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.