A ‘Secret’ Serendipity

"Never underestimate the power of a dismissed dream.
I think there must be a place inside of us where dreams go and wait their turn." - Sue Monk Kidd

The wind walloped hard against the shutters, leaving sloughed leaves strewn pell-mell across the pavement. Drops of rain fell as would an uninvited guest, chattering slightly, and then making its presence known with the rising crescendo; the brim overflowed and the crevasses cracked, enveloping the streets in a deluge. The chill in the air brought about a simultaneous wave of fear and nostalgia. It was in this harshest of weathers that I have rediscovered a familiar haunt -- in the company of a beloved book.

If we were to backtrack to the formative childhood years, three novels stood out among my pantheon of the greats: The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger, which opened my eyes to modern literature that was ingenious in both content and foul language usage; and Silas Marner by George Eliot, who behind that mannish name lay the psyche of Mary Ann Evans, drawing upon the reader a sentimental landscape, the romanticism of the old English countryside melting the cold heart of a weary old man, and of my soul.

And then what I would consider my favorite novel of all time, until further notice: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee. This was what inspired me to view humanity like the esteemed patriarch Atticus, to be dependable like Jem, to be spontaneous like Dill. To understand the complexities of people like Boo Radley. To step inside Calpurnia's and Tom Robinson's feet standing firmly on the ground and being hopeful in the face of injustice, and bristle at why there still are inscrutable Ewells. The Pulitzer-prize winning book heartened me to find my own voice like the heroine Scout Finch. That perchance, my observations would find their place and be able to move somebody -- to aspire to be an agent of change, in the process of expressing and knowing myself. This led me to write nonfiction narratives: starting with the anecdote about a terror teacher, and the journals I had chronicling with much panache my life in higher elementary, to the brief phase of laboring on make-believe newspapers on early Sunday mornings, airing nonsensical opinions and slyly suggesting what the weekend warriors' agenda should be. The more materials I read, the more I wanted to write. This was interrelated to the fascination over vocabulary, spelling and grammar -- therefore, Webster is my eternally steadfast companion. Advancing to high school further amplified it, through the countless theme writings in English that I blissfully engaged in, and staffing in the school paper validated my resolve.

I prided myself in being able to articulate in words what my introvert self was shy to say. In them I felt I grew. But in the midst of college ruckus, newfangled technology and plain laziness, I fell into a rut. I lapsed in that habit of patient comprehension -- it was as if short attention span has ailed me to the point of reducing my daily fill into a short paragraph -- the McTwitterization of it all. I would churn out an essay every now and then, but the sense of accomplishment it once held was not there. The chain of intertwining events both in word and world have left me desolate and dispassionate.

In between one afternoon lull and a haphazard preparation for my next class, I happened to amble around the library, perusing the fiction catalog. One book garnered enough interest that I picked it up and borrowed it immediately -- The Secret Life of Bees by Sue Monk Kidd. It was quite short and seemed to be a light read. I turned to the first page and never wanted to let go.

The Secret Life of Bees is a beautiful, touching and inspiring story set in South Carolina, circa 1964 about a young teenaged white girl whose whole existence revolved around a single event when she was 4 -- that she might have accidentally killed her own mother. Lily Owens, our protagonist, is a bright, sensitive but lonely kid, rendered miserable by the only relative she has, her father T. Ray, who maltreats her at home and employs her thanklessly at their peach orchard business. Otherwise he is a very reserved individual, refusing to talk anything about Lily's mother, their past, or whatever events and ambitions Lily have, even birthdays and gifts. Lily finds a confidante, sister and second mom in Rosaleen, her black househelp and nanny. One of the few things Lily possessed that belonged to her mother was a small, wooden carving pasted with a picture of the Black Madonna, "Tiburon, S.C." written on the back. This keepsake has always aroused curiosity in the young girl, who wanted to know everything about her mother, find out the truth, and fill the gaps and voids in her life. In a fortunate sequence of events, Lily and Rosaleen manage to escape the sleepy town of Sylvan, out from the clutches of T. Ray, the police, and the racist hooligans who threatened Rosaleen's life on the verge of the Civil Rights Act. Where else will they go except to that myth of a place called Tiburon, where they came to settle at the Carribean Pink-tinted house of the Boatwrights, three black sisters involved in the beekeeping profession, with the label of their honey products striking oddly similar to the picture Lily has -- although of course, she fashions out a tale of being lost and penniless just to be able to stay longer and investigate the missing link. August, the eldest Boatwright and the master beekeeper, openly welcomes the two runaways; May, the girlish culinary enthusiast smiles obligingly but retreats to her complicated world; and June the funereal cellist eyes them with a mix of doubt and disdain. Lily's wit and warmth endears her slowly but surely to her new surroundings, to the family, and to the other characters -- the devout group Daughters of Mary, and Zach Taylor, her first sweetheart.

In this home Lily finds the love she craved and needed, and discovers that the truth is found here, more than what she had bargained for -- undergoing a phase of guilt, anger, shame and acceptance. She also learns about the intricacies of beekeeping which is very fundamental to the novel, its lessons applying to both procuring honey and procuring the most out of life. Kidd lusciously starts every chapter with an excerpt about the Queen Bee and her subjects' natures. And consider "The Bee Yard Etiquette" August deduces, saying "The world was really one big bee yard, and the same rules worked fine in both places":

Don't be afraid, as no life-loving bee wants to sting you. Still, don't be an idiot; wear long sleeves and long pants.

Don't swat. Don't even think about swatting.

If you feel angry, whistle. Anger agitates, while whistling melts a bee's temper.

Act like you know what you're doing, even if you don't.

Send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved.

Eventually there will be a comparison between The Secret Life of Bees and To Kill a Mockingbird: Both in the style of Bildungsroman (a coming-of-age tale), both about smart young girls, both set in a time where judgment of character was still based on the color of the skin. I guess stories like these work for me, instilling a sense of idealism and principle -- the admirable humanness of its heroes, the lushness of the prose, and the life lessons. Beyond political correctness and imperfections, they are remarkable in their respective ways and I appreciate them both.

I marvel at how Sue Monk Kidd conveys to Lily the most beautiful lines. Come to think of it, the audacious lady nurtures to be a writer. Some quotable quotes:

"I realized it for the first time in my life: there is nothing but mystery in the world, how it hides behind the fabric of our poor, browbeat days, shining brightly, and we don't even know it."

"People, in general, would rather die than forgive. It's that hard. If God said in plain language, "I'm giving you a choice, forgive or die," a lot of people would go ahead and order their coffin."

"Drifting off to sleep, I thought about her. How nobody is perfect. How you just have to close your eyes and breathe out and let the puzzle of the human heart be what it is."

Kidd writes with a quaint elegance and an immense affection to her characters -- she even humanizes the despicable T. Ray. She can manage to make even the most resolute of non-believers surrender to the power of the divine feminine, the Universal Mother who is at the core of the story. Finishing the novel, I felt as if I have joined Lily in the catharsis, knowing that I can surmount through my shortcomings and better myself, following "the only purpose grand enough for a human life. Not just to love -- but to persist in love."

I wish I could tap into my conscious dreamscapes and conjure something as compelling and heartwarming as that of Lily and the bees. God knows when, but I wake up to wonder every day.

Stoking a sweet reminiscence: My favorite children's book

To me, children's books were the Disney classics I loved to pore over repeatedly when I was a kid. I was fortunate in my childhood to have reached that era when most cartoons in celluloid were still lovingly drawn by hand, frame by frame. Apart from the animations, they were always captured in those little hardcover storybooks published by Ladybird. My dad would collect these, starting from "The Sorcerer's Apprentice". I looked forward to receiving a new book, in every trip we made to the bookstore. It didn't take long to compel us into reserving a permanent shelf space in our small library. Part of the beauty of my fortysomething children's books collection was that they were wonderfully illustrated, the text large enough and easy to understand, and were told just like what you saw in the moving pictures, only it gave you a more lasting impression. My appreciation for Disney was cemented through reading these. The last Disney movie that we had an complementing storybook of was "Hercules". I don't think Ladybird makes these illustrated hardcovers anymore, as much as Disney animations have relinquished over to computer-generated graphics.

And if I were asked to name my favorite "real" children's book, I'd gladly refer to the same collection. For a while Ladybird produced titles from their Ladybird Children's Classics series, well-loved enduring stories articulated and drawn vividly for a child's comprehension. Included were Dicken's "Oliver Twist" and "Tale of Two Cities", and Alcott's "Little Women". I've always liked "A Little Princess" and "The Secret Garden", which were stories fitting for little girls. But from recollections, the one book that fondly kindled my young affections the most was Johanna Spyri's "Heidi", retold by Alison Ainsworth, and illustrated by Pat Tourret. It is a famous product of Swiss literature, yet remains to be one of the most heartfelt, encompassing stories I have ever read.

Whose heart wouldn't melt for a young orphan girl who brought happiness to everyone she meets? Heidi's bright innocence radiates from every page. Dotted with tender sketches of unforgettable characters; speckled with imaginative sceneries of the Swiss countryside and a German interlude. And while the book charms you, it leaves many enduring lessons and traits as well. "Heidi" exemplifies humility, kindness, honesty, perseverance, and the most personal of all -- unbridled optimism. It is one characteristic I am slowly running on empty of as I grow older and more stubborn. But when I am reminded of the little orphan girl from Alm Mountain, a smile instantly plays on my lips and my petty troubles, for a while, fade into the "flames of rose-coloured snowfields".

---

Note: This essay was originally a reaction piece on Nicholas D. Kristof's article "The Best Kids' Books Ever".

Quarantined

"100 years ago they said if a black man can become the President of the USA, pigs would fly!

On the 100th day of Obama's presidency, guess what? Swine flew!"

Or so the text went, sent to me two months ago by my lovely friend Des. I still find it both crude and amusing. With all the somber crises President Barack has been facing, I wish they'd cut him some slack. We'll just have to be lenient when he lights up a smoke every once in a while, even if that means breaking personal campaign promises. Other the other hand I commend him for exercising his trademark composure in the whole Iran election debacle, unlike some warmongering counterparts of his (I'm looking at you, Cheney) who seemingly can't wait to hustle the hell out of a country who's beginning to unburden herself of religious-totalitarian shackles. Iraq was, and is a mistake. Somehow America has to stop acting like The World's Super Police and start watching their own backyard -- North Korea's boiling up a nuke storm lately, and Kim's rearing his ugly oversized shades to them.

So much for CNN Breaking News. After enlisting myself for round-the-clock updates for a couple of days, I finally decided to "de-follow" it on Twitter. Imagine a slew of bad news greeting me one after the other at the home page, having only a smattering of a dozen friends' "tweets". I signed up at the micro-blogging site two years ago when it was still relatively under-hyped, my trail ran cold because of glorious inactivity, and now I return finding every celebrity in the world broadcasting their every mundane, nose-scratching activity... "For my midnight snack, I ate a taco. It was so delicious that I burped. OMG!!!" Self-promotion has reached the pinnacle of its narcissistic height.

I reach for the remote and switch to the evening news for the meat of the matter. It's strange that just when the A(H1N1) pandemic was beginning to smoothen its kinks after the initial outbreak two months ago, our country caught the wave of late reaction. Either that or the first world countries are doing "damage control" à la the SARS episode in China and Hong Kong, and we're not doing bad after all. But even so, how come it took a full six weeks to have the first reported case, given our congested airports are packed everyday with people from literally all walks of life? And after that were we deluged with nearly a hundred swine flu cases per day -- even in far-flung provinces where nobody traveled! Are the thermoscans really working? Is this another case of "mall security laxness", where the guard languidly inspects or even ignores your belongings -- or in this situation, arriving passengers? Could our pigs have cooked up a mysterious malady of their own? They say the whole thing originated from exported Asian hogs. Or is this the administration pumping up juice on a slow news day, diverting the attention from Ate Glo's Amazingly Extravagant Travels?

Increasing from 5 cases, to 50 and then to 100+ is seemingly unbelievable in the span of a week. Are we just mistaking flu for swine flu? Could we be playing a game of "The first one who sneezes, you're it!" Dengue is worse than A(H1N1); we should be worrying more about pesky mosquitoes than buying face masks by the barrel, which only a provide a false sense of security and are more prone to contamination. Unless the virus mutates and develops into more dangerous strains, there is no need to ring the panic bell. (Whenever I hear words like "virus" and "mutate" and "strain" in the same sentence, I cannot help but envision scenarios of horror flicks, where zombies replicate because of a certain something in the air.)

I fear we have been compounded in alarmist territory. Health advisories and the accompanying media attention should be constructively tempered because generally, we only have mild cases that are easily cured in a day. There is a right to information, but there is also a right to sanity. I understand this is not a matter to be taken lightly, but we don't need a blow-by-blow account of the people infected, prompting schools and universities to cancel classes for prolonged periods due to only one or two cases. Standard commencements of the schoolyear opened later than expected, only to be suspended again. There's even an ongoing threat of storms looming ahead, to add to the frothy mix. I reckon the kids are having a field day. I'm secretly enjoying a post-summer vacation too. But in the long run, school suspensions are not going to work. It causes a "ripple effect". The morale dips, the tuitions under-spent, the allowance war chests withheld, the mind slacks, the parents groan, the kids enjoy, the teachers get bored, the school gets hopefully cleaned up for a day and then what? Simply every minute of what was supposed to be hours of substantial education were relegated to an unnecessary back burner. Extending the school year would lead to everybody whining in varying degrees. Man takes time to get accustomed to drastic changes, though we have no other worthy option. It would be a tad ridiculous to hold final exams on Halloween, wouldn't it?

Confronting A(H1N1) is not a daunting task. If you've traveled, sweat out the jet lag. If you're outdoors, bring your favorite hand sanitizer and a pack of tissues; it's time to show a little poise, hygiene and environmental awareness especially if you're a public transport veteran. If you're in suspicion of being infected, there's nothing like a good rest, awesome prescription meds, gallons of water and hot chicken soup to wash the bug away. If symptoms persist, consult your doctor. If you're one of the thousands of students collaterally sidetracked by the flu scare, start planning on how you can recoup lost opportunities of learning. Review your past lessons, take advanced readings. Discover a new hobby, or recapture an old pastime. Do something pleasurable and productive besides Facebook. (You can always write an essay!) After all this is done and gotten over with, you still have a future to worry about. On the verge of getting a job, you can't reason out to the HR officer "There was a swine flu outbreak in 2009 and so I forgot how to study." Or live.

We now return to regular programming. Funny how a self-imposed week-long quarantine does to you.

The Great Filipino Dream

Much has been said about Barack Obama's historic triumph as the first elected African-American president of the United States. The reaction was ecstatic, at best optimistic. It was not as if his win was the answer to the world's problems; it was because his election inspired it.

George W. Bush’s administration ramble on about “terrorists” and “oppressive regimes”, but it is the ordinary American who is the real oppressed -- having had to succumb to eight years of government ineptitude and mockery of accountability, which led nowhere save for two wars, a financial recession, and a bruised Uncle Sam disdained by the world, among others.

What we all witnessed on November 4 speaks for itself -- its citizens have broken through that enormous wall of national cynicism, and set aside whatever partisanship and prejudice they had to finally shatter that discriminating political glass ceiling and voted for a relatively young black man to the highest office in the land. Mr. Obama has the intelligence, capability, charisma, aptitude, and most of all, a vision -- he gave hope even to the most impassive. These, along with his remarkable campaign leadership, helped overcome a perceived lack of experience and paved the way for a revitalization of America's ideals. We'll just have to wait and see whether he can deliver. Taking office at a time of crisis doesn’t guarantee greatness, but it can be an occasion for it.

There is so much inspiration the Philippines can draw from the election that was. For all the arguments about whether our country should be run as a democracy or not, let's set them aside and start taking a realistic look at our national conscience.

Philippine elections have always been a fodder for controversy. Whenever there is one taking place, we always view it with suspicion and apprehension --who can blame us anyway? Every national election I have known since Marcos has a noteworthy taint about it. Lying, cheating, stealing, and killing seem to be part and parcel of the Philippine landscape. “Onli in da Pilipins”, shall we say -- and here we are, purporting to be the only Catholic country in Asia. The media get a field day, election after election, on reports of vote-buying and fraud, political opponents getting ambushed and innocent teachers discarded as collateral damage in the name of victory. The most glaring drawback is that we never seem to move past our ancient manual polling system, one shortcoming that only devious elements are more than willing to continue. The oft-repeated alibi is that revamping the system only curtails huge expenses, and that we do not have the power to efficiently implement it.

For one thing, where else do they get the funding if not for the sweat and blood of the taxpayers? We would much rather see the fruit of our labors generate long-term democratic productivity, than waste it on eternal delays of manual counting that is too prone to manipulation. India, with its billion-plus population, has managed to even outdo its Western counterparts with an inexpensive and effective automation system. If they can do it, why can’t we? Technological advances such as these may not be as fool-proof, but it is definitely a more stringent step towards cleaner elections.

Gone are the days when campaigns were all about specific ideas, plans, and actions on how to work best for the welfare of the people. That candidates should stand for the common man, and that a public servant is a public trust. Missing are the likes of Recto, Diokno, Tañada and Aquino who engaged in highly cerebral discussions that gave insight to their identity, potential and competency to lead.

These days, candidates gravitate toward “showbiztocracy” and rely on celebrity endorsements, catchphrases and scintillating slogans to wow the crowd. And whenever they do get to the point of presenting their policies, they simply churn out platitudes and empty pledges. They grandstand on issues, whatever that’s buzz worthy and soundbite-friendly. They are supposed to be intellectuals – we’ve had enough of political animals, why join the circus? Remember that Joseph Estrada got elected president with no debates and a vague platform, and well, look at where his “mass appeal” led us. The quality of most of our politicians nowadays has but decomposed to a confederacy of dunces. Where else do we see do-nothing scions, moneyed crossovers, showbiz personalities and the ever-present trapos congregate, in full attendance especially at the annual photo-op worthy State of the Nation Address (also known as the Banana Republic Fashion Show)?

We are in such a short supply of committed men and women who can represent our rights and give us our due. One attribute is that the genuine leaders often shy away from the political arena because they are afraid to be consumed by the rotten, sycophantic culture that goes with it. Corruption has been a most incurable disease, something condoned to be as normal as bowel movement that nothing ever gets done in eradicating it. We may have our share of brilliant scholars, NGO workers, humanitarians and philanthropists, but no political leader in recent memory has ever truly done us proud. All we have known about our present Arroyo administration – a questionable succession, naked corruption, a never-ending impasse in Mindanao as a vapid excuse for a bloated fiscal budget, the 500-peso poverty-inducing subsidies, blatant disregard of the Constitution, journalists and human rights activists getting killed, murderers roaming free, the willful expulsion of our nation’s brain and brawn as a short-term solution to a languishing economy. Like the US’ Bush, her rule exemplifies a mockery of accountability unparalleled; we might as well be under a tyrant. Maybe she does have a few accomplishments, but the ones that easily come to mind are the legacies she has been creating indirectly for herself through her father’s name (we’ve got a P200 bill, an airport, a highway, a road – and God forbid, a university cannot be far behind…); that we foot the bill for an unprecedented number of overseas “official” trips ever for a president; and on a romantic note, that all three of her children got married under her term.

To prevent further catastrophe and the blame game, overhauling the political system starts from us. We have to stop distancing from our own reality and not do anything – it is one hell of a reality, but we can turn it around if we want to.

We need to be a responsible, informed electorate. Let’s break free from our apathy and develop the courage to stand up for what is good. We should demand action from our leaders and call on them to attend to the people’s needs. Stop rewarding ineptitude and consenting to deceit, and participate in a democracy that should be honest, free and progressive. The scourges and sins of our country will lessen if we do not tolerate and practice them.

Candidates who are running for public office should do away with diversionary tactics like mudslinging and produce a sensible campaign that invokes a dialogue of programs and solutions. The fact that we have a shameless number of political parties with no clear distinction among them only begets divisiveness, thus we call for unification and a revamping of principles. We need leaders who are decent, wise and mature, that when the results have been tallied there will be no room for sourgraping and acrimony, and just accept the outcome with grace. Meanwhile the winners upon election should make good on their promises, ground themselves in humility with the position they have entrusted, keep an open line to both approval and dissent, and work to their best to be able to inspire others to do the same.

The youth is a critical element in this need for renewed nation-building. We are many, but where are we? We ought to be conscious citizens at this stage because we are the ones who will inherit the woes that have befallen our country. Get out of the rut, the Starbucks habit, the gadget addiction, the dream of earning for dollars and luxury --and start working on the Great Filipino Dream. There are still many young adults not registered to vote, and this is one sector that is sadly underutilized. In the United States, young adults comprised nearly 18% of the electorate and their record turnout was pivotal in determining a hugely successful election. They were active in the campaigns, volunteered in rallies, and urged everyone to get out and vote. They knew their rights and used them to their advantage.

The Filipino youth is no different. The morals and the idealism instilled in us should not waver as we age, but instead remain embedded as a lifelong passion for knowledge and truth. We should bear in heart and mind what history taught us: from the battle cry of freedom in 1898 to the rallying call for a peaceful revolution in 1986, the youth was a force to be reckoned with… and so must it be now.

There is no perfect nation. We are not a perfect people. But if we work together, we can change our country and direct it to lasting progress. I believe in it. Do you?

Vote For A Revolution!

With Campaign 2008 coming to a close, these final days prove to be the most daunting for the most
decisive election in United States history.

As the polls would have us believe, the Democrat Barack Obama seems to have the majority in his hands. But all these polls do not guarantee him the November 4 victory just yet -- it could simply be the amalgamation of a scoop-obsessed media, of pollsters who haven't sampled enough, and of some poll respondents who just want to be politically correct.

On the other side of the fence, Republican John McCain seems all too poised at the losing end. These past few weeks, attention has gravitated front and center -- not to him, but to his vice presidential pick, Sarah Palin. If this was the campaign strategy they hatched two months ago, then it must have backfired with mixed results. Sure, they have our attention, but in the wrong corners -- Palin's wardrobe controversy? The viral web parodies that paint her as charming but ill-equipped? The exclusive news interviews that leave one more baffled about her than before? Palin could have been the fuel to McCain's nearly-doused fire, but aside from the celebrity she has brought, along came the damage that he desperately needs to control.

During the past two years of an exhaustive and extensive race to the presidency, these two men have been subjected to the most intense scrutiny that is albeit needed in order to elect the leader of the free world. Politics has always been a popularity contest, more so in this age of instant's and 24-hour news. Every sound bite and every gesture has been magnified for pundits and the masses to blog and talk about.McCain, the maverick senator from Arizona, has been a steady, dependable hand at the Republican arena since the 2000 election.

He then seemed to be the more liberal, more likeable candidate than George W. Bush was. He had the gallant experience in important policy issues, having held public office for more than 20 years, including championing a campaign finance reform act; an impressive stint at the Vietnam War; and he projected himself to be an outsider of the Grand Old Party establishment and showed to be open to bipartisanship -- which somehow led to the dissolution of his run in the 2000 GOP primaries. This year though, McCain is finally in the limelight, having overpowered pre-primary favorites such as Rudy Giuliani and Mitt Romney. He could've pushed his agenda further and steamrolled his way to a favorable win, but what happened?

George W. Bush.

The Iraq war.

The financial crisis.

Sarah Palin.

McCain's own undoing.

Barack Obama.

It was a fatal combination of these that contributes to McCain's potential electorate demise.

W's Infamous Legacy

George W. Bush, who meekly endorsed McCain through video at the Republican National Convention, has silently relegated to the back seat in this campaign; the standard-bearer McCain salvaging in vain whatever was left of the GOP's credibility amidst its leader's failed presidency, amplified by the severe lashing it endured at the 2006 Congressional Elections. McCain has obviously distanced himself from W., seeking out voters who still believe in the conservative credo. This strategy may work well for others, but it comes across as an undiplomatic approach when viewed in a global sense -- that even if John McCain is your ally, you will be left to fend for yourself when he doesn't need you -- now, what does that present for international relations?

The war in Iraq has been a most unkind legacy the Bush presidency will bequeath to its predecessor. Borne out of greed, warmongering, sheer brashness -- and using the September 11, 2001 attacks as leverage to justify their cause, it has veered the attention of national security away to what should have been a winsome vanquishing to the real insurgents in Afghanistan. (How Al-Qaida came to be, is another matter.) Iraq, post-Saddam Hussein, is still and even more dangerous than before. The damage has been irreparable, thousands of lives have been lost, and there is still no end in sight.

McCain has only echoed Bush's foolhardy declaration that "We are winning the war" and will continue to keep the troops there, when in truth Americans have only been thrust into a quagmire that has risked them financially -- stretched taxpayers' hard-earned dollars in funding a war chest readily disposable and siphoned by Bush's defense-contractor compadres, but with no concrete results -- and internationally. Does this solidify the neoconservatives' cultivated image of the US as a Big Bully and The Only Rightful Superpower, notwithstanding Guantanamo Bay, the Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse scandal, the subversive intent of the Patriot Act, the rampant disregard of moral and ethical standards?

More than that, the 44th president will be saddled with fixing an all-but-fallen economy. The US economy is at its most fragile stage today. The bourses have fallen sharply one week after the other, teetering into a depression to rival that of the post-1930's market crash, leaving ordinary citizens anxious whether this setback can be lifted at all. Every nation has felt its crippling effects, and governments have been struggling to soften the blows that the US crisis has consequentially deferred. This whole mess could have been avoided if the government wasn't too lax on big business -- like the levees that could've been strengthened before Hurricane Katrina blew New Orleans into a deluge.

Eight years of George W. Bush does not bide well for the United States. Its image within itself and across the world has only deteriorated since because of its pierced invincibility, complacency and resistance to yield to the nation's best and true interests.

A Campaign of Division

Since the official campaign for the presidency began, McCain has widely veered from his original positions on issues such as reproductive rights, the environment and immigration, to cater to narrow right-wing ideologues. He has only been too willing to risk his reputation to scour out votes, using antagonizing tactics and almost delusional self-aggrandizements. We know that elections are an avenue for all sorts of appealing platitudes and promises that may never happen at all, but can it bring out the worst in a man?

Returning to McCain's selection of Alaska Gov. Sarah Palin -- this has been a provocative move. McCain surely have thought that since Obama has already chosen a man in the form of veteran Sen. Joseph Biden a week ago, he could take this opportunity to woo the disgruntled Hillary Clinton supporters and pick a female to reignite the playing field. Before Palin, his campaign was almost going belly up. Since that proclamation, curiosity over the woman of the hour was but natural -- but upon closer inspection, the succeeding revelations suggest that Palin is a mismatch.

Reports that the VP selection process was recklessly dealt; the allegations and accusations that hound Palin's leadership record; her overwhelmingly conservative stance on her own gender's issues, science, religion and education; her short-sighted background on the issues that beset the country as witnessed through her uneasy responses in the nightly news interviews. Celebrity doesn't cut it, substance does. Watching her speak at campaign rallies, Palin exudes an appalling variety of close-minded thinking and adviser-coached applause prompts. A Vice President should be able to equal him/her capability to that of a President, in case the need arises for a succession -- but upon what we have seen, Palin doesn't seem to measure up. If she is unqualified, then it certainly reflects on the judgment of McCain.

Together with McCain, they have campaigned on a ticket of spite and estrangement, stirring up crowds with quasi-Bush "Either you're with us or against us" rhetoric. They have divided the nation into "the pro-America" / "real America" states, and the "others" with "that man". To call a state that votes for you as "pro-America", what would make of a state that doesn't? It conjures up insinuations that if you don't vote McCain-Palin, you're branded as unpatriotic and not putting your "Country First", which has been their campaign tag -- as if nobody thinks of their country's sake. They have taken the citizens as intellectually void -- using blatant discrimination, character assassination, antagonism, and shades of racism to fuel their last desperate stretch.

A Change Will Come

Barack Obama, the first-term senator from Illinois, is the one of the best that the Democratic Party has produced in a long time. His meteoric rise to the top can only be attributed to the fact that he is the living embodiment of the American Dream.
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The 2004 Democratic National Convention introduced him to mainstream America and the whole world, and it brought much excitement about this new guy who's taken everyone's attention because of his identity, eloquence, intelligence, charisma and his stirring message of a unified America.

That obviously wasn't the last we've seen of Obama... the guy's got mission and ambition. Who would've known that in a span of four years that he would able to utilize his senate orientation to gear up on the biggest political stage, trumping the once shoo-in, Sen. Hillary Clinton and other more experienced colleagues?

The answer is hope. He was a fresh voice in the decrepit, dreary Washington landscape. Riding on a platform of change, he inspired sentiments of idealism and a renewed hope in the government not just among his supporters but also to the youth, the working-class people, the professionals, his fellow politicians, ordinary citizens within and outside of the country. His message is simple, powerful, and enduring.

Others may argue that Obama's all talk and no action, that he is too inexperienced to lead. Through the course of this campaign, he has showed incredible maturity in making his point without distorting it. He is willing to learn. He knows his subjects clearly and is wont to express his plans, which shone through in the three presidential debates. He acknowledges his limitations and ably compensates for them -- one major case would be the selection of Delaware Sen. Joseph Biden, an expert on the area of foreign affairs. That itself is an example of how he makes important decisions -- well-thought out and for the long run, in contrast to McCain's Palin.

His stand on issues generally reflects what the United States needs in order to reform the government and the economy, and restore a common purpose -- the greater good of its citizens. He evinces an ability to repair frayed diplomatic relations and effect a more benevolent global opinion. And most especially, as what he has been doing, redeem optimism from apathy. Sometimes, all you really need is a dream, a vision, to get things going. No amount of credentials or experience can prepare a president, or predict what his term will be like. But Obama has the qualities, the confidence and the tenacity to become President. His victory can spell a real difference.

SM: Where everyday dreams come true

Although I am a self-confessed homebody by nature, I have a mysterious alter ego that simply loves hanging out in the mall.

Blame it on my DNA -- the mallrat gene was embedded in me even before I came to the world (my Mom was shopping when her labor pains started). And as far as my childhood memories go, Sundays always include a morning mass, a hearty meal, and a stroll in the mall. Times may have changed and interests may have matured, but the mall has been a constant -- and our all-time favorite is SM!

My earliest SM visit was when I was 2 years old, to SM Sta. Mesa, which was the newest mall and nearest to our home then. We'd spend almost every weekend there to eat, shop, and entertain ourselves. I'd have the usual kiddie arcades and amusements, but since my parents are moviegoers, it wasn't long before I developed the 'popcorn habit'. My Dad took me to my first movie in the cinema, "The Never Ending Story" (featuring that flying dog), with soft drink and buttered popcorn in tow. I was 3 then, and from my Dad's recollection I gaped in when I saw "the giant TV" and "the huge sofa" -- I was so amazed being in this big room that I was looking around at the people, munching the food (and the eventual toilet trip) instead of watching the movie! It was also in SM Sta. Mesa that I watched my two enduring favorites, "Forrest Gump" and "Now and Then". Back then we sometimes did a 'double feature' -- watching 2 movies in a day! (Tickets only cost around 40 pesos each circa 1996, and a double bill for 3 even gave you change for 300 pesos! Those were the times...) We’d stay until nighttime in the cinemas and we'd leave on the last full show, with an occasional Chicken McNuggets (they were so delicious then) from the McDonald's across SM before we go home.

Venturing further, we would embark on a 'road trip' to the rest of the SM branches: to SM North Edsa, usually after swimming at Grace Village in Quezon City; and SM Megamall which was our second favorite. Our mall adventures reached as far as SM Las Piñas, SM Bacoor and SM Pampanga! We'd hit the road early in the morning, spend the whole day there, and go home at the strike of 8 -- now that's what I call quality time! SMs have become sort-of local tourist spots, don't you think? The farthest I have been was to SM Baguio, which Mom & I visited last summer, and capped it off with a Starbucks Chocolate Chip Frappuccino and a delicious local homemade chicken pie.

One of the most unforgettable incidents I've ever had was when I almost got lost in SM Megamall's food court. I was a precocious 5-year-old, and Dad (who just came back from a construction project in China) and I had just finished our lunch. I went to wash my hands on the drinking fountain while he waited on our table. The distance was about 18 feet, and just when I turned back to return, a couple of maintenance people from opposite directions peddled their steel trolleys in front of me (my height only reached about that of the trolleys’), and after that I got disoriented and couldn't remember the aisle where I was supposed to head to. Where's my Dad?!? I started aimlessly roaming around, panic flushing through me, hoping for a sign of Dad. A woman noticed me walking about and attempted to accompany me and search, but I was too distressed, tilting my head up and ambling distractedly. A few minutes later, I spotted him with a security guard in the premises, walking ahead. Needless to say, all's well that ends well -- but that was the first time I got real scared in my life. To ease the post-tension, Dad treated me to watch my favorite Disney movie, "Aladdin", which I remembered was on its reissue screening. Thank God I haven't gotten lost since!

Now we're not the shopping type, but just about every square inch of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs pyramid we definitely found at SM. We often buy my school supplies, our clothes, medicines, household needs, gifts and the habitual impulsive whimsy at the mall just 'round the corner (SM Manila, which now carries the status of 'the nearest SM mall'). And groceries -- Mom consumes a bulk of her credit card limit on our monthly purchases. And of course, food -- no day-long trip to SM could be sustained without sustenance! Whether fine food, fast food or food court, everything's all yummy to me.

SM has been known to be a family-friendly place -- who else better exemplifies that than with my two folks and I? It has also been a place where milestones are celebrated (we took my grandparents to SM Manila for my grade school graduation feast); a reunion for old times' sake (my balikbayan cousin and I spent her free time with a skating expedition in SM Megamall and recently in SM Mall of Asia); and a regular hangout of the barkada (which my high school/college friends and I have done in various SM malls, notably SM San Lazaro). It also doubles as a refuge from all things dull and dreary (post-exam stress, a bad hair day, or just killing the boredom!)

My favorite hangouts in SM (aside from the cinema, the supermarket and the food court) are: #1) bookstores (especially National Book Store), #2) the Home section in the Department Store, and #3) SM Appliance Center. There’s #1 because I'm a book lover and simply like browsing new and time-tested titles and thingamajigs, and sometimes give in to irresistible cravings. In my opinion a trip to the mall isn't complete without going to the bookstore -- just being there makes me feel right at home. Meanwhile, I chose #2 because I like looking at the cups and saucers and the cookery, as part of my frustrated ambition to become a chef. Or go to the linen section, and touch the beddings & fabrics and fawn over the fluffiness of the pillows (all the while imagining my dream bedroom!) ... and lastly #3 because I like to drop by and view the array of merchandise they have -- the home theater combo, the kitchen showcase, the flat-screen LCDs... oh, if I were a rich girl! An honorable mention would be the computers and gadgets level in the 5th floor of SM Megamall, which I loved going to since I was a kid -- it was a sure way of getting me geared up with technology. I used to gawk at the laptops, and fast-forward 10 years later I'm still gawking (someone help me get a Macbook please!)

One of the great things about SM is that it constantly improves and reinvents itself. On my trip to SM North Edsa's The Block, I immediately loved it upon entering and made it my favorite SM in terms of aesthetics because of its ample lighting and spacious interiors (they even have these colorful lounge sofas!). I liked the renovation they did with SM Megamall's Department Store because it made the place more cozy, chic and appealing at the same time. And the SM Mall of Asia does not disappoint -- wide and multifaceted, it took the concept of malls to much greater heights. We went there last New Year's Eve and walked around, took the MOA outdoor tour shuttle (we were lucky!), and walked some more (even if our feet were sore). We haven't conquered the entire MOA complex yet, but we'll get there in time. We loved the open spaces that made the mall akin to a bustling community; and to be able to dine on the stretch beside the bay area on sunset and feel the breeze around you was awesome.

My Mom and her officemates had the opportunity to catch "I Dream", the musical based on the life of SM founder Henry Sy, Sr.; and she relayed the story to us. To think all this sprawling conglomerate started from his sincere vision and have it achieved -- effectively changing the Filipino economy, lifestyle and culture! From that one fulfilled dream yielded the realization of all our dreams. Big or small as they may be, SM has always been there to make our lives easier, better, and much more fun-tastic! Here's to another 50 years!

The Curriculum Conundrum

Many people say that once you finish college, you are prepared for everything the world will throw at you. You are already equipped with the necessary knowledge and skills, and much-imbued with the steadfastness and discipline that these become your edge as you enter the so-called 'rat race'.

The UST-AMV College of Accountancy, while being a young institution, has been efficiently making strides towards becoming the country's premier center of accounting education. Recent results have evinced that UST has been consistently improving in the CPA examinations; and the need for progressive innovation has propelled, among others, a partnership between UST-AMV and Deutsche Bank to offer the audit-driven SAP (Systems Application & Products) Program in addition to the computer courses offered, a well-placed move as it is indeed relevant especially in an increasingly globalized and connected world.

On the other hand, although form is relatively the same, there is a discrepancy among the accounting batches' curricula. The present graduating batch, previous alumni included, basically have a "Major in BSA" curriculum -- almost entirely composed of general courses offered in the first and second academic year, and then a mass of profession-related courses in the latter half. This could be attributed to the gradual developmental shift of studies following the independent status gained by UST-AMV from the College of Commerce in 2004. Meanwhile, the other undergraduates (starting from Batch 2010) have a "purely Accounting" curriculum, which has devolved from the "major in BSA" standard courses aforementioned and has taken the 'fast track' -- they have included major courses as early as freshman year. To note, the 'old' curriculum has an essentially 'academic' program, where performance is only based on quizzes and the major exams. The new curriculum includes additional courses such as Thesis Writing. Could this be a disparent advantage of the undergraduates? Could this mean that the previous graduates and graduating students of the program are 'underhanded', lacking in preparation?

Thesis writing, for a long time now, has been the boon and bane of many students struggling to earn a much-coveted college degree. Many colleges provide this course as the culmination of knowledge and aptitude, a litmus test to see how well a student has learned throughout his education. A lot of effort is spent brainstorming, toiling, deducing and defending such work -- it is almost a real job if one takes it too seriously.

As a fourth year student, it is admittedly a relief that Thesis Writing was not offered in the program. But then it seems unfair, this discrepancy in curricula. There is even the possibility of offering on-the-job trainings (OJTs) in the near future, a need sorely lacking in the present situation. Learning isn't supposed to be only confined inside the four walls of a classroom. For a profession as fundamental and kinetic as that of accounting, students should be exposed to the 'real practice' to be able to fully grasp the ideas and concepts that are literally floating in one's head, waiting for the next examination to get them over with. Accounting isn't merely a case of numbers and logic; it is not only a matter of knowing what to do, but also how well you execute it.

Time and again, our professors convince us that studying in AMV is enough proof that we are capable of overcoming the odds, reinforced by the rigorous training would-be CPAs face year after academic year. They even say that we are 'overworked' compared to other accounting schools, which could only mean a good thing. Also, capability isn't just measured by acing tests, it's about knowing the lessons by heart.

Thesis or no thesis -- basta tatak AMV, tatak magaling.

One Word at a Time

At 20, I must say that the longest love affair I've ever had was with a guy named Webster, an Oxford-educated American, who lived in random houses and has been around the world for quite sometime now. Every moment I’ve shared with him was an exciting one -- mind-blowing, even. He has always been someone I can depend on, someone wise and wonderful, someone I cannot live without.

Yes, in this literate lifetime, nothing has expressed my existence as succinctly as my trusty dictionary.

Dictionaries are not only placed in dust-laden shelves; these books are precious treasures. Our house is riddled with volumes of all sizes: from the 1970 edition of Collins English Gem (the smallest); to the ubiquitous black-and-red Merriam-Webster pocket version which I have kept since Grade One; the standard-sized red M-W that I have enlisted for primary usage; and the magnanimous Oxford Advanced English which at its thickness and built could pose as a dead ringer for the Holy Bible. ‘Twas the techno age that these compendiums have been reduced to handhelds and software, but I still love the smell of musty yellowed paper in the morning.

My romance with dictionaries came slowly but naturally. I have been that child -- alone, swept in a cascade of print -- not very keen with toys. I do not know to whom I inherited this, but then Mom and Dad discouraged neither. I would get a new hardbound Disney storybook every month to fill my collection. Trips to the mall were never complete without a visit to the bookstore. I loved reading as much as watching cartoons or sketching fancy ball gowns, but it wasn't until elementary that I developed a craving for words.

Soon, like all girls in that age, I had been bitten by the Sweet Valley-Nancy Drew-Hardy Boys mania -- friends would swap these pocketbooks like taboo paraphernalia on boring class lectures. My unfamiliarity of children’s games was amply compensated by escapades to the school library, where I was always bound to find some obscurely enticing book. I read classics like "The Great Gatsby", "Far From the Madding Crowd" and "The Old Man and The Sea", and became familiar with its characters and plots – well, some of them I didn't understand then. It also inspired me to tap into writing -- silly metric poems I composed day-long that always rhymed in the end, and mini-novellas that for some reason went unfinished after two chapters.

It really wasn't until Grade 4 that I truly realized what a dictionary was worth. It was just another Spelling drill one afternoon in class, and because it was my favorite subject I always wanted to ace the pre-lesson tests. Somehow I had a weird gift for 'sensing', not spelling, words -- I'd hear one, and a part of my brain would go all John Nash-like -- processing it, letter after letter, and I'd quickly consider whether it was something I had read or not, or maybe it was closely spelled with another familiar word.

I consistently got high marks on those drills, and my English teacher Miss Subala told me that I could give the annual school spelling bee a shot. I was new to that area -- I had never participated in some kind of academic contest, and this love of reading led me to one! I was feeling tense on the day of the competition, since most of the contestants were the intelligent, 'seasoned' challengers. I was so nervous that I couldn't hear the teacher pronouncing the words. Suffice to say, my first attempt on spelling bees was a dismal one.

My Dad, having learned of my newfound ‘talent’, started giving me "spelling training" the summer after, just so to prepare myself for next year's contest. He'd pick up a dictionary, and read at least ten words for me to spell. He told me to read more newspapers. Reading tastes began to evolve, and this was the time I started my John Grisham mania. I scanned through foreign dictionaries in the hope of finding some exotic words we might use. And we have this old vocabulary builder book that we used for spelling – such unheard-of English words that even if I didn't know the meaning, I would be able to spell anyway. And believe me, the Webster was my favorite book then -- I'd flip through it everyday, even sneaking before I went to sleep! I sure was a “word nerd” in my quirky way.

The boot camp did pay off -- I placed second in the Grade Five level that year. I was surprised enough I’d gone that far. Several months more of Dad's nightly drills and a bit of luck and a prayer, I won the gold medal in the Grade Six category. That was the first time I’ve ever felt so good in my life, really! (Thank you, Sergeant Dad.)

Having had a flourish in my elementary spelling success, I was given a chance to participate in outside competitions twice. It was something I’ve always wanted to do, envisioning myself in a sort-of “ Battle of the Brains” set up. Although I was only a finalist on the first try, I was able to finish second on the second time. I was a little disappointed with myself because I could’ve done more. Those misspelled words occasionally come to haunt me – caboose, euchre, lagniappe… I promise to devour my dictionary, Ma’am.

Beyond spelling bees, dictionaries have been every student’s go-to reference book. We seek for its wisdom at every vocabulary-building exercise, procrastinated term paper, and caffeine-induced book report. For me, it is a wannabe writer’s best friend. I usually consult the D-man or its cousin, the thesaurus, for every query I have whenever I run out of synonyms. (I sometimes falter over how to say “cool” three other colorful ways.) Writing since has become my passion, and I owe a great part of that on my nurtured love for the dictionary. It has always been there, just waiting for me to give it another once-over, perhaps in tow for the next great Palanca, Pulitzer, Nobel-winning piece. Perhaps.

Inadvertently, I also owe it for my crossword-puzzle addiction, my CNN viewing habit, my love of trivia game shows, my fascination for all things French, my clandestine foray into online journals, and why the editorial is my favorite newspaper section. I owe the dictionary for sharing a bond with my family, gaining new friends, having people recognize my capabilities; and most importantly, giving the sweetest definition of all: myself.

Every now and then, I’d encounter a difficult word while reading (recently it was rodomontade) and I honestly couldn’t resist the urge to just look it up in the dictionary. Even in this day of ‘instant’ everything, nothing could ever beat the old-fashioned joy of reaching into the shelf and taking that bulky volume out. The thrill of leafing through the pages and finding it’s right there. You discover its meaning, reading it slowly and sensuously. And your brain registers, hoping to create an imprint in the recesses of your memory, and your life. A beautiful experience, one word at a time.

--

Note: This essay was published in The Philippine Star, Sunday Lifestyle Section dated June 8, 2008 (page H3) as the week's winning entry for the National Book Store "My Favorite Book Contest".

Road Trippin' Blues

"Kailangan pa bang i-memorize yan???" would definitely be one of the numerous cacophonic greetings I endure in my daily travels. As a certified public commuter, I've been on every PUV known to man -- whether gamely clinging to my dear life while standing on a bus headed to Quiapo; insisting that I'm a student and asking for proper change inside the chintzy contours of a jeep; or zooming "Amazing Race"-style as the doors of the last tram to Central Station closes. Ah, the life.

And more often than not, bad music blares in these instances in the not-so-distant background. It's like the "Soundtrack to Dante's Divine Comedy"... either it's some novelty song or a hit dance tune, or a resurrected Air Supply ballad, or an 80's one-hit-wonder plucked from obscurity; or karaoke staples; or heaven forbid -- that boy band ditty that brings back embarrassing memories of how you once sang that like crazy and you so wanted to have Nick's/Justin's/Shane's/Michael's babies. (Who's Michael? Oh, Michael Learns To Rock!). But of course, I'm exaggerating. Sometimes I couldn't help bobbing my head and sing "Like a Rose" as the little old lady sitting beside me starts giving me weird looks as if I was an incarnation of "Groupies Gone Wild". Sorry, ma'am.

So whenever my MP3 player (the one with a ridiculously short life span of 3 hours daily) permits me, I'd plug it in my ears to beat the morning discordance. Songs like Petula Clark's "Downtown", The Beatles' "Come Together", Michael Bublé's "Everything" and Norah Jones' "Come Away With Me" undeniably gives me a feel-good nudge to start the day right. I'll take 'em over "Papaya" any given second.

But if you start boxing me into Little Miss Sunshine, hmmm... not quite right. I'm Easy Listening Dudette by day, Angsty Teenager (I was still nineteen 16 days ago) by mid-afternoon. Blame it on screwed-up tests, the dread of the next-round exams, the drollness of my non-existent lovelife, the hunger pangs that accompany my already-weary mood... and another round of "Hi pangga!!!" as I ride my way home. As The Player Currently Known As pudPod lapses into a coma and calls it a day, my brain sets into autoplay a repertoire of Muse, Franz Ferdinand, The Killers, Coldplay, Maroon 5, Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco, et al. I'd like to drown out the noise, the smog & the sweat and get myself into an pop-rock state of mind. Though it doesn't help when the bus' speaker system is right under your seat that you can't help but give the schtick up...

If there's one song I'd choose as my ultimate road trip soundtrack, it's none other than "Two Of Us" by Aimee Mann & Michael Penn. It's light on the ears, a mix of classic and folk, and gives you the sense that everything will fall into place. Two of us -- a friend, a relative, or just me and my thoughts -- and the optimism of finding happiness. We're on our way home. Getting to your destination is only half the journey... you must learn to love it too.

P.S. I just came home from a medley of "That's Why You Go Away", "Total Eclipse of the Heart" and "Charing"!

PLEASE SAVE MEEEEEE!!!!

---

Note: This was the winning entry for Philippine Daily Inquirer's 2bu! Lifestyle and Sony Ericsson's "Win a w660i Walkman Phone Contest" last December 21, 2007.

Saved in Solitude

I am a loner by nature. If I would invite you to observe one tiny fraction of my life, I think you would unflinchingly attest to that in a matter of seconds. I love being by my lonesome self; I guess I was born like that. It's amazing how my mother's normally quiet genes would overpower my father's wickedly gregarious ones, thus rendering me a woman of few words. More convincing evidence is that I'm an only child, and more often than not, only children are generally pensive and are capable of creating their own worlds... but then I'm not your armchair psychologist, and so I might be bluffing for my inexcusable unsociability-since-birth.

My childhood is typical of the little girl who's comfortable in the corner of the room while everyone else was chasing each other. Sure, I'd have playmates here and there, but most of the time I'd just sit around and doodle, or ride the swing, or take a nap on my desk. Even at an early age I hated noise so I did not make much. No wonder I was awarded "Most Disciplined" in my nursery.

Growing up only made things worse, or weirder. Being quiet evolved to being shy, which was a tad unexplainable up to now, even to me. My preschool report cards would show consecutive remarks of "Must overcome shyness", an all-time grand slam. Maybe I understood the phrase "Don't speak unless you're spoken to" the wrong way. I was always hesitant to read a story, much less act out, in front of my classmates that I'd hide under the table whenever my name was called. When I do talk aloud, like whenever I recite, my voice always comes off unusually soft, and it ticks me off. I recall the time when we had a Biology presentation, I was already shouting from the platform yet my teacher couldn't hear me in the back of the room. What stage fright!

Please don't even get me started with chit-chat. I will insist that I am a good listener and let you do the talking -- I'm a terrible conversationalist! We'd probably run around in circles talking about the weather and nothing but "How's your life?" and "Are you okay?" in between kilometric gaps of silence. Books gave me the perfect alibi for being aloof to the rest of civilization. I devoured them, allowing myself to traverse through different realms with gallant heroes and psycho-dramatic subplots. The library was a refuge, an escape from all things loud and embarrassing. I also liked to take quiet walks around school, and unlike Macaulay Culkin's character, I'm perfectly fine being home alone. Hell yes, I would pretty much do anything else except mingle. I'd watch TV for hours, listen to my favorite music, write essays or poetry -- and since we're in the 21st century -- browse the Internet forever and ever. And if there's an actual need to talk, I'd grunt or nod or mumble gibberish. My parents have grown so exasperated of me, they must've thought I had actually gone mute.

---

I am a loner, but not always. Adam was alone and sad in Eden, even with everything he could probably want around him, and so God created Eve so he can have companionship. Well, no religious semantics here but the same goes for me and everyone else. Being alone can be quite boring, actually. You’d run out of things to do, and you must’ve spent nearly a quarter of your earthly existence just being contemplative and glassy-eyed. You spend your life detaching from it and then find it biting you back. The world passes you by, leaving you out from the hustle and bustle of things. There is certain pleasure in going solo, but only to an extent. On a particularly dreary day, when you walk with your hands in your pockets and looking very much like The Loneliest Person Alive, you’ll meet a pack of your peers just giggling and chattering away, and you’d wonder why you’re missing all that fun. There are moments that you will find that you are remarkably alone, wistful and unhappy.

But in all these years of self-imposed seclusion, it's incredible that I have gained a number of friends in spite of my initially snobbish personality. That there are those willing to knock me out of my stupor and experience happiness with the company of interesting people. I met my best friend in Grade One. I for the most part, was particularly friendless that time. I don’t know how it all began but then we just started talking to each other about homework, I think. And before you know it, we became inseparable. We’d talk about anything, eat lunch together, take trips to the library, do all sorts of adventures, and even when we get home we’d still talk on the phone for hours. It was almost like that for the rest of elementary. Other classmates would say how different we were even if we’re best friends – she was chatty and extroverted while I was very reserved. Maybe opposites do attract. Even if we don’t share classrooms, courses, or social groups anymore over the years, we’d still find time to communicate and chat like the old days. It must be the secret of an extraordinary friendship that has lasted twelve years and counting.

Talking may be a good thing after all. I met a great friend of mine back in high school and the best memories I’ve had were after-class conversations on philosophy, religion, and even finance! We’d share secrets, give our own opinions on relationship matters, and laugh about the silliest things. I have cultivated friendships with fellow colleagues from my school orgs – the school paper, and would you believe, the drama guild – and I have gained a lot of insight from them. They were a smartly neurotic bunch, but I felt happy with them because it was one of the times where I felt I belonged. College gave me a chance to branch out and found myself lucky with the friends I’ve made so far as they are the nicest, most genuine people ever.

I might have downgraded my parents earlier, but really, they’re great! They’ve seen through my best and my worst. They know me inside and out, and they’re very supportive. They know when I need some space, and when I’m practically crying out for help but am too proud to say so. They annoy me sometimes but come on, parents can be like that! I’d like to think that I treat my mom as a sister and that I have a good bonding relationship with my dad. I guess we’re the only ones we’ve got.

Many times I might have taken this for granted, but deep down I am indebted to them – my family, my friends, acquaintances, strangers. They’re a good enough reason to stop sulking in the corner and enjoy how it is to live and love. They are the spice of life, and life is indeed wonderful.

I am a loner, yes, but I know I am not alone.

---

Note: This essay was published in [dis]kwento, the Literary Journal of the UST-AMV College of Accountancy (June 2008 issue).

Mabuhay, Pinoy Cinema!

Cinema is perhaps the most sophisticated form of art that has taken the world by storm since its innovation in the past century. From the period the Lumieres premiered the first motion picture, and until now, cinema has never been in better hands. It is a moving canvas of art, a graceful symphony of sounds, a vivid embodiment of words and ideas. The power of cinema spans across generations and places. The ingenious charm it possesses is a veritable force that cannot merely be extinguished by passage of time and modern advancement.

A film, in itself, is a multi-sensory splendor of thought, action and emotion. It is the culmination of days', months', and even years' worth of passion and perfection. It seeks to communicate its purpose; it revels in its manifested mystique. One can only look at a scene in a movie to understand how much effort everyone involved has took in the realization of the entirety, and therefore come to relish it.

The subject of a film is often the main focus of the cinemagoer's discernment. Universal topics such as love, self-discovery, family relations, war and peace -- commingle with the setting and the genre, together with an alternate perspective -- to take the audience to a quest which is both enriching and satisfying. And the world having as many tongues as there are cities, one cannot overlook the fact that culture plays a key role in cultivating the "talking pictures".

International cinema is a fascinating journey that does not require a dozen passports and a fistful of currency, but only a keen sense of details and an appreciation of all things new and varied. You don't have to travel far and wide to find out the liberal American lifestyle, the romanticized French cityscape, the subdued elegance of the Chinese, the religious devotion of the Hispanics, and so on. That is the beauty of cinema -- the world comes to you. It speaks, and makes you see an exquisite spectrum from a prism of eyes.

We Filipinos have so much to be proud of about our culture. It is a rich tapestry of age-old beliefs and traditions, fostered idealism, and adherence to the contemporary. We have a culture that is definitely unique and vibrant, throbbing from the pulse of every countryman. Who can match our famed hospitality and generosity? Or the way we possess that characteristic 'utang na loob' or value of indebtedness whenever a friend lends us a hand? And especially the collective behavior of constantly assuming a positive outlook in life in spite of insurmountable hardship? There is just so much that the whole world can learn about us.

We are a people who regard filial obligations and loyalty to our comrades in high esteem. We bear the brunt of labor in order to support our loved ones -- this is particularly evident with the mass of remittances coming into the country from Filipinos contracted for work abroad. We do not hesitate to help strangers in distress, even if we've got our own share of it. Tasks are better accomplished through a cooperative endeavor like Bayanihan, which in turn encourages camaraderie and brings out the best in everyone. There are many other traits Filipinos have that are worthy of emulation, but what I definitely find most admirable is that unquenchable zest for life!

There is always a downside to every story. The Philippines is still classified as a third-world country, and poverty is still the top issue to be dealt with. Crimes still abound, there is an ongoing threat of terrorism; and while the economy may be doing fine, its performance is not enough to respond to continual unemployment and the fear of foreigners who consider investing in the nation. There seems to be bad news in the headlines just about every day.

Various films from preceding eras have taken an excellent introspection into the Filipino way of life, and there are amazing gems that have been produced in recent years -- a number have even been recognized in international film festivals -- but most, if not all, have been overshadowed by the country's big movie studios that churn out seemingly uninspired films that follow mostly in the way of Hollywood's hollow blockbusters and comedies, and the popular Asian horror genre. These studios appeal to the audiences with their movies featuring bankable celebrities and catchy plots, but usually leave out the quality and substance that makes a film truly worth buying a ticket for.

I applaud the hard work of our independent studios and filmmakers who, even with limited resources, manage to deliver films that cater to both the aesthete and the intellect. They are visionaries in the sense that they are able to see through mundane human conditions and turn them into a riveting portrait of the idiosyncrasies of man. There is also a rising trend in the form of digital film production and also the Internet's multimedia capabilities, where up-and-coming directors can experiment and be the next Brocka or Bernal, two of the many gifted directors that were successful in bringing the Filipino psyche to higher grounds.

It's somewhat appalling that it takes the global film scene to acknowledge the excellence of quality Filipino movies, for a majority of our own race to realize what immense talent we possess. If we can only gain more support for our “indie” filmmakers, have greater awareness of our innate creativity, and have a deeper appreciation of our culture, then we can promote and nurture that talent. Through the result of these efforts we can show what fine Pinoy cinema is all about -- not just to international film spectators and award-giving bodies -- but most importantly to ourselves, and emerge with honor and pride at the greatness, more than ever, of the Filipino spirit.

Dreamchasing

"What do you want to be when you grow up?"

It's a simple yet paradoxically trivial question. We often hear children ask that amongst themselves in between play and the afternoon lull, or come across it in grade school-inspired slum books. Though the premise seems juvenile, that single question may very well be the factor that defines our lives.

When we were kids, we would often answer that question as we only knew how -- with a bright sparkle in our eyes and a winning grin. "To be an astronaut-slash-doctor-slash-movie star," we'd respond with a flourish. Our parents were our ultimate role models. We would also catch profiles of famous industry leaders on TV and secretly wished we'd be like them. And for the girls, we even managed to fill in a daydream or two about being the next Mrs. ___, married to the celebrity we found cute. What wishful thinking! The possibilities were endless, as well as the limit of our ambitions. The world was big; why shouldn't we dream big?

As high school students, that question became more serious and impending. Filling up college application forms was a task that has never been more life-threatening, to make an overstatement. What is it that we really want to become? Those who have pondered that question long enough can write the course code with much determination. They can count themselves lucky.

Oftentimes, with the present conditions we're at and the steep price of living, childhood ambitions aren't as easy to fulfill anymore. Dreams have taken on a more realistic nature. The mantra of "Live to work and work to live" resonates clearly in this dog-eat-dog world. Sometimes we choose a profession that, while we are reluctant to it at first, finally come to accept it because it is more practical. We shelf that mirthful dream we nurtured long ago to the idle recesses of our minds for the pursuit of one that would give us more security, not just for ourselves, but for our families. Eventual breadwinners surely know this. Who wouldn't be charmed by the idea of giving a comfortable life for their kin and having extra income to spend for oneself, thanks to that high-paying profession? There are always those to inspire and motivate. I've heard of stories from people who may not have taken up their 'first love' but then are relatively successful on their chosen careers. Others are not as blessed in pursuing the 'new dream'. Some aren't even sure of what career path to take, leaving some to shift courses while earning a degree. And some, while pushing through with it and graduating, become dissatisfied with their work and are left stuck in a rut.

There is also the case of career trends. Back in the late '90s, it was the technology boom and taking a computer-related course was the most 'in' thing. Now it has changed to the tune of nursing programs and that new catchphrase called 'business outsourcing'. Nursing schools have mushroomed all over the country, and established institutions have been sprucing up their programs to cater to the overwhelming demand of the youth who are in search of respectable work in greener pastures. Call centers have multiplied overnight in the course of a year, assuring applicants that while the hours are ungodly, at least they'll get a hefty paycheck. These two seems to be the last great hope for many of our brethren. There was never a day that I did not see a nursing student in my daily commutes from school, or an edition of the classifieds that weren't replete with outsourcing advertisements. Several professionals are even ditching their present work and joining in on the bandwagon. Though I believe that there are people who are genuinely interested in pursuing a nursing degree or work in a call center, I wonder whether some of them really want to do this.

What do you want to be when you grow up? Or better yet, how do you see yourself ten years from now? If you have an answer to that, then be glad. We all have a purpose and a destiny. But remember, growing up doesn't end from there, and neither do your dreams.

The Vertical Challenge

"Face your deficiencies and acknowledge them, but do not let them master you", Helen Keller wrote. I heartily agree.

As a kid, I used to think of myself as someone who was considerably good-looking -- thin, cute, and especially tall. I took pride in my long legs. I liked being one of the last girls at our line-up ceremonies in school (the order of which were arranged by height). I'd be called upon to be the food monitor in classroom snack times presumably because I was strong. Everytime there was a family gathering, my relatives would often remark on how tall I've grown, that soon enough I'd be able to reach them and so forth, and I'd smile and be snugly lost in thoughts of glory. I loved being tall... and please take note on the past tense.

For when I reached the Wicked Stage of Puberty, everything but my height expanded. Dad had this measurement chart which recorded my monthly growth, and save for the initial spurt, I didn't go up an inch for almost 4 years. Instant karma for laughing at Gloria Arroyo's stature I guess, but then it was also my fair share of guilt since I was such a picky eater and even more picky on exercise.

It was too late to realize that I was never going to grow taller anymore. Doctors and science textbooks say that growth development in women peak at the age of 16 years, and I was already way beyond my fifteenth birthday. As a last-ditch effort, I took those ubiquitous growth pills that barely had an effect on me, except for the fact that I often felt strangely drowsy at night. For the life of me, I couldn't even fathom the number of times I've jumped at strike of 12 every New Year's Day. Mom and I asked my pediatrician if there's anything else that we could do to remedy, but she simply laughed.

Believe me, just when fellow girls were blossoming into pretty ladies, here I was, at the prime of my ugly duckling phase. I wanted to shove away all those teenaged pictures of me in various states of shabbiness. I was the short, fat, four-eyed, curly-haired, mega-braced monstrosity that could very well make a run for Betty La Fea's money. From being one of the last girls in the line, I became third to the first. And boy did my insecurities wallop. Adolescence proved to be a cruel stage of life indeed.

I was never going to realize my frustrated dream of becoming a supermodel, with my hobbit-like altitude and lovely lumps of excess baggage. Moreover, my childhood ambition of being a flight stewardess flew out of the cockpit. How I envied girls that were taller than me. They seemed to be more confident, more beautiful and more desirable for teachers who wanted them for plays and programs. And of course, taller ladies stood to gain more attention from the boys than from the squat set. It's a travesty because I had crushes on tall boys, who in turn made goo-goo eyes to statuesque lasses -- the pattern was recurrent. I found it funny that even in a day and age when beauty centers offer fix-ups from botox to noselifts to augmentation of the derriere, I haven't heard of a "height injection" -- because if they did, I said to a friend, I'd probably be the first in line!

As I matured, petty insecurities turned into self-deprecating episodes. Curious about my impending future, I looked into classified ads, only to be astounded at the height requirements. I then wondered if anyone would ever hire me because I was short, and if I would ever get bypassed at the corporate ladder simply because I didn't have the physical stature for board meeting photo-ops. I thought that if I were a boy, then life would be much harder for me -- even if I were superbly athletic, I won't get picked for sporting leagues! And about love, I was once even worried that I won't ever get married because men would be too scared to mingle their chromosomes with my genes of potential dwarfism!

Time passed by, and gradually I accepted my fate. Maybe it was God's plan that I remain only a little over five feet. But instead of whining about my imperfections, I channelled my energies instead on some things that I could get major work on, like my studies, and my hobby in writing. I have a future to deal with, and I'm thankful for my parents, family and friends, that even in my shortcomings (physical or otherwise), they believed in me and loved me for what I truly am... they are the ones that made me realize that I don't have to be anything in order to be accepted -- it's what's in me that counts.

"The measure of a man" shouldn't be taken in a literal sense. Most of the greatest people that ever lived were recognized for their achievements, not for how they looked like or how tall they were. No one said Jose Rizal couldn't be proclaimed national hero just because he didn't meet a certain height requirement, and Napoleon didn't discourage himself from being a great leader just because horses towered over him!

I may be vertically-challenged, so what? I'm still a human being, having unique abilities, strengths and talents, and capable of living and loving. I don't have to wear five-inch heels to make a point. I don't have to think I'll never be the model, stewardess or athlete that I wished to be -- I could simply strut down the street with all confidence and feel like a million bucks. I have so many goals in life that I want to accomplish, and nothing can deter me from doing so. If I trust myself that I can do it, I can ultimately reach heights far more than a tiny lady like me could ever imagine. In a just workplace, hardwork pays off and promotions come by when you deserve it. And what about the boys? If they're too superficial, then it's their loss for not seeing a diamond in the rough. (Ha ha ha!)

So if by a strange circumstance I mysteriously stumble on a beauty pageant, I'd simply smile, wave and say, "I'm Herschel, 5'1", and I couldn't care less!"

---

Note: This essay was published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer's 2bu! Lifestyle Section dated March 14, 2007 (page E1) as a part of Dove Self-Esteem Chronicles.

Thank God for the Internet!

July 14, 2001. Seven-fourteen-twenty o'one.

I was only thirteen back then. I remember coming home from school one fine Saturday to discover we finally had my own computer all set up and ready in the room. It was a real delight, like a little child who got the greatest thing she ever wanted, right in front of her eyes. This box of wonders, primarily intended for all my high school research assistance, held the key to everything I wanted back then and more. I can finally do away with the typewriter, play those wacky games, and sit in front of it contented and couldn't care less about the rest of the world just clicking, typing and exploring away.

And of course, the Internet. It was a fabulous realm on the upswing with endless possibilities that I have not discovered yet, but have been very curious of. I cannot imagine why many of whom I knew confessed to having been totally transfixed by it, fazed by its awesome power. With buzzwords like "website", "email", and "chatting", I was determined to see the glory of it myself. That afternoon, armed with a 3-hour internet dial-up, I scrambled in on the Internet craze. But being the technology novice that I was, those three hours were consumed running in circles around Yahoo.

Two weeks later, I became an Internet addict.

I finally knew why everyone's raving about it. It was the answer to everyone's nagging question, a sort-of Holy Grail of every imaginable kind for every imaginable inquisitor. It offered a smorgasbord of wonders, catering to every interest, whim and fancy. It had virtually everything you could ever ask for, and more! I could've sworn the Internet is the greatest invention ever.

For the first few months, I roamed around current affairs sites & forums -- as that was my 'thing' back then. It was a relief that many others share my thoughts and feelings about stuff that happen in this crazy world. I voiced out my opinions on certain issues, and people would welcome them and share their own. Some topics were mild; others were very much a debate room for would-be lawyers and pundits! Aside from all the news discussion, we also let loose over off-topic items such as hobbies, films, and the occasional relationship talk. It was a generally friendly atmosphere, and I learned & enjoyed a lot. I still drop by on the politics forums once in a while and check out what they're heckling about :)

As you would a hyperactive teener with short attention span, I shifted my main interest from news to writing. The Internet, I could say was where I actually honed my skills as a writer. I joined a writing site that helps budding literati to test the waters, write and publish their works over the site to gain exposure and be able to receive constructive criticism. I posted some of my scribbles, and the first comments I received were not so good. The other members probably figured I was just starting out with those amateurish attempts. Here was another community who embraced fellow writers however diverse their works and sensibilities were, treating each one with respect. They helped out in revising works out for the better, encouraged people in tapping their inner Dickens or Shakespeare and crafting magnificent prose or poetry through little contests and challenges, opened writers' minds about subjects that they weren't initially keen on and give it a spin of their own. They were very concerned about each member's progress, and even if I didn't really know the people behind those pen names, I felt their warmth and sincerity in bringing out the best in oneself.

Apart from pursuing a so-called writing 'career' on the Net, I also diverged in the world of music, movies and anything in between. Listening to my favorite music has never been easier with peer-to-peer file sharing, finding out what's a good cinematic experience takes only a simple search, and knowing that you're only one degree close to your crush is such a lovely thought. While on those doldrums with nothing else to do, I'd simply browse the web, and not long after find another treasure.

I simply love the Internet. If I were stuck in an island, I bet I'll be fine with only food and an Internet connection! Sometimes I'd even get 'withdrawal symptoms' for not accessing the web for one day! There's something very alluring about the Internet, that even if you access the same site many times over, you'll always end up with a different experience. Must it be a pending reply, the breaking news, the hope of finding something new and cool? To me, it's everything! :D

The major driving force right now for me on why I've kept a solid relationship with the Internet is blogging. An offshoot of writing, it came both naturally and accidentally to me. I started with a personal website around 2002 that featured the essays I've written, but since it was hard to maintain I switched to making an online journal, a relatively new thing back then, and it became a repository for my works. Little did I know I'd be talking my heart out to the world about the most mundane of things a year later. I read other people's blogs one time and became so impressed by them, that I decided to start my own personal blog. I had set up about a dozen blogs in entirety, but only maintained a couple up to the present -- still talking about the most mundane of things, yes -- and ready to dash out bits of life, madness, and perhaps love on the side...

There is no doubt that the Internet has made life easier and the world smaller, but more than that it has become a force for mankind. It is a harbinger of communication & harmony and a tool for development & growth, among the many purposes it serves. It is constantly changing my life in a lot of ways. It made me become more aware of the world, and helped me express myself and gradually overcome my self-doubts about my capabilities as a person; to be respectful and open to many views and personalities, to seek out new friends and establish my relationship with the dear ones I have.

To say that the Internet has become a part of my life is no cliché. I can even come close to saying that I live and breathe the Internet! I couldn't imagine the world without it. Our existence wouldn't be so thrilling and fun, I swear. My peers must certainly feel lucky to have the Internet born in this era, as with all other techno gizmos... we are the consumerist generation, after all!

The Internet has been my no-miss daily activity ever since -- my ever dependable schoolwork assistant, my provider, my bridge to people far and wide, my babysitter, my awesome CIA to all the guys I've ever had a crush on, my storage room, my confidant to angst-ridden rants and raves, my caffeine to all those boring insomniac nights, my invisible but lovable best friend.

I can say I'm very different now from what I was on that fateful July afternoon... I am at present a confident, competent woman ready to face the world.

Thank God for the Internet! :)

Barely Superstition

The night was young and the clouds were crowding. It was a particularly dreary day for me, with the gravity of academic frustrations and the melancholy of a non-existent social life. While walking out of the campus perimeter, a black cat from nowhere stretched its arms in front of me and continued strutting lazily. I thought to myself, "Well, that's tough luck." I carried on, ignoring the rumbling thunder and the singing of the crickets. Certainly nothing bad would happen to me, right? Wrong. The first drops of rain were pouring down already, and here I was without an umbrella! Logic instructs me to stay under the shade of the baletes nearby, but perhaps cellular phone snatchers were lurking nearby -- or even worse! So there I go, scurrying past the ominous-looking trees that lined the streets. Later that evening, I went down in a predictable state of rain-soaked splendor... and a nasty bout of flu.

Fantastic story, isn't it? Every one of us must have had at least one experience like that. No, not about broken hearts or failing grades (but it's very relatable!), but about our superstitious selves defying the limits of reality and common sense.

There is no doubt that folklore -- especially superstitious beliefs -- still pervade in our daily lives. Christianity has not curbed it; science has not shattered its so-called integrity; and technology, while an exact medium, has only contributed even more to the permeation of the paranormal phenomena. There are all sorts of “CSI”s of the strange kind happening on television, and legends of the aswangs and engkantos are enhances its popularity by catering to the younger set in the form of literature and film. They are not just, and no longer, "old wives' tales", so to speak.

To say that superstition is a force of nature would be an understatement. It is deeply rooted in our culture, for they say that a nation rich in culture is equally rich with its treasure trove of magnificent mythos. From the time of oral tradition when our ancestors worshipped all sorts of pagan divinity; to the influx of the Malay, Indian and Chinese settlers when we not only shared our goods but also our popular beliefs; to the conquistador era where lands that have not been 'Christianized' have been deemed wicked and nefarious; and up to this day and age, superstitions formed and swelled like a raging tide that seeped to the fertile shore.

A plethora of superstitions can range from the mundane to the otherworldly, from the relatively benign to the extremely dangerous, from the practical to the downright absurd. Some can bring you luck, like wearing polka-dot patterns on New Year's Day; others a precautionary measure, like eating lightly on dinnertime to avoid having bangungot. A number of them have truth in itself -- as it has been proven that animal howls are a sign of impending catastrophe, because our creature friends have sharper-developed senses than those of the homo sapiens'. While there are certainly many that is known for their sheer entertainment value -- perhaps to scare children from being incorrigible?

Whether we are aware of it or not, we Filipinos are superstitious. There is no extent to how many superstitions have been associated to everyday activities. It is almost instinctive in us to observe such. Superstitions have easily eased its way into the collective consciousness, creating a socio-cultural norm to which all must take heed. Even modern society has accepted and adhered to time-old traditions, with the observance of feng shui (which traces its roots in superstition) by urban dwellers seeking the blessings of Lady Luck. And a majority of people would much rather avert to anything "13" in nature, and consider "8" favorable -- from constructions, table arrangements, business dealings, and even on certain TV game shows!

The question is: Why are we compelled to believe superstitions? They aren't necessarily true, and nothing bad will actually happen if we don't follow them -- some things in life are purely coincidental. We don't know why we believe in such, so there's no harm in believing them anyway, right? What's wrong with a little ace on your sleeve?

Well, that's exactly the case. Superstitions stem from a fear of the unknown, so in order to counteract the evil attributed with the unknown and to appease the gods, our forefathers have conceptualized these nifty words of wisdom. This is definitely a testament to the aphorism "What you don't know can only make you stronger." Attempting to rationalize the irrational will only cause serious brain damage, so if I were you, I'd rather leave it as it is and let the legacy live on. Imagine the Philippines without her unique beliefs and practices -- then our country would have been a staid landscape of grim-faced people! Superstitions and folklore are what makes Filipinos an interesting study. Beyond the power of religion and constant change, we still uphold the customs and practices undeniably ours, giving us a keen perception of things and a higher sensitivity towards others.

Bathala must surely be smiling down at me right now...

That Nasty Little "P" Word

Procrastination.

It’s the habit we just can’t quit. You can call it whatever you want to - delaying, postponing, preventing, slacking off - but to me, that nasty little “P” word has been embedded in my life as long as I could humanly remember.

Procrastination is like a drug that inhibits your senses. It gives you a temporary high when all the while does you more harm than good. To put more apt similes, it’s like alcohol, gambling, women or better yet, video games. But what makes procrastination different from all these is because it is not gained physically. It occurs right in your mind, that thick black bubble bursting from the cerebral wellspring, rendering you powerless from its all-corrupting influence. Doing the deed itself is almost as grave as when Eve took a bite from the apple.

How many times, no matter how we tried to be responsible, we always end up not doing what we’re supposed to do in the first place? That even if we panic with the work deadline, we succumb to our whims and manage to watch our favorite weekly television series. We put off that brain-damaging report till the next morning because we’re too tired or sleepy, well in fact we just can’t fathom the thought of doing it. That when a parent or superior tells us to do something, we are always ‘preoccupied’ with something peculiar at the time and in turn we forget what’s ordered. And even if want to talk so badly with a friend we haven’t communicated to for ages, we postpone it for the crazy reason “I’m afraid there’s nothing much to talk about.” Or, in the same line of thinking, we never come close to admitting to that special someone that we simply adore them because of the fear of rejection… and reciprocate that also to the ones who love us, since we risk sounding corny or contrived. We cancel off meetings and get-togethers because we don’t feel like spending time, money, and energy just yet. Or about ‘forgetting’ to help a person in need - be it someone we know or not - because we wouldn’t want to feel more victimized than he/she already is.

Oh yes, procrastination can range from the simple to the complex, from the lousy to the plain absurd, from the benevolent to the wicked. And I’m guilty as charged from these crimes I have wrought. There are countless other ‘proxy moments’ left for you to fill in, as I am too indolent to come up with more. This composition could have been written months ago, but I just couldn’t find the right frame of mind, the perfect time, the best pen and paper, the ideal inspiration, and so forth. Frankly, I was just being lazy.

Procrastination isn’t as deadly as AIDS or cancer, but just as debilitating to me and to everybody else. Failing grades, poor work performance, lost opportunities, severed relationships, declining health, natural and man-made disasters - no one cannot deny that procrastinating played in the game before these occurred. We regret it, rebuke ourselves for it, promise never again to it, forget about it, and do it all over again. We never learned much from our mistakes as histories are replete with all sorts of delaying tactics. It’s too darn irresistible.

We may want to attach the essence of procrastination to the adage “There is a time for everything”. But what about “Time is gold and you can’t turn it back”? I’m not being preachy here, but if we just accomplish the task at hand immediately, then it’s as good as doing the right thing. More often than not, the consequences will be incomparable to the “what could have been’s” we’ll face if we passed that moment by.

I believe that if procrastination is the root of all evil… or maybe just problems, then fighting it can be the secret to improved relations and progress. I know it’s hard to adjust, but if all of us can overcome that particular weakness, then perhaps the world will become a better place.