Sa dami ng nangyayari sa buhay ko, at sa bilis ng lahat ng mga pangyayaring ito, nadatnan ko ang sarili ko sa gitna ng ligalig at dilim.

Wala lang. Well, marami ngang reports, environmental man o chemical, oral exams, departmental exams, long exams, moving exams, at kung anu-ano pang klase ng exams at mga kailangang isubmit ang tapos ko na..pero marami pa rin ang hindi natatapos. Samahan mo pa ng mga productions, field trips at excursions.. hai... wala na talagang pahinga. daig pa naming lahat si kuya germs.. walang tulugan! to the max. at hindi lang pang sabado yan, kundi araw-araw. Parang si kris aquino, araw-araw sa telebisyon. kung siya, nagbrea-breakdown..sana kami hindi.. hai.. kasi marami pa talagang gagawin..

eh marami pa la akong gingawa e, eh, bakit ako ngtytyp ng blog?

wala lang. haha! hmm.. gusto ko lang ishare ang mga highlights ng buhay ko.. pero partial lang, kasi maraming nangyari e

1. nanakawan ako ng telepono. sa loob ng bag ko, dito lang sa may taft, mula sa may wendy's sa tapat ng pgh hanggang pedro gil, doon nakuha ang celfone ko. aksama ko ang mga 10 kaklase kong naglalakad, at mabilis din naman ako maglakad, at may dala kaming malalaking cat bag na sinisway-sway pa namin, pero hala, nakuha pa rin ang fone ko. at hindi ko iyon namalayan. Pagkauwi ko lang sa dorm at tinwagan ang celfone ko doon ko lang nalaman. nakausap ko pa ang kumuha nito at gusto makipagkita ng 10 pm sa divisoria. goodluck! eh, wala nga akong alam sa lugar na iyon e.. kung ano pa ang mangyari sa akin...

2. at dahil doon, may bago na akong celfone. nokia 7710. isang pda fone na mura lang. kinakailangang gamitan ng stylus, pero nakakapagbasa ng word, excel, ppt, pdf, e-book, at kung anu-ano pa. may converter, camera, mp3 at real player, may radio. wala na akong hahanapin pa? medyo masidhi rin ang sinapit ko sa pagbili nito. kasi kailangan ko ng telefono at aakyat ako ng bagui. last minute ko na siya nabili, sa dami ng aberya. tsaka ang pinagpipilian ko ay ito at ung sony ericsson na wlakman fone. w810i na puti. well, dapat makuntento na. at ang bago kong number, 09273774924

3. may binigay na fone ang tatay ko sa akin, at nakalimutan ko sa bahay. isang motorola fone na vga lang. well, gagamitin ko rin iyon someday para sa smart na number..next time ko na lang sasabihin kung may number na ako.

4. binigyan din ako ng aking ama ng isang notebook! hay.. di ko talaga ineexpect na bigyan niya ako ng isang toshiba satellite a135. wala lang. kaya naman masaya ako ngayon, at na-eenganyong gumawa ng blog entry at hindi matulog para makagawa ng report.. iba talaga ang nagagawa ng bagong bagay, at langhap ng estados unidos(how colonial!).. hehe. sana maingatan ko talaga siya ng maayos.

hai.. ayun, nextime na iyong iba kong rants... haha. at ang tungkol sa previous life ko, na sinabi sa akin ni sir aragon... hehe!

Minsan may mga pagkakataong nagigising ka na lang sa gitna ng gabi, balisa at malungkot, at hindi na muling makatulog. Kahit anong pilit mong gawing maging masaya at kalimutan ang mga problema, kahit ilang beses ka pa magpa-ikot-ikot sa iyong kama, hinding- hindi na muling makakatulog pa.

Nagising ako ng alas-tres ng umaga at tatlong oras pa lang ako natutulog. Pero di na ako makatulog.

Pagod na pagod ako mula nung pumasok ngayong Enero. Sa dami ng exam, sa dami ng resonance at isomerism na kailangang gawin, sa dami ng bones ng pating, pagong, manok at pusa na kailangang saulohin, sa dami ng problema ng buhay ko, sa dami ng aking iniisip, nakita ko na lang ang sarili ko sa salamin na unti-unti ng nawawalan ng buhay.

Nagising ako, tumingin sa cellphone para sagutin ang isang text. At muli ng pinilit ang sariling matulog. Pero hindi ko maalis sa isipan ko ang mga tanong at sagot ko sa exam sa lab ng compa ana. Ang dami kong mali. Alam kong madami akong mali. Naisip ko na ang sagot ngayon, pero kanina, sa ilalim ng 2 minute per 5 questions (or more) na time limit, hindi ko talaga nasagot.

Nalulungkot ako. It iyong pagkakataong nadedepress ako. Iyong parang ayaw ko ng magpatuloy pa. Iyong pakiramdam ko na babagsak ako. Pangalawang exam na, wala pa ring pagbabago ang grades ko. Sa ganitong pagkakataon, hindi ko alam kung magiging university scholar pa ako o college scholar man lang. Sa mga ganitong pagkakataon, hindi ko alam kung kakayanin ko pang i-maintain ang magna standing. Sa ganitong pagkakataon, unti-unti ng gumuguho ang mga pangarap ko, ang kinabukasan ko, ang buong buhay ko. Sabi nga nila, kapag nasa mataas, wala ng ibang direksyon kung hindi pababa.

Naabot ko na kaya ang tugatog ko? At ngayon, bumababa na ako...

Nakakalungkot kasi ito ang nakakpaglungkot sa akin. Hindi naman siguro talaga sa grades ko ako nalulungkot. Nung high school at elem, wala na man talaga ako masiyadong pakialam. Pero ngayon, binubuhos ko na ang halos buong buhay ko sa pag-aaral, kulang pa rin. Hindi na ako nakakapanood ng tv, ng sine, hindi na ako nakakaattend ng bdays at debuts, ng mga gatherings at reunions. Wala na akong social life. Unti-unti na akong nagiging hindi-tao. Gusto ko lang talagang makapasok sa med school ng UP. Iyon lang alam ko. At sa unti-unting pagbaba ng grado ko, unti-unti ring nagsasara ang mga pintuan nito sa akin.

Competitive. Napaka-competitive ng environment. Napakalungkot ng buhay. Sino na nga ba ang kaibigan? Sino ang mga kaaway? Pili lang ang mga estudyante na maaring kuwanin ng medschool. Sa ayaw o sa gusto mo, makakharap at makakaharap mo ang mga kablock mo para sa isang golden ticket sa pangarap, sa kinabukasan. Malungkot, sa block ko, ako raw ang may pinakamataas na gwa. Pero ang nakakalungkot nito, marami ng nag-e-eye sa akin. Well, last, last sem, may nagbanta na sa akin na liligpitin niya ako, jokingly. Pero nakakalungkot lang talaga. Sa mga normal na pagkakataon, hindi naman ako maapektuhan. Sa mga ganitong pagkakataon, nalulungkot lang talaga ako.

Uncertainty. HIndi naman talaga ako matalino. Maraming mas magaling magmemorize, mas magaling mag-analyze. Hindi ko alam kung makasurvive ba talaga ako sa medworld. Pero alam kong gusto ko talagang magmed. Natutuwa ako sa idea na nangagamot ako. Nasisiyahan ako sa ideyang magkakaroon ako ng pagkakataong maka-save ng maraming buhay. Pero, wala naman akong sapat na armas. Wala akong talent sa kung ano man. Maikokonsider ko lang ang sarili kong average student.

Siyempre pa, nagseself-pity lang ako. Dahil kaya sa pride? bruised ego? fear of failure? pressure? Hindi ko alam. O silang lahat.  Ang alam ko lang, dumadalas na ang mga bangungot ko. Dumadalas na ang mga paggising ko sa madaling araw. Dumadalas na ang ang aking kalungkutan.

Kapag may lamat na ang salamin, mabuting palitan na. Paano kung ang tiwala mo na sarili ang nagkalamat? Paano kung ang buhay mo na mismo ang may lamat? Ano ng gagawin mo? 

UNang-una, pasensiya naman kay Lenlen dahil ilang beses niya akong kinontak sa surprised party para kay Janis. Alam ko namang pakiramdam mo prima donna ako. HIndi iyon totoo. Hindi ako kumakanta. Tsaka pakiramdam mo lang iyon. Hanglayo lang talaga niyang lugar niyo at hindi ko naman kasalanan iyong nangyari sa klase namin. I tried my best, but I guess, my best wasn't good enough.

Hai... test...test..test..paper...

Nakuha ko na iyong results ng exmas ko last year sa orgchem-lab, compa ana lec, at compa ana lab. Abysmal. Iyon lang masasabi ko. Kailangan ko na sigurong magpatutor.

Speaking of gagawain, hindi ko pa rin tapos ang PI paper ko. Ang PI naman kasi! Kakainis na, kakatamad pa. Tapos may test na ulit ako sa compa ana-lab tungkol sa mga buto ng kung anu-anong hayop. At ang mga skeleton namin ay still infested by hairy, black, extraordinary organisms na hindi ko alam kung insekto ba o kung ano man, at lumalaki sila ng kasing laki ng iyong mga ordinary earthworms. Parang millipede, pero mabuhok (technically, hindi iyopn buhok kasi ang hair ay characteristic ng Order Mammalia — yeah!). At may major exam ako sa OrgChem-lec! Hay... "your toxic tongue slippin' on me..."

At siyempre pa, gumagawa pa rin ako ng post kahit nagglou-glout (tama ba spelling?) ako dito. Trip lang. Nauubos na kasi neurons ko kakamemorize ng mga bones sa ngayon.

Naisip ko lang ulit: ano kaya ang motibo Niya sa paglalagay ng Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil sa gitna ng Paradise? Tapos, binilin pa NIya na huwag kainin iyong apple mula doon. Para namang marshmallow test sa mga bata. Kahit alam NIya na kung ano ang mangyayari (owing to his omniscience), hinayaan pa rin NIya mangyari ang lahat. Bakit kaya? Gusto NIya ba talagang mamuhay tayong makasalanan? Sa mundo ng paglilinlang at ng kasakiman? Bakit pa NIya ginawa si Lucifer, eh, alam naman Niyang susuwayin Siya nito? Bakit, bored na ba Siya, at gusto naman NIya ng challenge? Hai.. para naman pala Siyang scripwriter ng mga soap opera sa Pilipinas, o kaya ng mga telenovelas ng Mexico... Gusto Niya lang tayong paglaruan? Ano kaya mapapala NIya? Ayon nga kay Voltaire, "God is a comedian playing to an uadience too afraid to laugh..."

But, is it enough reason for us to be miserable?

You. Are you miserable? And your excuse?

Ilang minuto na lang, 2007 na! Happy New Year! Happy Birthday kay Janis.

Hindi na ako umabot sa pagrerehistro. Late na ako nagising. 4 na. 4 pm.

Kung iisipin, wala naman akong ginagawa. Hindi ko pa rin tapos 'yung 2 papers na kailangan kong tapusin. Hindi pa rin ako nakakapag-aral sa Organic Chem o kaya sa Comparative Anatomy. Fruitless.

Ano kaya ang mangyayari sa 2007 ko? Hindi ko alam..

Philosophical question: May "free" will ba talaga ang tao? Hindi ba kapag may free will tayo, paano na ang universal plan?  Ang cosmic order? Nasaan na ang divine architect? Isipin mo, kahit ano naman palang piliin natin ay planado na. Kung mayroon tayong 2 choice, iyong pipiliin natin, ay napili na. Kung pinili nating "yes", eh, yes na naman talaga ang plano. Kung "no", ganoon din. Nasaan ang free will doon? Wala lang. Naisip ko lang. Kasi parang pag naniwala ka sa isa, isasalungat naman nito ung kabila. Paranag fatalism o kaya decisiveness. "Bahala na" dahil mayroon namang plano para sa atin, o kaya, "halika na't kumilos" dahil wala ng ibang gagawa nito para sa atin kung hindi ang sarili natin.

Hay! Siguro hindi ko na naman masasagot ito dahil wala naman talagang nakakaalam. Pero hindi ba, may katotohanan naman ang sinasabi ko?

Hanggang ngayon, hindi ko pa rin ma-get over iyong nangyari sa akin one time sa simbahan. Dahil nasa state university ako, at hindi talaga enforce and pangungumpisal, hindi ako nakakapag-kumpisal. Sa madaling salita, tuwing nagsisimba ako, hindi ako nakakapgkumunyon, kasi masama raw mangumunyon kung hindi ka pa nangungumpisal. Isang beses, nasa harapan ako nung lay minister na nagbibigay ng hostya. Kaunti lang ang lumapit sa kanya. Iyong mga tao, nagdadrasal na lang. Ako, ganoon din. Bigla siyang nagtanong, wala na ba? Siyempre, walang sumasagot. Bigla siyang gumawa ng eksena, at ngsabing, bakit pa kayo nagsisimba kung hindi kayo mangungumpisal?! Wala lang. Nakakatawa na nakakainis. Eh, ano naman pakialam niya kung bakit ang tao nagsisimba. Hindi ba isang personal relationship iyon? Lay minister pa naman siya, ganoon pa ang attitude niya. Sus! Religiosity over spirituality. Nasa divine plan din kaya ang mga kinilos niya? O, "free" will niya lang iyon? How hypocrite!

Sana maging masagana nga at maging masaya ang bagong taon! Au revoir! :)

2007 is fast approaching, wala man lang akong na-accomplish this year. Nalulungkot tuloy ako. Parang walang groth and development ang personality ko. Except for some scientific jargons na natutunan ko, wala naman ako masiyadong pagbabago. Nadedepress pa rin ako after each exams, wala pa rin akong simpatya o emosyon sa mga taong umiiyak pagkatapos manood ng mga romance drama na patok na patok sa mga kabataan, wala pa rin akong pakialam. Nakakalungkot. Pero sa tingin ko, dahil lang 'to sa background music ko: Never Leave Your Heart Alone - Butterfly Boucher, galing sa Grey's Anatomy.

Ano ba nga ba ang naacomplish ko this year? Nakatapos ako ng 5 na series: Grey's Anatomy, seasons 1&2, Scrubs 1-5, Desperate Housewives 1&2, Sex and the City 1-7, House M.D. 1&2. Natapos ko ang 2nd sem ng 1st year ko, isang summer at 1s sem ng sophomore year.  Wala naman akong maipagmamalaki. Wala pa akong karapatan magmalaki. Wala masiyadong kabuluhan ang pinaggagawa ko.

Gayunpaman, ngayon ko lang naisip na gusto ko rin pala talagang magdoktor. Sa katunayan, para hindi ako mahirapan ngayong sem, nagdodorm na ako. Iniisip ko, bakit kaya hindi ako nahihirapan mag-adjust? Dahil kaya ito sa paniniwala ko dati na, "I attach myself to nothing and to nobody". Wala kaya talaga akong attachment?

Senti mode na naman ako. Dahil kasi ito sa soundtrack ng Grey's e. Parang laging drama, lagi na lang may problema. Ang pinili pa nilang bida, parang napaka-vulnerable. Iyong mata niya parang kahit anong oras maaring mag-breakdown at malunod sa kanyang maalat na luha.

Pumunta kami sa isang dumpsite sa Las Pinas. Madumi pero hindi masiyadong madumi.As a matter of fact, maraming canteen (read: turo-turo) sa loob mismo ng dumpsite, iyong isa pa nga, sa paanan mismo ng gabundok na landfill, sa tabi ng dagat ng basura, literally and figuratively (nasa prang lawa mismo iyong maraming basura). Kung iisipin, kahit madumi ang pamumuhay nila, kumikita pa rin sila. Totoong may pera sa basura. Php 150.00 ang average na kinikita nila sa isang buwan. Higit kumulang na 4500 ang kinikita nila sa isang buwan. Not bad, 'di ba? Pero maraming risk factors ang pamumuhay sa tabi ng isang malaking basurahan, sakit, etc. Pero ng tanungin naman namin sila tungkol sa mga sakit nila, wala naman daw. Sa mga ganitong pagkakataon ako naniniwala sa divine justice. At kahit na nagkukumahog sila sa ilalim ng nakapapasong matinding sikat ng araw, kahit halos makuba na sila sa kakakuha ng basura, halos maggitgitan na sila tuwing may bagong trak ng basura na magbababa (at mabili lang dapat ang pagkuha dahil mabilis ding tinatabunan ng lupa ang basura), nakangiti pa rin sila sa amin. Kahit nababanaag mo na sa bawat crevice ng kanilang mukha ang pagod at lungkot, nakukuha pa nilang makipag-biruan sa amin. Sa mga ganitong pagkakataon ako naniniwala na ang tao ay marunong din makuntento, marunong din maging masaya sa kung ano man ang meron sila.

Siguro nga hindi masiyadong makabuluhan ang isang taong nakalipas sa buhay ko. Hindi lang siguro ako nakuntento sa kung ano ang mayroon ako. Pero mahirap makuntento sa isang napaka-competitive na mundo. Kung makukuntento na lang ako sa mayroon ako ngayon, ano na lang ang mangyayari sa akin bukas? Kung hindi ako sasabay sa agos ng naghihimutok na kumpetisyon, wala ng pag-asa pang magkaroon ako ng growth and development. Sino bang gustong masadlak sa kahirapan, sa kamangmangan, sa gutom, sa baho, sa hinagpis at dusa?

Naisip ko lang. Wala rin naman akong magagawa sa ngayon. Baka bukas, mayroon na. Kakain na lang siguro ako ngayon, baka gutom lang 'yan.

Sana lang mas maging maayos ang mundo sa susunod na taon!

Merry Christmas to all!

Tatlumpung minuto na lamang, magpapasko na. Gayunpaman, hindi nito mapipigilan ang aking pag-iisip.

Nagiging libangan ko na mag-isip-isp ng kung anu-anong bagay. Sa mga pagkakataong ito, dalawa lamang ang kinahahantungan: depresyon o mas malalim pang pag-iisip. Ang hirap sa mga katanungan ko, wala pa sigurong nabubuhay na makakasagot sa akin. Nakakabaliw. Nakaka-inis. Nakakalungkot.

Sample 1: Gaano ba natin kakilala ang pinakamatalik nating kaibigan? Gaano natin kakilala ang ating pamilya? Gaano kalalalim? Do we really have friends, or are they just acquaintances?

Sample 2: If we all lie, how will we define truth? Is there such thing, or is it just an arbitrary term for an abstract concept?

Sample 3: What is reality? Are the things around us really real? Or are they just seemingly real?

At marami pang iba...

Hanggang ngayon, 'di ko pa rin mapigilan ang aking sarili sa pag-iisip. Kadalasan, hindi ako nakakatulog dahil sa aking mga tanong.

Sabi nila, masiyado daw akong nag-iisip. Mula sa iba't ibang propesor ko sa kolehiyo (UPM)

Ma'am Valbuena (Psych10): Tigilan mo ang masiyadong pag-iisip...

Sir Inton (CommIII): You're overthinking things...

Sir Billones (Analytical Chemistry): Masiyadong malalim ang iniisip mo...

Pero sino ang makakasisi sa akin?

What separates man from other animals, aside from its soul, is his ability to think, to analyze, to contemplate, to understand, to comprehend, to self-review, to review his environment, his reality...

Ika nga ni Ma'am Labay (guro sa English IV sa MSHS): Think! If you stop thinking, you stop being human...

Hay... Mahirap mag-iisip. Daig pa nito ang magbodybuild. Nakakapagod. Nakakaubos ng oras. Nakakapuyat.

Sino ang makakasisi sa akin? Gusto ko lang naman maging tao...

“If we cannot do away with this garbage, I think it is better to eliminate these creatures that bring sickness.”                                           - Lt. Col. Romeo Maganto

Taken from a news clip inserted in Jessica Hagedorn’s Dogeaters, this almost satirical quotation was made in response to Manila’s refuse problem, thus affecting the health of its citizens. Others may view it as something ridiculously funny. Some may look it desperate. Few may see foolish. But, there is some veracity in the colonel’s statement. We, Filipinos, are living in filth, literally and figuratively. We bathe with it, eat it, drink it, breathe it. We live in a world of trash. Yes, funny, for we create our own dirt and yet do not know how to clean it. Yes, desperate, for we are all in vain to clean ourselves up, to clean our own yards, but do it in the most uncivilized way — throw it in somebody else’s yard. Yes, foolish, for in all the haze and daze we are suffering we resort to solutions that will help us escape reality and live a live of perfect bliss and cleanliness, however short it may seem.

Are we aware are of it? Can we distinguish the garbage from not? Can we really separate it even if it’s all made-up, dressed well, sugar-coated, gold-plated, diamond-studded? Apparently, we cannot. That is the exact reason why, as Lt. Col. Maganto exemplifies, we resort to frantic solutions like killing all the vectors of these diseases. To add to these bizarre events, the description of Lt. Col. Maganto is confusing as well. He was famous for “going after communist assassins”. Is he after communist assassins — killers of radical leftists? Or is it communist assassins — communists that assassinates? The novel was well-crafted and well though of that you keep on asking yourself, “Is it fact or fiction?” And that is exactly the power of Jessica Hagedorn.

Author’s Authority

            “[Filipinos have been held] …three hundred years in a convent, [and] fifty years in Holywood…”                                                       - Anonymous Commentator

            For a foreigner who does not know anything about the Philippines, Dogeaters is a sure way to make him familiarize with it, specifically, with Manila. The language and style of Jessica Hagedorn were instrumental to the build-up of the great façade, the Filipino experience. The novel is a tourists’ book, and Hagedorn is the tourist guide. She welcomes us in a very exotic country with very interesting people, whose lives, one way or another is interconnected in a web-like pattern. There are no holds barred. And for me, I became both a native and an alien to my own country, to my own people.

            To some Filipinos, Jessica’s representation of the country through her book to the whole world, especially to the Americans is questionable. The story was a hodgepodge of extremes. The characters were incredible; the plot was fantastic. In short, it was a good, almost theatrical script for a mass-magnet soap opera. But, aren’t we living in it?

There are many characters. It was hard to keep track of all the names and their significance to the plot. They are a mixture of interesting people whom, although fictional, is somewhat realistic. It is hard to believe that they actually exist, yet they exist. It is confusing and somewhat irritating to stop reading momentarily and ask myself, is it real? To add, Jessica sprinkled with more bit players, almost ordinary fleeting characters who are related tangentially to the others yet important nonetheless. Albeit hard, I think it is purposively done and its effect, stunning. After reading it, one was not left with a particular character in mind. One was not left with the twists and turns of the story. But sure one will remember the feeling, the character and the experience of being in the middle of all these people, of all these events in a place called Manila.

The author’s language was simple; her words are wittingly blunt. In this candor, Hagedorn gave a preview of what is life like in the Philippines. She used the mixture of Filipino, Spanish and English words to further illustrate this. For an American reader, there are two possibilities upon reading unfamiliar Filipino or Spanish words. One, he might look up the translation of that word and while searching, may read texts, etc. about the country. Thus, the foreigner will continue reading and be more informed about the setting, the culture of the people, and may understand the actions of the characters. Two, he might get irritated and stop reading the book, yet his curiosity will be aroused and read other books written on English. Such is the power of Jessica Hagedorn’s language and style.

Furthermore, the deliberate used of loan words gave a preview of the Filipino culture. This culture might seem a mixture a hybrid of the Spanish and American civilizations, producing a mongrel kind with lose identity and no roots. In fact it is not true. By being a mongrel, it is rather different and distinct. Moreover, the Filipinos culture, as implied in the novel, is unique even though people themselves neglect the rich traditions of the past and clothed themselves with borrowed religion and blinding modernity. Thus, the creation of three Filipinos embodied by three characters: Abuelita Socorro, Pucha and Lola Narcissa. They represent the influences of the Spanish, American and traditional values to the contemporary people. Abuelita is the Filipino who borrowed her religiosity, rather than spirituality, to the Spaniards, erased her Filipino past, and by dressing, speaking and even living in Spain, called herself a true-blue Spaniard. If it wiggles like a duck, swims like a duck, talks a like duck, it certainly is a duck! Pucha is the representation of the modern Americanized Filipino, who sees America through the Hollywood. With her limited dictionary, she exemplified the wannabes who were bedazzled by the American dream, do everything to achieve it, and brag that they know everything about it, yet in reality the know nothing. They even do not know what it is that they are dreaming. We are left with Lola Narcissa, the traditional, forgotten side of being Filipino. She epitomized the natives, often neglected, yet happy with their measly ways and simple life. She did not turn her back to her past, thus, knew herself better by doing so. Only she was contented and happy. The other two tried hard to escape reality; to no avail, they lived in despair.

The three characters worked the same way with the use of the three languages in story. Who are then the real Filipinos? It only left us with a feeling of bewilderment on how real Filipino culture was suppressed by the Filipinos themselves. The upper middle class Gonzaga family tried hard to forget their native origins and took proud with their foreign blood, however diluted it was. Cristobal even made a genealogical chart just to show how they are related with Columbus. However not-Filipino they claim to be, they were still Filipinos. They had close family ties, engaged in festivities and food was a connecting factor. They gossip as a pasttime and involved themselves both in politics and show business. 

Ethnographic accounts as written by Jean Mallat, a foreigner, were clues to the real Filipinos only clues. They were just clues since these narratives were from an outsider looking in. He viewed as backward, thieves, defeatists. He implied that were primitives, almost savages. Exotic. They were opinions of a person who did not have any deep knowledge about our culture and traditions, to our beliefs and philosophies. But, aren’t we? In the story, it was portrayed that life in the Philippines was filled with turmoil. We have a society characterized by corruption and political unrest, theft, drug addiction, white slavery and prostitution. On the contrary, the rich people were living lavishly like the Alacrans and the Gonzagas. In this light, it was clearly depicted another social problem: unequal wealth distribution.

The soap operas, the movies and the radio commercials were another window to the Filipino culture. They mirror the situation in the Philippines. They were metaphors to our political, social and even cultural conflicts and aspirations. Love Letters, as describe, always end with some sad event. Are the lives of the Filipinos also tragedies? And if so, what are their redeeming factors? What are the moral lessons? The novel was open-ended. With Rio living in the Americas, while Joey living in the mountains, their struggles continue. But they have their tragic moments: for the former, perhaps the separation of her parents and the hardships of living in a foreign country, and for the latter, the expected “betrayal” of his Uncle. The local bold or sexy portrayed the people’s lust for the naked truth. The interview with Madame further illustrated this. They asked about the incident of the Film Center, of the truth behind the alleged graft and corruption. Even with the Daisy Avila issue, people wanted to know why she became depressed. They wanted to know everything. They wanted to know the truth. Yet they failed. Why? The “truth” was aired in the television, in such sense, the people in question became actors, and the “truth” was altered, masked or even completely changed. Or else the “truth” became part of everyday’s tsismis, another wrong source. The radio commercials were a comic relief. The lyrics were illogical yet funny and catchy. The products promised instant relief, maybe for all the problems the people are facing. The Hollywood movies Pucha and Rio watched, in such sense, also gave similar impression. The themes were mostly romantic, with “corny” yet happy endings. They gave some taste of the American life realizations of Filipino’s American dream. America was not only a land of milk and honey but also of romance and happy endings. Even the television was considered “big box of dreams” in the story. It had the power to distort reality to a blissful, utopic environment that only existed in such. The multimedia presentations pointed only one thing: in facing tragedy in almost hopeless search for the truth, the Filipinos often resorted to solutions that would provide them with temporary relief or help them escape reality. Then maybe, this was our tragedy.

Flipping Filipinos

            “They [Filipinos] cannot abide the idea of waking a sleeping person.”         

                                                                         - Jean Mallat, The Philippines (1846)

            To such a young mind, Rio Gonzaga opted to open her eyes to her reality. She was keen and observant. She never failed to see her Abuelita Socorro’s gestures, the native Madonna and Child in her Lola Narcissa’s room, her cousin Pucha’s oversized breasts. Rio was always a spectator; she never acted in any of those colorful scenes. She was almost emotionally detached, in just one corner, somewhere distant. Her tone was rather factual and the only time she felt anything explicitly was when she went back to Manila to visit her old house and she held back her tears. “I’m going to make movies…Not act in them!” But, in the novel, is she making one?

            As a bourgeois mestiza, Rio faced the conflicting ideals of modern, foreign and local environments. The comforts of modern life were explored by Rio with Pucha. The liberty, the freedom modernity assured was a spectacle to her. Her liberalism was expressed when she went to see A Place in the Sun with Pucha without asking for her parents’ consent. It was a film condemned by the Church in Manila and got raised eyebrows to the conservatives. Liberty ensured exploration, and because of her age, Rio was undeniably curious to the world around her. She even let Tonyboy to teach her French-kissing. With Pucha, Rio was free to do anything.

She loved ollywood movies, as a child, and perhaps, only through these she saw America. She imbibed foreign culture only through these and some few encounter with Abuelita Socorro. Rio was not anywhere close with Abuelita. Rio was impressed with the portrayal of young American girls through Gloria Talbott, after seeing All That Heaven Allows. The indifference, “the casual arrogance … [that seemed] inherently America, modern, and enviable” were more than enough to allure her.

Although moved in to that “Promised Land”, she felt some magnetic force to go back to her country. Her main reason: Lola Narcissa. Lola Narcissa symbolizes the indigenous traditions and culture of true Filipino. Often than not, this identity was often neglected, repressed, in the same manner as to Lola Narcissa was often abandoned in the inner room of the house, near the kitchen, where she listened to radio melodramas with the maids and ate her dilis with her hands, “like an agitated, captive animal”.

Rio, even if she was liberated, sometimes indifferent, and lived in another country was still undeniably Filipino. Her Lola Narcissa’s, the local, influence was that great that even if her cousin Pucha would ridicule her or even if the whole Gonzaga clan had an unwritten rule not to watch or listen anything Tagalog that caters to the bakya crowd, she sneak in to her grandmother’s room to listen to her favorite Love Letters. Even during social dinners, Rio only ate her leche flan but not dine with other family members. After all left the place, she would go to her grandmother and dine with her in the kitchen. If the modern and foreign worlds promised her freedom, she could only feel free if she was with her Lola Narcissa, with her Filipino culture. She could “cry unabashedly”, eat with her hand; she could and would feel attention, affection, love.

            Rio’s memory of the Philippines was the memory of her family. In its almost cinematic projections, she saw the country as fast-moving, still-life clips. Picture every picture of her experiences was filled with characteristic events portrayed by unique characters. Maybe it was the author’s way to portray the feeling, the experience of Rio living in a family of different, usually conflicting, ideals, beliefs and principles. She was at times speculative about the events in her life. While watching the condemned film, she interpreted the love-making sex scenes into naïve or textual images.

            If the novel did justice to the portrayal of the Filipinos, who, then, are these people?

            I am indifferent to the idea. If I were asked, what it the essence of being a Filipino, I am surely have no answer to such beauty-contest-type of question right away? I can think of others: for French, the food and fashion; for Italians, the wine and the pizza; for the Americans, democracy; for the Chinese, the ancient Oriental traditions (Confucianism) and philosophy; for the Japanese, Imperialism. But how about for the Filipinos? People Power? Boracay? Manny Pacquiao?

            I always believe that Filipinos was no sense of nationalism. It was of course easier to save your own “turf” rather than care for such an abstract and treacherous idea of a “nation”. There was no single point that will intersect every Filipino. Except for some rare opportunities, we fail to be united. There is no unifying force. They say it was the product of long colonial rule, in which the guiding principle of the colonizers were to “divide and rule” Well then, congratulations! They did it perfectly. After half a century, we were still divided, and susceptible to any rule, that will further divide us.

            Like it or not, Filipinos are a bastard race. Like it or not, we are proud to be bastards. As a matter of fact, we took pride of being mestiza, of being whiter than other people and with aquiline noses. We practice our mathematics by tracing our foreign ancestors and express it as fraction of our blood: ½ Chinese, ¼ American, 1/8 Spanish, 1/16 French or Dutch. Most of us, even the history-book writer Zaide, claim that we are the “Melting Pot”. Yes, we melted them all and we have forgotten our own traditions, our own standards, our own culture. We melted them all, but not all melting produces good endings. I am not saying that we should not change. In fact, culture is a dynamic process. It evolves. But in the course of evolution, the clownfish turns to an iguana. As a consequence, we adapt easily, we assimilate easier than most countries. And we maximize this fact, aside from some knowledge of the English language, we moved out to the country. Result: brain drain. Brain dead. We are left with lesser population of good people, bright minds, promising talents — all are keys to our country’s progress. All our hopes for the nation’s success. We are left with dirty politicians, workers with substandard trainings and substandard salaries and noisy celebrities. And of course, there are some elite businessmen, religious workers and internationally-known terrorists.

            In this perplexity and mishmash, who then are the Filipinos?

            After reading the novel, some of my friends disagree with the way Jessica Hagedorn depicted the Filipinos. They said that it was a rather unfair and untrue characterization of the Filipinos. It was a case of extremes. One even asked, “How would the foreigners who read the book think about the country and its citizens?” I would love to answer. One, I do not care what will other people will think of the Filipinos. We do not even know how to think about ourselves. It was a little unfair, for Filipinos can be generalized, but isn’t true? Yes, it was case of extremes, yet they were still Filipinos, even if they wouldn’t recognize it.

            Filipinos were tormented by the problems of nationhood. It was depicted in the story, and the result was also predicted — everlasting turmoil. We do not want others to look at us backward and primitive savages, but we do not do anything about our problem. We live in a democratic country. We always clamor for our rights. Have we thought of our responsibilities? Blood were spilled, heads were chopped, lips were lobbed before we can have the right of suffrage, for one. What do we do? We waste it by voting the popular, not thinking about who is the deserving, or at times, the lesser evil. Others sell their votes, for the right price. Some let others stole it by boycotting the elections. As with our country, we have the resources, we have all the necessary materials to build a strong republic, a united nation. We fail to see it. We fail to utilize it. Result: more years of poverty, of ignorance, of instability.

            Like Rio, the Philippines for me is somewhat like my family. Whatever it would do to us, even if we have fights, our principles may not agree, if it may seem that it does not do anything for us, we always come back to our home. We always come back, like Rio, to the place that nurtures us without any conditions. It always welcomes us, even if we enriched ourselves in the foreign land, or invest its resources to other countries. It was always hospitable to us, even if we clothed ourselves with foreign clothes and perfume. It can see and smell through us, undeniably, that of a Filipino.

                    Excitate vos e somno, liberi mei. Cunae sunt non. Excitate vos e somno, liberi fatali. Somnus eat non. (Wake from your sleep, my children. The childhood years are gone. Wake from your sleep, fated children. The rest is gone.)

                    There is no right time to start building our torn nation but now. It is our responsibilities to do so. We are all Filipinos, whether you like it or not. We have the same ancestors. We share the same heritage. We are one but the same.

                    “The sleep had lasted for centuries, but one day the thunderbolt struck, and in striking infused life…”                                                                      - Dr. Jose Rizal

   The movie Mona Lisa Smile could have intertwined three different topics: art, Africa, and woman, if it indeed happened in the Dark Continent. Diverse these three subjects may seem, they intersect in a single, unique point — struggle. 

   The film raised the long issue of the subjectivity of art and this was tackled in the eyes of women. These women lived in a very conservative, if not feudal, society. They were victims of the times, and their efforts, at least, to be heard and make a stand were shown. Just like these women, the artist is confronted with different problems. How can he express himself, his ideals and beliefs? How can he characterize nature, or his society or reality? Their acceptance and resistance of what is around him is represented through his art, in various forms throughout history. Man, as an artist, uses his abilities in conquest of depicting his god, his describing his environment, deciphering himself. Who can better epitomize struggling than the people of the third-world countries and of Africa? In particular, since the discovery of their continent until now, the Africans are subject to cruelty and malevolence. They are the slaves, the illiterates, the barbaric, and the God-forsaken people. Everyday life is a struggle, for money, for achievement of dreams, for better standing, for their voices to be heard, for their nation to be rebuilt.

Subjectivity of the Art

   What does art mean to the artist? How do the artists perceive their works?

   In W. Boyd's The Destiny of Nathalie X, Aurélien No was very much into his work. As a moviemaker in his own right, he did not care about the people around him, or what they think about his art. He visualized his masterpiece. He envisioned as if it was already done and he did everything to achieve it. He went to the center of film-making and challenged everything by creating something new, something that is unconventional. He was very confident of his abilities and of his work that people may find him proud and self-centered. When Bandine commented on his film as goatshit and boring, Aurélien answered back saying that the former is not a man of culture that's why he (Aurélien) could not blame him (Bandine) for thinking like that. Aurélien's attitude to the pivotal situations he encountered while finishing the film proved again his trust on himself. He faced his problems like Drelle's surprise plight and the supposed confusion the capitalist production staff gave to him with outward calmness as if he was so certain with what will happen next. To him, art was an aesthetic articulation reflecting reality. It was all to do being human: his lifestyle, ways and demeanor, his mental capacity, his mistakes, his emotions. Artistry should be treated with highest regard; therefore artworks should be treated the same. Yet, as art being an expression, Aurélien understood that people may have different opinions on it, depending on the aesthetic, or cultural, values a person has.

   To Balthazar, art was nothing to do with the creator; it had everything to do with the creation. The people around him thought otherwise. To the most superficial, Ursula, his wife, had first commented on how Balthazar looked like, and how would people may think of it, before she praised his work. José Montiel reacted with such anger because Balthazar hurt his pride with the latter's act of just giving the cage to Pepé, José's son. He did not even think how beautiful it was. For him, it was a cage made by Balthazar and exactly for that reason, it was stripped with all its beauty. He was embarrassed. He could not accept to himself, that one way or another, Balthazar was more gifted and fortunate than he is. José was richer than the cage-maker, and he thought that it would give him the right to dominate over the poor artisan. The villagers admired the cage, but they are more concerned with how much can Balthazar extract from Montiel. They only slightly considered the magnificence of the cage in giving an advice as to the right price of it. They thought that it should be costly since it was Balthazar's work. They identify themselves to Balthazar, and they thought that they could avenge themselves to Montiel by pricing the cage highly. But Balthazar has nothing to do with it. He thought that cage was just like the ones he had done before. Only that, this particular cage was specifically for Pepé. For him, art should serve a purpose, and the fulfillment of that purpose, whatever it was, defined it. The fulfillment of the cage's purpose gave him an unquenchable exuberance; it was as if Balthazar's purpose, as an artisan, was also fulfilled. Gabriel Garcia Márquez's Balthazar's Marvelous Afternoon showed that art was also an instrument of creation and of producing forms, even if people may not have much time to enjoy it. The cage freed Balthazar from the bondage of prejudice because of social status, but enclosed José with bars of the frivolous: wealth and lost prestige.

   The hunger artist's concept of art was very ideal in Franz Kafka's A Hunger Artist. Art for him was neither about talent nor intention. It was an utmost expression of passion, a selfless devotion to his artistry. It was the summation of one's beliefs and aspirations, of ethics and principles. Art was not only a reflection of reality; it supplemented reality with what people could not find from it. Art sometimes solidify something that was abstract and intangible, giving it body and, the artist, the creator, imparting his soul to it. The hunger artist was looking for the "food" he really wanted. He could not find it and that became the very reason of his art. His art then became his means, his life. His hunger was because there was something lacking, maybe appreciation for his art, his very convictions. He could have been finding his real purpose, an explanation for his existence, as a man and as an artist, hungering for that matter. Art was all about humanity and being human was being nothing. Our nothingness was exemplified by the hunger artist's art. The spectators represented the real people in our changing times. At first, the people comprehend the idea of hunger, it was then when man understood his being just a quantum in the universe. It was also then when the center of attention was the hunger artist. And then man filled ourselves with worldly desires and regarded himself not just a speck but the universe itself. The hunger artist was neglected and his cage, his only refuge from these temptations, was put near the carnival's stables. This raised the hunger artist into a spiritual guru, surpassing human frailties and transcending from the material world.

   Hamid, in P.A. Toer's Miscarriage of a Would-be Playwright, embodied the idea that one could not give what he did not have. Art could not have been art if it was not experienced. He could never write a play without knowing at least what a play was. Unfortunately for Hamid, he first tried to confirm his idea to other people. Even if there was substance on his art, there was no form on it because he became very dependent on other's reaction. The infantile condition of drama in Indonesia also inhibited his growth as an artist. Because they did not have good idea of a play, the community had different opinions on it. They did not know what they are looking; they did not know what they wanted. He became too conceited that he failed to see what was happening around him. He failed to see reality on which he could get a stimulus to work on. Again, to Hamid and to his misfortune, it showed that expression and passion were not enough for the arts. Art then was a process of creation. As such, the artist should have an idea, put this idea to some material and process it, and give it some sense of organization and form. Hamid had a little idea; he did not know the rest.

Africa: the Great Rift

   Mia Couto's A Girl with a Twisted Future and Ben Okri's In the Shadow of the War had linear plots. Both were simply written, but in its astounding simplicity lay the complexity of the stories. Both stories were written in the eyes of a third person only that, in In the Shadow was biased to a child's point of view. Both happened in post-colonial rural Africa, plagued with poverty, malnutrition, inequality and corruption. These problems were reflected in the story, but in a different manner.

   On one hand, A Girl with a Twisted Future focused on socio-economic problems like poverty and greedy capitalism. Joseldo realized his status and that he was terribly bitter about it. He wanted to escape from the clutches of poverty and he wanted to flee from it immediately, in every possible way. That was his conflict; he had a fierce fight from his social status and the answer to his problem: his daughter. He used Filomeninha as a weapon to become an instant millionaire. He became too ambitious that he ceased to care about her daughter. He became heartless and callous. It was not even far-fetched if he trained his other children to other acrobatic and almost impossible techniques after his daughter was buried just to please the impresario.

   On the other, In the Shadow of the War concentrated on the civil war and the dark effects of it to the people of Africa, specially the children. Omovo, an eight-year old Nigerian, was bewildered by a mysterious lady who turned out to be a rebel. By following her, he saw how terrible the war was: homeless people, children with kwashiorkor, corpse of people flowing in the river. He listened to war as it reverberated death and gloom. It was all man's doing. A difference in ideals or beliefs, a stand for supremacy over land among others, or a simple misunderstanding caused much destruction to everybody. Some might think that it was an inevitable sacrifice, a sacrifice no one was willing to make, yet everybody was affected by a decision of a few. Here arouse the conflict of the story. In a war, all should take sides, even if one did not want to. It was all either white or black, for or against one party. The same problem was encountered by Omovo and his father. After all he had witnessed, would he be for the government or for the rebellion?

   Again, these simple stories brought what was Africa as the Africans knew it. It was a land of rich culture and traditions. They are poor in other things. With the diversity of these tribes and people, diversity in principles developed. There was no sense of nationhood and of unity for progress. They acted differently, warring each other for any reasons, for every reasons. They failed to set a single goal, to see a single and better future that lay ahead of them. Until they realized it, just like any other developing countries, there would always be a struggle, a war against poverty and corruption, against themselves.

Portrait of a Woman

   In K. Tuvera's Phantom Pains, women were portrayed in two roles: as a mother and as a daughter. Celing was congenial to other people. She actively participated in community activities: gossips and even pag-akyat. But she was domineering, to her family. She was stern and cold. She wanted always to be in control, and then, Anna, her daughter, became pregnant to a child out of wedlock. Seling, taking again her position, forced her daughter to abort the child. To most, motherhood was, is, the fulfillment of womanhood. This she had taken from her own daughter. Anna shut herself to the whole world, to her family, to her mother. She lost her child; she lost her hope. She lost her love. She rebelled. Anna had taken from Seling the right to be her mother, the same thing that her mother had taken from her. These were their phantom pains.

   Ah San, in C. Hau's Firetrees and Orange Sundays, was a good daughter, sibling, and maintained a harmonious relationship to others. She was intelligent; she even got a scholarship to the US. She was a Filipino-Chinese maintaining traditional ties to her roots. But her family was poor. Apparently, this caused some conflict in the story. Filipino-Chinese were always thought to be wealthy, the reason of common kidnappings from their community. Her brother was killed after he was unintentionally kidnapped because he was with a rich friend. Her father was confined to a hospital ward full of roaches that annoyed him. To boot, she was a lesbian. This added to her worries. One of which was her conservative mother's reaction. How would her community react to this? Aside from that, the Filipinos were not ready for it. Yet, she was strong and faced the consequences of her decisions.

   Women and their position in the Japanese society were portrayed in Y. Kawabata's The Moon on the Water. As expected, Kyoko was very obedient as a wife. She never said a word about her feelings to her husband. She was very submissive to traditions, yet there is a degree of repulsion in her actions. Her coldness was never noticed by her second husband. To her first, she was loving, albeit took refuge not beside him, but to her garden. They did not given her the opportunity to speak. Only through the mirrors, they saw her. Kyoko, like other women, was measured against other people's notions. She did not have concrete self-concept; she always relied on her reflection. Who she was was always who she was to the eyes of other people, to her husbands.

   To Vesta, in W.S. Maugham's Flotsam and Jetsam, her womanhood was determined by her strong will. She married her husband knowing that through him, she could get back to England. It was all she lived for. But when her husband did not want to go, it was as if her life was taken. Until she fell in love with another Englishman and felt alive again. Her husband killed the guy and this caused her to fight him. She had a tic, a reminder of the gruesome past, a reminder that she needed to avenge herself. She could not care less to the people around her. She had only one goal: to see her husband suffer even if that means that she will also suffer. There was no remorse warmth, as oppose to her name suggested. "To hell with life!"

Hell!

I was looking at my planner and I realized, what a damn-hell-like semester it was!

I felt great, relieved... Really... You don't know how much invigorating to look at your schedule and saw that you couldn't make a doodle on any of the boxes because it was all full. Or do you?

I feel the energy, the vibe... To think I had labored much..really, I was near burn-out... I really felt it...

I just finished watchig the first half of teh first season of Grey's Anatomy... Actually, I have seen all those episodes..but i just want to watch it again.. And I love it.. the drama, the suspense.. And it inspires me to pursue my medicine studies...which can be good...(although of course, it is a drama..and probably not the best source of what studying medicine really looks like, right?)

There will be a lot of changes i am going to face...

like moving out from our house to live in a dormitory near the school (deciding upon this matter is like crossing the Rubicon for me)...

well, actually it's the only thing... but it's like a big change for me.. i do not know..

maybe i'll just cross the bridge when i get there..and just face it...

ill talk about it next time. :)

For me, sleep isn't a right anymore. It is a privelege. After a week of naps, I really felt exhausted yesterday. And for what reasons?

I had a very busy week... Really busy it was .

A week of departmental exams, of quizzes, of formal papers, of quizzes and reports, who wouldn't be?

Abd this week? Again, another one of its kind.

I may not sleep again. An eight-hour rest is something that will bother my conscience. Really. I am tired. I am very, very tired. Yet, I have no right to blame anyone. I asked for it. And here I am.

Great! My chance of getting taller is now getting dimmer. Somatotropin, the growth hormone my anterior pituitary gland secretes that promotes, yes, my growth, is highest during very deep slumber, or a very active activity (sorry for the lost of a better word). I really hope reading, thinking and analyzing can be considered an active one.

How tired I am? Actually, it exudes me. Our professor in my ComIII class, Sir  Inton, actually noticed it.

And I am wasting my time now, typing a very uninteresting post.

Sigh...