Good Morning Class

I was four years old when I first stepped into a classroom. It was summer of 1990; the sun was high and was brutally punishing every pore of my skin, but its brutality was nothing compared to the scorching excitement I felt, for that day was the day I became a student.

It was that day I first encountered a teacher. I can hardly remember her name, but her form appeared vivid in my memoirs as she stood in front of us that afternoon. She was in her 30’s then and she displayed an imagery like that of a mother: gentle, kind-hearted and caring. She patiently joined us in our countless indoor and outdoor activities and at the end of every session, we all bade goodbye to her with gratitude as we exited the little classroom that stood hidden behind a chapel.

———-

Teaching is such a noble profession. I imagine these teachers, every morning, they wake up with a sense of purpose not just simply to execute their function but to let their function along with the values in it guide the minds of the youth. In the afternoon they would go home with great fulfillment and satisfaction in their hearts. Teaching indeed requires a great sacrifice; no wonder some people including me, see it as a very stressful job.

Five years ago, when I started living with my aunt who is a teacher, I began to see teaching in a very different way. Now I see teaching as a privilege, a privilege to become part of the lives of not just few but thousands of students and have the power to help these students shaped their future. It is as if the success of their students is their own success, and that the failure of their students is their own tragedy. Hence, the lives of our teachers are not limited to their family and peers, for their lives extend up to farthest human lives.

———-

Teaching is a silent art. We appreciate portraits and paintings with its colors and form, music with its rhythm and melody, but the act of our teachers remain quiet and distant from our senses. We do not realize that one of the weapons we bring as we enter the battlefield of real world is that from our teachers, our learning and knowledge.

The Little Voices

I am a soil
I conceal thy seeds in my depths
As it sprang to life and rooted
It embraced me with so much stern.

I cannot defy.

I believe that our childhood is the most crucial part in the formation of our total being, it’s like our child-like mind is a pot of soil that is seeded by our environment, experiences and the people around us. When these seeds dwell in us for a long period of time, its roots would start to grow deeper and would eventually inculcate its characteristics to us, and that’s when we started to form our personality and develop our own view of life.

At this moment, thousands of children are screaming for help; children that are suffering from the hands of their guardians, children that are dying of hunger and maladies, children that are involved in drug addiction and sexual abuse, and children that instead of going to school they are forced to work to help their families. It makes me wonder how these kids would look at life and the world as they grow if they see violence and negativity from the moment they opened their eyes down to the very last view of earth as they fall asleep at night.

Yesterday a Dream, Today a Reality

I walked with the crowd and I saw someone whose face is just like mine.
She was wearing a black outfit paired with black and white chucks.
She stood in greatness of her own confidence and independence.
Freedom defines the beauty of her success.

I observed her stance and dreamt of her as me.
I followed her steps until where she suddenly stopped.
She turned around and looked at me and gave me a little smile.
And suddenly… I became her.

Have you ever seen yourself through the eyes of someone you have become?

————————————-

One evening, I was in coffee dream café. I was reading a Murakami book over a cup of cappuccino when I suddenly remember something.

Few years ago, way back in college I was this ordinary college girl who had so much ambition. I have lots of daydreaming imagining who I’m going to be in the future. One moment, I pictured out myself. A fresh graduate who will find a job earlier than she thought, she will be waking up early and fix herself and walk along with fellow young professionals in the streets of downtown. When she arrive in her office she will be working with her stuff then late afternoon she will drop by to some grocery store, buy her needs and sit awhile in a coffee shop reading a book, drawing some images or reflect about her day, then she would go home and end her day fulfilled.

That moment it was all just a dream, an unreachable imagination… But now I am seeing every inch of it unfolding before my eyes.

THE DREAM: goodbye corpse!

Under the serene light of the moon, we stood stunned in the holy ground of the dead. I was breathing the stench air of death, and you breathe nothing… your sense of smell frozen.

The moonlight that touched your cold presence had illuminated the stained beauty of your existence. The lines in your face traced like a terrain in wasteland, rough, dark, abstract, embossed by the shadows of its corners.

I observed closely your blank stares. It was lost in the far dark horizon yet it gleamed as if it found home. Then the stellar danced, locked-up into your eyes, reflecting the beauty of the night.

Your mouth, though closed, released the smell of your rotten molars. Unpleasant, strong, it bade goodbye to the living world. Through silence, you rejoiced the chants of the warlocks and witches. Hail to the dark side and to the dead!

Time went down to zero. Your thoughts faded like sparks from fire. All your memories buried asleep in the depths of your former being. Tonight you leave… Tonight you let go…

The funeral march began. The veteran corpses assembled in great stance. A welcome hymn plagued the crowd, inch by inch, you stepped into the void… swallowed by the hymn… you were never coming back.

I was 62 years old then… and I was 21 years old when I gazed upon my body marching along with them.

———–

Sept. 17, 2008 4:02am, I woke up. I Opened my eyes and thought, “I just saw my future.”

HOPE in little GOOD things

Last Friday, I walked along Jacinto Extension after I had my coffee at Bo’s Coffee Club. I was planning to take a taxi but I decided to walk until I reach Ponciano Street where I can wait for a jeepney. The sky was dark then, there were only few stars, the wind touched my hair softly as if it whispered that a rain was coming. But I did not care; I was so busy observing the scenes in my surroundings.

I passed by a construction site, there were men still working, some were joking at each other while others were complaining about the tiredness they felt that time. After a while, I passed by a group of adults, as what I heard, they were talking about a certain crime happened in the City just a few days earlier while others were complaining about the crisis they are currently experiencing. On the other side of the road, I saw some children playing around, and then a mother suddenly shouted “Nak! Uli na kay gabie na, undangi na ng dula” (Go home and stop playing it’s getting late). After few yards, I passed by a series of restaurants or more like a “tambayan” for beer drinkers. Many people from all ages were there drinking beers and doing videoke, on the other side groups of men were shouting and howling at each other. There were also young men and women flirting, there were old men who were joking around with this group of young girls (they look like prostitutes which most probably is true because that area is one of the hot spots for pick-up girls), basically, it was a portrait of one of the faces of modern day society.

When I finally arrived at Ponciano Street, I took a jeepney and while watching the people and establishments passed by, I saw some children in the street sitting in the sidewalk. They were singing “hawak kamay” and they were smiling while singing. A few meters away near San Pedro Church, there was a taxi got stuck in the middle of the road, the driver called out some help with the bystanders there, and they did not hesitate to help the driver. When we were in the corner of San Pedro street, we stopped because the traffic lights signaled red, then a “Badjaw” asked for some coins and I gave her 2 pesos. Finally, when I stepped down the jeepney, I helped an old woman with her things and we crossed the street together.

I was happy to end my day that day, in spite of some not-so-good realities I saw in the society, I saw a pinch of Hope from the little good things that happened later that day.

Mute

Words devoid of sound
Flowing without bound
Down to the stream of sight
They resemble meaning with such might

——–

This afternoon, I went to SM to treat myself some coffee and dinner. I went first to Figaro to have some iced cappuccino while waiting for someone to deliver the item I bought online. In front of me was a group of deaf/mute people, looking at them from time to time while reading a book, I silently observed them.

(When I was young, I was watching a mass on television. On the lower right of the screen was this little man inside an oblong window doing some action, I asked my mother “why does he make sign of the cross again and again? That is so tiring.” Then my mother explained that he was not making sign of the cross, he was translating words into actions intended for those people who cannot hear because that is how they communicate)

I suddenly wonder how it feels to be able to communicate without being disturbed by sound waves, to say whatever you want to say in serenity in spite of the crowded and chaotic scene. It is like passing secret messages, I guess. Imagine sending encrypted words to someone, sneaking in between the eyes of those who cannot understand, the secrecy of emotions will always remain secret even to someone who will receive the message unless emotions are declared in signs. It is a mystery…

I can hear war, I can hear laughter… but they can see war and laughter, a war and laughter in peace and silence.

When I left SM, I took a taxi. The wind was cold; I pressed my face closer to the window to feel it more. Then we passed through Ecoland with only a few cars, the establishments were closed, it was an empty road… everything was in mute then I suddenly thought of these words.

I simply grow up.

Youthful dance and playful thoughts.
Innocence removes the scary naughts.

Once upon a time I was short and thin, I had short straight hair with bangs and I was wearing shorts and sleeveless shirt. It was mid-afternoon and I was standing before our gate. My mom was there removing the chains and padlock, while I started counting in my thoughts 5-4-3-2-1…and screamed “Attack! Dula na pud!” (“Attack! Play again!”).

Back then, I didn’t think of the past and I didn’t worry about the future. I was just busy with what is happening in the current scene. Play like there’s no tomorrow, and having wounded knees like I have never fell on the ground at all. It was the time where I felt the extremes of my emotions. I was not happy then because I felt bliss (imagine when a child receives his/her favorite toy..yahoo!). When I was sad then it was not just sadness but melancholy (imagine a child broke his/her favorite toy *teary-eyed*). When I was in pain, it was not just pain I felt but I was tormented (Cry to the bones!). It was the time when doubts didn’t exist in my consciousness, I was sure with every game I played, when I jumped in our neighbor’s two-story house I was fueled by my courage and I didn’t have the fear to do the act. I was a careless hero on my own.

Now, I can never be the child I once was. Today, I am a bit taller and still thin, I have a temporary-curly hair with no bangs at all, and I am wearing my jeans and my-own-painted shirt. Everyday I leave our house, standing before our gate. My mom is not here so I have to open it on my own, I start counting in my thoughts 5-4-3-2-1 and sigh “Work mode again!.”

Today, I remembered the past and envy what I once was. I worry about the future and how will my life will be few years from now. I work for tomorrow and my future plans, I make mistakes and remained bothered until I do something to take it back. Today is where doubts exist. This is the time where I need to be safe, not so happy and not so sad, not so much pain and not so less pain… I am not… so sure at all. Every decision I make is a risk that I am so aware of, and that awareness leaves a little space for fear. Fear to the “wrong” I might end up with, but when I realize that success topples failure, a sigh of relief manifests, but when failure wins I just shrugged my shoulders and say “O oh…”. And then restart again…decisions, risks, and results, adulthood for me is simply an endless cycle of decisions and options.

Yesterday, I was a careless hero on my own, today I am struggling hero in this very big and still a strange world for me.

Adult dance and doubtful thoughts.
Innocence increases the scary naughts.

I simply grow up.

Internet Censorship?

Last Saturday I happened to watch Y-Speak while channel-hopping (buot2x og term hehe). Their topic was about Internet blogging and one area in the discussion that interests me is the Internet Censorship and Privacy. Is it possible to censor and privatize internet?

Internet exists for such a long time, and I believe that at this point internet users have already known the good and bad side of it. I wonder why at this point; when the internet is massively expanding into something very large, ask about privacy and censorship. Why ask about privacy when a huge percentage of the world’s population is already internet users. And they are not just simple users others have their jobs or businesses online, some are building online community through forums, networking and gaming, people use it for communication and entertainment while students prefer it for research and learning, and people visits many downloading stations every now and then to download millions of things. Internet is one hell of a busy world working 24/7 bombarded by millions of users with millions of activities every second. It is like the downtown of every city in the world, having so many people walking in different directions and doing so many things, the only difference with the cyber downtown and the downtown of our cities is that it does not have any borders. The internet is simply one place in the earth where each race, nationality and culture co-exists (without nuclear bombs hehe).

Personally, I think implementing regulations in the internet is possible, however, it would take a long time and there will be many discussions needed before we can really come up with a solid list of policies for it. Knowing that internet is a borderless community, there should be a clear boundary up to where a certain regulation is applicable. If for example Philippines will implement a policy, how would lawmakers identify the jurisdiction of Philippines in the internet? And We cannot also implement a general policy for everybody because if we are going to implement the same policy all over internet, that would overlook the differences of each country, culture, race, etc. Each country has different culture, one policy may be applicable to for example three countries but not to the other ten. In addition, users in the internet do not expose their identity and it is common to use many aliases as usernames for one person, knowing this it would be also very difficult to track down possible culprits. Nevertheless, there is one more thing that I guess would make things complicated for those who pursue this internet censorship and privatization. Internet exists for quite some time and like a tree, it has inculcated its roots deeply enough, its identity as a borderless community, where everyone can express him/herself whether good or foul, has been a part of our modern day culture, and censoring and privatizing internet would simply redefine its structure and original identity. It would transform internet into a different thing.

Magic Moment

I decided to take a nap and submerge myself into the ambiance of blackness in this small room. And as I close my eyes for the last view of darkened earth, I remember one magic moment of my life. Like this room, even though everything has been covered by dimness I can still feel the presence of each object around me, just like how I feel the presence of that moment even though it was long gone… from my sight and from time.

It is vivid from the eyes of my thoughts, but from the grave of my past it was all hidden, untouched and can never be touched, frozen in history.

I once presented an instance in my previous blog entry wherein you look at a portrait of yourself, and you have this desire of changing some details but you are unable to do so because it has been framed and finalized. There’s nothing you can do but stare at the picture. Fixated and stuck in the unwanted image of yours. But that magic moment of mine is quite different.

That magic moment has been framed in a certain period of my past. Each time I look back to it, I get fixated and stuck. Not because there’s something in that moment I wanted to change, but because it was too perfect and beautiful enough to make me stare at it for a long period of time and be in the presence of that moment once again.

It was the first day of the first and might be the last. And All I wanted to do is recall, cherish and crave for it from a far.

It was years ago yet it feels like yesterday.

SEX! does it ring a…

I stumbled in one of the science magazines at a store, I scanned it and I happened to see an article about sex (in the perspective of science not with lust hehe). I read only two or three sentences then let go of it. Like a usual article, it started with the definition of sex blah blah blah. Then I wonder, if you ask teenagers today I doubt that anybody would seriously answer the question and explain sex the way the article did. I thought some might probably answer “lami ang pussy!” (Pussy is delicious) or “langit girl kay Dako!”  (It’s heaven because it is huge). Sometimes it’s funny to hear when people play around with the definition of sex (guilty here! hehe) but then if I seriously think about it, I am saddened in this kind of reaction from people.

Regardless if I have not practiced my catholic faith for the past years until now, I am still into the idea that sex is something sacred but maybe with just a little twist. Sex is something that should be done by two people that have genuine feelings for each other. For me what makes sex sacred is the submission of the two people involved (unless if it’s an orgy, but orgy is really kind of lustful for me so I don’t intend to include that) bearing the willingness to share the experience of nirvana within the act or willingness to pro-create another being out of affection they felt from one another. For me it doesn’t matter if you do it with your girlfriend/boyfriend or just simply with a friend as long as the act is done in its purest and genuine form.

It’s so sad that today sex is use as the unit to measure love. Hearing some of my friends, they always say when you give your self to someone (as in sexually) it’s a proof that you love the person (talaga lang huh?) and the worst thing I heard in my whole life was when a close friend of mine said “when a boy licks the vagina of a girl it’s a proof that the boy really loves the girl” (Fuck this stupid idea! This whole idea is a crap!). Well unfortunately, I can’t really stop these people from acting like usual occupants of this generation, but I just can’t understand why people can’t think a little deeply about how things work today. They just simply accept whatever this generation is feeding them, even though it’s kind of foul. I don’t know if they are just too obedient to their generation and they are being manipulated by some forces or I am just being traditional, well which is which I still don’t agree with them.

“If a man is satisfied by lustful things, he can never find true happiness. He may feel a transcendental bliss from the act but after doing it, he will be minimized back from being ordinary, because lust belongs to the material-physical world, something that is transitory. But when a man is satisfied by the purest emotions and feelings, he will ever be happy with or without the act because pure emotions live in the transcendental world, untouched by the flaws and impurities of the material-physical world.”