basted.

I wonder why libraries do not reciprocate my love for books.

I was beginning to form a negative impression on ASchoolI’dRatherNotName a few hours ago even before I went there. These weird vibrations came to me even when I was just sitting on the jeepney heading for Iloilo City.

Rewind.

My thesis partner and I planned on visiting this school’s library for our paper. We did the necessary formalities which were required of us—checked and double-checked the ASchoolI’dRatherNotName’s library availability—and went there as early as our lazy feet brought us. Since we arrived too late for lunchtime (12:40PM), we took photos of our weird selves first. By some crazy thingamajig, we were informed that the library will not cater to researchers until 2PM that day. Goodness, they could have informed us earlier so we would not have wasted our time waiting for them to finish their business.

A bit upset and disappointed, we headed to the Center for West Visayan Studies and decided to do our research there first. Half past two, we headed back to the ASchoolI’dRatherNotName library. I erased the remaining traces of smile in my face and showed I had this bitchy side when faced with useless rules.

The baggage counter boy, who informed us of the 2PM library availability, was not briefed properly. Clearly, there has been a misunderstanding and my thesis partner and I were in the middle of the chaos. Shit, I thought.

Good thing, their assistants were objective people. They were helpful enough to explain the rules and help us search for the books that we need. But I vowed that unless my thesis will die, I won’t visit that library again.

utang na loob

Of all the kinds of utangs, this is the kind in which a lot of strings are attached. Yarn, ball thread, hilo baynte…just kidding. Unlike monetary debt or material debt, utang na loob is the most dangerous. It will test a person’s morals, dignity, loyalty and freedom of choice. Though it does not involve money at the very least, it is much harder a burden to bear compared to the two other.

The funny and sunny side is, utang na loob is easier received yet harder reciprocated.

A friend of mine was applying for an office job. She has it all: brains, patience, good sense of leadership, ability and a great sense of commitment. In a nutshell, she need not apply; she could be assured of being hired on the spot. What she did not know was that a fellow jobseeker has his eyes on the same place. Since the manager has an utang na loob on the guy’s parents, he was the one accepted for the position—even when my friend’s resumé made his look like yesterday’s newspaper.

Pha! Bureaucratic crap. (But who knows, I told my friend, you and that guy might meet again. He could be your happy ending. She conked me on the head.)

The same is happening within a school which my pesky, 12-year-old neighbour is now enrolled. Since the parents of his classmate was more generous in giving monetary donations to the principal, most of the outside-the-school-contest invites were delivered directly to him before any of his other classmates. My poor neighbour could only whine at home.

Another conk told me I should not be giving my “bright-side-of-the-story” stories anymore.

Utang Na Loob is a proudly Filipino virtue. No matter where we go, it will always be present. If you are not ready to sacrifice quality for quantity, I suggest thinking a hundred times before reciprocating that utang na loob.

Don’t whine if you are on the negative receiving end. It is not true that life is unfair. It just happened that his “share of fair” arrived first before yours. Some utang na loob works for us and some just doesn’t. Deal with it and burn his house down. XD

artCUB

These paintings have adorned the CUB lobby for days now. During those times we passed by, however, we seldom took the effort to twist our necks to the side to look at them. We finally had a chance, when my friend Jennie and I were waiting for Jimma, to finish her fried chicken.

My apologies for the low definition files. Where’s a camera when I need it? T_T

Jennie insisted to have her photo taken with this masterpiece.

Most probably, these were AAs’ (Artists Anonymous, a school-based organization’s) works of art. Keep it up, guys! :D

ligaw liham

This was one of the titles of the proudly Filipino full-length independent films which received international applause. If my memory serves me right, this was directed by Jay Abello. If the name rings a bell, then you must have seen Namets, his other film which featured Visayan dishes.

One other thought which made its way into my mind was the concept of courtship through letters. Ok, I admit, I am an old-school junkie. I love handwritten letters or notes. I keep diaries way back in elementary. I still have the notes written to me by my grade school friends. I love Parokya ni Edgar, Itchyworms, Savage Garden, Air Supply, Michael Jackson, and their “music generation”.

When I heard of a former schoolmate who attempted to court a schoolmate through love letters, I was awed. I felt kilig for the girl. He did not win her though; but I think if it was me, I would also have courted a girl the old-school way. For me, there is some ounce of sincerity and security when things are handwritten.

We are in the age of Information Technology, one of the three major revolutions (sans blood) which conquered the world. This kind of courtship strategy is something different, extraordinary. As a writer, I can empathize with the writer when he writes down his thoughts and send it to the one he loves. “When everything else relies on pushing a button, I want my love to read my heart through my scrawl.”

P.S. When I was just 8, a classmate made me write a love letter for a 9-year-old boy. Then, when the boy’s friends knew about it, they went to our classroom and asked who sent the letter. My classmate, who asked me to write it, pointed to me instead! Que Horror. I still remember me crying while the boy’s classmates were laughing at my childhood stupidity.

Dear classmate, I don’t know if you still remember me or that day when you made me feel naked, but I remember your name and I can butt-spell it. I will find you. :P

(photo taken from www.thefirst47.com)

how to avoid getting held up

Most hold-ups happen in terminals, where a lot of people are too sleepy, tired or rich. Often times, hold-uppers grab this opportunity to lay their hands on your belongings. Now, you do not need to know a little Kung Fu or Muai Thai to travel unscathed. The saying “prevention is better than cure” applies here.

Here are a few prevention tips:

1. Look and feel superior. The more superior, the less chances of getting your wallet snagged.
2. Don’t slouch. A submissive demeanor is equal to eventually submitting your valuables.
3. Don’t store your money in one pocket.
4. Be alert.
5. Most bad guys look good, so if you’re flirt, forget about it when you’re travelling.
6. Keep one of your parents’ numbers in your call log or recently dialled numbers for daily access. Memorize the local police station’s number.
7. Do not trust anyone.
8. As much as possible, do not sleep. Or if you are too sleepy, hold on to your stuff.
9. Go look for a Samaritan and smile at him or her. Remember: For every pathetic passenger, there will always be this sympathetic helper.
10. Never display how much you are worth.
11. Keep your thoughts to yourself. Nosy ones attract attention.
12. Save your phone’s batteries.
13. Pack things according to kind. This way, you know what to get and where to get it without revealing other things which do not need to be revealed.
14. Know your destination and the stop-overs. Ask for updates and play and replay it in your mind. Knowledge of these simple things is basic but very important.
15. It would not hurt to pray.

Wherever you are heading to, keeping these few tips in mind would surely help. If the last resort fails, make sure you practiced your vocal cords and you are wearing good running shoes. Sometimes, it is just a matter of luck. Play it well and don’t give the win to the bad guys.

Safe trip! :D
(photo from lavistachurchofchrist.org)

getting in touch with my MVs

from Google Images

“If you are not ready, don’t”.

Above is a reminder of most people’s inability to remember or foresee responsibility, or to borrow Sir Poi’s words: cannot get over the puppy stage. Ready for what? Anything. Taking care of a puppy, having a new girlfriend, or taking a huge step in life (i.e. over a puddle or from one stone slab to the other). But that is not the point of this entry, I just placed it there. Just because.

I really appreciate our Philippine Institutions class. More than learning and hopefully ‘applying’ the essence of nationalism as what Rizal taught, we are learning—or reawakening—our moral values. For me, this is something I am not new to. It is as ‘habitual’ as taking vitamins to make up for nutrients which I psychologically banned from my body. For four years, we were overdosed with moral values (me being a student of a Catholic school run by nuns for 8 years).

When I stepped in this University, I was afraid I would lose these values. (Picture me practicing my ‘Panatang Makabayan and Hiligaynon versions of the Lord’s Prayer, Hail Mary and The Apostle’s Creed at home). I am not joking, I really did. I was afraid because of the many people I know who went in (moral values-laden, conservative and yes, virgin) and went out (the exact opposite of the things I typed enclosed in parentheses) of the University.

That’s why when Sir Poi left us a challenge of practicing ‘courtesy’ for a week, I smiled. I am not bragging but
I am really doing things he pointed out such as: saying Thank You to a lot of people who lent their hands, opening a door for somebody (though I must have given birth to an ingrown or two sometimes, depending on the kind of material the door was made from), and smiling (more like smirking; I don’t know if my daydreaming smiles were included).

I am up to the challenge! This is the one-week vitamins dosage which I will not ban from my daily routine for the rest of my stay here in UP. I am sure the nuns from high school will be proud of me for this, though I am not doing it for them, (insert villainous laugh here). Thanks to PI, I got in touch with them again.

what teachers want

When they say no, it means a 5.0. Case closed.

For the nth time now, I have come across reporters, who are prepared and unprepared, tough and kind, direct and flowery, perky and serious. They dominate the discussion for 30 minutes to an hour and then they bow themselves away. Applause usually follows.

But if the teacher is not contented with your report (or worse, he or she did not like any of it at all), say goodbye to a 1.0.

Hitting the nail right on the head is the main goal of most reporters. But sometimes, the nail is no the topic—it is the teacher. This kind of nail never rusts and is never pliable. This is probably one of the reasons why there is a term known as “teacher factor”.

Do not get me wrong. I am not trying to single out anybody. I am just trying to point some things which I think are a little off with academic institutions. Human as we are, however, we cannot distance ourselves from picking favourites and giving judgments even before we get to know a person. This is one reason why—since high school—whenever a teacher says that he or she does not practice favoritism, I know better than to agree. Of course, they have. They are simply good in keeping it to themselves. There will always be a time for ‘judgment calls’ when correcting papers and projects and that is where favouritism takes place.

In college, this phenomenon is even magnified to a higher level. We students tend to ask the upperclassmen how the teacher conducts himself or herself and his or her classes because we want to know if it can work for or against us (and if we can do something about it). Good if it works for you, but what will you do if he or she does not like you no matter what you do?

We are in this position where the aphorism “You always have a choice” seems to float into nothingness. Of course, we have to have it his or her way, or else.

But, we are not always helpless. We just have to ‘ride along’. Anyway, the class is good for an hour or two only. After that, we are free. For reporters, they can always do better next time, or if there is no next time, they can do well on other class requirements like quizzes and exams. If the exam is objective, most students can be rid of favouritism and subjectivity for that matter.

For four years or so, it will stay this way. When we graduate, we will be dragged into a new environment worse than this. But this time around, we can weigh our choices better. And this time around, it will not be for grades. :D

The effect of having a pen, paper and a boring teacher

Out of boredom, and perhaps of the bored air that’s coming out of the equally bored air conditioning unit that might be bored by the boring voice of our boring teacher, I made a short story.

And it’s not boring, by the way. 

We found ourselves talking about first loves that were you and me. Your eyes still smile at me with the affection that was sixteen years ago, but with the sparkle gone.

The swing that held us creaked with age, but the ‘Rea <3 Louie’ did not grow with time.

You told me about this new guy and asked about my love. My response, surprisingly calmed the both of us.

When the sun left the sky, I realized that my love for you had been long gone, too, even when you kissed my blushing cheek to say goodbye.

Until now I smile, when before you left with that stolen kiss, you whispered, “Thank you, Father.”

It is not as compelling or as tear-jerking as other sad short stories but I think it made up for a class I did not pay much attention to.

“Be one of us.”

Against our will and wish today, we have to be kind.

This is what we promised our current chairperson in a college-based organization which we belong to. She made us promise that we would not be cruel to the freshmen who are to be interviewed today in the covered court of UPV in Miagao.

Like a mother giving her kids the last-minute instructions before she leaves the house, Kyle made us huddle together in a tight circle and crossed the distance to our faces while telling us, “Please, please, mga ate, let us not make the interview hard for the first years”. I remember smiling to myself as she was telling us this.

As we were all excited with the big number of interested girls and a boy, we nodded happily.

And so we went early to the covered court, feeling the anticipation of who and just how many will arrive today (last time, a lot of them were scared and decided against joining the organization—pity). Minute after minute, a small group of two’s and three’s would walk shyly into the room, their eyes focused on the floor and their upper torso bent. We waited until quarter to 4 in the afternoon, until the last freshman arrived.

As we were subtly terrorizing them, question after question and task after task, I saw a bit of myself in one of the freshmen—a shy, awkward girl who was willing to do anything to be accepted in an organization which she can call her family. I remember having to dance in front of upperclassmen I do not even know and giving them a piece of myself which is believe is “interesting”, ”unique” or “entertaining”.

But I did not remember backing out.

I was already halfway. If something opened itself for me, I would accept it. And that, I remembered, was exactly the way I felt when I was their age joining this organization. I pushed myself forward, ate my pride and dignity and became the exact person which our freshmen questors are hoping to become. I even won as the “Most Outstanding Questor”.

I’ll be a good upperclassman to them–until the Final Rites. 

what boredom can do to a weird, genderless person

So i’m bored on a Wednesday.

no food.
no drink.
slow internet connection.
humid atmosphere.
grainy television.
still asleep friends.
no load.
no engaging book.
no interesting chat with an interesting person.
(brain freeze due to heat)

what’s a Homo Sapien to do?