When our book, Kamalig, was launched last Sat in Powerbooks, I was very happy. For me, it's a dream come true. I have long been aiming for our publications to be displayed in the bookshelves of Powerbooks or any bookstores. I can recall the day when I was just e-mailing all the bookstores that came into my mind. I was just thinking that they would respond. And Powerbooks did. That started it all. I appreciated the fact that everything was coordinated through emails. Even the book launch, I was very glad upon learning that we had guests who learned about our event from our website. They did not receive any formal invitation from us.

Oh well, our books at Powerbooks is one great achievement. We can now reach our audiences in the city. Even our friends abroad can buy our books. They have long been waiting for it.

Let me borrow from my friend in closing this post: Good things!

Publications

“Oh my gosh! When will they ever stop commenting?” This is my favorite line whenever I get exhausted managing publications whose end hasn’t come yet.

Since high school, I have been involved in publications work either as a writer, editor, layout artist, circulations manager, or managing editor. I’ve had a few memorable experiences I wish to share here. Mind you managing publications can be so mechanical, not until you start reflecting on the process.

I have managed technology bulletins, magazines, and a coffee table book. The process involves varied emotions from the mind boggling, excruciating, thought-provoking up to the rewarding moment once it is out.

Let’s start with the idea process. It is where the people involved brainstorm on what they want with the publication. In this process, I get amazed at how the human brain functions. Creative ideas emanating from everywhere pour in at an instant the documenter can have a hard time capturing them all.

The execution part is the bloodiest of all. It is when I work with the layout artist to come up with the first draft. Once the first draft is out, I present it to the team so they can feast on it. After the comments, hey, summarize it, it is OVERHAUL. Whew! We will surely need some exercise to do the next draft.

“Please transfer this to the next page. Oh this page looks nice, very nice, but I think the picture is a bit pixilated, so we should change this (the very nice page now fades). The book is great (with two-paragraph single-spaced comments). Oh, this is great! But we need more! More! More!”

Comments after comments, never-ending comments can be so tiring. Until we are near completion.

Just when everybody seems to be resting and preparing to close the pages, last minute comments will come in, which can alter the course of events or just suspend completion for a bit later. A Hollywood suspense thriller is no match on this part. Whenever this happens, I take a deep breath so I won’t lose my sanity. Sometimes I listen; sometimes I don’t. But then again, I am left with no choice but to listen to the powers that be.

There are times when a publication gets extended to their original schedule. The major publications can take months even years to be completed. When I get fed up, I can no longer see the mistakes even as I keep re-reading the material. When somebody looks at it, the most obvious and basic mistakes will surface. It can be so shameful.

There were also instances when I was able to do the table of contents without going back to the actual pages. When I checked it, voila! I only missed several pages. I have mastered the publication. When I get so immersed in it, I can hear the comments of the team in my dreams. I can hear them requesting if one more photo can be added, if the deadlines can be moved. Sometimes, I can spot what word was added if the layout artist added one without my consent effortlessly.

Publications, they can be so addictive. If they were a drug they should have been banned long ago.

Bringing the material to the printing press is second to the best part. That’s when I argue with the colors and the nitty-gritty of everything. You just can’t let the material go without much supervision. Mind you my eyes are so sensitive; I can distinguish the slightest difference between different shades of the same color. But then again, there are excruciating and persistent human errors no matter how high the standard is.

Once it is out, there seems to be an indescribable feeling of relief and fulfillment. We did it! When the coffee table book was out, I leafed through it for innumerable number of times—seeing the pictures, checking the pages and the binding, I felt every page with my hands. I even slept with it by my side. I tried looking at it at different lighting conditions, and at different positions. But of course, nothing beats looking it with a coffee and a table by my side (what a cliché!). There are imperfections, but I’m happy with it.

For 23 years, I have been through a lot of seemed unexplainable occurrences. I have been through a lot of heartaches, failures, nostalgia, what have you. I have been asking myself: what’s with all these? I have been searching for books for explanation. And oh yes, the answer is printed. I have found the answer in what I am doing—publications.

Young as we are, we need to welcome comments, undergo a process so we’ll end up triumphant—not completely thou, because we need to work for something more. Something that will lead us to being the best.

A colleague said this to me: “Allow your outputs to be critiqued so when they come out they can stand.”

Kamalig: A treasure trove of rice, a coffeetable book on Philippine rice production, will be launched in Powerbooks Megamall, November 28, 2-5 pm. See you there.

Blogless blog

It’s been awhile since I last posted here. I know that Matell and Kitt are just so busy now. I can just imagine juggling everything to cope with the year-end stuff. Me, I am quite busy layouting publications, writing, and a lot of russians and argentinians (rush yan, urgent yan hehe) on the side.

For some reasons, I am just so paranoid now, but I am trying to be calm. There are just lots of things that I need to attend to, and I am having difficulty giving my best to each of them. My officemates are now seeing my temper, and there are moments when I am crying because of the sudden outburst of emotions.

Thanks to this blog. I have a way to let my insides out. The previous weeks caught me in a series of emotional extremes. I was overjoyed, but then all of a sudden extreme paranoia got the better of me. I ended up crying and going back to the dorm. I found myself writing, talking to God. That worked.

The Lord has been merciful to me, ever since actually. At times I have the tendency to always do things my way. To rely on my wisdom, until I get so weary. Then I’ll cry to God. After that everything is taken care of.

Now, I am writing again. I am glad. I hope this emotional stability continues.

What's good about the rain? by Toni Kindipan

Posted by my friend, former officemate in Devcom Division here at PhilRice, Toni Kindipan. Toni,together with her two sisters and her mother, 25, died after the landslide in Benguet.

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"Doing what is right today means no regrets tomorrow."I was looking out
from the window this afternoon while the strong winds battered and the
heavy downpour of rain lashed houses and trees in our neighborhood. A
super typhoon is heading our way, again. While staring at the pouring
rain, I thought, "What’s good about the rain?"

Seven years ago, a super typhoon hit our area that damaged a lot of
properties and took a number of lives. I was about 18 years old then and
although I have grown up to such a stormy environment, this typhoon was
one of the greatest shocks of my life, that until now left a bad memory in
me. A big landslide came rushing down from the mountain cutting the area
beside our house. The impact was so strong that the earth shook. We all
thought it was an earthquake. After a few minutes, people in our
neighborhood all came out to see a huge area dug out with thick mud all
over the place. A house beside ours was partly taken and I saw a person
being pulled out from the mud. I was totally scared. Immediately, I and my
family were out into the rain heading towards the evacuation center where
we stayed for a few days until the storm was gone.

A week ago, our capital city was the center of media attraction, both
local and international, because of the storm that hit a record high of
rainfall in just a matter of hours and send raging waters along the roads
and streets of Manila making it like a big river inundating thousands upon
thousands of houses, washing away years of investments and livelihood of
more than a million people. The sight was horrible and pathetic. The storm
was no respecter of people. Rich and poor, famous and ordinary people
alike were on their roofs waving for help. Thousands became homeless and
starting back to zero. Children could not go to school. People couldn’t go
back to work. For a time, the world for them came to a halt. It has been
said that this was the worst disaster that affected the whole of Metro
Manila in 40 years.

My personal experience about the storm gave me a bit of trauma that
whenever it rains, I always think of our safety. When the rainy season
comes (usually starts from June to October), I start to worry about my
family especially when I am away from them. Even when I am at home,
hearing the rain pouring at night keeps me awake, not because of the
strong downpour but because of thoughts that I may be caught off guard in
case something bad happens. Because of these, I hated the rain. Today,
this thought kept me thinking. “What’s good about the rain?” Sure, it
sends irrigation to scorched lands and all other areas and creatures
needing water but too much of it sends catastrophe to others. Thinking
about it further however, makes me believe that there is more to it than
that.

After the flooding in Manila, people are pointing fingers at each other on
who is to blame for this disaster. Some said it’s not an act of God as
people have become so irresponsible of taking care of our environment
instead it’s a wakeup call from God that we be conscious of our roles as
stewards of what He has given us. In the name of development, people have
cared less of the consequences of their actions. High-rise commercial
buildings mushroomed everywhere even in places where they are not supposed
to be located. Talk about poor urban planning as pointed out by one
official. Garbage! Yes, the ubiquitous wastes which scatter at every
corner now clogged the supposed waterways and drainage that should have
eased the flow of water. Climate change? This is yet another easy culprit
or say, lame reason for some but could be a consideration. Now, is this
the prize for socially irresponsible way of development? I leave it up to
you to judge. What’s good about the rain? Perhaps it’s nice to think that
it reminds us of our social responsibility as good members of our society.

When we were at the brink of that situation back in 2002, there was
nothing we could do but pray and ask the Almighty to spare us from the
wrath of nature. Natural calamities are always stronger than us and almost
always, we as humans are helpless in this. When we got back to our house
after the storm, we were so grateful that everything was intact. Nothing
was lost or damaged. It was amazing that the area on both sides of our
house had landslides but our house was untouched. I realized that in times
like these, what’s good about the rain is that it makes one draw closer to
the all-powerful God who holds everything in His hand.

Many also believe that what happened in Manila is an act of God to which
we don’t have control. It is pretty scary in fact to think this way. But
even in the Bible, it tells of stories about people who suffered disasters
because of their sins. More than the garbage that floats around us, a
better attention should be given to the garbage in us or our sins that
makes this place a sickening abode of injustice, crime, and all sorts or
perversion. But it is comforting to know that there is also the story of
His forgiveness and salvation of our self-inflicted garbage.

If there is something good about the rain, for me, it would be these
realizations. Tonight, even as I write this, the rain continues to pour
on. But what’s good about it is that it makes me value more the thought
that life is brief, that there are so many things to be thankful for, that
I can always trust the One who gives life to spare my life and the ones I
love from this storm.

To those in the area of the storm Pepeng and to everyone, keep safe!

The Optimism of Uncertainty by Howard Zinn

I find meaning and purpose in this piece. A silver lining in the midst of the disasters that our country faces today.

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

The Optimism of Uncertainty
by Howard Zinn

In this awful world where the efforts of caring people often pale in comparison to what is done by those who have power, how do I manage to stay involved and seemingly happy?

I am totally confident not that the world will get better, but that we should not give up the game before all the cards have been played. The metaphor is deliberate; life is a gamble. Not to play is to foreclose any chance of winning. To play, to act, is to create at least a possibility of changing the world.

There is a tendency to think that what we see in the present moment will continue. We forget how often we have been astonished by the sudden crumbling of institutions, by extraordinary changes in people's thoughts, by unexpected eruptions of rebellion against tyrannies, by the quick collapse of systems of power that seemed invincible.

What leaps out from the history of the past hundred years is its utter unpredictability. A revolution to overthrow the czar of Russia, in that most sluggish of semi-feudal empires, not only startled the most advanced imperial powers but took Lenin himself by surprise and sent him rushing by train to Petrograd. Who would have predicted the bizarre shifts of World War II--the Nazi-Soviet pact (those embarrassing photos of von Ribbentrop and Molotov shaking hands), and the German Army rolling through Russia, apparently invincible, causing colossal casualties, being turned back at the gates of Leningrad, on the western edge of Moscow, in the streets of Stalingrad, followed by the defeat of the German army, with Hitler huddled in his Berlin bunker, waiting to die?

And then the postwar world, taking a shape no one could have drawn in advance: The Chinese Communist revolution, the tumultuous and violent Cultural Revolution, and then another turnabout, with post-Mao China renouncing its most fervently held ideas and institutions, making overtures to the West, cuddling up to capitalist enterprise, perplexing everyone.
No one foresaw the disintegration of the old Western empires happening so quickly after the war, or the odd array of societies that would be created in the newly independent nations, from the benign village socialism of Nyerere's Tanzania to the madness of Idi Amin's adjacent Uganda. Spain became an astonishment. I recall a veteran of the Abraham Lincoln Brigade telling me that he could not imagine Spanish Fascism being overthrown without another bloody war. But after Franco was gone, a parliamentary democracy came into being, open to Socialists, Communists, anarchists, everyone.

The end of World War II left two superpowers with their respective spheres of influence and control, vying for military and political power. Yet they were unable to control events, even in those parts of the world considered to be their respective spheres of influence. The failure of the Soviet Union to have its way in Afghanistan, its decision to withdraw after almost a decade of ugly intervention, was the most striking evidence that even the possession of thermonuclear weapons does not guarantee domination over a determined population. The United States has faced the same reality. It waged a full-scale war in lndochina, conducting the most brutal bombardment of a tiny peninsula in world history, and yet was forced to withdraw. In the headlines every day we see other instances of the failure of the presumably powerful over the presumably powerless, as in Brazil, where a grassroots movement of workers and the poor elected a new president pledged to fight destructive corporate power.

Looking at this catalogue of huge surprises, it's clear that the struggle for justice should never be abandoned because of the apparent overwhelming power of those who have the guns and the money and who seem invincible in their determination to hold on to it. That apparent power has, again and again, proved vulnerable to human qualities less measurable than bombs and dollars: moral fervor, determination, unity, organization, sacrifice, wit, ingenuity, courage, patience--whether by blacks in Alabama and South Africa, peasants in El Salvador, Nicaragua and Vietnam, or workers and intellectuals in Poland, Hungary and the Soviet Union itself. No cold calculation of the balance of power need deter people who are persuaded that their cause is just.
I have tried hard to match my friends in their pessimism about the world (is it just my friends?), but I keep encountering people who, in spite of all the evidence of terrible things happening everywhere, give me hope. Especially young people, in whom the future rests. Wherever I go, I find such people. And beyond the handful of activists there seem to be hundreds, thousands, more who are open to unorthodox ideas. But they tend not to know of one another's existence, and so, while they persist, they do so with the desperate patience of Sisyphus endlessly pushing that boulder up the mountain. I try to tell each group that it is not alone, and that the very people who are disheartened by the absence of a national movement are themselves proof of the potential for such a movement.

Revolutionary change does not come as one cataclysmic moment (beware of such moments!) but as an endless succession of surprises, moving zigzag toward a more decent society. We don't have to engage in grand, heroic actions to participate in the process of change. Small acts, when multiplied by millions of people, can transform the world. Even when we don't "win," there is fun and fulfillment in the fact that we have been involved, with other good people, in something worthwhile. We need hope.

An optimist isn't necessarily a blithe, slightly sappy whistler in the dark of our time. To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places--and there are so many--where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don't have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.

Pahirap sa buhay: Math

Sa hindi ko malamang dahilan, ipinanganak akong mahina sa math. Grabe, nung elementary hindi ako maka first honor, parati lang second kasi yung nag first ay parang calculator mag-isip.

Nung highschool napapunta ako sa science class, ang mga kaklase ko ang gagaling. Mas lalo lang nahalata ang kagalingan ko sa math. Actually kaya hindi ako nag honor nung high school dahil sumablay ang grade ko sa math nung third year. Grabe naiyak talaga ako. Gusto ngang tisurin ni mama yung teacher ko na yun. Haha!

Kaya, biyahe agad ako pa Laguna at nakipagsapalaran sa elbi.

Sa elbi, naipasa ko ang math subjects ko sa practice at dasal. Wala na akong ibang ginawa sa mga free time ko nun kundi magsolve ng algebra problems. Kaya pag nag-exam, aba, na solve ko na ito, not necessarily na naintindihan ko siya. Hahaha!

At sa di malamang pagkakataon, ang kinuha kong minor ay economics at ag econ. Matataas na economics ang kinuha ko. Yun, kulang na lang ay umikot ang mga mata ko sa mga graphs na gumagalaw. Sabi ko, ang likut-likot naman ng mga graphs na ito, bat ayaw pumirmi sa isang pwesto lang.

Naalala ko pa sa isang lecture room ng stat na may lampas isang daan ang laman, bigla na lang akong magsasalita, “Pakiulit po yung explanation, di ko po naintindihan.” Tinginan sila lahat sa akin.

Bakit ba?

Si Jaime yun na taga-devcom.

Hay, nakakatawa.

Hanggang ngayon, sa jeep pag mga may .50 na ang suklian at kailangang magmultiply ng three digits, OK na lang.

“Hijo, tama ba sukli mo?” sigaw si Manong driver. Para di na ako magcocompute, magmumukha akong busy sa diyaryo na hawak ko, at reply: “OK na ho ito”

Bakit nga ba kasi may math? Essay writing na lang.

At sea

While inside the boat going to Zamboanga from Jolo my friend saw someone in dextrose.

She was 18 years old, her mother said. She added it’s been a week since they were observing her. They thought the girl had typhoid fever. So they would be at peace, they decided to bring her to Zamboanga City.

All throughout the night the mother would wipe her with warm towel to make sure that she’s comfortable. On the other hand, the father did not sleep—walking back and forth inside the boat big enough to contain some 200 passengers.

That was a very sad scene. Imagine a girl being traveled in a boat in dextrose for 8 hours because they do not have access to a decent medical care in her province? My Muslim friend told me that the girl must be from a well-off family. Otherwise, they will just let old cures do the trick for her in Sulu.

Different images entered my mind following that scenario. What about other emergencies like giving birth? Treating contagious diseases? What about those who do not have PhP 400 for a one-way ticket to Zamboanga City? And what about those who can no longer afford to travel for 8 hours? What about them?

I stopped thinking. I did not like the images that followed.

At 4am, the boat docked in Zamboanga City port. Everybody was excited to go out of the boat. And the girl, at last, would have the chance to be treated at a decent hospital—after waiting for 8 hours.

Basic medical care is among the basic needs of humanity, and yet there are many who do not have access to it. Not just in Sulu, but in many parts of the country.

I have long been asking myself why. Why is poverty so persistent? Why is inequality so pronounced such that many have gotten used to it?

Alas, the answers must have drifted away at sea.

Preface

….Going back on me and my friends’ comfort zone

Whew! It’s good to be back. Thanks best, for welcoming me again. You really made me feel light. Well, I supposedly have a lot of stories to tell. It has been ages since I post on our blog.

A long list of things happened since July 15 (date of my last blog), I celebrated my 25^th birthday, got a dinner meeting with Matell and Jaime, assisted as wedding planner for Chee and Jonas’ wedding, facilitated sports activities in the office – basketball, bowling, badminton- name it, bonding moments with my family, watched a good number of films like GI Joe, the Proposal, Up, attended a Psychogenetic Retreat, celebrated with my family on my cousin’s first birthday and my uncle’s graduation as military reserve corps, and still a lot number of things.

For sure, this would be sooo free style. My thoughts are shooting anywhere.

How will I start my post? I don’t know

What will I post? A lot of things

But how can I put in a short time? Just write

Well , I just missed my two good friends here, Matell and Jaime. The atmosphere is very very welcoming. Matell urged me to post first. And Jaime too, he wanted me to post my draft “When Anger breaks”. It is the draft I started when Jaime and I were not so “in good terms”. I told him earlier that the post will be too emotional and maybe full of angst which I believe would be unfit if I would post it.

Anyways, I missed writing here.

Perhaps, this will serve as a “preface” on the things that I would be writing soon (or simply an acknowledgement to my two good friends).

“Meet new friends. And keep the old.

One is silver and the other gold”

My nephew

On our way to Bicol last year we passed by the dinosaur statue along the national highway in Lucena City. My nephew who was 3 years old then said, “may kapatid yan nag school. Yung magulang niya nag work pareho kaya mag-isa lang siya.” We were all stunned by what he said. JM is turning out to be a very loving person. He is so attached with people around him.

Last long weekend, I decided to go to my brother’s house in Cabuyao where I lived for 4 years in college. Fortunately, my sister, now living in Quezon City, also decided to go there. It was like a reunion. My brother sort of missed me. It’s been a few months since I last visited him. And there was JM. He was just so happy to see us.

We did not have time to waste so I raised the idea of us going out. Just to go out. My brother agreed and in a few hours we found ourselves traveling to upper Laguna. We went to Caliraya Lake, the Japanese Garden (awesome!, very peaceful), and we ate in Kamayan in Bay. It was a splendid day. My brother also waited until I met my friends in the same place. My Ate Ping (my kitchenmate taking her MS in UPLB) celebrated her birthday last Sunday.

Then Monday came. My sister and I were busy preparing ourselves to travel back to our bases—she to QC, me to Nueva Ecija. We hugged and kissed each other, was so noisy immediately scheduling our next meeting. That was it. Time to go.

JM was all of a sudden silent. He was so snobbish. My sister-in-law said he is like that.

He hates goodbyes.

Rubber trees

A tree with more than a thousand uses—the rubber tree.

In Basilan, huge rubber tree plantations abound. Rubber trees could be the reason why Basilan is the only ARMM province, which does not belong to the top 40 poorest provinces of the Philippines.

While reviving that wonderful trip to a rubber tree plantation in Basilan, I just thought how selfless a rubber tree could be.

Before those sturdy rubber-based products get into the market, thousands of rubber trees endure the pain of being beaten by bolos just so latex could come out of them. And mind you, not a cut is enough, once there is no more latex coming out from the original cut, another cut is made. The process goes on.

Painful.

But rubber trees are strong. They remain standing amid all the cuts. Young rubber trees can’t do that, only the mature ones can.

Only a mature rubber tree can ooze out substance in the form of latex-- to breathe life into thousands of industries and to millions of people depending on them. Only a mature rubber tree can give off towering shade. Only a mature rubber tree can go beyond itself. Maturity enables it to “realize” that there’s a bigger, nobler purpose for its being.

Sa kasalukuyan

Sa mahabang panahon, parati na lang akong nalulungkot. Hinahanap ang sarili, at para bagang parating nawawala. Pinili ko pang mapunta sa malayong lugar sa pag-asang maibsan ang kalungkutang pilit na bumabagabag sa akin. Pagbalik ko sa Luzon, napagtanto kong wala namang nabago. Ako pa rin ito-- balisa at walang bait sa sarili. Nawawala, naghahanap.

Ilang beses kong pinilit na iwaksi ang nakalipas. Kalimutan na meron akong mga dinadala. Wa epek.

Kinailangan kong harapin ang kalungkutan. Lumuha, at ipakita ang tunay kong sarili. Ipahayag ang aking nararamdaman. Sa mahabang panahon, ako ay nababalot ng hiwaga ng sarili kong pagkatao.

Hanggang naabot ko ang ngayon. Hindi ako nalulungkot. Nakakaya kong ngumiti. Nagagawa kong harapin ang isang buong araw balot ng pag-asa. Natutuwa ako. Nakikita ko ang mga magagandang bagay sa aking paligid.

Kailan pa ba nag-umpisa ito?

Hindi ko rin alam. Ang tanging wari ko ay nagbago ang panahon. Naramdaman ko na lang na magaan ang pakiramdam ko. Ngayong hinahayaan kong tangayin ako ng hangin, ng panahon. Ngayong malaya kong sinusundan ang yapak ng aking mga paa. Ang aking mga paa: nagkaroon ng sariling diwa. Ang aking isip, nagkaroon ng sarili niyang buhay. At ako mismo, nagpapanibagong anyo: handa para sa bagong umaga.

Teaching

I never imagined that I could be a teacher. Especially not in the immediate future. But here I am, teaching part-time, with more than 60 16 to 18 year olds under my care. Almost nightmarish.

Two weeks ago, I got an early morning call from the college asking me to come to their office for an interview that same day. I was barely awake then and I was a little disoriented, so I said yes. Vaguely, I remembered that I made my resume available long ago, when I was bored and looking around for something else to do without thinking too much about it. I didn't think that something would come out of it.

I arrived at the school not knowing what to expect. I wasn't even nervous; it all seemed comical to me during that time. I went right up to the HR office where they told me the dean would be inteviewing me. The dean!

To make the long story short, the 3-minute interview went by like a blur. Suddenly the dean smiled and said, "Welcome to the school!" Before I knew it, my teaching load was being printed and I will be teaching the very next day.

I was in shock. I was suddenly nervous and queasy and confused. What have I gotten myself in to, I wondered. I wasn't sure if teaching was cut out for me, and what can I possibly teach my students? I was losing heart with every step closer to the classroom. The thought of the teacher being more afraid than the student made me chuckle. It sounded ridiculous.

Facing the sea of students, I reached for the remaining dregs of confidence left in me and began the class, starting with getting to know yous and the basic stuff that teachers say during the first day. Eventually, as days went by I felt myself loosening up and enjoying the hours. Sure, some of the students are rowdy, bordering on disrespect even. I wonder if I should get angry, show them some authority. But somehow, I couldn't do it. I look at them thoughtfully and request them to participate in the discussion, counting on kindness once again -- hoping that if you believe enough in the students, they will start believing in themselves as well.

Another unavoidable and inevitable part of teaching is the paperwork and preparation for class. The mountain of papers to check. Sixty different handwritings to decipher. It has become even more time-comsuming than my full-time job. I get exhausted juggling both every single day.

Last week, after I have dismissed the class, one of my students commented loudly, "Ma'am... you seem to be a very kind person." (Students guffaw and started ribbing each other) "No, seriously," said my student, "You're a very good teacher."

And now here I am, thinking about all these on my way back to Batangas, staring out the window as I think about all the other things I can impart to my students so that they can learn how to make sense of the millions of choices that they have before them.

Friends

I shriek in public. I don’t have problems expressing myself. I can tell my stories with all the fancy gestures and sound effects. I can imitate all the characters in my stories--I do all of that exceptionally well when I’m with my closest friends.

I have three very beautiful girlfriends in college. Certified heartbreakers (yihee!), campus crushes, and very intelligent human beings—dangerous package indeed. Whenever I’m with any of them, I feel like I am a guy from nowhere. Well, I don’t look bad. They’re just exceptionally beautiful.

I miss a lot of our triumphant college moments. There was a time when we joined a debate tournament, just for fun, oozing with confidence that winning was next to our names. I don’t exactly remember winning in that round, but we were good! Even in simple class debates, we stood up for each other no matter what. We shared pains, laughters, narcissistic moments, etc.

Now, we barely meet. Exchanging text messages is even rare.

But whenever we meet, the old wisdom is there. Distance and time will find it hard to shake that bond. There’s that familiar connection, traces of ourselves that surface only when we see each other.

Call me nuts, but what am I going to do without my (fabulous) friends.

P.S. : Here at PhilRice, I also have fabulous friends. We call ourselves the FFF—Fabulous Friends of FilRice. Haha!

Victims

I just came back from ARMM. Scenes that I saw 2 years back were the same scenes that greeted me at Awang airport in Cotabato: soldiers in their type A uniform, endless checkpoints, military tanks, rebel camps, and helicopters flying so low I could almost see the pilot.

Then I saw the call for justice in Notre Dame of Midsayap for a girl who got killed for the same reason you probably have heard 3 or more decades ago. On my second day in Cotabato, classes were cancelled as a sign of protest for some operations mishaps by the military. A child was caught dead.

While doing the interview, I was surprised to see our farmer-cooperator in Maguindanao, referred to me as a successful farmer, sleeping in the makeshift classroom we built for the project. I learned later that his relatives were occupying his house, as they were displaced by war 2 weeks ago. Evacuation centers, distraught evacuees, lines for claiming relief goods did not escape my vision. They were everywhere.

I continued with my search for success stories. I saw hope, perseverance in the eyes of the farmers I interviewed. They all wanted to get out of the shackles of poverty that have long entrapped them.

I was teary eyed during my interviews. One of them that struck me was an MNLF commander in Lanao del Sur. He spoke flawless English, and called himself a genius when I asked him how he learned to use the computer. The man was in his 50s, and probably was tired of the seemed endless assaults between them and the military. He had high hopes that through rice farming their lives could change for the better. When we were about to leave, the man was close to tears saying, “I hope that you could help us spread the word.”[That we are here eager to help ourselves. We can do this, and that someone out there might help us in our quest].

As the plane took off on my way back to Manila, ARMM became smaller and smaller. Until I noticed that I was one with the clouds. Poverty is just down there. It will never haunt those who have positioned themselves at the tip of the social triangle.

I got numbed. I saw hope. I saw people eager to help themselves. But then, I have lots of fears. I can’t help but think when will the next bomb explode and blow these people away from their areas--the time when they, once again, have to run for their lives?

Now let me ask the same question posted perhaps by our grandparents during their tender years: When can ARMM people live peaceful lives?

Front cover

When work got so piled-up, and we don't know what to say we often resort to imagery or things that may represent how we feel.

I just want to say that I am still here.. that I am still existing though I am still chained and silenced by my own self.

Melo-dramatic at that. I missed the "being" in me.

The Necessity of Failure

I have read countless stories of success. From famous artists to academics and Nobel prize winners, I have always been inspired, hearing about how these people persevered, worked hard, and inevitably became successful in their respective fields.

Sometimes I daydream too about success and making a difference in the world. The dream of every idealistic youth. I am more of a seeker than a dreamer, but along the way I find myself passionately pursuing a cause, because I derive meaning from it that I cannot comprehend fully myself. This is the only path I know. My heart chose to see what my mind sometimes doesn't understand completely. I am an old soul and I chose to accept my destiny.

Learning that one should stand up after a fall is easier memorized than done. Only when I came face to face with it that I now understand why it is important to fail.

Failure is the real key to success. The devastating, crushing, and disappointing emotional struggle that failure brings breaks seeds. Take a catterpillar trapped in its pupa, patient and strong, until finally a butterfly unfolds. Malcolm Gladwell's 10,000 hours theory is not complete without a string of failures. It took Edison hundreds of bulbs before he can produce the right one that changed the world. Steve Jobs got booted out of his own company when he was staring out. And then there's the Alchemist. The story of success is actually about taking the right attitude about failure. No white without black, no happiness without sadness, no gain without pain, no sweetness without sorrow.

I was thinking about failure again the other day when a friend told me: "Be happy. It means you're being pointed in the right direction. If you are being opposed, it means you are being pushed towards a purpose."

Sometimes I chuckle at God's secret, mysterious ways.

Jaime in da city!

Astoria Hotel (while waiting for the start of a meeting)
J: Coffee please
(dating ang order. Aba may milk pa. OK to ah.Tapos yung nasa paligid ko nagbabasa ng diyaryo, basta lahat sila may binabasa kaya dapat may binabasa din ako. I put out my book. Ayan, mas maganda tong binabasa ko. When the meeting was about to start, I asked for the bill.
W: Sir (bigay ang bill).
J: (Kaloka, 80!!! Liit-liit na mug yun, kasi e, dinamihan ko gatas. Dalawang boxes na yun ng 3 in 1 ah. Hehehe) Here.

Marco Polo Hotel, Davao City (project review)
Friend 1: Ayan na paparating na ang mga Hapon!
Friend 2: Yeah, puyatan na to. Let’s fix ourselves muna. Punta tayo sa room natin.
J: OK. Magagamit na natin ang mga cards na to, slide lang daw to sa door.
Friend 1: Yeah!
(Pagdating sa room, inislide namin yung card and nabuksan na room pero napakadilim)
Friend 1: Oh no, ang dilim!
Friend 2: Cellphone para may ilaw!
J: Ayan may ilaw sa wakas! Shocks ang init.
(We were like that for about 5 min until nag CR ang kasama naming isa and accidentally nailagay ang card sa may lalagyan near the door at nagkailaw!)
All: Switch din pala! Hahaha!

MRT Station, rush hour
J: (What’s this card for? Paano kaya ginagamit to? Ah, tingnan ang mga nauna.
Ng ako na)
J: (Gee, bat ayaw pumasok?)
Friend: Jaime, hurry up heto na train
J: Yeah, anjan na ko. Please wait. (Ang nakita ko yung may red na arrow yung una sa pagpasok. Susmaryosep burado yung akin! Gasgas! Ano ba yan, tatalunin ko na lang to. Hehehe)

PBCom Tower, mag-aapply ng trabaho, nasa elevator

(Ting)
J: (Ang taas ko na, 16th floor! Pano pag lumindol, nagkasunog, naku wag naman sana. Then biglang napapunta sa ground floor. Takbo Jaime, takbo, baka bigla pang sumara! Hahaha!)

Airport
Welcome to NAIA!
J: (Asan kaya ang mga taxi dito. Ayun.)
Sa may labasan lang po yung may mga bus papuntang Cubao.
Driver: Naku hijo, mahal. 300
J: Wag na lang po.
(Kaya yun nilakad ko hanggang sa madaanan ko Nayong Filipino. Sabi siguro nung mga metro aides, ayan mas mabuti pa din kalagayan natin. Naman! Bitbit ko tatlong malalaking bags, may box pa ng A4 na bond paper laman durian)

Whew! You can't have it all.

Uncalled Endings

The longer time I stay here,

All the more I become far away from my friends

This real toxic work cushioned me in a wall that my eyes are the only organs that could witness

Those horrendous things happening to me

People are slowly drifting away or falling from my hands

I don’t want my irreplaceable gems

Morphed like pebbles and sands

Please…don’t leave my side

Tireless worker, I am, pounding 15 hours a day

Puffing from cigar an angry gesture in the air

All I want now is my friend’s presence

What my work have done is to build walls of separation

I want to take hold of my decision

That I will be in a place where my talents are in full use

But clear reasons not to stay abound my way

A work with no play-mates is morbid

Should I take the move to jump out of the ship?

Or simply let things the way they were

‘Coz I will learn how to be used to it

But no please no, I don’t want to drag myself just to do work

I am Christopher and I am me

I am searching for a place where I could best be me

Would this be the company near the onomatopoeic MRT

Or it’s just under the mango tree with Matell, Jaime and me

Churches

(Miag-ao Church in Iloilo)

Our parish church in Canaman is one of the oldest in Camarines Sur. It remains standing amid all the typhoons that visited our place in the past years. It’s made of bricks and other sturdy materials.

I have visited quite a few historic churches in the Philippines. I’ve been to Miag-ao and Paoay churches in Iloilo and Ilocos Norte, respectively. Both belong to the UNESCO World Heritage List. Recently, together with my officemates, we visited the Baclayon church in Bohol. I learned that it’s the oldest church built by the Jesuits in the country.

In college, after or before an exam, I used to spend some time in St. Therese church in UPLB. I love its style—open, no dwarfing walls, air could pass freely. I spent a lot of good memories there. When I was at the brink of failing my math subjects, I spent a good number of hours there.

Big or small, churches always fascinate me. Whenever I miss a Sunday mass, I feel empty. What I love most is when I go there with no special occasion whatsoever. There are no crying kids, no chatter, no one to share a story with—when it’s just me. I love the silence. It gives me the chance to reflect well—being true to myself; until, unknowingly, tears are falling down on my face.

I love the after church effect. There’s an indescribable feeling of lightness. I feel cleansed. It’s like everything around me is new even though I know that they’re just the same. It’s only me who has changed.

I am not Michael

I am on the bus on my way home to Laguna last Saturday night when my attention was caught by the featured story discussed by Jessica Soho on tv. It is just this Friday that the news broke that the king of pop died and I am amazed how the news and current affairs section of GMA7 afforded to feature a storyline right away. I am am struck by the line delivered by Jessica that some or a number of people around the world are affected by his death because we grew-up with the songs he is singing then. That’s pretty relevant for me since I can recall the cassette tape that my aunt used to play with MJ’s hit “I’ll be there”; and the interpretative dance we made when I was still grade three with his song “Heal the world”. Those were the days I am hearing MJ singing left and right. Indeed I or you, grew-up also in those Golden years of Michael Jackson.

And as I look outside the bus window pondering on the news story I watched, MJ is not the only Michael that I knew and shared some wonderful experiences to my almost a quarter of a century's existence. My eldest cousin,from my father side, whom I idolized is named Michael. The person who helped me cross the high wire in AYLC was Michael Castañeda. My ninong from the La Salle Brothers is Br Michael Boughton and my mentor is Br Michael Valenzuela. With Youth on Fire, I met a long list of Michaels – Michael C, Michael P, Michael M i am not sure if they are only three, there cam a point that I think we are using almost all the letters of the alphabet attached to Michael, from the guests we are entertaining. The guard from my previous employer, Hewlett-Packard, also got the name Michael. I got acquainted to two Michaels or Mike in Lingkod ng Panginoon - Makati. One is my Action Group Leader and the other the servant on our CLP. Another Michael is the guy I randomly met in Trinoma and who turned out now to be one of my confidantes. The group I am with now is praying for Michael the archangel for assistance. I am amazed on how I account those Michaels who crossed my path.

I do also read or heard about some Michaels who in a way were part of my childhood years like Michael the brother of Wendy from the book Peter Pan. They visited the same fictional place where Michael Jackson would also want to go – the Neverland. I also grew-up with another MJ – Michael Jordan, he is the man I tried to imitate when I reached the age of 23. ( I am doing some sort of themes on my birthdays).

And as I went down the bus and trace the path to our house, I am thankful that at some point I became an MJ fan and I met those Michaels. People who might have shared the same name yet lived for a different cause. I am glad I am Christopher and I’m finally home and wishing that MJ is home too.

And he's off to Neverland

I still don't know why I'm writing a post about him. He is the king of fancy moves - the moonwalk-- mention that word and you already know what I'm talking about.

His life is an enigma. The King of Pop, who sold records like pancakes, swimming in debt. A revered individual adored by millions of fans around the globe, living alone in a rented mansion. He was afraid of dying young, and he died alone at the age of 50. A terrible, painful irony for someone whose fame skyrocketed, and who, through his music, broke through racial discrimination.

In his death, another irony: the unforgiving public who once tagged him as a molester now scrambling to buy his music online and dancing in the streets as tribute to the man who to this day remain to be a puzzle to all of us. Death truly has a powerful way of making us appreciate people more.

I am saddened that he was never given a chance to redeem himself in the public eye. He was only 2 weeks short of his comeback concert tour. News reports said he practiced for several hours each day, which began since March this year. He wanted nothing more than to be back on the stage, performing, doing what he loves best, showing what he has to offer in the light of the issues thrown against him. I am sad that this man was never given a second chance. Because everyone deserves another chance to stand up after a fall.

May you rest in peace, MJ. Maybe you're moonwalking in the real Neverland now.

Answers

I wish to share these memorable Q&A’s I had in the past—bloopers or what have you.

UPLB Debate Tournament
Opponent: Did you watch Hirayamanawari?
J: Sorry, no, I don’t have so much time now.
O: No, did you watch Hirayamanawari? When you were young (asserting himself)
J: When I was young? No, we didn’t have TV then (the crowd grew wild)

Mr. IRRI OJT (I won first runner-up)
Q: Jaime, what makes a man complete?
J: what makes a man complete is a woman… or another man

Job Application (In a popular magazine)-- 2006
Q: Wow! This is great. You wrote here that you wrote an article about Haydee Yorac, how did you write the article? (the man was a bit tired).
J: Sorry? (bewildered)
Q: Did you interview Haydee Yorac?
J: Sir, she’s already dead.

I love those moments. They happened spontaneously. I couldn’t believe that I could whip off those answers given extreme circumstances. They say it’s logic.

But there are aspects of my life when I just let things happen. I have made lots of decisions without so much thinking,and yet I ended up very happy in the end. I think this one’s simple--not all aspects of our lives can be rationalized. While logic is important, some things are better left to take their own course. A lot of blissful moments in my life were the product of me preferring to leave my wits behind.

Self-introduction

I am who you think I am not

For you I am silent and meek

I am an angel in disguise

I am as thoughtful as a kid

I am a savior from up high

But I am only who I am to those who seek

For those who take me by surprise

For those who often take off my lid

For those who don’t just pass-by

You are just a stranger to me

Another source of agony

In these life full of irony

I am too a stranger to you

Don’t be fooled by me

A man of mystery

Hiding from the masks

Hand painted by my past

Questions

“Will I jog or not?”

“What will I wear?”

“How should I carry myself today?”

“What will I eat for lunch?”

I bombard myself with questions daily. It is my way of connecting to myself. Oftentimes, I even ask questions for no reason at all.

Easy questions like those above are fillers. I force myself to ask those easy questions, to have lots of them, because I don’t know the answers to the more difficult ones.

What's so great about hope?

What's so great about hope?

This question was asked by one of the characters in the movie I was watching yesterday. The movie was about plane crash survivors trapped in Andes for over 61 days. Someone suggested that they should eat the dead bodies of those who did not survive the crash so they can survive a little longer and hope for a rescue plane to come. What's so great about hope, someone asked. They were practically doomed.

Yes, what is so great about hope when you are in the middle of the Andes with a temperature almost below zero?
What is so great about hope when you see everyone around you dying one by one?
What's so great about hope when your only hope to live is to feed off their dead bodies and get a nonexistent radio signal for help?

In that situation it is far more easier to allow yourself to die than to will yourself to live. It brings out the best--or the worst -- in a person. It is in those circumstances that one comes very close to the core of what it means to be human.

So what's so great about hope? It keeps you alive.

Alive (1993) is based from a true story.

(Not so) Technical paper

I have been writing technical papers recently. These are stuff that I hated back in college. Reading them made me feel like I was so far from my full potential, second great, and that I needed to read more. Who would have thought that I’m writing them now?

Believe me; it’s fun.

It’s only now that I appreciate doing the review of literature. When I did my undergrad research in college, rev lit was something I took in isolation. It was just Chapter 2, a standalone chapter. No wonder why I hoarded a lot of irrelevant literature just so my thesis would appear like a geek’s output. My adviser had a hard time editing my work. Had I understood the rev lit well, I would have aced my undergrad research.

Now I’m learning a lot. I enjoy browsing over pdf files, carefully listing down the bibliographic entries of each article, and noting down the important details. Before the day ends, my eyes are reddish, droopy, and I am all of a sudden turned to a wicked creature giving everyone a snobbish stare.

My first professional technical paper was a review of the interrelationships among rice, water, and forests. I was a fresh graduate then with no formal background on any of the said topics. I was new to my job so I did not have the nerve to say no. I accepted the task and gave my boss the “consider it done” look.

But then, deep inside me I wanted to shriek. “What’s this?” So I started reading papers, proceedings of international conferences, etc. etc. I read engineering and irrigation concepts, water-saving technologies.

A nine-page article, on the average, took me hours to read. I remember I kept a notebook, was surrounded with books—my desk was such a mess! I tried to redo the calculations whenever I saw a formula (as though I understood them). And then after reading everything, I would ask myself, “Ano daw???!!! That paper blew me off. The writing process took 6 months including sleepless nights, seemed endless revisions, mean words from my boss, rejections, and quarrels with my co-authors. Six months! It was like redoing my thesis!

When the paper was presented, I felt relieved. The process was painfully sweet.

One last blooper, in the about the author part, it was written there that I wrote about success stories of rice farmers and breakthroughs in rice farming, did publications layout, and produced a radio show. While all those were true, the radio show part appeared like I was doing a morning rush program type with cheap jokes and all (that was below my all smiles picture). I was doing an agri show then.

Now, I’m writing technical papers again—communication research papers. Well, this isn’t unusual. We can all find ourselves loving those that we used to hate.