shaped a new landscape of mud and sand that was conducive for play. We drew figures on a mud dump like what we did once on still-wet cement. There was even one poor boy whose body figure was embedded on the mud because the bullies made him fall flat on his face (and we thought we'd see that only in cartoons)! It was exploration galore! Rosing was so strong it took with it the remaining clouds in the region, leaving us with sunny blue skies by day and clear starry heavens by night. Our group of friends became instant astronomers as we identified constellations, stars and planets, and even spotted the occasional meteor and high-altitude plane or satellite. During the hot and humid days, we would seek shelter around the trees that withstood the typhoon or inside makeshift tents put up by our neighbors who had the misfortune of living in low-lying areas where the flood had not receded yet. I must have learned a handful of card games that time (which I eventually forgot until I encountered them again in college). The most monumental discovery of that time was a stash of comics found in one of the tents. Because of this discovery, we, pubescent boys and girls, even formed a "Midnight Society" wherein we met at a fallen tree by the bank of the Naga River whose waters were deep and fast-flowing (the source waterfall suddenly appearing as a white strip on Mt. Isarog, 15 km. away, the gentle stream swelling to a raging river up there). We didn't meet at midnight, we preferred the hot and lazy mid-days and afternoons. In the first place, we didn't share scary stories; instead, we eagerly perused and commented on the contents of the comics descriptively entitled Desire Komiks.

Now in Manila without electricity, the metropolitan life lost its essence. This brought up the opportunity for bonding among neighbors, over beer perhaps or some guitar-led sing-along. Unfortunately for me, I was not in the neighborhood of my childhood neither was I a child anymore. In the aftermath of Milenyo there were no more monumental discoveries, no new landscape to play around with. I had lost the childhood innocence and compulsion for fun. I was bored. After I had brushed up on my meager piano-playing skills, after I had completed my small reading list, what else was to be done? I realized that making music for me now is playing MP3s on my computer, and reading is blog-hopping and Internet surfing. (Thankfully, I still relish writing on paper, and my cursive is still presentable enough; else I might not have come up with this long entry.) The blackouts were less of adventure and more of inconvenience, the fallen billboards, trees and posts were less of a curiosity and more of a source of concern and condemnation. Is this what "adulthood" and "sophistication" do? Damn.

Good thing there was the humdrum of work to distract me, extract me even, from the misfortune of circumstance. For the succeeding days without electricity and water, the corporate building was my refuge. There I ate, drank, brushed my teeth, surfed the Net, and do all those things that needed water and electricity. Except for bathing, though; the P100 daily water rations back home covered for this.

After nine days of no electricity and no water, we were becoming restless (see the "grimy" details in the next part under "rants", I just wanted this part to be light and nostalgic). And I guess the powers that be had sensed this restlessness and had feared of its consequences. By night, there was light and water. The neighborhood was bright and loud once again. The TV was back with a vengeance, the multicomponent was back with a vengeance, and most especially, the videoke was back with a vengeance.

Other parts of the series:
1 2 3

Wrestling with the Wind (Part 1 of 3)

2006-09-30T20:41:00.000+08:00

Pushed by boredom, illuminated by candle, wielding pen over paper, I write...

Milenyo (Xangsane to the rest of the world) was the strongest typhoon to hit Manila in 11 years, eh? I remember its predecessor, Rosing (Angela), punishing us with Signal no. 4 fury back in Bicol. My experience with Rosing all started with the late Ernie Baron showing us viewers of TV Patrol a satellite image of a menacing cloud spiral as large as the Philippines itself with winds of about 200 to 300 kph. He declared that this awful weather disturbance will hit Bicol head-on and possibly mess with the All Souls' Day rites of those places in its path, places which were under Storm Signal no. 3, bypassing the first two alert levels. Although used to annual storms, every Bicolano's heart sank. Still, the catastrophe was inevitable: within 24 hours and well throughout the night, the winds blew with destructive gusto and the rain inundated us in disease-laden floodwaters five feet deep. At around midnight, radio reports said that the typhoon just got stronger, and we were now under Signal no. 4. I barely knew the howler also hit Manila hard; because, we had no electricity for seven freakin' days!

In Bicol, tropical depressions, storms and typhoons were a yearly occurence that we practically grew up with them. My playmates and I had our childhood partly deprived due to uprooted fruit-bearing trees in our neighborhood. Later on, typhoons have ruined my planned swabe (smooth) moves, messing up my teenage love life big time (to the benefit of my main rival: he was stranded with the girl). Oftentimes, though, they are a welcome break from grade school grind up to college pressure, providing a source of excitement tempered by reaching out to those who have suffered.

Such regularity made me take such weather disturbances in stride. It also helped that I was still young and my parents took care of the logistics. Important tasks were ordered to older siblings, leaving me with ones like stay in the house, keep an eye on things, listen to the radio for news, do not disturb, and do not block the way. If there were floods, I'd also help in moving some of the things to the second floor. (There was one typhoon that flooded even the second floor. Feeling helpless, I slept that one out. Later I learned that the water never went higher during my slumber.) Even in my college dorm in Quezon City, we were taken care of by the maintenance staff. Better still, electricity, water, phone and even Internet concerns were capably handled.

My present life in Manila does not have much weather-related action in it. Newspaper columns in the wake of the Indian Ocean Tsunami, Katrina in New Orleans, and South Asian earthquakes has crowed on Manila's luck for not yet experiencing a natural disaster of similar scale (only man-made calamities). To my dismay, this lack of natural calamities and the general lack of interaction with nature have disabled my "nature-sense": I never had a clue of Milenyo's coming; because I never experienced the windy day that precedes a typhoon. What I experienced instead the night before the storm was gently-falling rain, the kind of rain that did not drive me into fits of melancholy. Oh, how deceitful the storm was for putting me under a false sense of complacency!

Sharing responsibility in the unit that we stay in generates new anxiety, much more when, in this instance, I was left home alone to fend the brunt of the typhoon. I was on my toes monitoring the leaks lest they turn out-of-control. I made sure the windows were shut, and for the windows with missing locks, I improvised with strings. I wrestled with the furious gust and rain just to close a window forced open by the wind. In some windows I won against the wind, in others I lost, with broken glass panels as proof of my failure.

Other parts of the series:
1 2 3

Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 5 of 5)

2006-09-23T14:25:00.000+08:00

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

Laiya, San Juan, Batangas

This was the outing that nearly failed to push through.

It was a tradition among the young ones in our IT department to have a summer outing as a bonding activity. In previous years, they had been to La Union and also to White Beach, Puerto Galera. Calls for organizing this outing came more than a month ahead of schedule so that we could mark it off our "busy" calendar. Consistent with our "workaholic" lifestyle though, we put the issue of organizing the outing at the back of our minds. Only later did it dawn upon us that we will have to reserve a venue in advance. Numerous suggestions have been thrown, but in the end they chose mine: Laiya Beach in San Juan, Batangas.

Obviously, I suggested this place since I had been there before--twice in fact--and both were bittersweet but predominantly happy memories nevertheless. On both occasions, I participated in my capacity as core group member in the year-end evaluation seminar of my beloved college organization, the Department of Student Welfare and Services (fondly called as DS). Ah, those were times of heightened emotions ranging from bored to solemn to reflective to cheerful to funny to sad to hopeful--all of these a testament to the friendship (or such) of a group that was formed between acquaintances and even strangers who were given tasks to fulfill in twelve months, and in the end will have to bid farewell to graduating members and give way to the next core group. Therefore, for me, this outing would also be a personal pilgrimage to relive those memories.

Alas, the year 2006 was out to prove itself as a rain-drenched year and it started early with its bid. There was a tropical storm in May, and it struck Batangas right during the weekend of our supposed outing. Thus, aside from the strange schedule for this spiraling cloud of bad weather, it had a quite unusual path (they usually pass by Bicol and Northern Luzon). We were forced to reschedule to June, even if we'd paid a 50% down payment, a transaction I personally handled through a dinner with my DS friend, Maan, whose family owns the place we will be lodging (perhaps the spilled glass of water in that dinner was an omen). Thank God, they're very accommodating, and our schedule was modified without much incidence.

The storm still dealt some damage to our plans. It, and its message that summer is over, drenched the enthusiasm of some of the dismal few who cared to join. From a measly 15 out of 40 potential attendees, our numbers dwindled down to six, with some, including me, still threatening to back out. I would lose face to my friend. From reserving two rooms, we would end up canceling it altogether. Even if it was not embarrassing (Maan says she understands), we would still lose the down payment (as she pointed out too). Attempting to salvage this outing, my officemates relied on their significant others. Still, this wouldn't obviously work for me, and, faced with the inevitable torture of watching lovebirds go mushy (among other things), my threat to back out remained. I changed my mind when one of them finally agreed on bringing her two kids along. At least the outing wouldn't be entirely a lover's trip. With the numbers assuring a critical mass of attendees, the outing pushed through, albeit with only one room this time.

The ten of us left one rainy Saturday morning aboard an old van that bravely moved along under the collective weight of our luggage. The clouds soon cleared when we have left the metropolis, and in no time we were rolling along the idyllic Batangas countryside. The trip itself was like traveling back in time. With the Eraserheads Anthology and Ultraelectromagnetic Jam CDs playing in the background, we were back in the 90's reliving school time fun. Yup, it was regression galore, making me wonder who the real kids are: the two girls silent/sleeping/bored at the front or the yuppies cracking up at any inanity that arose along the way. When the list of recent songs was exhausted, our time travel was pushed back further when we strangely agreed to play a digital preservation of an obscure artist of the Sixties. If we painted flowery patterns on the rickety old van and wore bell bottoms and oversized sunglasses (wait, this one's in style again), we'd be cruisin' along like the hippies of old. Peace mehhnn...

The trip was longer and farther than expected. In the first place, I, who reserved the venue, only have vague memories on how to go from Lipa to San Juan. Rakenrol! Thank God, one remembered a web site that gave directions to a neighboring resort and connected to it using his Nokia Communicator. Whaddya know, cutting edge technology did save the day. The last kilometer of the trip was a dirt road towards Laiya, the beach of white sand and fond memories.

The Filipino-style two-storey Casa Remo where I stayed for the two evaluation seminars still stood proudly. Upstairs, the sliding doors of the bedrooms were ajar. Downstairs the inhabitants were lounging by the sala, the same place where we held meetings and watched DVD movies. Others were playing cards by the long dining table. Beside it stood also the tamarind tree, decked with multi-colored lights that had dazzled us at night and a bamboo hammock that had lulled us to sleep as we whiled idle moments away. Ah, memories! This time, however, we would be staying in a two-storey concrete Casa Remo Apartelle beside the house. Built just two months ago, this would be for commercial use while the old house would be for exclusive family use.

We made the trip without aircon (lest the van overheats more frequently than what we experienced); thus, the air conditioned room was a welcome place of rest. We decided to let the hot afternoon pass first and focused on establishing territory. The room was actually designed for eight people, but with the kids being, well, small and the three couples having a propensity to stick close to each other, our group managed to fit in it nicely.

We joined the setting sun in taking a dip in the sea. The water was not as crystal-clear as in White Beach, but it sure appeared clean enough to be swim-able unlike that of Nasugbu. I smilingly remember how last year I filled a bottle with the white sand of this Laiya beach as a memento of that great evaluation seminar I attended. Indeed, the white sand makes Laiya similar to a Puerto Galera beach, and the resort owners here were making an effort to enhance that similarity. Multi-colored flags line a wide stretch of the beach and beach volleyball sites emerge from the sands. Moreover, there were boats offering transportation to snorkelling sites, and their docking and undocking also interfere with swimming. If the trend continues, perhaps rows and rows of seaside restaurants will be grilling seafood in the near future. But before that, perhaps it would be wise also to have a Bantay-Dagat to monitor the cleanliness of sand and sea. At the time of the outing, there was some trash being swept by the waves into shore. They might also want to do something about rocky portions in the beach. Lastly, the town of San Juan might have to expand the capacity of their plumbing system to handle the increasing numbers of resorts, since the large demand will reduce the flow of tap water to a trickle.

As expected, the couples swam as pairs like ... wait, what's the marine equivalent of lovebirds? I guess there's none so humans like these are setting an unprecedented marine behavior. As for the rest of us, the presence of the two kids was a constant and effective reminder that this was not exactly a lover's outing. Aside from their mother, we never thought their silence and lethargy during the trip actually meant they were merely preserving their energy. By the time the sun disappeared, the boundless energy they release made them so adorable that you'd want them to quit it. The younger one, in fact, reminds me of Taz of Looney Tunes. After the swim, we showered and dined, still the kids remained bouncy and zippy as ever. Even when we left them in the room for the perfunctory drinking session cum bonding activity, they continued playing on the two joined king-sized beds. Their rowdiness made me comment that they might be more drunk than we were. The couples contemplated the possibility of having similar lively offspring in the future.

In the end, I realized that this outing was not exactly the pilgrimage to the recent past that I wished it was. If I wanted that kind of pilgrimage, I should have done so with the friends I have shared this pleasant recent past with. Instead, the outing was an introduction to the possibilities of new friends, new loves and the fruits that these would bring.

Other parts of the series:
1 2 3 4 5

Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 4 of 5)

2006-07-23T19:22:00.000+08:00

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

White Beach, Puerto Galera

I had gotten used to Mt. Taal's eccentric charm, just as I had gotten used to Mt. Mayon's symmetric beauty way back in Bicol. Repeated trips passing that location were the culprit. Still, it was a sign when a Tagaytay stopover seemed a welcome consolation from unfulfilled expectations of the beach resorts. There had to be deliverance from these sorry mishaps.

It took an officemate to organize my best trip of the summer. Using his memories and contacts of the previous summers, he scheduled our outing two weeks after the Holy Week in White Beach near Puerto Galera. We would spend the Sunday and Monday there, admittedly a quirky schedule but this enabled us to avoid the crowd as well as the heavy traffic to and from the place. White Beach is not actually inside the "Port of the Galleons" (Puerto Galera), that maze-like enclosure (lagoon?) that, for centuries, had protected ships from destructive typhoons. It is located about two hundred kilometers further to the west. Still, it seems to be included in the Puerto Galera group of beaches, if there ever is such a thing, judging from brochures and the souvenir being sold there.

I think I'm getting ahead, though; better start with the journey that Sunday morning. We would all park our vehicles overnight at the Batangas Port (and the schedule worked to our advantage in finding parking slots). We were expecting a fairly large ferry to bring us to White Beach, but we discovered that big ships go only to the port of the capital city, incurring an additional four hours of a trip on land. For direct transport to White Beach, we rode a big-enough outrigger boat to cross the strait between Batangas and Mindoro.

The first part of the one-hour crossing consisted of an uneventful treading of an all-blue expanse. Thankfully, it was sunny that day. There were constant waves, but not the towering ones. The wind blew just strong enough to keep us cool. The air wasn't really salty, and it was the cleanest I had inhaled for quite some time. Near Mindoro, we encountered about five islands not far from our boat. White sand adorned their edges and foliage crowned their center. We would quip that the boat may drop us there, in other words, "Para po, dyan na lang sa isla."

Finally, the boat throttled straight to a wide white strip of sand. White Beach slowly revealed its scintillating details. First to be discernible was the foliage behind the beach. The greenery covered the island's geography, which, like a natural wall, quickly climbed towards the clouds. Then there were the boats that were berthed on the white sand. Then the variety of beachside inns presented their facades. Then there were the people frolicking, swimming, idling by this marine wonder. The most pleasant of all, was the fact that the sea vessel we were riding was consistently surrounded by clear blue waters from a few kilometers away from the beach up to the few splashes on one's feet upon alighting. I'm gonna like this, I mumbled under my grin as I took in the scenery from the cloud-covered trees down to the sand that I could clearly see through the purest body of water I beheld in quite some time.

Indeed, there were pleasures big and small in White Beach. Some pleasures were obviously gastronomic. Numerous seaside restaurants serve generous amounts of grilled fresh seafood. Ah, nothing beats the rustic charm of simple provincial eateries and their home-cooked fare. The crowning glory of the food we ordered would be this seven-fruit shake consisting of mango, papaya, banana, cherry, melon and watermelon deliciously served with representative slices of the mentioned fruits adorning the rim of the tall glass. Ohhh yeahhh! Considering that fruit shakes had recently become my comfort food, consumption of this wonderful concoction left not just my stomach but more so my soul greatly fulfilled.

Another big thing was, of course, the boat ride to the snorkeling sites. In one site, the corals were farther out into the sea by about 20 meters from a remote beach. It was my first time to snorkel so I cannot do comparisons, but I sure heard myself say "whoa" underwater. It was a novel experience for me to see colorful and spiky fishes swimming in the wild. The other corals site was actually nearer to the beach. I mean, the corals were less than a couple of meters away from the shore! I never knew there could be coral reefs underneath waters so shallow. This second site had a larger area reef, where the senior ones among us gleefully explored. The others who dived vigorously in the first site were already tired. I wasn't so adventurous without the snorkel gear, so I just swam along the shore. Still, there were corals and exotic fishes along the fringes. When not swimming, I enjoyed the feel of large-grained sand between my feet. From 30 meters away, an excited yell startled everyone, "Dito! Maraming fish!" We never knew our boss, the soft-spoken leader of a soft-spoken team, can shout so loudly.

As for small pleasures, one of them happened after I chickened out of a banana boat ride since the tale of the Deadly Banana Boat Ride was fresh in my mind. I just swam around the crowded beach instead. Lo and behold! A submerged piece of paper that looked like money floated in front of my goggled eyes. I grabbed and inspected it and indeed it was a hundred peso bill! To be fair, I asked those swimming nearby if they had happened to lose 100 pesos to the sea. When they said no, well, this sea treasure financed my snack of isaw and my officemate's bottle of beer. Perhaps if I swam near the foreigners, I might snag a floating $100 bill, which was more than enough to pay for my total expenses in this trip.

Of the few things that I take issue from, one was the commercialization of this strip of white sand. Even with clear waters and white sand, serious nature trekkers would find it hard to take solace and commune with nature; since, it was as if a commercial district in Metro Manila was transported to the main beach. That was one more reason why the boat rides to the snorkel sites were more enjoyable: no crowds, no blaring music, no torturous videoke singers, and no smoke from dozens of barbecue grills from the numerous restaurants that line the beach. Speaking of restaurants, it would be wise to order even before the onset of hunger; because, the restaurants, or at most those we've tried out take a notoriously long time to cook those orders. Speaking also of crowds, it was not just people and establishments that crowd the main beach. Along the shores were docked boats awaiting snorkelers, and, even more irksome, were the outrigger ferries that regularly arrive and depart to load and unload passengers right on the beach. The swimmers would have to give way to these vessels: there was never a good time for an idyllic swim on the main beach.

Moving on, the important thing was that White Beach delivered on what I was expecting--clean and clear waters--and more. With nearby less crowded alternative swimming sites reachable by boat or by traversing rocks, the shortcomings are more than compensated. I'll be back, definitely.

Other parts of the series:
1 2 3 4 5

Photo Credits: The high-quality ones I got from what my boss shared in our internal website.

Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 3 of 5)

2006-07-16T15:06:00.000+08:00

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

A live band would be playing in the resort restaurant later that night, so we three single men went to check it out. At the very least we'll get to enjoy a few bottles of beer. We ordered Red Horse while one had Coke as chaser, for faster alcohol absorption, he claims. The band opened up its act with Evanescence covers, which suits them nicely since they had three vocalists, one guy and two girls. For instruments, they had a lead guitar, keyboards, base guitar and drums. One thing I found strange was that while they were playing rock the band wore hip-hop get-up. (The two singing ladies were the exception since they sported a cowgirl look with their sleeved top, denim short shorts and knee-high boots.) The fashion anomaly was explained during the second set, when they chilled out with hip-hop, perhaps to showcase their versatility not just in singing but also in terms of genres.

Our guy with the Coke chaser was smitten by one of the vocalists. He'd been gulping down a few more bottles while raving about the mestiza beauty he imagined to be actually singing to him (memories of his ex who was also a band vocalist back in their province). She looked older than me, though. I preferred the other girl vocalist whose mestiza features were gentler (maamo ang mukha). She looked younger too, perhaps still in college. Actually, I wasn't too keen on enjoying beauty at that time; I was diggin’ their music, so sometimes I tapped to the beat or sang along.

Perhaps it was that appreciation they were looking for, aside from the fact that I must have been the youngest in the audience, that when they played upbeat music, and Coke chaser guy's favorite singer was searching for someone to dance to their groove, she approached our table, not for him, but for me. I decided to oblige her for a few seconds only, since I wasn't in the mood to dance. It was enough, though, to start the ball rolling for the rest of the audience. By the end of the set, the stage was filled with moving bodies. I kidded our smitten drinking companion for not joining the people on stage and dance with her, asking him how many more bottles of beer he would need. (He'd been pouring beer to my glass. It was a futile attempt to make me drunk since I just returned it to his glass whenever he leaves to take a leak.)

The third and last set started off with the band finally playing requests for the latest OPM hits. Audience participation was impressive as some volunteered to sing or even play the drums. After another prodding from the lady vocalist (this time I directed her to her big fan in our group), all three of us, along with almost all of the audience, were dancing away at the stage. I was amazed at how my tipsiness could make me simply flow with the music. I was just the back-up dancer, though; the guy with the chaser-induced tipsiness was the one dancing with his star. Too bad for him, as I noticed within the few seconds I danced during the previous set, the girls, although they could engage an audience, didn't engage on a personal level (no eye contact, not even the appearance of connecting). I guess it was their way of being professional. Our fan was not unfazed. When the show ended after a little while, he engaged his star for some small talk. He learned that she was actually just a freshie in a Laguna college. Well, whaddya know!

Earlier that evening, our fellow trip mates booked for the next day an early-morning boat ride to an island(?) nearby. This would have allowed us the opportunity to bask in un-crowded white sand glory and swim in clear waters. Unfortunately, the three of us clambered back to our rooms at around three in the morning, a mere couple of hours before the boatmen came to fetch us. They did come, but we were all deep in our sleep. We had alcohol as an excuse, I don't know about the others. When we woke up, a few hours were left before we head back to Manila, concluding the most jologs -- worse, the tackiest excursion I ever had.

Other parts of the series:
1 2 3 4 5

Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 2 of 5)

2006-07-15T14:41:00.000+08:00

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

Nasugbu, Batangas

So much for "private seaside houses," my brother’s in-laws decided they'd have to enjoy the summer on a real beach. Their wide search had considered high-end ones with the works on water as well as on land. I learned the summer version of the word "opportunistic": in those high-end resorts, everything, and I mean everything that you might need and want while there, from bed sheets to badminton rackets, was for rent. Thus apart from the ten thousand-plus peso main fee, the resorts were raking in additional income per night or per hour. Oh well, I guess that's how it would have to be to survive in the tourism industry. Besides, we could take care of our logistical needs to avoid the additional fees.

In the end, our beach experience was banal as banal can be. We settled for one of those resorts that dot the beach-side boulevard along Nasugbu, Batangas. The resort was obviously not high-end, but at least it won't charge additional fees. We were booked for the Holy Week(end).

Now, this four-day weekend is the longest respite from work in this country, and, since it coincides with the summer season when everyone is in vacation mode, most people, or at least the Metro Manila working class families would spend this God-given free time at the beach or in Bagiuo City. Personally, I would prefer that people would return to their home province, and practice their respective traditional Holy Week rituals. In that way, I think the reconnection to one's own roots, one's own community, would make reflection and repentance more heartfelt. What choice did I have, however, last Holy Week? I was unable to secure a ticket to Naga City. The buses were now fully booked, and I didn't want to idle around Cubao bus station as a chance passenger. Besides, I was now one of those working class Manileños, so for once, I shall go with the flow of the unrepentant sinners out to have some hedonistic fun (relax folks, that was just an exaggeration).

Once again, we passed by Tagaytay, then onwards to Batangas. With a little help from the locals ("Ganire, gan-on," an old woman muttered while her arms' gesticulation hinted left turns; as to which street, and how far that was, we had to ask others along the way), we were at the boulevard, looking for our resort.

After settling down from unpacking food and utensils, we decided to check the beach out. The strip of sand was more than two kilometers wide, I suppose, but it was crowded by beachgoers, this weekend being the peak of tourist influx. The sand was black like in the “private seaside house”, but what disappointed me, though, was the murky water, which they say was due to its proximity to Manila Bay. I wasn't going to swim in this liquid where I couldn't see anything a few feet underneath. Instead, I contented myself with a very long stroll along the coast as the sun was setting into the waters (the beach was situated at the west of Luzon; thus, watching sunsets were as simple as looking straight out to the sea).

People-watching during the stroll had left me doubly disappointed with the dearth of human beauty. Sure there may be one eye-catching group or family after some ten meters or so, but I would prefer seeing one wherever I turn my gaze (the two places where that happens are at the Powerplant Mall and the Ateneo Loyola Schools). I might as well have gone to Boracay (and see the same people frequenting Powerplant and studying at the Ateneo). There was not even a single familiar face in here. It seemed my friends knew better than to get stuck in some beach that had seen better times.

The one reward I had for my kilometers-long stroll was stumbling upon the mouth of the river, the source of all that black sand. Its water was just as dirtied, carrying the waste coming from some Batangas town(s). Nevertheless, the geek in me enjoyed standing at the point where fresh water met salt water, their currents countering each other. I wished I had brought my camera-phone to capture this moment, grainy photo or not. I wished for the camera-phone again to capture the moment the jet skier passed right beside a reddish sun hanging low on the horizon. When the sun's disc touched the horizon, it took less than a minute for it to be completely under the blue expanse of the sea.

I did my swimming in the pool of our resort. Thank goodness for their providing a clean body of water albeit man-made. Just that I had to watch out for the transvestite with fake(?) boobs who'd been soaking in the pool for hours, like an alligator waiting for its prey.

The highlight of the entire trip happened later that night...

Other parts of the series:
1 2 3 4 5

Summer 2006 Escapades (Part 1 of 5)

2006-07-09T14:20:00.001+08:00

Rainy days have come. What better time to let the summer sun shine once again, at least in our minds.

-oOo-

Earning their own salary enables people to splurge in their personal luxuries. The most common of these financial black holes would be clothes, shoes and accessories. Others reward themselves to a massage, as spa or perhaps a beauty treatment. The techies would gobble up the latest gadgets, while others still go for their comfort food, or any delicious food for that matter.

I don't know if I can consider myself lucky to not have the above types of luxuries that demand a regular share of the monthly income. My luxury is seasonal and highly dependent on my leaves and work schedule. There is also the high possibility that it can get cancelled, one reason being the other participants' inability to raise funds due to the demands of their regular indulgence. These factors allow me to save more money for my future stability and my future of more lavish luxuries (I wish!). Talk about delayed gratification! On the other hand, when all the factors like time, weather, logistics and funds are in cosmic balance, I then indulge in my personal luxury: the vacation trip.

The summer season from March to May (expanded to February-June) is the perfect opportunity for these trips. With newly available vacation leaves and last year’s savings at my disposal, I was all set to grab that opportunity last Summer 206 and lavish myself with a trip to the beach or any swim-able body of water for that matter...

-oOo-

"Private Seaside House" in Batangas

My brother's in-laws were invited to their friend's "seaside house" somewhere in Batangas. To go there, one passes through the same route as one would go to Nasugbu. The extended family, as well as family friends, answered the invitation. Nothing beats the lure of a "private seaside house"; we were imagining the freedom and the perks this house would provide to us. What surprises could be in store for us?

We started the excursion one February morning. In the South Expressway, we took the Sta. Rosa exit, allowing us to pass by Tagaytay. The morning air in this city is pleasantly aircon-cool. Going down from the Taal Caldera, the next part of the trip was a long uneventful drive.

In a Batangas highway, our host drove up with his pickup to meet us and to guide us to his place (we were starting to get lost). Along the way, we dropped by his friend's resort, which was more famous in the past as the location for a kenkoy movie. Sadly, the resort had lost whatever glory it had, for it now appeared as a mere run-of-the-mill resort. The owner conceded that a power plant nearby had affected beachgoers perceptions. Fortunately, we're not staying in a resort, but in a "private seaside house."

After the resort, we approached the colossal structures of the coal power plant the resort owner mentioned earlier. To our great surprise, our host turned to the entrance of that plant. We beheld up close how giant shovels would haul coal from a docked cargo ship, place it in giant conveyor belts, which in turn would dump their load beside the plant, creating mountains of coal. From these mountains, the coal would then be placed in another giant conveyor belt that would feed them into the plant itself, fuelling the giant generator that creates electricity. Man, everything was huge in here!

Our vehicle convoy stopped at a bungalow located just outside the plant complex. It turned out that our host is the contractor for the coal-mining and delivery to this power plant. Yup, his company owns the cargo ship docked nearby. The bungalow was the rest house for the crew while the coal was still being unloaded. Okay, so we would be staying here, fine, I guess the aircon would filter out the coal dust that was now sticking to my skin. If we'd still have to drive to the swimming area, that's fine by me, as long as it would be away from this place.

Unfortunately, this was actually the "seaside house," meaning, we'd be swimming nearby, right beside this coal power plant. Indeed, after a couple of minutes' walk, we encountered what appeared to be a miniscule "beach" with black sand and a floating hut. They said the sand was black not because of the coal, but because of volcanic deposits from a nearby river. I still took issue with the sand though; because, under water, it turned into something like coarse mud. The sanded area of the "beach" was a puny 20-meter stretch from side to side and a pathetic three-meter skip-and-hop towards the water. The water by the "beach" was enclosed like a tiny "bay". The water, though, was clear since I could still see the little fishes swimming below. It was actually a good sign that fauna thrives here, like the small crabs and snails crawling up the hut and the school of flying fish doing their aerial leaps a few meters away. The water itself wasn't too salty and didn't give me an itch.

The floating hut became our dining area. The seniors share their stories after some drinks. One couple had to take care of their toddler. The young couples, on the other hand, wandered away on a banca, sharing romantic moments while rowing around the enclosure. As for the singles like me, we contented ourselves with some swimming as well as with partaking of the abundant food.

Other parts of the series:
1 2 3 4 5

Mister J.

2006-06-30T23:36:00.000+08:00

First a short introduction:

I know that some blogs do resort to song lyrics as fillers for those dull days, when there's nothing to write about, or even if there is, it's just too monumental a task to be un-inspiringly hurried up due to the cramped schedule of business. Admittedly every blogger, including yours truly, will suffer this slump, but to be fair to the readers, I will endeavor to bring some value added to lyrics posted here. One of which is so that the English speakers of the world would at the very least finally understand all the fun or drama or whatever stuff Pinoy music sings about.

Moving on, without further ado, I present to you Mister J.

Guess which song I translated this from. And yes, if you know, you can sing it using this English translation.

Mister J.

When the sun sets to a dim
Creatures unleash their horror grim.
They are the enemies of our liberator*
And out they go to gather en masse.
In the evening dim
You won't see an iota
'Cept for their eyes lookin' at ya;
Such a fearful thought,
Specially when colored yellow,
That even ghosts will be terrorized too

Help me! Help me! Oh please do!
We need a savior, please, will you?

(Chorus)
Mister J., Mister J.
This superhero's open for contract hiring.
He moves too as have Daimos** done,
But afterwards he'll show you his billing.
Mister J!

(Repeat from the start)

(Coda)
Nguyasen daro
Nakuhama tei**
Dude please help me,
You're the hero Mister J!

Footnotes:
* Translated from the word "tagapag-ligtas" which was sung as "tagah-pagah-ligah-tas-ah"; thus, liberator should be sung as "lig-ah-ib-ah-ig-ah-rate-ah."
** Daimos is a giant robot in a Japanese anime of long ago (Seventies?) with the same title. Too bad I can't translate Nihongo. Who can help me with "Nguyasen daro / Nakuhama tei"?

Drifting Thoughts 02

2006-06-28T10:45:00.000+08:00

Superman started flying again in theaters everywhere today, spreading a message of hope, and blanketing everyone with his protective light. I, however, felt inclined to brood and over-analyze just like Batman, which, by the way, is my favorite superhero. It didn't help that I felt signs of an onset of colds when my nostrils started getting itchy. It didn't help that I'll further subject my poor nose to the ravages of rush hour pollution later in my commute home. It didn't help that I stumbled upon a college friend's blog, got updated on her life after college, and felt a tinge of bitterness. Perhaps, it was not just a tinge, only that I suppressed it and prevented it from growing. It's a complex situation (damn, if this was a diary, I'd tell all); what I could tell is that I just felt left out.

It was raining when I left the office. Talk about being dramatic, but drama was the least of my concerns when the rain and winds strengthened, drenched my pants and socks, and weakened my already embattled immune system. I felt stuck in a trap, but unlike a Joker-ensnared Batman who would coolly think of a way out, I acted like a kryptonite-caged Superman who is helplessly weakened, waiting for intervention (preferably from Lois, so she can comfort me too) or luck (like Lex, whose brilliance is eclipsed by his megalomania, throwing the key within my visual range then leaving me alone, allowing me to think of a Batman-like escape).

Okay, I was starting to exaggerate.

-oOo-

Speaking of friends, the discussion topic for the "Bottom Three" night show in Magic 89.9 FM tonight was the worst thing one did to a friend. One listener texted, "the worst thing I did to my best friend was to marry her." My first reaction was to crack up. Thank God there's Magic to give me a break from brooding. On the other hand, the text message seemed like a warning message. I know, the ideal is to be friends first and then let the luhve grow into the picture. But one blunder would destroy everything in the worst possible way. The synergy of love and friendship is a very powerful positive force that emanates from, unites and maintains the relationship. Yet that same powerful force could also do the opposite to the couple. Yep, the texter said they eventually separated. Now that's hard. I mean, when you lose a lover it hurts, but it's still fine; you can still be friends. However, if you lose a friend (and I don't mean a casual friend), the pain is more gut-wrenching, the loss more profound. I guess this is what happens in bad break-ups: you lose a lover and friend.

Civic Duty

2006-06-12T15:33:00.000+08:00

The following anecdote would be my Independence Day contribution.

It happened in the late seventies, more than a decade before it was my turn to play and learn in grade school, which in turn was more than a decade ago today. Back then there was this principal whom they call as Mister Badong. It must had been a strange name for a principal even during my grade school days, but maybe not during the seventies. Or maybe kids really didn't find it strange, and it was just me and my supposedly adult pseudo-sophistication. In fact, in this story the kids would be the one teaching a lesson they had learned from Mister Badong.

The seventies, as the oldies allege, seemed to be the time when this grade school deserved to be called the premiere elementary school of the city. The educators were very serious in their duty and teaching as a noble professions was the reality and not just as an utterance of the ideal. The present local political and business leaders, whom some have gone national or international, trooped to this grade school for their basic education. (Okay, some of them had gone corrupt, so the school was not that much of a premiere school eh. Then again, there had been other influences in the community, so...)

Mister Badong is one of those serious educators of long ago. He was into the observance of civic duties and other Boy Scout basics. He trained the little men on tying knots, starting fires and other fun survival techniques. In flag-raising ceremonies, he would be very particular about a certain line in the Lupang Hinirang, "it's sa langit mong bughaw, not mo'y!" he would repeatedly point out to the student body (I imagine him grabbing the microphone immediately after the National Anthem and speaking in a stern voice).

Mister Badong died in the seventies, but his influence lived on for quite a time. This was made evident one gray morning a few years later. The kids were lined up in the open field for the daily flag-raising ceremony. In the middle of singing the National Anthem, there was a sudden downpour. But, having been taught respect for the Flag by the departed principal, the children remained standing with their right hand over the left chest. They sang until the last note, then and only then did they run for cover.

Mabuhay!