Ribbons and Paper

Whew! It feels good to sit by my lonesome in the stillness of the night. Ever since I arrived home last week, everything has sped past me in a blur thanks to all the preparations for the office Christmas party which is tomorrow. As a matter of fact, that's how Christmas has always been for me - everything seems to be on high speed and I find myself running around helping my mom, decorating the house, wrapping gifts, doing last-minute groceries and before I know it, Christmas is over.

I promised myself this year that I'd write 25 stories/reflections about Christmas 25 days before December 25. So did I manage to fulfill that objective? Not at all. So before Christmas Day dawns upon me like the morning sun, I will write a little something about why this season is the most-loved and the most anticipated by almost everybody.

Ha! Thanks to the faulty Internet last night, Christmas morning did dawn on me without getting to write anything.

*********

Gifts are particularly common come Christmas. Two days ago, I dropped by the local supermarket to pick up some basil leaves. On my way out, I passed by two girls who were trying to decide which trinkets to get for their office Kris Kringle. Today, I went to the mall to buy some blank CDs and as I made my way to the parking garage, I espied a little girl in a pink dress crossing the street on board her brand new pink bicycle, training wheels and all. I could tell it was brand new because a red Robinson's Place label was still stuck to one of the wheels. Her father carefully held the handbars and the bicycle seat as the girl pedaled, her face shining with unmistakeable joy. Inside the mall, I walked past a family of three - a father, a mother and their young son - having merienda in a fast food chain. The boy was bringing brand new toys from a plastic bag: a set of action figures and a wind-up train which sped in its own circular set of rails. His parents watched as the boy arranged the toys on the table, next to his unfinished packet of French fries, and laughed as the train went whirring round and round until it had to be wound again.

There is something about gifts which can give a bad day a quick jolt and a shove to make it do a complete 180. I think anyone who abhors receiving gifts has got a dozen loose screws and needs a lobotomy. Through the years, I've received a lot of gifts come Christmas and I do have some favorites which stand out from the pack like a gayly wrapped present. For instance, when I was a child, my family and I would celebrate Christmas in my grandparents' house in Mangatarem, Pangasinan. Come Christmas Eve, Mamang, my late grandmother, would give me one of Papang's old socks and tell me to hang them on the window for Santa to fill with goodies. In the morning, I'd wake up to find the sock stuffed to the seams and I'd run to Mamang to show her all the chocolates and candies I got and she'd excitedly watch me count my stash even if she knew very well what was inside.

This year, my mom gave me Mara Jade, my new laptop (trust the geek to give the laptop a geek name), just so I could now retire Lei (my 8-year old notebook) which was, in some instances, trusty and in other instances would just turn itself off for no apparent reason. I was so happy that when I got home, I showed her Mara Jade and gave her a quick run-down of all its features, muttering about how "awesome" it was and how thankful I was for getting it for Christmas.

My favorite Christmas gift by far, however, was the one my sister and I also got from "Santa," 19 years ago. I had been pining for a dog and I had written "Santa" about it for the past two years but he kept giving me other things. On that particular Christmas Eve 19 years ago, my mom ran into the room my sister and I used to share and told us Santa was in the front yard with our presents. My sister and I raced to the front yard and found no Santa there. My mom then said Santa was in the kitchen and, because we were young, stupid and gullible, we ran out and found nobody except my mom jumping and pointing to the sky, telling us to wave goodbye because Santa was in a hurry and that if we looked closer, we would get to see his sleigh flying across the night sky. Disappointed that we didn't get to see Santa (and I was wondering how someone that fat could move so fast), my sister and I ambled back to the living room and were surprised to find two baskets sitting under the Christmas tree. I remember hiding behind a chair as my sister, who was always the more adventurous one, slowly walked toward the basket with the green ribbon, struggled with the wicker lid, pulled it out and then found herself greeted by a tiny, furry black head which popped out of the basket. I opened my basket (the one with a red ribbon) and found an all-white puppy cowering inside, a Spitz-Pomeranian I later named Sandy.

It would take me years later to realize that the red glow I was pointing to in the sky as Santa's sleigh was a signal light in a communications antenna and that, yes, my mom indeed had a future as an actress. What made my parents spill the truth beans about Santa, you may ask. Well, when I was 10, I got the toy catalogue for Strawberry Shortcake and I wrote Santa one letter after another, asking him if I could have the Betty Crocker baking oven or the electric-operated ice cream maker. Apparently the toys were a little too pricey and my parents had to disappoint me lest I burned a hole in their bank accounts.

As much as I love receiving gifts, I particularly enjoy giving them as well. Actually, I look forward to Christmas not because of the gifts I'm bound to get but because of the gifts I'll be giving to family and friends. I love to watch the recipients open their wrapped presents and wait for their reactions once the ribbons are off and the boxes are opened. I love to watch their faces light up like a light bulb - like the grin my dad gives when I get him a shirt meant for yuppies, the expression on my mom's face when I give her something she has always wanted to get herself or the amused look my grandfather gives me when I give him something funny. After all, I spend the entire year keeping my ears wide open, hoping to catch a drift of what they need or want. I love watching kids rip candy wrappers apart with huge grins in their faces. I enjoy watching eyes, fingers and smiles in endless combinations whether or not the "thank you's" come afterwards.

I guess it has to do with the fact that I've been in the receiving end a little bit too much so I need not just to pay back but also, as the movie goes, pay it forward. The gifts come from deep within a very, very, very thankful person.

*********

Gold, frankincense and and myrrh were the gifts the three wise men brought for the child Jesus. These were gifts fit for a king. Or so they thought.

Come to think of it, I don't think there is a gift on this planet which would be worthy to lay down on the feet of the King. I was sitting alone in my room, in the quietness of the night, thinking about this. What gift would be fit for my King? Actually, there is none because everything falls short of His glory and majesty. He created all things, all things were made by Him and for Him. Yet God chooses to accept whatever we offer at His feet as long as it is given with a pure heart. Abel's sheep was the equivalent of the magi's gifts. The poor widow's few pennies were as valuable to him as a rich man's gold coins. The shepherds who were the infant Jesus' first visitors did not carry with them any gifts of material value but the worship and adoration they brought with them were more than enough.

Aside from the fact that they were bearing gifts which were of no compare to the King's majesty, I am not sure exactly how long it took for the magi to realize that they were actually not the gift givers. They, along with the rest of mankind, were the recipients of the ultimate gift of sacrifice - a babe born out of God's immense love.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Sentimental Blue Highlighter Writes '30'

(Note: I wrote this immediately after my final exam in my toughest subject last semester and promised myself I wouldn't post it if the story does not end well or has no semblance of a happy ending.)

10 p.m., October 16, 2009

I am sitting on my bed with the covers pulled off as I am typing this. It actually feels rather good to have my legs graze my sheets again and to have absolutely nothing beside me except my extra pillow. The alarm clock is not set to go off at a particular time tomorrow because I am going to sleep for as long as I want, for as long as I think I need. For the past two weeks, I would find myself awake at 4 a.m. and realize that I have slept on my schoolwork again - and quite literally at that. I wake up with papers rustling in my back, my pens and my blue highlighter strewn all over the bed like a Jackson Pollock work and my books wide open beside me in various states of disarray.

Tonight has finally come. If you asked me yesterday how I think I'd be doing tonight, I would have probably answered "brain dead." This week has become probably the most stressful of my entire existence. It was difficult not to see myself as an endangered specie, one whose very existence and sanity was dangling by a hairline from the edge of a precipice. As each day passed and stress levels hit the ceiling, bore a hole in the roof and shot like fireworks through the exosphere, the day for the finals loomed before me and my classmates like a burly grizzly bear. All week, we swam through the text of the Rules of Court as they floated in our heads like a million random corks in the middle of the ocean. The day had finally come to tie them down to paper. The exercise of answering the examination itself was, to put it simply, difficult. It felt like I was grasping at a hundred helium balloons which were floating in the air in different areas, a situation so tricky when you don't quite know which string to pull out of the mess.

My genius-friend Bryan SJ once told me that he loved written exams better than class recitations. I wouldn't choose either of the two of I had any liberty but he did explain his choice to me with his trademark humor. "At least iyong papel hindi nagsasalita, hindi ka sinisigawan," he told me with a laugh, his fingers opening and closing like a bird's beak. That was the one of the first things I thought of as I scratched my answers on my exam booklet with my pen. I did manage a smile as I imagined my paper rise before me and transform into a mouth like those Harry Potter howlers before screaming into my face like a banshee.

Four hours later, when I turned my booklet in and walked out of the examination room, I felt very, very tired. That was expected. I felt a curious mix of relief and dread. That too was expected since a huge chunk of load had been lifted off my shoulders but I honestly did not know how I did in that exam. My head was spinning and my stomach was grumbling. That was another development I had anticipated since the only meal I had which had some semblance of decency was a heavy breakfast.

But there was another feeling lurking somewhere in the corner, something I had neither expected nor anticipated. It was the quiet, nagging feeling that said, with all certainty, that this fragment of my life would be missed - in a sorely sadistic way that I never thought would be possible. No matter how I much wished I would never go this way again, I certainly could not deny that a part of me would certainly miss all the ups and the downs that came with my ordeal of the last four months.

There were the little things, like the undeniable, uncomfortable silence before every class when my classmates and I would wait for the earlier section to end. The minute that first class adjourned, we would rush to meet the deluge of students (usually Kiyo, Jat and Jonas) and the air would then be thickly populated with all sorts of permutations of only one significant question: "Hanggang saan kayo umabot?"

Then there was that feeling of dread which came with the sound of the professor's heels echoing down the hallway. After all, those footsteps were so distinct they were almost equivalent to DNA evidence in terms of weight and sufficiency. My classmates and I would listen for them and when the familiar "clak clak clak" would reverberate across the walls, you could almost taste the panic in the air and feel the calories drain through your ears. The minute she would walk into the room and effortlessly swing the heavy wooden door open, you could almost hear the symphony of hearts hammering and pulses racing. Everybody stops breathing for a minute, whether consciously or unconsciously. The entire experience was insanity-inducing but, on hindsight, at the end of every class session, it was also as deliciously thrilling as wakeboarding in the Pacific Ocean in the middle of a squall.

The scarier moments would come when the questions would hit the student out of nowhere like shots from a sniper. Sometimes, the student dodges the recitation bullet but in other instances when the sniper finds its mark, makes a mortal wound and leads to the dreaded "Sit down" booming through the classroom like a bazooka, there is nothing left to see but necks bared, heads bowed and hands furtively leafing through pages of whatever pieces of paper are on the desks. The silence is, to make a direct quote, "sepulchral." Prayers rise through the air like steam as the area is scanned for the next target and if such steam clouds were visible, they would all have read the same way: "Not me, please."

The tough moments make their entrance when the recitation shotgun is whipped out and an entire row of people rejoin their seats a little soon after being called to stand, one after another in rapid succession. Sometimes, there are days when you've practically read the entire assignment and committed everything to every possible fold of your synapses, thinking you cannot be as ready as ever. Then with one question, your day comes to an end. Those are the days when the heart weighs heaviest, when you realize that the old adage of "failure means you didn't try" does not apply at all. Those are the lowest moments, when you think you could sink far lower than the Marianas Trench, even when you already feel buried neck-deep in quicksand.

But then, there were also the lighter moments, like the jokes before class about how karma goes around and comes around. Teasing another classmate "You will get called" is practically like opening yourself up to heaven's wrath. This tirade is usually exchanged while waiting in line for orders of instant pancit canton or fishballs, the kind of food so unhealthy that they will surely kill you if the over-the-scale stress levels don't do the job. Wailing is a standard and can come in a variety of forms. The usual goes something like "Hindi ako nakaaral" with matching (fake) sobbing. Sometimes, it can be as blunt as a frustrated "Ayoko na!" or as overused as a desperate "Hindi ko natapos!" The most commonly overheard is "Hanggang saan inaral mo?" which just makes everyone more nervous, especially when the case assignments are as thick as pocketbooks and you feel you've only scratched the surface.

Then there were the brief after-class laughs, the coffee shop study sessions and the rides in my "magic school bus" where none of my passengers paid me anything even if I made the appopriate legal demand. Coffee Bean Balara is probably the best joint to study as a group because hardly anyone ever shows up in the daytime and Cha and I still have a good supply of those "buy-one-take-one" coupons for cheesecake and ice blends good enough for all of our tummies. But the overall winner for the best source of a snicker would be Mims who could still manage to crack a joke about why Herce vs. Cabuyao was included in the subtopic about hearsay when everyone else thinks the world is coming to an end. Get it? Herce and hearsay?

After everything else, there are the class members, the ones you'll remember for their quips, their mannerisms, for the days they have saved the class sessions with their recitation answers, despite the extra strain on their legs from all the standing which could last up to three hours. The ones who will applaud and whoop at the end of every class session, at the precise moment the wooden doors swing shut. The ones who do not mince with encouragement and are generous with the handshakes, the high-fives and the pats on the back. The ones who celebrate the smallest of victories and ignore the bad days. There's Mr. Mendoza, otherwise known as Mr. Evidence, who could recite all 37 disputable presumptions word-for-word without the slighest hint of hestitation. Then there's Miss Rios, the resident Miss Evidence, who picked up a nuance in Africa vs. Caltex which no one in the entire history of the course had ever noticed. Of course, there is Mr. Dumlao, the class saviour who stood till the very last day and could tell you where the periods and the commas are in the text of the law. There's Miss Cabrera who always leaves at 7:30 for her Succession class and Miss Canete who does not buckle under pressure. There's Mr. Muniz, Mr. Quilala and Mr. Revillas who are always called at about the same time, one after another. Then there's Miss Boncaron who is always persistent; Mr. Asilo who is always confident and Miss Salazar who is always brilliant. There's Dr. Simangan, the resident physician; Miss Buenavantura, the class beadle and Miss Martin, the cool cat. There's Mr. Salinas, the perfectionist; Miss Sabitsana, the firecracker; Miss Rial, the one with the quiet confidence. They were labelled as our "first line of defense" because they sat on the row immediately in front of ours and once they were called to recite, it would automatically mean we, the ones who sat in the back, were coming up next. Of course, there's Miss Pineda who is great (and loud) at broadcasting her answers to those who are fielded for recitation and Mr. Ridon who was so unlike himself during class hours. There are my seatmates, Mr. Arcilla with his "small eyes" and Miss Mendoza with her pink laptop who types simple reminders like "Relax" on her computer screen, all visible for the ones who are standing, stretching their calf muscles and have to deal with more than just trembling patellas.

And then there's me, the one who started this walk with a curious mix of pessimism and optimism and will sign off at the kiss of sunset - and the adventure - with a grateful heart, a quiet laugh and a fervent hope that this fight will indeed end well.

Aftermath

September 10, 2009, 8:00 pm.

My pen was making scratchy noises on the paper as I wrote one line after another. The movement of my fingers was rapid, almost fluid like swaying dandelions in the middle of an open field. And to think that the aircon was turned way up high and the room was so cold I half expected to see a polar bear sit beside me and rip my desk to pieces. That would have been convenient, though...to push away my desk and say "Ma'am, I can't take this test anymore. The polar bear just ate my paper."

Every so often the stream of ideas would stop like water gathering behind a dam then would slowly push itself forward, regaining momentum but with a noticeable reduction in speed. With every tick of the clock, my internal river was slowing down, grasping on its brakes like one would grasp helplessly at straws.

Then like a person ramming himself into a brick wall, I crashed into my own cul-de-sac and heard my brain give way with a tiny creak. Uh-oh, the end has come. The horde of stress-inducing nanomites had merged forces with the growing army of Weariness and Nervousness and they had now succeeded in breaking into head and scorching my synapses to dust as they blazed their way into the innermost recesses of my brain.
I re-read the question. "X grabs an iron bar and hits A's medulla oblongata. A dies." The cul-de-sac naturally refused to budge and my brain was now emitting fumes like a pressure cooker. I manage to laugh though. Some guy in a night club named X who probably can't even differentiate his veins from his arteries could grab an iron bar and aim for a guy's medulla oblongata instead of simply going for his head. "Relevant?" goes the question. I still can't get over the medulla oblongata. Maybe X was a Doogie Howser who dropped out of Harvard and could do the human genome project with both eyes closed. Was it relevant that X aimed for A's medulla oblongata? He could have hit A's cranium and A would still land six feet under in a wooden box lined with lace.

My head hurts as if X's iron bar leapt past the test paper. I know I badly need food and sleep.

When I get home, I sit in front of the sofa and watch MTV, staring with a half-empty head at pop stars singing and dancing underneath disco lights in their psychedelic dresses. My brain is still simmering as I drown in my mug of misery called ice cream.

Wow, it's one thing to go through a long and difficult examination. It's a totally different issue when your brain throws in the towel and simply gives up on you.

Waiting

I have been at this since 1 this morning and as the clock strikes 8:30, I find the entire experience to be both stressful and slightly hilarious even if it is akin to waiting for the bar exam results.

"This" refers to waiting for the results of the medical licensure examinations. My best friend took the exams for two weekends and she told me that the list of those who successfuly passed the exam should have come out last night, at the latest today. As of this writing, there are no updates from either of our ends. The results were supposed to be posted in the official website of the PRC and when I checked with Google last night, all other sites such as blogs and forums were also announcing that they too would post the results as soon as they were ready.

That all together struck me as surreal. My parents took the board exams back in the 70s and the results of their board exams came out after about five or six months. My friend, on the other hand, hurdled the last cluster of exams on Sunday and the waiting period for her had been drastically reduced to just a number of days. Back during my parents' time, the results were posted on reams of paper and people had to fall in line to check if their names were on the list. With the advent of the Internet, my best friend and I need not go anywhere but just sit in front of the computer and wait. Not only that, to factor in a human element to the torture, as I browsed through forum posts and comments to blog entries, I practically felt the anxiousness of the med students who took the examination as they put their ordeal to tangible form through blog comments and forum posts...people I didn't even know. I figured that generally, the advances in communications technology had certainly done their part in making the wait slightly less unpleasant.

I was browsing through a blog site which was creative enough to make a red, flashing marquee-like header for the medical licensure exam results. I was not sure exactly if that helped with soothing the stress levels but the blog entry claimed that the passing rate was about 70% according to a source. People then started posting comments to the blog entry until finally someone named Vince wrote that he had a leaked copy of the results. The inquiries then came like a flood with people asking if Mr. So and So or Miss XYZ was in the list. He answered some of the inquiries but gave vague answers like, "Two of the three from School ABC did not make it." Then as quickly as he came, Vince just disappeared from the deluge of very angry med students who finally figured out he was taking them for a joy ride.

I thought it was cruel for someone to turn someone else's anxiety into web fodder. These people, like my best friend and me, had been waiting since the wee hours of the morning for the results and it certainly was not funny to make up some story about having a leaked copy of the results. As a matter of fact, I thought it was downright inhumane.

I am sure as you are reading this, you must be wondering why I didn't think of visiting the most reliable source online for the results of the physicians licensure exam. I did figure early on that the best way to get the news was through the official website of the PRC (http://www.prc.gov.ph). But, as they say, when it rains, it pours. And this applies to almost all things, I suppose, including stress-inducers.

Before visiting any other blog site at 1 in the morning, I had first typed in the URL for the official PRC website in the address bar of my browser and waited for the page to load. Voila! I didn't get a website which hinted at a website of the PRC! Instead, I got a maroon background with some text written inside a box. An icon of a police officer was pictured on the left hand corner of the box and the page carried a warning that the PRC website was classified by Google as an "attack site." When I clicked a button to provide me with more information, I found out that when Google tested the PRC site, malware was downloaded and installed without the user's consent.

I sighed as the comments of seething rage continued to be hurled at Vince in the blog site. I wasn't about to tell my friend to just unplug the computer and go to the PRC but sometimes, there are things such as Vinces and viruses which you don't worry about when you're simply falling in line and waiting for reams of paper to make their grand appearance.

Postscript:

By 11 PM, a few hours after I had posted this entry as part of weekly blogging assignment in a class blog, it finally became official that Sue Ellen T. Abad now had the initials "M.D." for a name suffix. She has gone a long, long way from the six-year old who initially wanted to be a nurse (if the pre-school yearbook were to be a basis).

Congratulations Bad!

Redefining Yellow

"It could have been the sunniest day," I thought as I stood in the midst of a sea of yellow. It was the perfect day to go out, take a walk, go for a run, do anything to celebrate the vibrance and warmth of a life well-lived. The sun was back in her golden throne after days of seeing nothing but rain and the dreariness of clouds.

I was standing across 6750 Ayala Avenue at 11 in the morning with my hair wet all scrunched in a ponytail. I had belatedly decided I was going for a walk and my companion was on her way. I didn't mind waiting because the breeze was cool and the air was thick with a stillness which had remained elusive for the longest time.

A few minutes later, I saw her approaching. She made her way through the street with the quiet grace that had long been her trademark. There was nothing pompous, nothing grand about her last walk except perhaps for the yellow blooms which kept her company or the four uniformed men around her who kept quiet watch.

I waited as she came closer, my fingers gripping the iron railings which lined the street. The metal was still curiously cool to the touch despite the sun's grand re-appearance after days of unceasing rain.

The stillness had since dissipated and there was now a wispy feel to the air, like giant cats padding quietly across a stone floor. My walk was about to begin any minute now and I adjusted the strap of my bag on my shoulder.

Nothing could have prepared me for the deluge of yellow flowers and the sight of my country's stripes - the deepest blue, the most fiery red, the purest white, the most vibrant yellow - draped over a wooden box.

As my former President's body slowly passed my inconspicuous little spot along Ayala Avenue, the tears came quietly in a stream as steady as the flow of people who had come to pay their respects to the woman in yellow.

Martial Law Babies in a Revolutionary Society

I was born during an interesting point of Philippine history - right at the fringes of the martial law era and smack at the doorstep of a revolutionary tide that was to radically reshape the environment that I was to grow up in. When I was a couple of months old, then senator Benigno Aquino Jr. was felled by an assassin's bullet in the tarmac of the Manila International Airport and by the time I was three, the Philippines had its first woman president in the person of his widow, Corazon Cojuangco Aquino.

Bespectacled. Calm. Gentle. Mild-mannered. A woman of quiet strength and relentless courage. It was easy to look up to President Aquino with all admiration and hope as her husband had now become one of my great personal heroes. Her smiling face graced the pages of a coffee table book on EDSA Uno, her thumb and index finger stretched out to form the letter "L," symbolizing the Filipino word "laban." That pretty much summed up how the American-educated widow was thrust into the public limelight. She had taken up the cause of her deceased husband and was now fighting for freedom, for liberty and for democracy which the Filipino people deserved. Little did she know that her fight was not to stop the moment she stepped down from office in 1992. The Filipino people still came running to her like little children with scraped knees everytime the cornerstones of democracy came under intense attack. Willingly she came out of the confines of her life as a private citizen, her clear, steady voice cutting like a knife through the haze, akin to the constant sting a probing conscience makes on a guilty mind. At the last moments of her life, she fought the cancer that had ravaged her body until she finally yielded to the eternal rest that she so belatedly deserved.

To be honest about it, I wouldn't be able to tell you exactly what she was like as a President in terms of policy. I was three when she took her oath and was nine when turned over the presidency to Fidel Ramos and all I cared about back then was my daily game of dodgeball. She survived seven coup attempts from disgruntled members and officers of the Armed Forces of the Philippines and I do know she got flack for some of her policies, including the Comprehensive Agrarian Land Reform.

President Aquino was not a perfect President but then she was someone who worked very hard to do what she could in an imperfect society. The fact that she has not lost the people's respect and admiration I think says a lot about the kind of President she was. Her support was still sought after by people in all the issues which has rocked this country's foundations and has threatened to suck our people's pride dry as dust.

President Aquino's strength and courage as a woman was of a different breed. She was not a Gabriela Silang, not a Boadicea, not a Joan of Arc, not a Xena Warrior Princess. It was difficult to imagine her with hair in wild disarray, mouth curled in a raging fit of anger, arms raised in a battle stance. She was more of deep water which ran with a strong current that belied its stillness. I vividly remember a picture of her sprinkling Holy water on her slain husband's coffin. Ninoy's body still bore the marks of his death and his clothes still carried the bloodstains. Her face was composed and her courage was unmistakable. She was determined, unfazed and focused but all tucked within the folds of gentleness, integrity and conscience. She could be tough and unyielding when the circumstances called for it, when truth and freedom were to the impending victims of a pillage. It is interesting to note how yellow, a color which supposedly relates to cowardice, has come to hold a different meaning in the Philippine context.

Yellow: A Color of Courage, Faith and Selflessness

Ever since news of her hospital confinement hit the country in June, yellow ribbons were seen fluttering all about the metropolis - in cars, buses, bicycles, motorcyces, lamp posts, tree trunks. Masses for her healing were held one after another. Where so many politicians and public figures had failed, an ailing former President had succeeded - in uniting once more a nation that was polarized by bitter divisions in class and politics. President Aquino was a woman of intense faith and she had urged the Filipinos to unceasingly pray for the Philippines. The support through prayer came spontaneously like the yellow ribbons which sprouted overnight, like the love which a grateful people felt for the simple housewife who stood up against a dictator.

Her simplicity was astounding and were she not selfless, she would not have taken the burden of becoming the country's president along with all its trappings, intrigues and the immense pressure. When Ninoy Aquino was in exile in Boston for three years, Cory described that time as the "happiest" in their married life. She obviously preferred a quiet life away from the limelight but because her duty as a citizen called for being more than just standing by the sidelines, she bravely accepted what had been thrust into her hands.

A Tale of Two Women

In a time like this, it is difficult for me not to draw comparisons between her and the current President of the country. Both are women, both came from politically affluent families, both were educated, both were thrust into power by a peaceful revolution, both came to prominence at a time of clamor for change, both took their seat as the highest official in the land with the highest hopes of their people spread before their feet like a sheet all ready for treading.

One has earned her people's love and sad to say, the other is in the opposite side of the spectrum. One has constantly upheld the truth and sad to say, the other has not. One has consistently fought for freedom and justice and sad to say, the other has attempted to bury them. One has tried her best to live a life of integrity and has become a beacon of light to her people. Sad to say, the other, even after eight years, has yet to earn her own people's trust.

The Presidency cannot always be about popularity but it does speak so much about what a leader is when her own people have not ceased to respect her.

Walking By

As I stood by that railing in Makati on Monday and walked along with the procession up until the Ninoy Aquino memorial along Paseo de Roxas, I realized that most of the people who stood and walked beside me were people my age. Most of them might have been toddlers or little children when President Aquino came to power. Some of them might not have been born yet even. But we call came to bid our farewell and pay our respects to the woman who had allowed us to grow up in a society where we have a significant degree of freedom, rights and liberties. A woman interviewed on TV said she withstood the heat and the rain just so she could see the late President at the Manila Cathedral, saying it was her "only way to repay" President Aquino. I understand where she was coming from but in reality, we could do so much more for her by continuing to safeguard the democratic ideals she had fought to restore, by not allowing anyone to take away our pride as a nation and as people and by continuing to fight for what is right, what is fair and what is true even in the simplest of circumstances.

A quick to flashback to 2001: I was a freshman in university and I was standing in the middle of the intersection of Ortigas Avenue and EDSA. Right in front of me loomed the huge image of the Virgin Mary atop the EDSA Shrine as people chanted and waved huge placards, urging then President Estrada to resign. It was almost 5PM and I was urging my friends Em and Shyne that I needed to go home badly. I had gone to the rally without my parents' permission and I had to be home before my mother checked on my whereabouts. We were weaving through the crowd and we finally reached a clearing. We slowly walked towards Galleria but when we passed the gate of Corinthian Gardens subdivision, I suddenly stopped and turned around.

"Did you see that?" I asked Em.

"What?" she asked.

I turned around and walked towards the direction of the Shrine just to confirm what I saw. All of a sudden, my excitement took the best of me and I ran back, my knapsack jiggling as I dashed back to the crowd.

Shyne and Em ran after me while shouting "What's going on?"

I turned around and shouted in one breath, "Cory, Cory, Cory!"

It was easy to remember how Shyne ran faster than I did when she heard me. After all, she was shouting "Kris, Kris, Kris" like a true fan girl. It was easy to remember the faces of the people in the crowd looked when they saw the former President approach. After she did so without the slightest bit of fanfare or deluge of bodyguards. But I will never forget what I felt the first moment I saw her emerging from the direction of the subdivision gate. She was in black and walked slowly, casually. She unaccompanied except by her eldest daughter Ballsy on one side and her actress-daughter Kris on the other. The three of them had walked past me when I was heading away from the crowd. I knew it was the former President when I first saw her but my mind went blank just like the black shirt I was wearing. She had a pleasant look on her face and gave everybody a ready smile. I felt something indescribable well up inside me and that was when I ran back like mad just so I could stand in the same crowd with a freedom fighter.

That memory rushed back to me as I stood momentarily in front of the Makati Stock Exchange on Monday morning. The flatbed truck bearing her wooden coffin had come to a halt because of the crowd. When a quiet chant began somewhere, I allowed my fingers to form an "L" as I spoke in unison with the people on the streets: "Cory, Cory, Cory..."

Testing the Right to Vote

Aside from enduring the sweltering heat and practically numbing my knees as I staggered along Padre Faura in my two-and-a-half inch heels, it certainly was a privilege to have attended the oral arguments in the Supreme Court last Wednesday concerning the nationwide automation of the May 2010 elections. It wasn’t my first time in the Supreme Court but I still found myself eyeing the imposing pillars and ogling at the portraits of all the Chief Justices this country has had.

As the newspapers have reported, the Concerned Citizens Movement headed by Prof. Harry Roque had initially filed a motion for the issuance of a temporary restraining order about a month ago. The motion was not granted but the Court ordered, however, that oral arguments should take place between CCM as petitioner and respondents Commission on Elections, TIM and Smartmatic.

Many issues emerged in the course of the oral arguments but one particular argument proffered by CCM caught the interest of the justices that Prof. Roque was quizzed on the issue endlessly. This involved Sec. 6 of RA 9369 which provides for the use of the AES (automated election system) in at least two highly urbanized cities and two provinces each in Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao. The provision states as follows:

“SEC. 6. Section 6 of Republic Act No. 8436 is hereby amended to read as follows:

‘SEC. 5 Authority to Use an Automated Election System. - To carry out the above-stated policy, the Commission on Elections, herein referred to as the Commission, is hereby authorized to use an automated election system or systems in the same election in different provinces...

xxx xxx xxx

Provided, that for the regular national and local election, which shall be held immediately after effectivity of this Act, the AES shall be used in at least two highly urbanized cities and two provinces each in Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao, to be chosen by the Commission…

xxx xxx xxx

In succeeding regular national or local elections, the AES shall be implemented nationwide.’”

CCM argued that the proviso was mandatory given the wording of the law. The word “shall” was used for starters. In addition, the last sentence of Sec. 6 states that the AES shall be implemented nationwide “in succeeding regular national or local elections,” indicating that the “pilot testing” should first take place in two highly urbanized cities and two provinces each in Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao. The term “pilot testing” was not used in RA 9369 but this was originally utilized by Sen. Richard Gordon, one of the sponsors of the law when it was still in the initial stages as a bill. On the other hand, the COMELEC was of the position that the provision was not mandatory and that even if it were, it had complied with the proviso through its use of the AES in the recent ARMM elections.

Statutory construction has offered three possible interpretations for the said provision which could support either view. However, in examining the said provision, I submit that the mandatory view finds its support in another realm apart from what a former senator has called legal gobbledygook.

I do know from experience how tedious a systems project can be. The process itself is far from a walk along the Elyssian Fields. System development in itself is an experience which can be described as harrowing and horrifying. Don’t get me wrong, it can be a lot of fun but at some point in time, your head starts throbbing and you don’t know for sure whether your computer will overheat before your senses. In the process of system development, before the end product can be delivered to the end user, an important aspect is testing. Testing in itself has a number of stages such as unit testing to system testing to user acceptance testing with each stage undergoing a particular number of iterations. Factor in Murpy’s Law and you start to feel to have a steady supply of Paracetamol. But the bad news comes when you realize that no matter how many times testing is done, no matter how many iterations are noted, glitches and bugs can still make their grand appearance in the actual environment.

It would be healthy to assume that Smartmatic has conducted hardware testing on its counting machines along with a systems testing of the software to be used by the machines. However COMELEC intends to go full blast with the implementation of the AES come May 2010 and that is where my reservations start trickling in like a steady stream of code. The machines are essential, crucial even, in determining the outcome of the elections thus they should at least have some semblance of reliability. No, not just some semblance, they should possess a significant degree of reliability. Reliability, in turn, is assured by system which is stable and should perform according to its intended function without compromising or altering the data input. These are the very attributes which testing is going to highlight.

Before the AES is to be implemented, it is essential that it should first be tested in the actual environment. This is what the “pilot testing” intended in Section 6 aims to do. The “pilot testing” in two highly urbanized cities and two provinces in Luzon, Visayas and Mindanao will reveal possible system problems which could be encountered including user difficulties, system defects, bugs, environment problems and the like. Only until all such permutations have been accounted for should a nationwide rollout of the AER take place. In systems development, despite all the testing a system undergoes, problems are still encountered in the actual environment as not all issues with the system can be anticipated. In the same vein, if the AER were to be implemented nationwide without first undergoing pilot testing with the actual users a.k.a. the voters, it can be assumed that voting come May 2010 will not be easy. The ARMM elections cannot be considered as the “pilot testing” intended by the law since different machines were utilized. In testing, the same hardware and software should be used in the actual environment, otherwise there would be no point in going into the exercise.

Knowing that these counting machines are crucial in reflecting the choices I make as to who should comprise this government come 2010, it is therefore reasonable to demand integrity, reliability and stability. In fact, it is my sacrosanct right to do so. Utmost protection should be given to every vote and part of securing that vote is to make sure that each ballot is properly accounted for. The right of suffrage is the very cornerstone of our democratic society and I would certainly want to be assured that my vote was counted – and counted properly, at that. No matter how some pessismists argue that this is nothing but legal fiction, there is certainly no way that I would allow my voice to fall into a dark unknown crevice, (no) thanks to a mere machine.

Fishy, Fishy

About eleven years ago, I went nuts over my MOPyfish, a virtual pet named Christina which lived in my monitor and resembled a parrot fish. Christina, like her other siblings spawned by their MOPyfish mother, was available for download from the HP website. For starters, it was completely lifelike unlike other virtual pets which looked like Looney Tunes rip-offs. It swam around the screen with graceful fins as if it were really underwater. Christina was fed everyday and I could play with her by clicking on her and she would make underwater somersaults. She had a temper, though and overclicking on her would make my MOPyfish scuttle away into some unknown corner of the monitor.

At first, a MOPyfish's tank came bare: nothing but darkness and seeming depth. But points could be acquired with printouts (hence the MOP in MOPy which meant Multiple Original Printouts). When I reached a point threshold, I'd get MOPyfish paraphernalia like a plant or aphrodisiac which made Christina hyper and give me a kiss. Eventually I learned you could download a rip for the software without a need for printouts.

The realization that Christina's lifelikeness was both a boon and a bane came later. I was on vacation with my father for a month and when I came back, the first thing I did was to rush to my computer to check on Christina. I was horrified when I found her floating on the "water surface" with her belly on the side, looking every inch like a real dead fish! It was so realistic I could almost smell the stench and my stomach lurched at the thought that a dead fish had been floating inside my computer for a month.

For virtual reality, some say the more realistic, the better. In terms of virtual fish as pets, that may not always be the case. And Christina's lifelikeness did more than just scare the socks off my toes. She bore a hole in my pocket and cost me a lot of ink. Back then, I should have realized there was indeed something fishy behind that kiss.

Rain, Randomness and Pigeons

Lately, the rain has been a constant presence in Manila's afternoons. I should have known that it was a bad idea to have the car washed and my friend Joey did give me ample warning. I was walking back to the car when I realized that the sky was clear and the sun was shining mightily with its rays outstretched like an extended slinky. So I decided to bring the car to the wash shop and as the mud and the grime started to disappear before my very eyes, I believe I made the right choice.

I spent the rest of the afternoon holed up in the debilitating coldness of the student lounge, trying to study while trying to ignore the lure of the couch. By 4 PM, rain pours down in torrents and washes away eighty pesos worth of car wash. Oh well, at least the car was clean for a couple of hours.

**********************

I haven't been to the bookstore in about three weeks - and that's a long time considering its proximity to the place where I live along with the fact that I used to drop by the bookstore twice a week to browse through new titles, snag a few free reads and, of course, smell book paper.

On my way home, I decided to make a quick stop to my favorite place on this side of the world. After all the week had been a pain in the derriere and I did deserve a break. Besides, I could use the time to check out which books I could get with packet of gift cards I got from my parents and my GG-mates on my birthday (arguably the best gift anyone could ever get me). I did end up getting C.S. Lewis' "Till We Have Faces" and Malcolm Gladwell's "Outliers" and I was walking out with what could be my weekend reprieve, I looked up and saw the falling drops of rain reflected on a street lamp. Back where I'm from, old people attribute gender to a lot of things, even rain and the rain tonight perfectly fit the "male" type - small, thin pinpricks which hit the ground with silence. This was in contrast to the "female" variant which consisted of huge, fat drops which plopped like water-filled balloons erupting when hit by darts.

Maybe it was the yellow light from the lamp post against the darkness of the sky but the rain tonight seemed to fall with such softness, it almost felt wispy, lightweight, like snow piling quietly over a rooftop (not that I've actually seen snow fall but the movies do seem to show it). The raindrops looked so delicate they could have disappeared like vapor the minute they hit my "Mickey Mouse's dismembered parts" umbrella.

On my way back to the parking lot, sloshing through the street in the rain that looked like snow was practically therapeutic.

**********************

Weird story coming up.

I think I might have a stalker.

A bunch of pigeons live somewhere in that space above the ceiling of the law school building. They practically fly over my head when I walk across the oft-deserted hallway of the third floor while toting my dismembered "Rules of Court." Sometimes, sparrows join them in some game of hide-and-seek but generally, the birds pretty much keep to themselves. That's something that I am comfortable with because I have this unexplained fear of the avian kind. Blame it on Alfred Hitchcock's "Birds" or that movie about ghosts manifesting themselves as hawks or something. The eyes scare me and the way they cock their heads in an almost robotic fashion give me the creeps.

Yesterday was a day like any other in my rather somber existence in law school. I was standing on the open area across the hall from my third floor classroom, parroting provisions I had committed to memory when I looked up to see a pigeon perched on a water pipe above me. That would have been nothing extraordinary had I not realized that the pigeon was staring at me with its unblinking little eyes! It sat on the pipe, neck unmoving as if it had bird paralysis or something and its eyes fixed on what seemed to be my face. I moved my head to the right, to the left, bobbed it forward then backward but the pigeon still sat there, staring at me intently. Then with its beady eyes still fixed on me, it started opening its pink little beak as if it was trying to say something to me, as if I could comprehend the slightest smattering of bird speak.

"Cha..." I called out to my friend. "You've got to see this. The pigeon's looking at me."

"Well, there's no reason why they they shouldn't be there. They live there, you know," Cha answered me.

"I know," I said, aware that I sounded obviously silly. Maybe all the memorization and talk about the Corfu Channel was making my synapses overheat, resulting to illusions about a white bird with a stiff neck and a hyperactive beak.

"But, really, it's staring at me...and it's opening its mouth too."

Cha looked up to the ceiling and started laughing. "You didn't see the other one?"

Bewildered, I followed her gaze. "What other one?"

True enough, there was another pigeon sitting right above my first captive audience, its head and neck somewhat snuggled into its breast yet still obviously staring at me with the same beady eyes and intent gaze.

"This isn't funny, Cha," I said as I began to move away from the ledge. What if the birds were delusional and were seeing me as a large piece of bird food? I started singing the pigeon fling its white body into me like a compies leaping into their prey. Okay, I was being ridiculous.

Cha said maybe I was channelling Snow White. Dahlia, another friend, offered an interesting suggestion which, if I did take up, was going to be as weird as having two pigeons for a captive audience - try singing "Happy Working Song" with the matching "Aaaahh-aaahh." It just might bring in more members of their flock and more bird stalkers to freak me out.

Maybe I am going insane. Or just being over-imaginative.

Weird story over. But that does not change the fact that the birds were still staring at me.

Detour

de⋅tour [dee-toor, di-toor]
–noun
1. a roundabout or circuitous way or course, esp. one used temporarily when the main route is closed.
2. an indirect or roundabout procedure, path, etc.

I don't like detours, especially when the huge yellow sign with a twisted arrow makes a surprise appearance in a place totally unfamiliar to me. When I was learning to drive in Manila and every street corner was as strange as the last one, detours scared me to the tips of my hairstrands. I then had to make use of my inner sense of direction as I'd navigate streets that were totally unfamiliar in order to find my way into a road that I would recognize.

I remember when I had to get a new OR/CR for my car two years ago in some obscure LTO branch located somewhere within the labyrinth that is Sta. Mesa. The streets were narrow, cars were parked along the sidewalk and a couple of streets were closed so I had to take one back road after another until I saw the familiar throng of jeepneys along Aurora. As I made one turn after another in those little side streets, all I could think about was getting out of that maze.

If that was one detour I never want to go through again, there is another detour I wish I relished being in. In Cebu, there was a detour we took by mistake which saw us driving through a breathtaking view of the mountains and a rushing river. But because we were in a hurry to catch a Ro-Ro to San Carlos, all I really remember about that trip was the sound of my fingers angrily drumming on the glass window of the car. All the blah about view of the mountains and the river was just something I tried to reconstruct in my head.

Last week, I turned 26 and everything about this new stick added to the little tally board welded to my brain is a detour. A couple of years back, I had plans of how things would go about at this time of my life and now, those plans are a few blocks away, obscured from my range of sight. Like jeepneys honking their horns, like a train roaring through the tracks, I can hear them, I know they're there but I can't get to them just yet because I need to get in touch with my Inner Compass and work my way through these streets.

For someone who has pretty much mapped out his destination ala the Human Genome Project, being greeted by a detour is like getting whalloped by a thousand pound animal in the face with such intensity that he starts seeing psychedelic stars dancing the cha-cha-cha before his eyes. It is easy to get carried away with the "whys" and the grunting and the whining and the complaining and the scuffling of shoes down an unknown curb. Theseus must have felt the same way as he worked his way along Minos' elaborate labyrinth had he not had Ariadne to guide him.

But no matter what a detour is, despite the extra effort, the longer distance, the expense of time, it still is a journey, no matter how short or how long it may turn out to be. And in my world, every journey thoroughly deserves to be enjoyed with all its peaks and its valleys. Though unexpected, it is littered with little packets of possibly everything which could make this walkabout worthy of every memory cell's mitochondric activity.

Everything that happens in the year that I turned 26 will all be a surprise, pretty much like Jack jumping out of the box, like getting an extra strawberry chunk in my strawberry ice cream. It is good to be in unknown territory once in a while and I easily forget that I had one of the best times of my life when I was thirteen, alone and walking around in a new city in a foreign country.

I am looking forward to a year of long walks
and even longer talks,
tough lessons for the mind
and even tougher lessons for the soul
pealing laughter to rival church bells
endless songs to sing
beautiful mornings
and even more beautiful nights

A year for bones to be broken
and dreams to be restored,
for first chances
and even more shots at a second,
for strawberries to be picked
and for grain to be sown,
for unexpected arrivals
and graceful exits.

A year of tears in battle,
perhaps more tears in victory,
for family, for friends,
and anyone else along the way,
A year for the weary minstrel
to find his song,
A year for the stream of promises,
waiting in the silence of fulfillment.

That should be enough to turn those psychedelic cha-cha-ing stars into black holes.

Redirection

Yes, I do blog...but not here. I admit I am thinking of moving my blog to Blogger but I am loving my Blogdrive account a little too much to do that right now. So for the meantime, drop by Amberle Brin's original home right here: Ramblings.

Remembering the Summer of '09

It's June 10, Wednesday. 11:30 in the evening.

I am writing this inside my grandmother's dimly lit hospital room. The nurse has just brought in a bag of blood for her blood transfusion and while I'm typing this, I struggle with my goosebumps as I try not to look at the bag which now looks like a giant squid with only two tentacles. The summer vacation which bluntly ended last week with my disaster class grants and my hasty departure for Manila due to enrollment issues has been given a new lease of exactly a week (no) thanks to a global health issue simply labelled as A(H1N1).

This, I suppose, has given me an additional opportunity to look back and acknowledge how different and, in the words of my Tita Vilma, how diverse, the summer of 2009 has been for me. Who thought that a lot of things could happen in a span of a little over two months and I did not need to fly out of the country, soak myself in some foreign sun and eat something alien to my gastrointestinal tract just to make this summer memorable, unforgettable and, of course, sentimentally significant. I will devote this entry to make the events of recent months as vivid as the rains which kept the days drenched in a bid to work my way around the erstwhile traitor that is memory. After all, the summer of 2009 had a healthy and proportional mix of both fun and serious matters which kept me straddling that thin line between helium balloons and the bricks of inevitability.

1. Summer, sickness and role reversal

There was absolutely one reason why I had to go back to my coastal city home for the summer: to take care of my ailing grandfather. As I had written in my previous blog entries, my grandfather has been paralyzed from the waist down due to total nerve compression. He cannot get up on his own and needs to be turned every 2 hours or so and he frequently experiences excruciating pain along his lower back.
A case of complicated UTI compounds his health problems along with other ailments concerning his lungs, his liver and his heart.

What makes his situation more heartbreaking is the fact that he is still very much alert but his physical body serves to confine him to his bed. In his so-called "good days," he tries to maintain some semblance of normalcy by still going to his office and personally attends to a lot of work-related problems.

The entire summer saw me practically living in the hospital as my grandfather was wheeled in and out of admission with a certain degree of frequency that he eventually earned the monicker "balikbayan" among the nurses and staff. To add a more interesting angle to our hospital stay, my grandmother was also hospitalized within a week after my arrival due to pneumonia. She was allowed to share a room with my grandfather and she often walked around the room while dragging her IV tubes after her like a steel-and-plastic Christmas tree.
As if having two patients was not enough to give me a crash course on practical nursing, my own mother was hospitalized a few weeks after my grandmother got better! She had severe abdominal pain due to obstruction which in turn was attributed to intestinal adhesions. It got so bad to the point that her consulting physicians (a.k.a. my dad and his doctor-friend) were contemplating surgery. Everyday for about a week, I had to traverse ten rooms just to check on my grandfather and walk all the way back to my mother (who was curled like a ball in her bed due to severe abdominal pain) to give her a quick report on how he was doing.
The summer went by like a routine but we did our best to make the days a little cheerier. Who knew that white could be such a drab color? During instances when our patients would be napping, we would catch a couple of Pinoy flicks or other English titles that I missed. Every so often, my sister and I would go for a quick break by going out of the hospital to commit the greatest form of gastronomic sacrilege in the history of fast food - washing down Jollibee french fries with a McDonald's Coke float. Of course, my karma came in the form of a noted increase in the size of my thighs. I also met a deluge of wonderful people who had the gentlest of hearts and the brightest of smiles (such as a wonderful person named Lani from rehab who is my grandfather's therapist and this nurse whose name I forget who paid extra attention to my mother when she was in pain).
However there is ont really good thing about this summer that saw the reign of the antiseptic. I got to be part of a great rigodon of roles in my family. My grandparents and my mother had spent a significant portion of their lives taking care of me and fretting over me when I got sick and now it was time to switch seats. This time, it was our turn to give back after many years of simply receiving. Most days were difficult, especially when you find yourself sitting beside helplessness as you watch a face contort in pain. For my part, I found that there was a profound sense of joy and fulfillment in keeping watch over someone who used to keep an eye out for me and a infusion of courage and wisdom in knowing that despite the presence of pain and difficulty, there is a beautiful rainbow to look forward to.
2. American Idol Upset

This season, I was really, really, really rooting for Danny Gokey with a lunacy beyond that of a normal 25-year old. I was so upset over his failure to make it to the finals that I didn't watch the elimination results show (I had gotten wind of the bad news earlier in the day thanks to a friend) and I made my way through the rest of the day in a daze. The finale night was a bit anti-climactic but Kris gave Adam a good whallop. Kris Allen's victory over the flamboyant Adam Lambert was a shocker but overall, it was the best results show I had ever seen from one of the most talented batches in the show's history. Now I'll just sit pretty and wait patiently for Danny and Allison Iraheta's solo albums.
3. Betty's First Birthday

I was so excited when I found out my best friend Doi's daughter Sariah Beatriz was turning a year old. After all, Betty was the first baby to be born within my circle of closest friends and I had always known that Doi was ecstatic about being a mother. Betty is growing up to be an intelligent, curious and precocious little girl with the best comedic timing for a toddler. I sure cannot wait to see where life will take her - and her proud parents too.
4. Encore for the Ballerina

About ten years ago, my sister was deadset on pursuing a career as a professional ballet dancer until she realized it was not the best path for her to take. When she decided to stop dancing, I felt as if I lived in a totally different world. After all, my sister had been dancing ever since she was five and the sudden disappearance of smelly toe shoes, rolls of Leukoplast, gel bottles, Spraynet canisters, holey tights and old Tchaikovsky CDs took some time to get used to.
However, several doors have been reopened for her to enter the world of dance once more. For instance, this summer she had been hoping for a much quieter existence but after an invitation to join her former ballet teacher's summer dance recital was afforded to her, she immediately accepted it. After all, it was a chance for her not just to do something which she has always wanted to do but it was also a new opportunity to renew ties with close friends, a couple of which have gone on to pursue careers as dancers with Ballet Philippines and Ballet Manila.
Watching her do her trademark turns on that stage was like a breath of fresh air. My sister's love for dancing has a raw intensity which is rarely found in a lot of dancers. I know parting from her toe shoes was a major heartbreak as she lived, slept, ate and walked in the world of pirouettes, grand jetaes, arabesques, pas de deuxs and other fancy French words. She had a love-hate relationship with dancing. She revelled in the artistic fulfillment and the applause but struggled with many things - her weight, her so-called "bad feet," numerous injuries and her self-esteem which she had lost many times but she has thankfully regained through time. When she is on that stage, there is a ferocity at the edge of her smile and a happiness that is unmistakeably clear. I am glad that at this point in her life, she has been given a new lease in her chosen craft with a deeper, more profound reason for making those splits in mid-air: her faith.
5. Book dates
I decided that this summer was going to be the time for my dates with my favorite writers. I had originally scheduled reading about two to three books a week, a goal which I never followed because of my hospital duties. During the entire course of the summer, I only managed to read a measly four books, one of which was a repeat. I did get to finish Audrey Niffenegger's "The Time Traveller's Wife" which I thoroughly enjoyed because of its direct but intricate prose. I also read "Angels and Demons" by Dan Brown just so I could watch the movie without committing the common mortal sin of book-to-movie projects. I'd say I enjoyed this book far better than "The Da Vinci Code" (which I read in secret during one of my MS classes) because of an interest in the works of Bernini and Galileo (and Milton too!) which figured prominently in the book. I also did my nth revisit of "Pride and Prejudice" which is my favorite Austen work, no matter that my professed fascination for the novel has made my friend Edmund conclude that I, indeed, am a girl. No summer would be complete without a date with Nicholas Sparks which I did through "The Lucky One." The novel was trademark Sparks, nothing fancy or different but still heart-tugging. I did get a kick out of imagining Adrien Brody as Logan and Amy Adams as Beth, the main protagonists, even if the book descriptions did not match any of them with precision.
Right now, I am in the middle of Jodi Picoult's "Change of Heart" which I found to be thoroughly interesting (as always with anything by the author) but the rest of my summer days were filled with other important things as well, so I had to part ways with the sheets of paper just for a while.
6. Getting the perfect summer tan
Of course, being a severe lover of water, summer means hitting the waves and getting pruny while baking my skin to a crisp. Despite the hospital shifts, I did manage to squeeze in a bunch of trips to the beach. During the long Labor Day weekend, I joined Ate Carol, Iting, Ross, Kuya Stan and Mark in Boracay. The rains were torrential and made the 6-hour bus ride to Caticlan dreary. Snorkelling was a challenge since I felt like a cork bobbing helplessly in the water and it did not help that my life jacket's styro packs were getting dislocated, no thanks to the huge waves. When we got out of the water, Kuya Stan even told me he was going to sell his "uber slightly used snorkel." Sitting on the boat when we went island hopping felt like being on board a more subdued thrill ride as our boat crashed into the waves every so often. I tried parasailing for the first time with Ate Carol and it felt wonderfully relaxing as I floated along, sandwiched between the sapphire sea and the blue sky. The bumpy speedboat ride though to get to the parasailing spot stress tested my inner balance (and my derriere's capacity to absorb direct impact) and I found myself on the verge of motion sickness which I rarely experience. In this Boracay visit, I also found a lot of satisfaction when I was not in the water thanks to my early morning walk alone on the beach and another early morning trek to Boracay's highest point with Ate Carol, Iting and Mark.

For a quick beach fix within the confines of the city, another destination was Anhawan Resort in Oton. The sand was nowhere as fine as Boracay or the water as blue but it still was the perfect place to relax and unwind. As a matter of fact, Manang Gracious and I found it to be the perfect spot to take some snaps.

7. Visitors and tour guides
This summer, we welcomed a bunch of visitors into our home. Early on, my sister's friend Maricor had dropped by for a quick visit. I enjoyed having her around since she is as crazy as my sister and has the same adventurous streak too. Even if she technically does not fall under the category of a visitor, I was glad that Manang Apple was also home for a couple of months.
Faye, a friend from GCF in Ortigas, was also in town for a teaching stint. After a number of postponements, we finally did get to meet up and I thoroughly enjoyed being some sort of a tour guide for her. She told me she had not been to a lot of places around the city so I decided to take her some place outside of the city for lunch. We had our meal in my current favorite food joint - Allan's in Oton. It turns out that Faye loves oysters (and seafood!) as much as I do so I ordered two plates of Allan's trademark baked oysters (one for each of us) along with fish and squid. Oh boy, did we wipe our plates clean!
I also discovered that Faye had a flair for architecture and in my part of the world, we had our fair share of old churches, Spanish-era houses and other interesting buildings. I took Faye to St. Anne's Church in Molo, the sinamay dealer's house in Arevalo, Nelly Garden and the other homes owned by the Lopezes along Luna Street and Central Philippine University where we had an interesting picture taken near the University Church by mounting Faye's camera on two monobloc chairs stacked on top of each other. I tried my best to play the part of Faye's tour guide, offering bits and pieces of information which (hopefully) only a local would know. If only we had more time, I would have wanted to bring her to the Jaro Cathedral, San Jose Church, Downtown, Fort San Pedro and the beautiful stone churches in Miag-ao and Tigbauan. That made me realize that there were actually a lot of things which visitors would find interesting about my home city and I thought I should set aside some time to reacquaint myself with a place I may have given inadequate attention to.
By the end of May, my family and I shared our home with someone we had not seen in eight long years - my cousin James from Houston. I've seen him in four different instances in his life: as a three-year old with (in his words) a temper, as a hyperactive ten-year old when I visited Texas, as a lanky fourteen-year old piano whiz and now, a 22-year old college graduate. James has grown so much through the years, both in terms of height and maturity, but he still retains so many traits which make him endearing. His sense of humor has remained intact and he still cracks the craziest (and most sarcastic) of jokes. He is great with conversations (which could stretch until way past 2 A.M.) and is very honest and straightforward. He has yet to prove that he is indeed a "dog whisperer" but he has sure made a convert out of me as far as the TV show "The Office" is concerned. All in all, I sure enjoyed having a "younger brother" around.

8. Love in the month of May

After eleven years of being together, my cousin Nene Loida and her boyfriend Manong George were finally married! Whew, I couldn't believe they had been together that long! Her wedding was originally scheduled around August but because of my grandfather's condition, the ceremony was moved to May. She asked me to be a candle sponsor and I had to go on a crash diet in order to fit into a gown I wore eight years ago. Within less than two weeks, I quit the diet and instead asked a seamstress to transform the gown into a corset so that I could adjust it according to my current size.
The wedding was intimate but there was enough room for spontaneity to become the perfect family affair. The wedding reception ended with the members of the entourage hitting the dance floor with our own version of "Jai Ho" and as I watched my newest cousin-in-law twirl Nene Loida around, I truly felt happy that she had found the person she was to spend the rest of her life with.
Love and all its intricacies is truly a lesson that one learns through time. "I love you" is not an expression to be thrown around casually as the word signifies more than just emotion but a deep-seated passion for the best to be brought out of every person who comes within contact and for complete acceptance to be a natural consequence. Inasmuch as love is a word pregnant with immense sacrifice and responsibility, it is interesting to note that it usually starts with nothing grandiose - a glance here, a smile there, a quiet conversation in the silence of the night - all in the most unexpected of places or situations. Thus getting to know the other person is actually an adventure in itself already. Only time can tell where everything is headed but sometimes, even if the story has yet to reach its ending, the journey itself is beautiful enough to be retold, the memory is special enough to be revisited and the lessons learned are too precious to be forgotten.
This may be my girly side rearing her head again but in the name of pink unicorns, I do hope for a happy ending everytime.
9. Revisiting Mangatarem
James and I went on a road trip with Tita Vilma and Tito Danny to the hometown of our respective parents. It was one thing to go back to a place which holds a significant part of my identity. It is another thing to take that trip back with one person who has never been there before.
I was surprised to know that James had never been to Mangatarem before. For my part, I don't get to visit my father's hometown very often but I had accumulated a significant amount of memories from the place - flying my first kite there at age three, playing with plastic teacups in the front yard, dangling from a tree branch in the front yard, sitting beside my Mamang and watching her unbraid her long hair, attending Simbang Gabi with my entire family for my Papang's 90th birthday and falling asleep half the time because I couldn't understand a shred of Pangasinan. The minute I entered their house in Torres Bugallon with half a Calasiao puto still in my mouth, I could hear Papang singing "Pilipinas Kong Mahal" and my grandmother reciting "O Captain, My Captain." Their scent lingered about the house and even if I didn't spend a huge fraction of my life here, I still felt like this place was home. I took James to the second floor where he saw his mom's graduation picture along with our other aunts and uncles.
Standing before my grandparents' graves, I wondered what they'd tell me and James if they had the chance to talk to us. I'd want to know what they thought of us now that we were no longer children, now that we were trying to find our own respective places in this planet. I would want to know if they would be proud of what we have become because I am truly proud to be called their granddaughter.

10. Faith
Before proceeding to Mangatarem, we first dropped by Manaoag for James to start with his novena. I took in the quietness of the church and started to pray as I sat beside Tita Vilma. When I was done, I looked around and saw people on their knees with prayer booklets, rosaries, candles. Their eyes were closed, their hands were clasped. I can only surmise as to what went through their minds at that moment but there was one thing I was certain of: people cling to their faith in times when the sky is overcast.

Overall, the past couple of months have been a test of faith for me and my family. I practically have dog-eared the page of my Bible which contains Romans 8:28. The Lord works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. In the moments of laughter and the sunniest of days, God has been so good. In the midst of the difficulty, the frustration, the grief and the disappointment, God is still good. It is a truth which I have come to comprehend with greater understanding in the past couple of months. I have faith in God's goodness, in God's promises and in God's nature. He is good all the time and every time, through rainclouds or sunshine, through the days of light and night, through the moments when the snow comes in spring and the rains come in summer.

Through Misty Eyes

While I'm writing this, my eyes are getting more watery. I blame it all on two things: first, on a tube of Maybelline mascara which does wonders for eyelashes but are more horrific than "Night of the Living Dead" when it comes to taking the gunk off and second, the soap I used to get it out of my lashes.

My cousin Loida got married today. I waited for that point in the wedding service when Pastor Luces announced that Loida and her now-husband George were officially married before I changed I hyphenated her husband's last name on her contact entry in my phone. Whew! After 11 whole years of being an item, they were finally married.

Nene Loida and I along with our cousin Candy made up a trio of girls when were children. Maybe it was because they were the closest to me in terms of age difference and I really thought it would be cooler to hang out with my older cousins then instead of the young ones who I loved to call "the kids." I spent summer after summer with them. We'd take turns sleeping over in each other's homes and do the craziest things. We would paint our toenails or put make-up on each other's faces and see who'd make the best looking witch. We'd go out into the ricefields or go trekking somewhere in our slippers and then get scolded for not getting back in time for lunch. We'd try to stay up as late as we can just so we can experience what it's like to have a midnight snack - like drinking Sprite from an ice cream cone. We also spent one night putting a mole just above our upper lips like Madonna until we realized it was more fun to put additional moles or birthmarks all over our bodies with red pentel pen. I still snicker when I recall the sheer panic in Loida's mother's face when we emerged from her room in the morning to have breakfast because she seriously thought the three of us had chickenpox.

Nene Loida was the first one to have a boyfriend but Candy beat her to getting hitched. Now Candy has two children and when Loida finally told me she was getting married herself, I could only say "Finally."

Nene Loida asked me to sing during her wedding. Of course I said yes even if inside I wanted to say "no." The last time I sang for her was during her 18th birthday and in the middle of the song I broke down and started crying. I seldom cry in public and I certainly did not want to do that again. So this afternoon, when I walked up to the podium to sing "Two Words" for Loida and Manong George, I did not really dig deep into the lyrics and stuck my tongue out at the two of them in between verses lest my eyes start dripping again. I got through the song with neither the slighest quivering in my vocal chords nor the thinnest mistiness in one's eyes.

Of course if I end with that, I'd be lying. Because the truth is, the minute I saw her walking down the aisle in my grandmother's white dress and her long veil, my tear ducts started going hyper. I was standing next to my cousin Aiyi who could only say "Hala!" when the teardrops started to get seemingly inevitable. I blinked them back as best as I could as I thought of how long I labored over my eye makeup.

Even if I did manage to stop myself from morphing into an uncontrollable faucet, I did wish Nene Loida a life of happiness and contentment through misty eyes which had almost remained unnoticed.

The childhood girl trio with Manang Gracious
and two of the former "kids"

Me-and-Me

May 1, 7 AM.
Boracay Island, Malay, Aklan

I toss my empty cup of hot chocolate into the trash bin, still bewildered that a Starbucks branch now stands proudly along the seashore of what is touted as one of the most beautiful beaches in the world. I always thought the tourism council of Malay was considering a more rustic feel but with the coffee shop proudly showing off its dark green signage along with a Shakey's branch somewhere in Station 2, I was getting the idea that the more natural look was maybe abandoned.

I had gotten up early and judging from Ate Carol and Iting's steady breathing, none of them were about to depart from Slumberland anytime. I quietly changed in the bathroom and locked the room upon leaving. The morning was slightly chilly so I slipped into my coat and realized there was a tiny hole near the right sleeve. Drat!

It had been a long time since I've had a "date" with myself and on that morning, I went on a long walk. I was also trying to rid myself of the guilt from licking my plate of quesadillas clean the night before when I should be on a diet. I had taken off my slippers and the feel of the wet, soft sand and the cool water between my toes was almost magical. I passed by a number of local kids doing cartwheels on the wet sand, their toasted bodies reminiscent of jumping white dots on a piece of white paper. Further on, I walked by two kids racing their Hot Wheels trucks by the seashore. Upon closer inspection, I realized that each truck carried a rather unwilling passenger - a black and white rodent which was frantically trying to get off the moving toy. I walked past Willy's Rock and Jona's Fruit Shakes. The people began to thin as I reached Boracay Terraces. I then turned around and walked back to my point of origin. Upon reaching D' Mall, I walked back towards Boracay Terraces again when I realized the sun had reared its warm head in the midst of the clouds.

I finally walked back to the place where we were staying and reached a row of plastic benches arranged right in front of our resort. None of my companions - Iting, Ate Carol, Ross or Kuya Stan - were anywhere in sight. I figured they might still be enjoying the company of the covers a bit too much. Oh well, that was fine with me.

My feet were still a bit warm from the long walk so I sat on one of the plastic benches positioned strategically under a beach umbrella, took out my Bible and began to read. The passage was about Jesus' encounter with his disciples while they were fishing. This was my favorite post-resurrection story. The disciples had been fishing all night long and they had caught nothing. In the morning, Jesus saw them and told them to cast their nets on the other side of their boat and to their shock, their nets were filled with so many fish that the ropes of the net began to fray.

At that moment, I heard a loud series of "thuds." I looked up from what I was reading and saw that the morning dragon boat race had just started. The wind and the waves had been treacherous ever since we arrived in Boracay and the sky was constantly overcast. The rowers were definitely taking a serious beating as they plunged their oars into the water and drew them back with all their might. The guy up front who was the equivalent of the coxswain in a rowing team was beating his drum steadily. With every stroke, it seemed like the dragon boat and its rowers could be washed ashore but none of them were.

There were about four boats clustered right before me. From the corner of my eye, I spotted one dragon boat which was speeding ahead of the cluster. I figured this boat was be powered my super rowers with arms made of metal or something. As the dragonboats in the cluster desperately tried to catch up, the leader of the pack simply continued to pull ahead and emerge as the runaway winner.

A person can rely so much on his own strength, on his muscle power, on his intelligence. Somehow the assumption is that such strength, power or intelligence is like the fuel which gives rockets that thrust and sends them into the outer realms of space. People can rely on that with absolute dependence that they are left at a loss when such strength fails, especially in times when they are desperately needed. Going back to the rowers, they may have practiced and strengthened their arms but what happens when the situation they are plunged in is far from the ideal, different from what they expected? What happens when their own strength fails them and the heart and muscle fall prey to vulnerability and discouragement?

The years have taught me never to depend on my own set of strengths and abilities. My knees have buckled, my mind has shut down, my strength has been seeped to the point of emptiness. I've slept many nights and such sleep has done nothing to relieve me of the intense weariness which has invaded every corner of my body like a vine. I had grasped at some things and squeezed with all my might only to find them unchanged and my own hands slashed like ribbons. I have reached down deep inside me to pluck up whatever strength I had left and came up wanting.

God picks up where I leave off. It's all a matter of laying everything down at His feet and claiming the promise that I will not be left alone nor forsaken. Indeed He makes up for everything when my strength comes short, when I have done all I can and everything seems to amount to nothing. He has proven Himself to be faithful and true as my Sustainer in so many circumstances I have completely lost count.

I closed my Bible and sat alone for another couple of minutes, breathing in the sight of the sea and the waves crashing into the shore. I knew that at that point in time, I was nowhere near the shore. In one way or another, it was more like I was somewhere in the middle of nowhere, bobbing with the waves like a cork and I know that no matter how much I flail my arms or pull myself toward the shore, there was absolutely no guarantee that, on my own, I could bring myself to shallow water.

A little while later, I turned around to see Ate Carol greeting me good morning. It looked like she had a good night's rest and she volunteered to take a picture of me sitting on the bench. I was glad to have some company again and my me-and-me time had finally come to an end. Actually on second thought, as I went for my long walk on that beach, I did not really have a me-and-me time to begin with.

Of Driving, Doi, Disco, Danny, Diets and a Despedida

My sister got her DRIVING permit today. Actually it's just a student's permit, her second try after she completely ignored her first one years ago and it lapsed into nothingness. Anyhow, it entitles her to use the car in the city's main thoroughfares as long as she has a licensed driver with her. She took the car out today and drove from my mom's office to our house. I would say that was the longest car ride I have been on although she was quick to point out it was as scary for her when I was learning how to drive myself. I made a mental thought to wear a neck brace the next time she sits in front of the wheel as she slams on the brakes too hard and I'm afraid of snapping my neck off my head. Given our current hospital engagements, none of us are available to teach her how to drive so my parents think she should attend DRIVING school. My sister is horrified at the thought while I told her to cheer up because she will at least get some kind of formal education in terms of DRIVING. But then I do shudder at the thought of having some complete stranger teach me how to drive. The road, with all its hazards, is enough to make me nervous. Add a complete stranger in the front seat and the pressure mounts. In the meantime, I feel there is a need to warn pedestrians and other fellow drivers that my sister is bound to hit the road anytime thus they should keep their eyes peeled for the newest road menace!
Last Sunday, my best friend DOI's daughter Sariah Beatriz turned a year old! I asked to be relieved of my hospital duties on that afternoon and I drove myself to Betty's party in their home in Leganes. DOI has been married two years but I still cannot believe she's a mother! When I see Betty, I cannot believe that this precocious little girl came from her! Betty had absolutely no stranger anxiety (just like her mother) and even if all she could muster were syllables, she yakked on throughout the entire afternoon as if everything she spouted was comprehensible. I gave Betty two books for her birthday and she ought to get used to that because I'll be giving her books birthday after birthday until DOI tells me to stop. Watching my friend fuss over her little daughter was something I wouldn't trade for the world and I am glad she is with two more people she can really call her own.

It's DISCO night in American Idol! The night wasn't as hopping as I expected it to be and to be honest, I did get a bit disappointed as the night was not marked with the 70s spirit. But tonight's show bolstered my earlier remark that this year's batch of contestants is indeed oozing with talent. I really love them all and everytime someone gets booted off the show, I feel really bad about it. For some reason, none of them really performed to the level that knocked my eardrums to outer space. Adam Lambert's performance was good but it still couldn't hold a light to what "Tracks of My Tears" did for me. As for DANNY Gokey, I love him no matter what he does ("bilang fan niya ako" to quote Joey) and I do agree with Paula that his voice is sexy. My mom derives great joy from making fun of DANNY and watching my face crumple like crepe paper. I just want to see him, Allison and Adam in the Top 3 and from that point onward, I'll be as objective as I can.
I hate DIETS. I've never actually tried one but the thought of not being able to eat anything my stomach yearns for is disheartening! Now it looks like I'll actually have to start going on a DIET. My cousin Loida told me I'll be part of her wedding entourage. Her wedding was originally scheduled on August but because of my grandfather's health, she and her fiance George decided to move the wedding to an earlier date. She asked me to use the gown I wore in my grandparents' wedding anniversary so that I'd go with the motif. The thing is, I last wore that gown EIGHT YEARS AGO! I tried fitting the dress again tonight and I felt like Scarlett O'Hara in her corset with twice the pulling. Yikes! The wiry things in the gown were sticking into my sides like chopsticks and skewering me! Double yikes! Maybe I could get through the wedding without moving if that were possible. The reception, however, will be at Roadhouse where the alfredo is creamy, the fish fillet is delightful and the ox tongue melts in your mouth. Gosh, I'm feeling so down. I wanna rummage through the ref for some raisinets now.
It's 11:15 according to my watch which means one thing - Manang Apple is flying over the South China Sea bound for Hong Kong where she will take another flight to Heathrow. My sister and I organized an impromptu DESPEDIDA for her yesterday. We had a huge pizza from Dos Marias, spaghetti in a bilao and chicken wings. I wish she didn't have to go back. Her three children obviously have the same thing in mind also. Everytime she comes home, she is met by great excitement and anticipation but when the time comes for her to leave, the events are nothing short of heartbreaking. I do hope the heartbreak and the DESPEDIDAs all come to an end very soon and that she can finally go home - to wherever her children are.