Mom theorized I maybe reaching another level in Maslow's hierarchy of needs.
I wish I can be easily content like the others. I'm just too restless when it comes to learning I guess. My lifeplans have been delayed enough.
To those I will miss, well...I hope I don't. Coz if we keep in touch, there'll be no problem right? Take care still. And thanks. Really.
It's funny, how I could mellow down on another matter though. Not in vain, I hope.
Whenever my Kuya Aldo sets his brilliant mind to something, he definitely gets it.
My Kuya Aldo who is currently studying at the University of Singapore, has been invited to present his paper at the Australasian Postgraduate Philosophy Conference 2008. The APPC, which will be held on March 26 to 28, is hosted by the University of Sydney and invites students from all over the Australasia region to discuss their research with one other.
See details of my Kuya Aldo's paper here --> http://www.conferences.arts.usyd.edu.au/viewabstract.php?id=803&cf=16
Kuya Aldo WE LOVE YOU and WE'RE SO PROUD OF YOU!
MUWAAAAAAH! HUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGZZZZZZZZ! ;->
I'm the type to give a dog a hefty chunk if he pushes the pity button long enough.
Mom got the early warning when I was a kid. She told me I've the habit of getting lost in bookstores. Inside National, the never-let-go-of-mom's-hand-rule was often forgotten as I wandered dazed as if I was in some fairy land.
Maybe it’s the stubborn resolve to see things with rose-tinted glasses or the desperate hope of believing in the innate goodness of a person. Or hey, a good friend of mine would put it as just plain naivety.
Curiosity killed the cat Marisse. You're on sabbatical remember?
Can anyone tell me… Are stars hard or soft?
I gingerly touch the skin peeling off my right hand.
Silence is broken as I turn another page.
I look out. An ungodly hour.
My heart has wings.
You black hearted bitch.
Your classless gesture only shows your lack of professional ethics and downright disregard for people’s feelings. Your attempt to downplay the gravity of the situation only shows how guilty you are. You know you’re wrong.
And even if you don’t, it doesn’t matter, because everyone who cares about her, everyone who appreciates how committed she is with her duties and caring with the people she works with, everyone who sees her wake up way too early every day and bring that goddamn suitcase filled with paperwork at home, everyone who is aware that she extends regular hours and toils on weekends even, knows you sure as hell are.
Keep telling yourself you did the right thing, that you did it as properly and as professionally as possible. Maybe your shadow will convince itself and believe that gross lie someday. Personally, I’d like to beat you senseless with a phone.
Be thankful I’ve never met you. She'll never allow me to be this vindictive of course. Be thankful that the person that you did this to is such a saint. In this life, I am proud to fight for her cause. If I forget everything she taught me, as young, inexperienced and obviously emotional I maybe am, I would have done everything in my power to hurt you. But then again, she would not have wanted that.
This blessed person would move on, rise from this pain and continue being the good person, dedicated and EFFICIENT worker that she is. This gentle soul is above me in temperament and can shield herself from the ways of the morally depraved. She's above all this muck you created. Most importantly and most definitely, she's above you.
I dearly wish you have a sad Christmas, you sicko.
But then again, you already lead a sad life, don't you?
I am not anyone's prey.
I am supposed to be your friend.
All good things...
Back in high school, I used to have this big crush on Prince William. He just looks so polished and charming and stuff.
So for those who knew me back then, it might come as a surprise when I say I think I'm liking Prince Harry more now. The emotions he shows in his pixes seems more genuine. Plus the way he smiles at Chelsey is so cute.
Hihi! Breather lang. =>
Is this stress?
Lately, I wake up feeling as if my heart has wings.
Good thing I was saved today from that uncomfortable sensation by the absolutely adorable Pamangkins Galore, Inc. The earthquake I surmised that's happening, was actually the kiddos jumping on my bed and imploring me to play with them at the pool. I managed to convince myself that I still have a chance of a lazy holiday amidst the cacophony of “Am-ams”, “Tita palaro ng cellphones nyo!”, and “Tita pahingi ng Yakult!” I say yes to all requests. With half-closed eyes, I chucked out the following items from the cabinets: a handful of chocolates, a pack of jackfruit chips, a bag of sugar flowers, leftover cream of mushroom soup and well, practically anything edible I could find to feed the sugar and calorie-hungry kiddos.
Thought everything was going great having finished laps with Mariah & Kean, played submarine with Kaela, and caught Nae Nae several times as she courageously dives belly first into the water. I closed my eyes while doing the backfloat and whispered the mantra “Don’t think about it. No deadlines. No responsibilities.”
I was resting in a corner when Papa arrived. He’d just accompanied Mom and Nanay for Nay’s check-up. I stared into the water and started making a list of things to do in my head. I snapped out of reverie when Lisa called out, observing my sudden silence. I looked up and played submarine again with Kaela.
Is it okay to say I’m worried for my namesake?
Is it okay to say to the world - friends, officemates, acquaintances, “I’m sorry, I’ve to conserve my energy for my circle and attend to them muna?”
Come tomorrow, I’ll have to lock the smile on my face again because someone's always bound to make this stupid comment: “Buti pa si Marisse, walang pinoproblema!”
A confidant just asked me this evening, “Hanggang kelan mo bubuhatin ang pamilya mo?”
Hangga’t kaya.
And everything they stand for.
I'd give my arms, no my limbs, no, my SOUL, for all my loveones to be healthy forever and ever and ever.
You are running away from everyone
who loves you,
from your family,
from old lovers, from friends.
They run after you with accumulations
of a former life, copper earrings,
plates of noodles, banners
of many lost revolutions.
You love to say the trees are naked now
because it never happens
in your country. This is a mystery
from which you will never
recover. And yes, the trees are naked now,
everything that still breathes in them
lies silent and stark
and waiting. You love October most
of all, how there is no word
for so much splendor.
This, too, is a source
of consolation. Between you and memory
everything is water. Names of the dead,
or saints, or history.
There is a realm in which
-- no, forget it,
it's still too early to make anyone understand.
A man drives a stake
through his own heart
and afterwards the opposite of nostalgia
begins to make sense: he stops raking the leaves
and the leaves take over
and again he has learned
to let go.
by Eric Gamalinda
I allowed myself to cry this time.
When Lola Maria died, I was at the awkward phase of adolescence and was a bit gung-ho about proving how grown up I was already. During the wake, I foolishly convinced myself that shedding tears is only for the weak and the selfish.
Selfish because I surmised then that people cry because they only feel sorry for themselves for having lost Lola. Lola is in a happier place now, away from the inconveniences her illness has given her. So why should I cry? I will only be crying for myself.
Of course, my resolution lasted only up to the funeral. My tears were triggered as the coffin was slowly going down and I could hear my cousins calling, “Lola…Wala na si Lola…”
After a dinner meeting with Business Development and a reporter, I received Daddy’s text message.
“Wala na ang Lolo Amado nyo.” It was 10:21 in the evening, February 6, 2007, Wednesday.
My mouth trembled. I bit my lip. So much will change.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I can not claim I am my Lolo Amado’s favorite apo. After Lola Maria died, we would only go to Bulacan for special occasions like the annual Christmas reunion or the town fiesta.
Perhaps Princess can. My heart breaks for my cousin who was not able to come home and bid farewell to the man who took care of her and her brothers when they were kids.
A character that intrigues me right now said that “pain, joy, happiness…these feelings help you understand others.” Perhaps in observing how I muddled through with death, I may not only understand myself but also my grandfather.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Thwack! Thwack! I watched the florist at booth 47 at Dangwa as he pierced the foam stand for the burial wreath he was making. I picked out the flowers myself, checking for damages in the flat spathes, making sure that they would keep fresh in the sweltering heat of Bulacan and last till the burial scheduled on Sunday.
It was drizzling when the florist finished. White anthuriums bigger than my hands spread out like a big fan while a cluster of azucenas of the same color shoot upwards. "As if thanking the heavens for sharing its tears," I thought. The azucenas will give off fragrance as they bloom.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
We were told that all family members are to wear black tops for the funeral. I opened my closet to figure out what to wear for the next few days, Mom’s reminder echoing in my head. Mom told us we have to avoid wearing peach or any “happy” colors as the elders in Bulacan are very sensitive.
Lo and behold! My bright, pastel (and yeah mostly peach) wardrobe stared back at me. I realized if our Company does not provide office uniform, I would never wear a black suit. I asked Paupau if I could borrow any of her black “rocker” shirts. I got a snort as my sister helped me pick out something for the solemn occasion.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I sent text messages to my friends, announcing our family’s loss. Some of my friends anyway, because after awhile, I stopped. I don’t know why but suddenly I didn’t see the point and felt tired.
Let it not be said that I am ungrateful for those who were thoughtful and sent their condolences. I feel blessed to have them in my life.
However, even at times like these, there are others who insist on being “funny.” Only I could not laugh at their “funny” questions.
My mom and I were on our way to Bulacan when one of those that I informed, sent me a text message, asking my whereabouts. I told him and then asked why. He then told me I’m invited to a gig. Politely I declined and said I don’t really feel like celebrating. I was too preoccupied with thoughts about my destination to check my phone again until much later in the evening. Two messages: one was about his “incentive” of how good the food was and his “funny” question – if I’m going to Bulacan for my grandfather.
Ay hindi. May perya kasi don, sasakay ako ng tsubibo.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
I'll maybe write some more. Bit nauseous.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Whatever dear. Don't fret now.
(Pats you in the back).
Having fully satisfied and exhausted my worrywart tendencies with foreign news, a certain article caught my eye - “Cop Killer Apologizes Before Execution”.
Jonathan Moore, 32, repeatedly apologized to the officer’s widow as she stood next to the death chamber window. Moore was convicted of gunning down San Antonio Police Officer Fabian Dominguez, 29, when he interrupted Moore and two accomplices during the burglary of a house in the officer’s neighborhood.
He told her he wished her happiness.
I bit my lip hard as I looked at the undated photo of Mr. Moore. His eyes…they were just… empty. His statement, “I have disappointed and let down everyone who has ever loved me,” struck me. It’s sad really. At one point in his life, this man just gave up on himself and allowed himself to be corrupted. And I was shocked coz for a moment (or two), I empathized with him.
I know I have the tendency to take in the underdogs. It’s not my marshmallow heart, see. But in some way, I understand how he probably felt frustrated and then decided to just have it easy and fall through the cracks. Sometimes, life feels like you're unclenching your fists inside an iceberg. And then you don’t feel like fighting anymore. Or even if you take action, it’s only for survival’s sake and you’re left a shell, devoid of any emotions.
Wasn’t there anyone who was able to reach out to him at all? Ah! How funny everything is, how easily we could affect people’s lives with our careless acts. I dearly wish I have never caused anyone much pain that they would have eyes like Mr. Moore's.
Pagmaingay ako, tahimik ka.
Good.
Masaya ka naman e.
sousa kanashimi wo yasashi sa ni
jibun rashisha wo chikara ni
mayoi nagara demo ii, aruki dashite
mou ikkai
No, that's not Korean. I hope I got that right anyways.
****************************************************
Words to outgoing Company Prez as I gave my gift -- "My family, huhu, helped me, huhuhu, pick this for you, waaah..."
Awww, gawd, I'm such a bawler.
Deal with it. Sniff. Sniff.
****************************************************
Cheers for Mom and her new office!
My mom's so fabulous, we didn't have to rush to get grocery stuff for Christmas break. The cabinets are still full with all the gift baskets she's received. I've to get rid of 5 bottles of pasta sauce. Not kidding. Yeeaaaah, she's THAT good.
Hey everyone, congratulate Mommy ha!
*****************************************************
Amanda will be brought to the apartment today. I'm excited na! With her around, my goal will be much easier to achieve. I'd be in better spirits yet focused with what needs to be done. Hopefully.
Amanda! Amanda!
*****************************************************
Do you smile? Would you smile for me? I just want to see you smile.
Had to play Bach's Air on a G string and Henry Mancini's Moonriver five times each to stop the palpitations.
Please ask Santa something else. I'm sorry.
Tactic for all parties: You play dumb and I'll play dead.
black and blue
"Even though multicolored bruises rarely include the color black, this term has been so used since about 1300."
- from www.answers.com
Ang utak ko ay isang kolander.
Thanks for the holes.
What my family said upon learning the incident more than makes up for the pain I’m experiencing now.
Ate Beth, my yaya is ready to go to war: “Tarant#@*! yan ah. Hayaan mo natatandaan ko ang mukha nya!”
Kuya Aldo too, his naturally protective male Joson ego hurt: “Akin na pangalan! Ipakukulong natin!”
My saintly mom, shakes her head in dismay: “Minsan lang mgcommute eh.”
I was already apprehensive as I climbed the jeepney. Houses passed by, and I took note how the jeepney driver was an impatient one, making hasty detours at the slightest hint of traffic. But since the ride from Suki Market to Dapitan Gate of UST was just short, I decided to ignore my uneasiness.
Silly, silly me.
“Manong, sa tabi lang po.”
I had both feet on the ground and was about to turn to the safe side of the street when the driver spotted an oncoming jeep approaching. The one he bested during the red light.
Lucky lucky me, I still had my hand on the handle.
Remember Michael J. Fox at Back to the Future 3? When Marty McFly met the descendant of Biff? I kinda did that for about 5 terrifying seconds.
As if in a dream, I reported to myself what was happening on hyperspeed - “Ouch my hand’s sliding. Ouch, that was my butt. Ouch, I’m being dragged. I can’t let go of the bars else I’ll be catapulted to the air or I'll roll over and over and hit another vehicle! Ouch again, my knees. Hmm, good thing I wore jeans today. Oh darn, my new floral shoes. There’s an oncoming jeepney! The jeep stopped. Ouch, I was dragged by a jeepney with a crazy driver. I’m shaking. Get up Marisse. Get the hell up.”
Think all the passengers shouted at the driver. Think every bystander at Dapitan too. Boy, was I the highlight of everybody’s Saturday.
So the driver was saying sorry “Pasensya na ho ala pong backview mirror, hindi ko kayo nakita. Pasensya na ho.”
Why would somebody drive without a backview mirror, I have absolutely no idea. A voice told me I should get the driver’s name, his vehicle’s plate no., and have the incident reported to the proper authorities.
Guess what ol’ Marisse did?
“Manong, sa susunod dahan dahan naman kayo, ok?”
Okay.
I moved on. I have stuff to do at Grad School.
I’ve got cold compresses for the bruises. I'm never good at useless recriminations anyway. I’ll live. There are deeper hurts.
Las Ruinas del Corazon by Eric Gamalinda
Juana the Mad married the handsomest man in Spain
and that was the end of it, because when you marry a man
more beautiful than you, they say you pretty much lost control
of the situation. Did she ever listen? No. When he was away
annexing more kingdoms. she had horrible dreams
of him being cut and blown away, or spread on the rack,
or sleeping with exotic women. She prayed to the twin guardians
of the Alhambra, Saint Ursula and Saint Susana, to send him home
and make him stay forever. And they answered her prayers,
and killed Philip the Handsome at twenty-eight.
Juana the Mad was beside herself with grief, and she wrapped
his body in oils and lavender, and laid him out in a casket of lead,
and built a marble effigy of the young monarch in sleep,
and beside it her own dead figure, so he would never think
he was alone. And she kept his body beside her, and every day
for the next twenty years, while pungent potions filled the rooms,
she peeked into his coffin like a chef peeks into his pot,
and memories of his young body woke her adamant desire.
She wanted to possess him entirely, and since not even death
may oppose the queen, she found a way to merge death and life
by eating a piece of him, slowly, lovingly, ntil he was entirely
in her being. She cut a finger and chewed the fragrant skin,
then sliced thick portions of his once ruddy cheeks. Then she ate
an ear, the side of a thigh, the solid muscles of the chest,
then lunged for an eye, a kidney, part of the large intestine.
Then she diced his penis and his pebble-like testicles
and washed everything down with sweet jerez.
Then she decided she was ready to die.
But before she did, she asked the poets to record these moments
in song, and the architects to carve the song in marble,
and the marble to be extracted from the most secret veins
of the earth and placed where no man could see it,
because that is the nature of love, because one walks alone
through the ruins of the heart, because the young must sleep
with their eyes open, because the angels tremble
from so much beauty, because memory moves in orbits
of absence, because she holds her hands out in the rain,
and rain remembers nothing, not even how it became itself.
Errrr..right. I'm not a Juana. Good, fun poem though. I'll just turn into seafoam then.
p.s.thanks to abbie for sharing her poems again.
I don't understand why some people insist on being difficult.
Sometimes, I remember why they are the way they are. But really, words can hurt.
Mom agrees too. There's a limit of ill treatment people can take. It's simply a matter of respect.
I've practice on that matter after all. I'll just take a deep breath, force myself to be calm since the other party isn't. Compartmentalize. Be kind. Remind myself that this does not reflect anything on my dignity or maturity level.
I must take it all in. Pray for them, my lola used to say. I'm trying to be as polite as I can Nanay. Ask God to help me too. I need all the composure to deal with this.
But after this..Oh..After this..
Whatever the reason, it's just not right.
Heard Acer had a sale. Shucks. The Travelmate laptop I’ve been lusting for ages was reduced to 50% of its price. Oh and they did that with their snazzy Ferraris too.
Oh well, my laptop serves me well enough anyway.
And I’ve other things I need anyway. Like shoes. Like the chocolate brown pumps I saw at Schu. Ooooh.
Oh..kay so it’s not a need. Basta I’m still getting it.
Please God let the newsletter come out perfectly, just the way I envisioned it. Anything less and my geek heart won’t be able to take it.
Had fun taking pixes of Paupau for her industrial psycho-thing. I’m happy she’s enjoying school already.
Thanks Geoff for alerting me on the Nike sale. Cool stompers for Binin with my OTs.
Haha. Stage Ate.
June 18 marked the day North Korea announced its Taepodong-2 missile ready if ever US attacks. Now fourth of July, it fired Scuds and Rodongs which landed in the Sea of Japan. The Taepodong-2 failed seconds after launch. And US just calls it "a provocation." Ha! Compare that with its reaction to Iran. or Iraq even. North Korea already fired something. That's tangible.
I’m distracting myself, I know.
Waking up on the morn of my birthday not on my bed and knowing love ones are not well, isn’t really fun at all.
I don’t want to be thought of as ungrateful though, so I’d like to thank everyone who took the time to greet me that day.
Please let me have this sabbatical. I’m sorry. But I’ve to focus and conserve my strength for my circle first.
Feels like my body has been stretched for miles. But I'm smiling.
Life seems to assign me this month as the traveler. I find myself from one road trip to another. I'm not complaining of course. I have fun each time. Fabulous even.
But I've to admit these wanderings and meetings bring so much sensory overload, I'm afraid I may not absorb all.
Or if ever I do get to master every opportunity handed to me, I might find myself too exhausted to enjoy them. Like the two Fridays you spent in bed shivering due to fever and coughs last sem are not enough Marisse. The funny or weird thing is, I actually like juggling tasks in one sitting! I guess another lesson I must learn is when to stop.
In a different context, I have learned how to though, and I'm glad. To stop I mean. I've cut off those areas in my life that are no longer, shall we say, feasible? Cleanly I hope and with the good memories left intact. Let life be kind to all involved.
Grad School rescheduled my compre exam June as the Dr. Arriola is abroad and wouldn't be able to give her exam. Oh well. As long as I get to finish this year, I'm still on track. After that, it's foreign languages for me!
Oh dear. I hope I'm not catching Mount Everest Syndrome.
Am I becoming hard? Candidly, I once told Lyn "We're on me-mode right now."
So what? Have I not been soft enough?
It's time.
My time.
It’s bad enough that you would soon sail to far waters.
The least that you could do is not to give me away.
I feel like the one I’ve been deeply attached to long time ago no longer exists. He’s been replaced by someone who dismisses easily the essential, the simple and lasting.
I am silent not because I can’t answer back. I am trying to be polite. In deference to what once was. In deference to your memory.
A scarier thought. What if he was never the good man you thought he was Marisse? What if he’s always been like this?
You were right when you said “Magkaiba ang mundo natin.”
I can’t understand you anymore.
My Kuya Aldo calls me manic-depressive. I guess that’s coz I’m always taken with extremes.
After the New Year incident, I feel like the world is allowing me to redeem my inability to help the beggar child with the opportunities given to me at work.
As part of the External Affairs’ 2006 action plan, there is a need for proper synchronization of the company’s community support programs and a review of the donation policies. Good tasks of course. I’m excited to take part in implementing those changes.
I wish I have a frozen heart while I do my work though.
When I read letters encoded using a typewriter from some far-flung school asking for computers, I get heavy hearted. But at least my job helps me feel that I’m not at all useless amidst such misery. Pity is such a waste of time if one does not do anything
.........................................................................................................................................
On second thought…
“I’ve learned that to be kind is more important than to be right. That sometimes, a person’s need is not a brilliant mind that speaks but a patient heart that listens.”
I got this text from Mom a long time ago. Good ol mom. She’s a saint really. Even when I was still a kid, she taught me to keep my mouth shut if I feel like saying something hurtful.
I agree with her then and I’ve tried following that advice most of the time.
Lately, though, I don’t know if keeping the silence is a good thing. I worry for many persons in my life. Illness, sadness, confusion, maybe a friend of mine’s right, I’ve a tendency to take in the lost. I insist on fixing people. And yet in the end I realize that…
Reaching out is quite difficult if one is not sure if one is welcome. I’ve been told and have come to accept that sometimes, some are better left alone. They will be able to fend for themselves as they have done in the past, withdrawing from my offer of consolation.
I’m also not able to correct a misconception if there ever was one since I know it would complicate things more. If only I could hold the hands of everybody all at the same time, ask factions to make up, forget past conflicts. But it’s no business of mine really and choices have already been made. I have abided by my principle to not interfere, however I was (almost?) wrongfully blamed for saying something. Not true.
I will keep silent still. Be kind. Try to be like Mom by this. I’m at a phase where I’m discovering who I really am and if I’m in a hurry with other parts of my life (career and studies) maybe I could pause in some other aspects. Compartmentalize. Give my soul a reprieve for caring too much.
Ah. Tired soul be damned. I wish they know I’m always here for them.
It was a scene that almost made me walk out the church in the middle of the homily in celebration of the New Year.
But then, I realized, who am I to judge? What would I have done if I was in their place?
They are conspicuously present every mass. These old ladies with their long white dresses, stand and serve as role models to every churchgoer, reminding them of the proper decorum that should be followed during mass. Acting as some sort of spiritual guardians, with their intricate veils over their heads, and scapulas as big as press Ids around their necks, they certainly look stern and formidable enough to ward off Satan himself.
It was not Satan they were trying to drive away that night but a small boy, his face dirty, his clothes in tatters. A child beggar really.
The kid was going around the pews, tugging at the sleeves of whoever sits at the edge. What he was saying to them I don’t know. He never got to reach our side. The old ladies approached him and escorted the kid outside.
The last memory I had of the kid was the sorry picture of him looking back at the building he came from, trying to clear the confusion off his face, one hand scratching his head. As if to say “Was I just driven out of the House of God?”
Imagine that.
Wait. Let’s not be hypocrites here.
Come to think of it, I just watched after all. I could have gotten out of my seat and gave whatever I had to the child. If he reached my seat, who knows what would I have done? Would I have brushed him off? What if I would have been like those who pretended to ignore him and tried concentrating at the homily?
I replayed that scene again and again as our family went home. I think of the possible reasons why it all happened and why did I have to witness it. Bear with me here as I try to see all sides. See how my brain splits anyway:
- The church ladies were probably just doing their job. The church is not a place for begging. (Or not a place for beggars you mean? Isn’t it when we pray we also beg God to help us? What use is that edifice if it closes itself to the “littlest of our brothers?”)
- The kid may probably be someone’s entrepreneurial kid, taking advantage of the crowd and the spirit of the season. Plus, many say that to give them alms is actually “encouraging” dependence. (Can’t someone who is in deep need honestly take the opportunity where he could get the most number of people to take pity on him on such a prosperous night for many?)
- The church has many charity programs in progress. (Honestly I’m not familiar with the social development programs of that parish. But I guess if we the faithful couldn’t help just that poor child who obviously lives nearby, do we really think our “abuloys” should be considered successful? Why are most charity programs seem to be directed to far-flung areas anyway? Everyone likes to develop this unknown community from the boondocks. Can’t local parishes or religious institutions focus on the poor living just outside the church grounds? Or are the urban poor deemed hopeless already that even local churches have given up on them?)
- Poverty or misery is a fact of life.
Sigh. Don’t have anything to counter that one.
It’s just sad having to look away when I know I can’t do anything.
Or is there Marisse? Maybe I’m just too jaded to see if there’s something that still can be done. Or lazy even. It’s easy to give up after all. I think deep in my heart I know there is. I just don’t know how.
My queries may even be based on poor logic. Or naivety. I don’t know. I admit there are still too many things I need to learn in this life.
It was cold that night. I slept fitfully on a warm bed.
How does one stop the haunting?
Please.
Do I really want to?
Midway in September I decided to close the book on old crushes.
Ang hirap pala.
Just watched a Hopkin's movie of Pablo Picasso. Ah. The sublime and crazy world of artists. Makes me think how close they are to the Heavens than most people care to believe. Often they are treated as outsiders of society. I prefer to see them as the Joker in Jostein's Gaardner's novels.
And I still can't take this grin off my face...It's like a dance ain't it?
And then I pause to read again Nick Joaquin's "May Day Eve" for my Film and Lit class. We're required to do a screenplay adaptation in Filipino (Oh dear I'm stupid in Filipino). I repeatedly whisper the poignant lines "terrible silver nets of the moon."
And then I stop grinning. Sigh. How beautiful. But still...
Oh well. I raise my glass to them all.
For mooncake.
I grit my teeth and purse my lips to prevent myself from screaming. My hands tighten their grip on the wooden handles above me. Gawd! I didn’t know what I’ve gotten myself into, I want to stop. Is it really possible to hurt this MUCH?! I look up, eyes wild, and glare at the person responsible for this pain I’m feeling. He’s smiling. “Last two.”
I swear gym instructors are a sadistic lot. I hope never to do anymore leg lifts with that blasted Bcube ball ever again in my life.
At my mom’s prodding I joined the fitness bandwagon and finally rendered my 3 months old membership useful. I went to the gym that Wednesday to have my physical exam which was supposed to determine what kind of program suits my physique best. I didn’t know I’d be subjecting myself to severe humiliation.
My trainer points out several things that needs “improving” – the flexibility of my trunk area and negligible muscular tone at my back. I discover some interesting data too – my right shoulder is lower than my left (probably coz I normally carry my bag at that side) and that for my body mass index, I was surprised to find out that I am actually underweight.
For my BMI, the desired weight is between 90 to 100+ pounds. My friend Lyn also had a physical exam elsewhere, for a much nobler reason (hers for a scholarship, my motivation is a flatter belly). She whined how the intern chuckled upon measuring her weight, “Wala pa kayong 100!” Haha. Lyn weighs 98 lbs. I’m 89.2 lbs. This trainer of mine had more fun converting pound to kilograms. “40 kgs lang kayo o!” He smiles again.
Nya. According to Mr. Muscles, I can’t even stay more than 15 minutes at the treadmill coz “maauubusan na kayo ma’am ng fat sa katawan.” I’ve always thought of myself as chubby on account of my siopao cheeks and prominent jawline and here comes this trainer blowing my bubble saying “Pwede ka pang mandaya sa pagkain.” Hmp. Easy for you to say. I barely finished my yogurt cup kanina noh.
We noticed that I have a weak lower back, so he started to teach me how to use the pieces of core equipment that would strengthen the area. The scary looking contraptions intimidated and seemed to engulf me whenever I use them. Not to mention, these machines point out how scrawny I am as the instructor patiently lowers the resistance level every time I change device.
The highlight of that day was at the ab crunch apparatus (dunno how exactly it’s called). The trainer showed me the position to take then told me how to exert force at the handles to do the ab crunch properly. My turn. I assumed the correct posture and then held out my arms for the handles. Whaathe?! MY ARMS WERE SO SHORT I COULDN’T REACH THEM! Grabe! He had to lower those handles for me. And not only that, even when I used all the force in my body to propel the machine, I couln’t manage to move it. The instructor, surely earned his slot in trainer heaven that day. He helps me push the handles ala-mang-iigib-ng-tubig-sa-poso-style. “Ma’am kung nandito na pala kayo nung dati pa, dapat pala malakas na kayo.” Sigh. Endorphins, kick in now please.
I’ll pursue this endurance training coz I know I need it. I’m not aiming for the next body builders trophy, but at least an improved stamina and better body tone wouldn’t hurt a bit. But really, this situation where I’m hurting in areas of my body I never bother to acquaint myself with, toss in the attacks on my ego, is totally testing my willpower. In his desire to help me, this gym instructor unconsciously demonstrated how far from the alpha body I am. Besides, I actually find these things hilarious. Kaya ko nga kinukwento eh.
“May kapatid ka bang lalaki? Interesado ba siya mag gym?” Ahhh…Now it’s my turn to smile. Wehehe. Gotcha honey.
His name is Noni. You’ll like him Louie. He’s really the ultimate gym buff - tall, dark, and mahaba ang pilikmata. ;->
Not all who wander are lost or aimless.
Sometimes, life presents one with too many options it paralyzes one from choosing.
I just hope I'm making the right choice even if the words of Eldric comes to my mind "How many times do I have to tell you? There is no book Pacita!"
Hainaku dric, your sermons haunt me your turning into my conscience na. Pero friend thanks pa rin. Note:tungkol sa career tong iniisip k. I'll probably bug you about it when I've decided.
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I have no idea what made me think 210 is the room number for the V office. I've edited that already after several of my friends corrected me and asking what made me think of 210 instead of 112. For the life of me, I still have no idea. Must be some mind block.
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"Magshopping ka na lang!"
I got that comment last Saturday. From whom, it doesn't matter. I know I could be makulit sometimes and at that time I was projecting excitement for someone who was about to present his thesis. But I never realized the extent of how much people see me as just an ornament if not for this. That Marisse is only good for her smile, her sweetness and wow, something new, her shopping prowess.
Makes me think if I shouldn't smile so much. One photo I posted shows what a failure I am to look decently angry. Maybe I could be like my sister Pau and just raise my brows everytime I meet someone. That always makes people nervous. I do the opposite coz I pity the other person. So I welcome them with my smile. Tsk. Tsk. I never thought good manners was the golden ticket if you don't want to be taken seriously.
I just wish I'm not always incredibly perky. Or expected to be so. Or more importantly, thought of only as that.
I've a brain too you know. It's sad if everyone thinks this way. Not just with me but with all other females. Women are not just good for shopping or cooking or dressing up! We do so much more for this world and have gone through so much without losing our heart. And smiling so much shouldn't lead to being thought of as superficial.
I was excited not only for the one I was teasing at that time but because I'm in geek mode every Saturday. I did not sleep Friday night to finish our group's synthesis report. I was excited on the account of too much caffeine in my system.
I know I shouldn't care so much. I've got my circle who recognizes me the way I really am. They alone appreciate my dreams and my goals in life, short or long term. One has seen the list of my planned activities for the next few months, none of them includes shopping. Ha!
The remark was probably made offhand, not even meant to be hurtful. It's just saddening that however far one has gone through with her career or studies, one could still find oneself boxed in a certain stereotype. Society is full of their uh, kind. One would find it difficult to change other people and their biases. Even if one has already proved them wrong, and continually do so, they will never ever see it. They will never ever see me.
I thought I'd be treating this blog like some unfeeling robot would but then, hey, nothing turns out the way you plan them to be. Besides, I've always been sentimental.
Again, sleeping early proved to be too hard a task for me so to kill time, I looked at an old friend's photo album here in Friendster.
He was the Varsitarian's photographer when I joined the student publication. He and I got close coz he was a Maristian and I was a Scholastican so we eventually treated each other like siblings. Little sister, his term. He usually accompanies me in my news coverage.
I remember in my first few months in the V, I was still adjusting to the workload and my health took a backseat. He caught me coughing so hard and finding it difficult to breathe. I remember him telling me "Alam mo hindi mauubusan ang gagawin mong storya para sa Varsi. Umuwi ka na at ingatan mo ang sarili mo!"
Looking at the albums of Stephen Patricio, or Kuya Stephen as I used to call him, was like opening up a floodgate of memories for me. Here's the caption of one of his pixes to show how much fun I had with their batch.
"rm nila treb at stephen.
Dito nangyari ang mga hindi dapat mangyari...Dito kami nagkakilanlan...nailabas ang mga natatagong init at lamig...parang tinolang linagyan ng patis....dito sumikat ang mga salitang "i maybe drunk but im not stupid"......noong panahong yon I'm really drunk and I'm damn happy to be stupid!...dito naghabulan ang mga dwarves.....naglambingan ang mga dapat hindi maglambingan....Ang panahong naging babae si louie...naging lalake si Carli....Gumanda si A.....pumogi si Treb....kumambyo si Pasco....at naging magkakaibigan kami!"
Isang comment lang: Cute naman talaga si Treb ah. Shhh! Please don't tell him.
Hai. The notorious Amats Squad. I used to mess up the turns coz I love filching Louie's shot. Those who were too wired to sleep would wait for the sunrise at the breakwaters. Plus we had to beat the early crowd of the sumptuous breakfast buffet Punta Baluarte offered. I guess that's why I still profess my love for sunrises.
It wasn't my first time to drink alcohol (I already revealed in my earlier bulletin posts that it was in Grade 5. Inside Agnes Policarpio's coleman was actually brandy-laced iced tea.) but it was my first with the wonderful V peeps. Genuine friendship. It was acceptance of the deepest level where I felt that they didn't treat me like I was 12 years old. My kuyas and ates were nice. My editors were instructive. We never pretended to be angels but we weren't exactly demons. Nobody tried to pontificate (that was solely Sir Lito's job), we were just dedicated to our craft and dead honest on how we treat each other. Yet I learned so much more besides writing in room 112 of the Main Building. I learned about life and what kind of person I want to be - full of sincerity and passion in everything she does and one who strives hard to help those she meets along the way.
So much has changed. Punta Baluarte is closed now. I don't get to see all of my V friends lately. Last time I saw Kuya Stephen was when his dad died. It is an understatement to state that I miss them like hell. But I'm thankful I saw the photos. I pray everything will fall into place for all of us. For now, I pause and remember...
Note: This 2nd is a sort of a rereading. I know already I still have to improve the Romantic Narrative part. I'm taking classes now on film theories, maybe if I have the time, I'll be able to figure out what to use to strengthen this line of argument. If you have suggestions, I'll take em. Just do it in the proper manner please. Wag nyo naman akong aawayin ha. This is just a paper=>
In his exposition of Bush’ War on Terrorism, is Michael Moore also falling into the edge of Edward S. Herman and Noam Chomsky’s Propaganda Theory with his use of Romantic Narrative in the film Farenheit 9/11?
Using content analysis, this study presents both sides: how the documentary, Farenheit 9/11 clearly exposed the “institutional relationship” between mass media, the government and the corporate sphere; and how by using romanticization in his narrative technique, Moore is able to win the typical American to his side, using emotional pity, ad misere cordia, and idealization in his film.
The Propaganda Model of Chomsky in their book “Manufacturing Consent of the Political Economy of he Mass Media” which was published by Pantheon Books in 1988, echoes George Orwell’s words vividly.
“War is not meant to be won but is actually continuous. It is raised by the ruling group over its subject. War functions not to destroy but to keep the very structure of society intact.”
In their study, Mass Media takes into the same structural function of war as it “socialize individuals into dominant norms of society.” Media then takes a “socializing role” in the form of propaganda “in any society that is characterized by systematic disparities of wealth and power.” War can be seen as, just like media erroneously allows, “pervasive misrepresentation of unequal and exploitative social relationships”
Under the Propaganda theory, “mass media is more insidious and much harder to see in societies like the United States where mass media systems are not run by the state; where they are run as private businesses; and where the press often stands in an adversarial relationship with the state and, less frequently, with corporate power (Chomsky & Herman, 1988.)Director Michael Moore erased doubts on whether or not US President Bush did manipulate the media in his War on Terrorism and use it as a tool to represent his elite business linkage. Effectively using the propaganda theory, Moore traced the “routes by which money and power are able to filter out the news fit to print, marginalize dissent and allow the government and dominant private interests to get their messages across the public (Chomsky & Herman, 1988.)
The documentary depicted how George W. Bush, then son of US President H.W Bush, first owned an oil drilling company in West Texas, Arbusto Limited and soon became a board member of Harken Energy Corporation. Nothing could be thought of as amiss there if not for the investor of the companies who is Major James R. Bath, the Texas money manager for the Bin Ladens, one of the wealthiest families in Saudi Arabia. The family of Osamma Bin Laden, the mastermind of the September 11 tragedy.
The “friendship” of the Bush and the Bin Ladens did not end there. In fact, former President H.W. Bush became one of the board members of the Carlyle Group, which owns the United Defense, one of the largest defense contractors. A chilling detail neglected by many Americans is that the Bin Ladens are big time investors of the said group. With the Bradley arms vehicle, “September 11 guaranteed Carlyle Group and the Bin Ladens a good year (Moore, 2004).”
The Propaganda model poses that information is actually controlled or “filtered” wherein those information deemed by the ruling class appropriate are allowed to “trickle to the masses” or in layman’s terms these are what passes for circulation. The first filter is the “size, concentrated ownership, owner wealth, and profit orientation of the dominant mass media firms.(p.180)” The supposedly independent media has after all, its own “control groups” through board directors and social links. These investor holdings, individually and collectively, do not convey control, but these large investors can make themselves heard. (1988, p. 182) Farenheit 9/11 started with how Bush social links, how advantageous it is for his electoral campaign to have his 1st cousin John Hallis at Fox network. It was Fox network that started the trend whereupon, other networks soon followed suit, that Bush topped the polls and would win the election (Moore, 2004).
Advertising serves as the second filter of media. However, advertising gives in to the ugly reality that firms, being very profit-oriented, would not spend much on the poor since they do not wield buying power. “The working class and radical media also suffer from the political discrimination of advertisers.” Often, the voice of the minorities, the disadvantaged in the society is ignored since “firms refuse to patronize ideological enemies and those whom they perceive as damaging their interests (1988, p.184). In the documentary, it was shown how those financially disadvantaged families would send their kids to military school as they could not afford to pay for the expenses of a normal university. Moore puts it aptly: “I’ve always been amazed by the fact that the very people forced to live in the worst part of towns, go to the worst school and those who have it the hardest, are the first to step up to defend that very system.” A number of these kids, mostly coming from minority families, died in the Iraq war. And yet it would be disheartening to note that, the American media rarely covered the death of these American heroes.
What is targeted always is the market that will be deluded into buying. After September 11, many news programs showed a lot of “new products” that emerged. These products catered to the terror-stricken needs of America. There was the promotional video from Zytech Engineering selling a “safe room”, one that is needed, according to the advertisement, “of every family in America to prepare itself for a terrorist attack.(Moore,2004)”
The third filter focuses on the “principle of bureaucratic affinity”. Since media would always want to use “official sources” the State already gains advantage then in being able to select the kind of data they want the public to take into consideration. “In effect, the citizenry pays to be propagandized in the interest of powerful groups such as military contractors and other sponsors of state terrorism. (1988, p.186)”
How did Bush managed to convince the Americans to accept his War on Terrorism? Simply by creating an aura of endless threat as aggressively depicted by the media in Fox, CNN and CBS news. Terror alerts, threats of poisoned pens, frequent warnings were all but disseminated to the city to small towns of America. “Fear does work. You can make people do anything if they are afraid,” Congressman and psychiatrist Jim Mcdermott said (Moore, 2004). It would be easy to feed the public “whoppers” then and one can make believe that Iraq purported hoards weapons of mass destructions then to justify the Iraq war.
The anticommunism filter is given another name in Fahrenehit 9/11. It is the War on Terrorism ideology that serves as a “control mechanism” and serves only to streamline policy that would satisfy the interest of those that would profit in the war. Everyone felt it was okay to sacrifice some of their rights in order to feel safe. While big investors, Carlyle Group, Halliburton, Microsoft, DHL, Innovations Inc. meet and talk about how they could make money with the war. The invasion in Iraq was not really about, freeing the Iraqis from the regime of terror by Saddam Hussein or saving the world from weapons of mass destruction. It was all about the oil. “While the oil starts flowing. It’s gonna get better. Start building relationship. The good news is the government will pay you,” said Youssef Sleiman of Harris Corporation (Moore, 2004).
War is definitely good for companies in the business of war. Bush was able to effectively make use of the media using the propaganda theory to manipulate the minds of Americans. Moore’s documentary can be certainly considered as anti-American. Indeed, if being an American, according to Bush’s dictionary, is being duped into consenting to his war.
However, every argument has its opposing sides. Analysis can always take a different train of thought. Moore after all should be seen as a filmmaker and not as a journalist. Steven Winn, arts and culture critic of the San Francisco Chronicle, calls him a “ringmaster, a self-styled common man hero and a professional provocateur”. The film itself shows much of “Moore’s penchant for certain rhetorical effects – jarring juxtapositions, rattling sound-bite repetitions, a subject’s response to the emotional pressure of an interview.(Winn, 2004)”
In a nutshell, Moore uses the same technique of Bush of romanticizing the war with his emotional narratives to attract the American audience. Asking a senator if he would allow his children to join the war, focusing on the story of one typical American family whose son is a soldier offers a “middle-class” disposition regarding the war. Moore did not clearly think much of the Afghans or Iraqis affected by the war. In fact no Afghan or Iraqi was extensively given focus in the film. His concern was that the war was hurting America and did not really explored much on the extent of damage it has done to the affected Middle Eastern countries since the average American would not really care about it, thereby perpetuating bourgeois mentality still.
Moore is in fact, still a capitalist as his film “is put in the service of entertainment – the driving force behind any film that hopes to gain an audience – the potent ingredients of advocacy journalism, cinema verite, agitprop, old-fashioned storytelling, postmodern deconstruction, black comedy and reality TV figure to blend and clash in heady, challenging new ways onscreen (Winn, 2004).”
Martin Kaplan, associate dean of the Annenberg School of Communications at the University of Southern California emphasized how much Moore serves as an “apologetic figure” while helping America earn big bucks “The big difference is the amount of public attention they're attracting. That's convinced producers and distributors (that) there's money to be made. And that changes everything (Winn, 2004).” As a supposedly political documentary, Moore ’s breakout success of Fahrenheit 9/11 may well signal a tipping point for the genre.
Less we forget, filmmaking is still a business. Criticizing the giant conglomerates would not do well for Moore since he also wishes to succeed in his film as the oil investors insist with their hegemony.
A tokenized figure, Michael Moore only wishes to prove that there are still residual critics in the American society and that persons such as Michael Moore are able to voice out their “dissenting opinions” without being marginalized. Moore is middle-America trying only to bring the State’s focus back to America. Fahrenheit 9/11 is not a film for the marginalized Afghans, or Iraqis. Michael Moore is for Michael Moore.
“War is not meant to be won but is actually continuous. It is raised by the ruling group over its subject. War functions not to destroy but to keep the very structure of society intact.”
George Orwell’s words only echoes the Propaganda Model of Edward S. Herman and Noam Chomsky in their book “Manufacturing Consent the Political Economy of the Mass Media” which was published by Pantheon Books in 1988. In their study, Mass Media take
