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Saturday, October 30, 2010

A Tale of Two Teachers

About three weeks ago we witnessed the feisty Prof. Monsod's teaching presentation to her students at the University of the Philippines via a Youtube video that circulates over the Internet.

In the last day of her class in economics, Prof. Monsod bade her students to live by UP's principle of Honor and Excellence. In her excitement to ignite the fire of patriotism of helping the country by being in the country, she ruffled a few feathers particularly the "bagong bayani" Overseas Fiipino Workers.

The other day, an article/letter written by Asuncion David Maramba to her former student-priests who wrote to PDI to "condemn the Celdran's Damaso protest act" came out of the same daily.

To my dear student-priests
By Asuncion David Maramba
Philippine Daily Inquirer


THERE WERE your names: Fathers Lincoln CarabaƱa, Sammy (misspelled Sanny) de Claro, Edgardo Coroza, Alexander Thomas, Antonio Navarrete Jr., signatories with eight other priests to a letter to the editor, “Priests condemn Celdran’s protest act.” (Inquirer, 10/5/10)

Your names brought back memories, for make no mistake, you are very dear to me, a “generation” of seminarians at San Carlos Seminary and the Rogationist Seminary with whom I spent the last dozen years of teaching, rudely terminated by the onset of double vision right in the classroom. Nobody noticed as I cautiously picked my way down the staircase at San Carlos.

Who can forget your dramatizations and improvisations for stage, costume and rendition, as when with flair you acted out the election of the new Pope from “Shoes of the Fisherman” as “cardinals” filing in to cast their votes? Or our singing of “Sounds of Silence” and “Eleanor Rigby” as final flourish to reading and interpretation? And it was one of you who introduced me to a naughty word, “manangoniacs” - so pre-Vatican II, you said.

Now, you are parish priests, rectors, superiors, deans, formators, spiritual or vocation directors, etc. (It matters little whether you become bishops or cardinals). Thank you, because my heart swells when I hear of you or bump into you and can never seem to have enough of talking.

Your letter made me wish we were in the classroom again. I would put its subject up for discussion. (Horrors, the manangoniacs might say, or, thank God, she’s no longer teaching!)

Remember “symbol”? We’re in class again, so here goes: First, a symbol is a thing, deed, person, etc., that is explicitly and literally in the selection. Second, like a clap of thunder it instantaneously bears a meaning. Third, it has one or many meanings (thus the phrase “levels of meaning”). Lately we have been served symbols related to RH. The incident you protested yields several: Celdran himself, Celdran dressed as Rizal, the Damaso placard, the protest action itself in the Manila Cathedral.

How we could explore the meaning/s of each! Outspoken Coroza would readily say what he thought; De Claro would pause before giving his measured opinion; Thomas might smile and demur. Or we could confuse each other by forcing meanings that are not there. And after collegial consensus, we could finally agree that this or that is closest to the truth of the situation. Or we could hear no evil and see no evil and dismiss the matter as just an amusing story.

But no one thinks it was just an amusing story. “Damaso” was instantly picked up like “wang-wang” (sirens) and meanings were attached to both its parts and to the whole. The Internet has been flooded with meanings mixed with flotsam through which you must navigate.

But what is the meaning of your choice? That’s important. At this point, your one-time teacher chooses to sit with you as a forever-student. Go figure.

Since we are at symbols, we might as well go the mile. I refer to the babies and fetuses: the survivor in the airplane toilet, the dead ones at the Cathedral and Quiapo Church, a dead newborn on Pioneer Street, a fetus in the Starmall toilet. Are they isolated cases or deliberate “plants” to “malign the Church” (Inquirer, 10/14/10) or sharply symbolic as “an eloquent statement of unwanted pregnancies,” now becoming a recurrent symbol?

I am tempted to ascend the teacher’s platform again and ask you to write a half-page reaction to the last question.

We can’t go on skirting the issue seething beneath these symbols. We all know what it is. Let’s go on study-group mode and toss some statements and references too:

High hopes for the dialogue between bishops and leaders are dim in the sense that neither will change their stand; but there are talking points to thresh out. (See the RH paper by the Loyola School of Theology and the John Carroll Institute on Church and Social Issues.)

Let there be no more name-calling, labeling, intellectually dishonest accusations like “abortionist,” “pro-death,” “an abortion bill.”

Anyone who would comment on the RH bill should read one through. (Try the Consensus Bill for Population, Family Planning and Development. 8188501—Philippine Center for Population and Development.)

Science may still moot all our quarrels on when-life-begins. A friend just told me about Aquinas’ view on “ensoulment” which is certainly worth checking.

The bottom line is not “foreign funded” or “the saintly mother argument” but whether birth control is moral or not. This is the sticky part. Here’s food for thought: “The Church has never explicitly claimed to speak infallibly on a moral question” (“Christian Morality” chapter in Richard McBrien’s “Catholicism”). There are two models of morality: one looks only at the “act”; another also considers “circumstances and motives.” The first descends as a general principle/rule from the top; one size fits all. The second weighs in who-what-when etc. on specific applications of the principle whereby not all contraception, etc. is immoral. (See “A Morally Complex World” by James Bretzke, S.J.) And we haven’t even touched conscience.

Since we have gone back to school, let’s quote newly beatified Henry Cardinal Newman who proposes: “the culture of the intellect,” “…to remove the original dimness of the mind’s eye… to look out into the world right forward, steadily and truly; to give the mind clearness, accuracy, precision… to conceive justly what it thinks about, to abstract, compare, analyze, divide, define, and reason, correctly.”

Happy reading!


The first teacher has threatened that when she dies, she would haunt her students when they err. The second one has just proven she would. The latter didn't wait for death.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Happy Halloween!

Last night I thought it was a joke until I read about it in PDI today.

My brother's friend who ran for Kagawad lost via toss coin. So I've been told last night. Macho, his nickname, tied votes with another candidate. To determine the winner, the poll officer tossed a coin. Macho chose heads. The coin showed tails. So there.

My brother pulled his hair out saying his friend would have won had he gone to the polls to vote. Thus, it has been concluded, every vote does count. Literally and figuratively. Never estimate the power of one.

Noynoy's uncle lost. My high school friend won, even getting the highest number of votes. He dropped by the house while I was out. My folks received the thanks.

Still figuring out why Blackberry is called a "smartphone."

The first text I received today was from the CEO. The second from the Ex-SO.

Life is a party! Happy Halloween!

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Monday Polls

I still have some ink on my fore finger. I thought doing the laundry last night would wash it away.

So I did vote.

Casting my vote for the Barangay Chairman and Members of Barangay Kagawad holds more meaning to me, I realized while reading through the list of candidates stapled on the chair's armrest. Last May, I voted for people I haven't even met, whom I've known only through tri-media; people who haven't watched or played in our summer basketball leagues; people who haven't bought at the same sari-sari stores I have been patronizing for years; people who haven't shared my disgust over bus lines BBL, JAM and Cher making terminals the small alleys before and after our bridge and causing sheeshcake traffic in the morning.

This time around, I was voting for people I know and have shared a laugh or two with. This time, I was voting for people whom I've seen in their best and in their worst. This time, I was voting for people who speak my language and experience what I do, hate what I hate.

When they mess up while in office, I can simply call them or drop by their house and speak my mind. I need not write PDI and bust my bile complaining.

For Barangay Chairman, I voted the father of my high school best friend. He is a retired colonel who has been a combat commander. My friend and I were already in college when I found out that they are Cojuangcos. My friend never told me. So I asked her if they have gone visiting Cory in Malacanang when she was still president. She said they were invited twice. I've been friends with a Cojuangco and I had no idea. One wouldn't suspect it, though. They live a simple life. Her father tending to their backyard, planting trees and what-nots. Her mother manning the sari-sari store while cooking the best kare-kare and caldereta in the whole barangay. She sending me those for lunch or dinner. She spending her afternoons over at our house talking about boys and men.

For Barangay Kagawad, I voted for my former High School mate. He would drop by our house at least twice a month for some favor I asked of him. His mother, the sweetest thing in the world. His father, the former homeowners' association president - a very controversial one. One time, I asked him what he would do if he wins after the support I've been giving him. He said, "Take advantage of anything and anyone. I have your back covered." He was joking. I hope.

The Barangay Elections ought to be one election everyone should be excited about; should be the one election everyone should support and go out for.

So sad, I can see very few bothered.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Lifeline

I attended a meeting with the top execs of one of the biggest BPOs in the country. After all has been said and questioned, the meeting tapered to political discussions. From the obscenely repulsive to the heart-wrenching.

One of the men shared that once he ordered about a hundred Jollibee meals to feed applicants during a training session. This after he saw two female trainees not moving from their seats, all pale, yet trying to concentrate on the lesson at hand. The two girls hadn't had lunch. They only had fare money which they borrowed from their neighbors.

A hungry child will never learn in school. That was what we were told in college. Before feeding the mind, first feed the child.

The man said they usually get applicants like that who fail miserably in the initial training. Too much domestic and financial worries in the head and only air in the stomach.

Here they said they saw the merits of Noynoy's Conditional Cash Transfers. CCTs aren't alms; they're a lifeline. One needs to live first before they are taught how to fish. CCTs are given to families who will ensure that they send their kids to school or if mothers would take themselves and their kids to health centers for proper health education and medical check-ups and assistance.

One of the ladies in the meeting even mentioned that in one province, if all of a family's school-going children earn 100% school attendance in a month, they are given a sack of rice. Is that alms? No. It is a reward for not messing up your life despite society's indifference.

Last year, GMA, through TESDA, gave thousands of scholarships to individuals of employable age but were either jobless or daring enough to improve their lot in life through education. The grants didn't end simply at training vouchers distribution. Scholars were also given allowance daily so they would attend school every day. Remove the controversies and corruption, that was one of the best programs GMA has ever done. I won't take that away from her. Now, about 50% of those who have been trained are employed. I know this because I've seen it. We've even employed some of those former TESDA scholars.

We can give "free" primary and secondary education as mandated by the constitution. But some people are so poor, "free" for them isn't exactly so. Students get 20% fare discounts, but there isn't a free ride. Students sometimes get free soup, but never free lunch. And where would they write their lessons? On banana leaves? What would they use as pen? Uling?

The 37 "lawmakers" and those others who oppose the Conditional Cash Transfers should try living with the poor and start accepting the truth that poverty isn't a choice. That being poor isn't equivalent to being lazy or irresponsible.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

I Made It Through Barry Manilow

Looking outside The Coffee Bean facing Eastwood Mall on this rainy, stormy morning, enjoying my vice of sugarfree, milk-filled coffee, I thank God for the lovely morning sans seeing nature's first green of gold.

On my way here, I hit a pothole which I didn't see because floodwaters found themselves once more along C5. It was a hard hit, I thought I would lose a tire. But the impact simply sounded more menacing than the consequence. I guess it was the tire hitting the water, then the hole. To my (shameless) credit, I was careful minding to slow down when I see and sense a puddle. Yes, I did run 110 KPH on a slippery-when-wet-road from Southwoods to Alabang, but that's different. And I snapped out of it when I realize I still want to live to see a hundredth birthday.

Last night wasn't exactly a party. I was in my Alabang office when at midday I received a text from my boss's EA telling me that her boss wanted me to join him in a meeting at 6 PM at Eastwood. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, our Prez knew about Typhoon Juan/Megi. But he also knew that if we didn't go to that meeting we would lose one of this fiscal year's final biggest deals. I could complain to God Almighty but I knew I would still go - flood, typhoon, raging winds, pounding rain, earthquakes - all put together and then some.

The meeting ended half an hour after seven. It was when the rain started to fall big and hard. Please, don't read an undertone into it because that was simply how I saw it was: BIG and HARD. I left the car in Alabang as I don't trust my eyes at night, much more distrust when it rains and not just rain it was last night. I took a cab to take me to EDSA which surprisingly was as clean as a whistle. I got off at EDSA Crossing to take a bus Pacita-bound. The bus took all Creation Time to get to Magallanes interchange, not because there's a jam, but because there were not so many passengers getting on the bus. I guess people knew better than to stay late on the street on a day/night like that. That was what Ondoy had done to us urban and sub-urban dwellers of the capital and the Greater Manila Area.

The bus crawled its way to Ayala to get a busload. Just past Skyway, the bus started to smell of burnt clutch, chugging its slow descent to SLEX. More than the stinky smell of the clutch, the smell of trouble bothered the faint of hearts. Near 19th East, the bus gave up trying and stopped. The bus broke down in the middle of South Luzon Expressway on a rainy, stormy night. Cut to the chase, I arrived home a quarter after 10.

Everyone was still awake, waiting for me, even the nephews (2 and 4 year-olds). I told them about the bus. I was served dinner. Everyone else took second dinner. After supper, my 2-year-old nephew went up to my room and wouldn't stop the melodious wail of Ta-keel, Tita! Tita, Ta-keel! until I turn Youtube on for some Lightning Mcqueen videos. The other nephew came to have a party. It was almost midnight when we finished.

I made it through the rain and the storm and the bus that broke down unceremoniously along the highway. And I was neither pissed nor stressed. I've just learned to let go of the things I cannot control. To see the lighter side of the dark. To listen to the distant silence beyond all the noise.

Life is a Barry Manilow. You wouldn't admit to being a fan, but sure as hell you love his melody and sung a lot of his songs in secret. Barry Manilow sucks with his botox and all. But life, too, sucks. Yet it is a good life with all the troubles too harsh it makes you cry. Far too many sometimes, you cannot help but laugh.

Saturday, October 16, 2010

Oh, Dear!

I bought the Dear John DVD lunch time of Friday. Missed it in the theaters. Sigh. So I had our technical guy set up the LCD projector and the subwoofer and attach them to my laptop at the office. The movie was to be projected on the wall opposite the carpeted floor with stacks and stacks of pillows. Someone sent over a tall latte decaf, a pet bottle of orange juice, a slice of banana cake and some chips. I love my officemates taking care of my me-time.

When everything was perfect, I took out a blanket from the cabinet. (Yes, I keep a blanket in my office. When it gets too cold, I wrap myself in it - corporate attire and all.) It was 6 PM. I turned off the lights and bliss!

Watching John (Channing Tatum), I swore I would never date a mortal. Why can't reality produce hot, good looking men who love a woman the way she wants it? Why does it only happen in the movies - a handsome, sexy, perfectly toned man writing love letters; the same man longing to receive love letters, staring at the moon thinking of the only woman he loves, giving up everything for love; a man not led into temptation. And just when you think all is over, you find him and the girl meeting in a cafe. Of course, with much thanks to the universe for conspiring to set the fate.

Yeah, Yeah. That's why it is called a "movie." It moves you, plucks you out of your world into a place you'll never be, but only for about a hundred minutes.

Never mind some of Channing's awkward acting moments. You look at him and there is no need to go beyond the surface. One look at him and you can forgive all flaws in every tragic hero.

And that kissing in the rain! Why don't real people get caught in the rain with someone they want to kiss? Kissing in the rain defies human logic. Human instinct demands that we run for cover to not get wet.

Soldiers in combat are not supposed to be so runway gorgeous. John has bullets in his body, and blood oozes from the wounds and he still manages to look as if he's just come from a meet at Hugo Boss. What is that?

An escape. That's what the movie has given me. Thank you very much!

Thursday, October 7, 2010

Sonnet and Learning How to Bike

I know it is hard to write a sonnet:
It is like learning how to ride a bike;
You can crack your skull despite the helmet,
Skin your knees and sprain your foot aside.
Your friend or father tells you to balance,
You know the word, the spelling and meaning,
But do it with the bike proves sans a chance,
You call the bike the world's stupidest thing!
And say what quatrain, couplet, iambic?
'Tis English, why three times of four plus two?
Is it wrong of me to ask some logic
About rhyme scheme EY BEE EY BEE BO BOO?
If Will Shakespeare made it look so easy,
Don't blame the bard, been dead for centuries.