Heartbreak Highway

Over the past two years, I’ve come to learn that a resilient heart doesn’t just come in handy in romance and relationships, it also helps keep us alive and breathing in the work that we do. There’s a school of thought that says that one must always have an aura of unaffected detachment in work. Allegedly, this detachment allows one to be more calculating and more efficient. I’ve found, however, in my case that I work my best when I am emotionally invested in a project, when I feel my veins pulsating and my heart on overdrive. Of course, Malcolm Hall has taught us never to cut any corners, to always research for a pleading, to arrive on time and prepared for a hearing and things like that — regardless of amorphous things like passion and righteous indignation. This notwithstanding, I still maintain that it is when we believe wholeheartedly in what we do that we work the hardest.

The downside, however, of this is that it tires your heart so. Stretches and and flexes it and tests its limits with every lost case, every almost-but-not-quites, every concrete wall that you try to break down but just cannot seem to. It’s frustrating and heartbreaking. And to think that I’ve only been at this for a couple of years, I haven’t even earned the right to complain. I stand in awe of activists and advocates and alternative lawyers who have given decades to the cause, and still have the fight in them.

Past midnight two days ago, Barangay Election day, I crawled into bed, dogtired and with a heart that felt as heavy as lead. I had just come from San Francisco Del Monte, Bulacan to provide vote protection assistance to Ka Gerry, an Akbayan leader who was running for Barangay Captain. [Akbayan has a theory called "patches of green" -- which means that amidst the barren landscape of traditional local politics rife with warlordism and family dynasties, we must endeavor to create "patches of green". If we can introduce transformative governance (in concrete terms, defined by transparent budgeting, fiscal accountability, people's participation as mandated by the Local Government Code), then we must do so, even if it means starting in just one far-flung barangay. We have been successful at it in small towns in Bohol, Laguna, etc.]

The day started well enough. I was perky and in high spirits, partly because I had been mistaken maybe three times for SK. (Woo-hoo! Hehe.) But soon enough, the day degenerated. It was disgusting, the level of corruption and fraud that we witnessed during that one day that we were there. Flying voters were trucked in from nearby municipalities just so they could vote for the incumbent barangay captain. Every single time, our watchers questioned the qualifications of these voters, but even making the Board of Election Tellers record the objection in the Minutes was a battle. Then we saw a ballot box snatching incident, wherein a man in plain view grabbed a ballot box and started running away. During canvassing, we found out that the votes of Ka Gerry and his opponent had been switched and Ka Gerry was effectively shaved some 24 or so votes. When I asked the Board of Canvassers to note the manifestation I made in relation to the ballot box snatching, they abjectly refused to do so. I told them that I was not asking them for a ruling, nor was I asking for a suspension of canvass. I was simply asking that my Manifestation be recorded in the Minutes of the Meeting so that it could be used as a prelude to filing a case in Manila. This was consistent with the Rules of the COMELEC. They would not budge, even accusing me of disruption. One lady began screaming at me, “I don’t care what the rules say. We were given an orientation.” (Oo, english talaga si Ma’am.) At 12 midnight in Santo Cristo Elementary School, Bulacan, I was engaged in an spokenin-in-dollars labas-litid-sa-leeg level shouting match with the Board of Canvassers. When they said that they would not record the manifestation because their Minutes was mysteriously missing, I had to channel my newly-learned yoga breathing skills to keep myself from smacking someone and getting Ka Gerry in trouble.

Oh yes, we eventually lost. 8,000 voters for Barangay Captain; we lost by twenty something points. Heartbreak highway.

But as sad and depressed as I was when I went home, I felt I had become richer from the experience. It was my first barangay election experience, and I saw first hand how the village polls only replicate the electoral fraud so prevalent in the national polls. Trapos are the same — be they presidents or barangay captains. On a more uplifting note, I saw how steadfastly our people worked for Ka Gerry and how they gave so much of themselves, even though they were not paid. Janice and Johnny, a young (my age) married couple at the helm of the campaign, impressed me so much. You get the impression that it wasn’t just Ka Gerry they were fighting for, but for the entire vision of altering the political landscape and starting in this one small barangay they belong to. I’ve always believed that it was important to end up with a person who views the world the way you do, and Janice and Johnny are compelling proof of that. Indeed, to continue the fight against all odds, to surmount the innumerable heartbreaks that will come your way, you do need to be with someone who is as in it for the long haul as you are. Working quietly and unnoticed in Bulacan, this young couple has probably made more difference in the lives of ordinary people than armchair analysts in Manila.

In the previous blog entry on the Erap pardon, many have spoken on the need for us, for ordinary people, to unite and organize, and stop allowing ourselves to be held hostage by powerful players who simply use us to maintain the status quo and to protect their interests. Sounds grim and determined and very angry, but really, we can do our part in the smallest of ways. For starters, by refusing to shrug and say “thats the way it is” when confronted with evidence of election fraud or other such anomalies. Given the prevalence of corruption, gross political entitlement and moral bankruptcy from the highest level of government to the lowest, there is really no alternative but to RESIST AND DEFY.

Occasional heartbreaks notwithstanding.

* * *

Dedicated to Ka Gerry, all valiant souls who ran (whether they won or lost) on October 29, and everyone who took part in this arena of struggle. For believing in transformative governance, for believing that we can make a difference, for not losing hope, this is for you. Galing kay Noel Cabangon.

Tayo na po’t “maglikha ng kasaysayan ng bayang minamahal.”

Featured Friend of the Week 3: Jordan, Saigon and Creative Writing 101

Jordan is of course my best friend, my soul sister, and the person I trust with my life. Aside from that, she is one of the best writers I know. Some kinds of writing are stuffy and self-important, where you have a feeling that the writer is simply trying to impress. I’ve always believed in the theory that for a writer, restraint is much more difficult to learn than style and flourish. And when you’re writing a descriptive piece where creating atmosphere is key (which is what Jordan’s featured piece is), restraint becomes particularly difficult to pull off.

But Jordan pulls it off with a flourish. Read this piece about a very ordinary workday in Saigon. And read her other blog entries as well here.

Welcome Weekender, by Jordan Abella.

The work week past seemed unusually long. Friday came and somehow I survived it, inspite of a super difficult morning with a pretty disgruntled staff. Good riddance was all I could think, but the “riddance” part was suspended and long drawn out, strung out of its juice up to the last minute. So I was glad when Friday afternoon finally rolled in, slowly but surely albeit with a broken tire, but it was HERE.

By 5.30 pm I was out of the office and in front of Vo Van Tan Street, waiting for my Xe Om driver, Son who was late for a few minutes (I absolutely appreciate my xe om guy – he even calls me to say if he will be late, gives me a reasonable rate, drives safely, and speaks great English. Yes, someone like him exists). Getting restless and wanting to get out of that vicinity called The Office, I amused myself by looking at my surroundings. Vo Van Tan on that hour is a small street packed with rush hour traffic. I tried to look for interesting sights:

I saw a 50-ish white guy parked on the sidewalk, hunched in his red Honda bike. He had a black and red helmet which was a bit too small for his head and yellow (previously white) rubber boots that looked out of place. He was staring into space with utter concentration as he puffed on his cigarette slowly, methodically, endlessly. Perhaps he was having a bad day too. Perhaps “slow and endless” was the theme of the day.

I saw an old lady walking on the sidewalk, holding a wide conical hat on her right hand and a bayong-like bag on the other. She wore a periwinkle hued blouse over a periwinkle hued blue loose pants. Her feet were soiled and her sandals were worn. She had a pained expression on her face, like she was tired and walking on a busy street was the last thing she wanted to do. She walked slowly and quite miserably and I knew life had not been kind.

I saw two girls in their twenties riding their trendy Attila bike. Off to a gimik I could tell as they wore slinky lacy blouses, skinny jeans, full on make up, blow dried hair. The other girl’s toes were painted liquid paper white nail polish with flower art colored black painted over it. I looked away.

Beside me on a small plastic table with small plastic chairs (the kind you normally see at children’s parties), three young guys were playing cards and drinking ca phe sua da (black vietnamese iced coffee with sweet milk). They were noisy and happy, acting exactly like their age and oblivious to anything else but the little circle that they had.

In front of me the traffic started to move along and the endless line of people coming home from work rolled on in front of me. Suddenly a man breezes through a few feet away makes a dramatic wave then shouts at me, “Anh yeu em!!! (translation: “anh yeu” means I love you and “em” translates to young girl; said to someone whom the first person refers as younger than him/her like a sister, lover, or friend).

Well. I certainly could take I love you from a nameless — and at the speed he was going — almost-faceless stranger. Said in a different language, it was much better than being leered back home by construction workers for example and professed with a lascivious “Ang ganda mo miss, I lab you.”

But more than that, to be called “em” just when you are on the brink of the big three-oh and feeling weary, old and not any wiser, it gave me a sense of pathetic satisfaction and I cheered up. Just then, Son came and I got on his bike and headed home happier and lighter by the minute as the cold Saigon wind hit my face and sent my hair all over the place. In my head, Supergrass’s song Alright started to play: “We are young, we run green. Keep our teeth nice and clean, see our friends, see the sights..Feel alright…”

“I was your silver lining but now I’m gold”

I was going to respond to Joanne and Joan’s comments (second to the last and last) here, but then the Erap pardon came out and I had to put the emo trip on hold. Or at least, channel it in a different direction.

Joanne asked, “how many times can this heart break and how much more can it stand?” I guess I’ve asked myself that question a few times before, perhaps reeling from a heartbreak or weary over a protracted impasse. I’ve taken many risks, put my heart out on the line, summoned strength from reservoirs that I did not even know existed, all because I loved a person. But the bottomline is this: if a guy cannot stand up for you, or stay by your side as a team, it’s not love. No matter what he says when you’re alone together. No matter what the other issues in his life may be.

Because, as Rilo Kiley plaintively sang, we’re not meant to simply be silver linings behind dark clouds. We should not allow ourselves to be invisible. We are GOLD. Always believe in yourself. We’re indestructibo-ol. Ay teka. Iba na pala yun. Hehehe.

And of course, the super-emo intro is my intro to this funky video of Rilo. Happy song ko ito. My high school friend Risa featured it in her blog, and then I remembered I really like it too.

Dedicated to Joan and Joanne.

Honor Among Thieves

Tangna nyo. May utang kayo sa amin.

Too angry for words tonight.

(picture is from www.elaput.com)

Bondat Peninsula No More

Nung nasa Dumaguete ako, nakabili ako ng jeans sa mall. Dahil tamad ako to go to the fitting room (brownout kasi), I grabbed yung isang size 26 at tumakbo patungong counter. Size 26 naman ako forever. As soon as I got to the hotel, sinukat ko agad sa banyo. Inannounce ko pa kay Karl  na I have a new pair of jeans. But no. Ni hindi man sya umabot sa waist. Sabi ni Karl patingin daw ng jeans on me. Dali-dali ko tinanggal at kunwari wala ako nadinig. Major bummer. Crisis of (self) confidence itoh.

But now…..announcement please…. ahem, friends and comrades, fi-nit ko na ulit ang Dumaguete jeans, and what do you know — kasya na sya. Of course medyo too snug pa sya to be really comfortable, but hey progress pa din yun. Yahoo!!! Good riddance, suman thighs and jiggling bilbil!!!! Me and my body are destined for glory!!! (hehe, labo, mehn).

And of course this is really thanks to my bonggang-bongga fitness regimen. Yes, people, serious talaga ako. I am throwing my heart and soul into eradicating my nasty bilbil (di ko kasi pala kaya ang rural poverty..hehehe).  Medyo nasira lang last week because I had to go to Iloilo for work and syempre super sarap ng lahat ng bagay dun. At dami ko tinirang oysters, scallops, fish, litson. Nung Saturday naman, wedding ni Nina, e sino ba ang tatanggi sa buffet spread ng Manila Pen?

Happy din ako sa pg-gygym. Tinatry ko na araw-arawin. Except on yoga days, of course. I’m starting to get the hang of it. Ok pa yung instructor. Madami may gusto dun sa isang instructor na pogi, pero ako favorite ko si Leo. Kasi ayoko talaga ng feeling gwapo. Ang nakakatawa lang dito kay Leo may political insights sya habang tinotorture nya ang aking katawan sa abdomenal crunches. Pakiwari ko it started nung nakita nya ako naka-Akbayan shirt.  Tipong, “ok, fifteen more counts, left elbow to right knee, palagay ko si gloria talaga may kagagawan ng glorietta bombing…” At habang binabatak-batak niya ako para magstretch, pinaguusapan namin ang laganap na katiwalian sa pamahalaaan.

Yesh, hindi po totoo that gym instructors are man-ditzes.

But I digress. This is about me and my road to fitness and sexiness. I can feel it, I’m getting there. Kaunti nalang talaga. I’ve also stopped drinking beer. Well, except for Friday night in Iloilo and nung uminom kami ni Emman two days ago ata yun sa My Brother’s Moustache. Sa Iloilo kasi, nilibre lang ako nung taga FDC-Iloilo. At nung sa My Bro naman, no choice, beer lang ang mura. If I can help it, pinipilit ko na sa Analog ang inuman. Kasi at least may brandy dun, one shot, okay na ako. Social drinking lang. Eh minsan, gusto nila sa Taby’s.  Kahapon nga, nagpunta ako sa 70’s Bistro with some Bondoc Pen peeps, dalandan soda ang tinira ko the whole night. Mamaya, magyayaya sa Analog si Arnold. Pineapple juice oorderin ko. Haaay. Such self-control. If only I can make it apply to other areas of my life as well. Wahahaha.

So dedma na sa lahat ng tao na pinagtatawanan ako sa pag-gygym. Sa pakain-kain ng salad. Sa aerobics lessons. Yari kayo lahat sa akin. Sa akin at sa aking washboard abs. Move over, Jackielou Blanco.

 Hahaha. Talagang binasa nyo hanggang sa dulo. Isa nanamang walang kwentang blog entry. Nawantutri ko na naman kayo. Bwahahaha.

Featured Friend(s) of the Week, Week 2

Madaming mukha ang aktibismo.

Kaya dalawang tao ang Featured Friend of the Week ko. Yung isa lead counsel ng Magkaisa Junk JPEPA, abugadang taga-UP, hindi nakabalangkas sa anumang leftist organization, hinubog ang pananaw sa mundo ng magulang na matino at matapat. Yung isa, college pa lang, aktibista na. Hinampas at na-water cannon ng di na mabilang na pulis sa di na mabilang na rally. Miyembro ng Akbayan at ng Freedom for Debt Coalition. Yung isa, laking Dumaguete; yung isa naman laking Maynila. Yung isa, jogging, makeup, at computers ang gimik; yung isa naman, beer, awit at gitara.

Pareho ko silang close friends, etong si Golda at si Emman. Si Golda – kabatch sa law, ka-opismate, ka-hati sa internet cable, ka-chat sa YM hanggang hatinggabi. We can talk about everything, from tariff lines to early facial lines (olay lang yan) to confusing male lines to knowing our bottomlines. Kahit anong oras. Basta may YM. Si Emman naman – kainuman, confidante, constant text mate, ka tag-team, kaaway (minsan). Magigising ng hatinggabi para pakinggan kang umiiyak. The older brother I never had.  

Two activists I greatly admire, and two people I dearly love.

—-

Legally Blonde, by Golda Benjamin 

Siguro alam nyo na ang pinagagawa ko for the past month. Di na ako masyadong natutulog.Di na ako nakakapanood ng sine.Di na ako nakakapunta sa Gateway para tumunganga at kumain sa Taco Bell.

Mahirap man ‘to, di ako susuko.Para sa bayan ‘to.Kahit magdala pa sila ng isang batallion ng mga “experts” dun sa Senado, kebs ko ba sa kanila.oi mga kuya at ateh, mag-aral naman kayo.Wag nyo gawing poker ang future ng bansa na ‘to.

Kahit anong pressure ang ihaharap nyo sa akin para tigilan ko na ‘to, wow dudes and dudettes, you’re wasting your time on me, mehn.I’m 27 years old. My reservoir of idealism is full, thank you very much.

Kahit sobrang late na ako pumasok sa kampanyang ito, kakayanin ko ang lahat ng trabaho, ang sandamakmak na papel na kelangan aralin. Alam ko na gagawin ng ating mga Senador ang tama. Sabi nga ni Golda Meir: “Don’t give up hope.Don’t believe that everything is judged only by expediency.There is idealism in the world.”

Teka tama na muna ‘to.Baka maiyak na ako.Pero seryoso, nakakaiyak talaga ang ginagawa ng gobyernong ‘to sa bansa natin. Insert nationalistic song here.

Kelangan ko ikwento ang mga nakakatuwang moments sa commitment na ‘to.

1. Unang hearing, bad mood ang taxi driver. “Ma’am, bumaba ka na lang sa Ortigas at mag-MRT. Trapik kasi masyado.” Hay, manong wag naman po.Sandamakmak ‘tong babasahin na dala ko.Nakaheels pa ako, a major deviation from may tsinelas life.8:20, natanggap ko ang official invite to the hearing.Wopeee.At dahil narinig ni manong ung senado, hearing, etc, agad nyang tinanong: ma’am, may problema ba?Kelangan mo ba talagang pumunta sa Senado?

Me: oo, manong.Kelangan ipagtanggol ang bansa natin.[wahaha, oo sinabi ko un.And I meant it!]
Manong: Teka ma’am, wag ka mag-alala ma’am, hahanapan natin ng lusot ang trapik na to!

At 9:15 am, nasa harap na ako ng Senado.Ladies and gentlemen, yan ang Pinoy na mahal ang bansang Pilipinas. Pagbaba ko ng taxi, alam na ni Manong Jun kung bakit dapat nating tutulan ang JPEPA at bakit naniniwala ako ng ipagtanggol tayo ng ating mga Senador.

Sana nag-info dissemination si Manong nung araw na yun.

2. Nung second hearing, may dala akong post it.Na pink. Na matingkad na pink.Ultraelectromagnetic pink.Que horror.At ang tagal ko na realize na pink un.Binilisan ko na lang itago.Hoy ineng, nasobrahan ang kakikayan mo!

3. Narealize ko lang, ang daming sinunggaling at hndi nag-aaral sa mga pro-JPEPA panel.Hoy mga ateh at koyah, wag nyo gawing sugal ang kinabukasan ng bansa natin. Gaddamit, kala nyo wala kaming internet at wala kaming pangresearch tungkol sa mga kasinunggalingan nyo? Gaddamit mehn, oo mejo wala na kaming pera pangxerox at pagkatapos ng hearing, Chowking lang talga kami kumain habang kayo ay may mga closed door meeting sa Shangrila, pero dude nag-aaral kami! At ang kakapal nyo, binibenta nyo na nga ang bansa natin, ginagamit nyo pa ang pera ng mga Pilipino para sa mga caffe latte nyo!

At hmph, walang kayong fashion sense!Grrr.

4. Binasa ko talaga ang Senate rules bago maghearing.Kasi ano bang alam ko sa Senate hearing, aber.Eh court hearing lang napuntahan ko.Buti na lang, nasa tv ang iilang mga hearing sa Senado.Kaso lang di tlga pinapakita kung ano ang dapat gwin kung habang naghehearing….gusto mong mag-CR. Panic mode ako nung 3rd hearing.Pucha, ano ba to? Dapat ba akong magmotion? Hmm, madam chair, may I go to the comfort room? Ngeks.parang grade 2.Buti na lang sabi ng isang staff dun, pwede daw lumabas,basta mabilis lang.Whew.Buti na lang hndi ako nagmotion.

5. At ito ang pinaka-importante kong discovery: nasa senado ang fountain of youth. Ito exercise, tingnan nyo lahat ng senador at hulaan nyo ang age nya. Promise, mali ung magiging sagot nyo.I swear may secret moisturizer sila. Si Senator ___ na idol ko na ngayon [unless magvote siya ng Yes-kung ganun, isusumpa ko siya forever!], mehn, wala siyang wrinkles.Feeling ko may Senate health camp pag summer.They get in shape, they eat well, they cleanse, tone, and moisturize.Tapos si Senator ___, wow, pag nagtanong, gusto ko na lang lumuhod, sabay Im not worthy.

6. Ang bagong abogado, meron yang remnants of a law school fan girl. Yung mga type na sobrang happy pag may picture with Jovito Salonga. Or kung pupunta sa ibang bansa, magpapicture sa mga Supreme Court buildings. Yan ang feeling ko esp nung last hearing. Pramis, sinara ko na lang laptop ko at nagfrantic note taking.4 na senador in brilliant display of intelligence. Pucha, may internal song ka tlga bgla. Mabubuhay ulit ang faith mo na kahit inaapi tayo sa maraming aspeto, these people will defend us.This country will not fall apart despite the lies and the mistakes that many of our so-called government “experts” have committed.Oo, alam ko, parang ang naive ko tlga paminsan-minsan. Pero I’m too young to lose hope.Today or any day soon is not and will not be the time for me to give up.

Ok tama na.Kasi kung dudugtungan ko pa yun, maiiyak na ako.Wahaha.

Hay, sana makapaglatak na ulit ako.Sana matapos na ‘to.

Salamat sa lahat ng mga kaibigan ko na tuloy-tuloy pa rin ang suporta.To my kick-ass family who constantly remind me that yes, idealism is not a crime.

Ayun, kelangan ko na istalk si Senator __ para malaman kung ano ang moisturizer nya.

Ten Years and Still Angry, by Emmanuel Hizon

Ten years ago, I feel so invincible and indestructible. No baton, shield or threats of incarceration can break us. They will never break us. Not the hypocritical school dictator, not the local police, not even feudal god himself. We paint the town red, crimson red, scarlet-like, warning the unrepentant, giving notice to the coming. Words were shouting, written, angry, splattered on ugly Manila walls, reeking with piss and shit. Words, though sometimes alone, were never really alone. A reminder that the imperishable remain imperishable and unconquerable.

Ten years ago, I feel I can take the whole world, deny it and refuse it, rip it apart, rip it to pieces and rip the rotten cadaver out of its propertied soul. I scream so loud that no boundaries can limit it, no stupid blog can confine it, no restrictions and imposed margins can scare or mellow it, no politician can interpellate it.

Everyday for the last ten years, I can hear my scream echo in every street corner, in every diploma mill, in every factory, in every music and poetry, joining with other screams, with other roars, flirting with peril, like a bullet forever on a ricochet, coveting the impossible, demanding the unattainable, celebrating the orgy of the great unwashed.

Now, I’m 29 years old, ten years after. I’m sitting on the edge of the cliff, pondering, wondering, looking. Was it all worth it? Do I still feel unbreakable, undying and unyielding?

“It is always raining in my mind.”

Was it all worth it?

You bet it is. And we are just warming up. Hear us roar louder. We will spit on the cradle of this ‘new democracy’ and mock it again and again. We will never be satisfied. We will never be contented. Yes, we will destroy your ‘world’ and build a new one instead.

Screw you. We’re still here.

Emman Hizon, 29, and still angry.

Terror and the Anti-Terror Law

Nine dead, scores injured. The absurd LPG theory has been discarded by the investigators, and now the authorities say what every taxi driver and ordinary Pinoys instinctively know from the time word got out that Luk Yuen in Glorietta 2 had been blasted into smithereens: it was a bomb attack. To date, there has been no statement as yet from any of the known terrorist groups like the Abu Sayyaf. One statement of admission turned out to be a dud.

Kumusta naman ang Human Security Act? Where is the much-vaunted “chilling effect” to would-be terrorists?

And the funnier thing is, even if the perpetrators were found and arrested, they could not be arrested under the Human Security Act. This is because the HSA requires as an element of a terrorist act the making of “an unlawful demand on the government.” There being no demand yet — no calls for the release of any prisoners, for example — the elements of the HSA have not set in.

Was the government behind it, as Senator Trillanes suggests? Traces of C4 were found at the explosion site, and C4 is a military explosive, controlled exclusively by the Armed Forces of the Philippines. At the very least, this means Trillanes’ assertion may not be dismissed hastily. If there is evidence linking the government to the bombing, would it be possible to  indict the perpetrators under the HSA? Well, not really, unless it is possible to make an unlawful demand against oneself.

(And yet in Mindanao a few months ago, Kaka Bag-ao, an agrarian reform lawyer, discovered that her belongings had been searched and her case files had been confiscated by agents of the military in the name of the Human Security Act. Could it be that given the many loopholes in the Agrarian Reform Law that permit of circumventions by landowners, the demand for land now may be considered an “unlawful demand”? ) 

One president who will stop at nothing. A cabal of diehards who will support her to the end. Nine dead bodies. One hundred or so injured people. Several terrorist groups waiting in the sidelights. One inutile law. Perfect recipe for mayhem.

Mean, Crabby Crone

There were far too many unnecessary queues in the new Iloilo airport and my back was aching at having to lug my laptop and travel stuff in one huge knapstack. I had gone out last night for a few drinks with a friend (who was also the organizer of the forum I spoke at) and got home really late with only a few hours of sleep before my early morning flight. My head was hurting a little.

These are explanations, but not justifications, for how I behaved to the teenage boy beside me. He was your typical gangly pimply-faced adolescent. You usually can recognize the first-time flyers by how intently they watch the ”what to do in case of an emergency” video. This guy seemed to hang on to every word of the video, his eyes squinting fixedly at the screen. He was lugging with him a medium-sized violin. Aaah, contestant in a musical contest, I thought. Out of Iloilo for the first time. Hoping to bag that gold medal in some inter-school event, the fruit of many afternoons and weekends spent practicing. After helping him attach his seatbelt for he seemed not to know how to tighten his, I drifted off to sleep in my window seat.

Suddenly, I felt a shadow over my face. Like a hand. It didn’t hit me or anything. But you know how you know when something is hovering over your face, even if you’re half-asleep? It was kind of like that. I woke up and saw his arm over my face, trying to take pictures of the clouds outside the window. “Sorry,” he said, when he saw that he woke me up. I didn’t reply, and tried to return to my slumber. Then I felt the arm again, and then one more time, and then another, for a grand total of six pictures of clouds that looked exactly alike as far as I was concerned.   

“Ilan pa ba ang kukunin mong litrato? Kasi hindi ako makatulog eh,” I said bluntly, my tongue getting the better of me. I was too sleepy to craft a nicer way of putting it.

His face turned beet-red and he put his camera away, mumbling an apology. I thought for a moment of saying something more, something to make him feel less chastened, but instead I slid down my seat in silence and buried myself in my knit cardigan, too drowsy to give a second glance at the high school kid and his worn, early-model camera.

When I woke up several minutes later, I looked out of the window just in time to see a distinct rainbow peeking from behind cottonball clouds. It was faint but unmistakable — seven or so different colors forming a perfect arch. I looked at the boy beside me to see if he saw it too. Everything about him told me that he did. His eyes were gleaming, his mouth half-ajar and his hands were clutching tightly at the camera. The childlike quality of his amazement was heart-rending. He was amazed at the thought that he was beside a rainbow and not staring at it from far below. Then, his glances darted from the rainbow to me, too shy to ask if he could take one measly picture or whip the camera out and just point and shoot. 

And then comes the part that I will never forgive myself for. The part that makes me believe that I am one big black hole of pure evil. I emitted a yawn that was louder-than-necessary and then hunched back to sleep, knowing full well that the boy would never be able to work up the nerve to take the picture of the rainbow. A young boy was denied a simple joy by an evil woman with a hangover (for which, by the way, she only has herself to blame) and a nasty tongue.

I write this entry on the .000000000001 % chance that the boy will read this. If you do, know that I am sorry. From the bottom of my heart, I am. I wish you well in your musical competition in Manila; I wish you well in your music and your passions. I wish you a lifetime of constant and happy travels, window seats, and  rainbows upon rainbows forevermore. And if the universe does not listen to prayers from mean and crabby crones, then I ask it to make an exception just this once and just for today.

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Reposting this for my friend and yoga trainer Joanne. Screw. There’s something wrong either with the picture or with the computer, but I can’t seem to upload the picture correctly.

LET GO AND LIVE. Let go of breast cancer and live yoga on October 20, 2007, 3pm, at the Library Foyer of Miriam College, Quezon City.

Program

Registration (no registration fee)

4:00 – 4:15 Welcome
by Joanne Carmela Batistiana-Barriga

4:15 – 5:00 Responses and Free Flow of Ideas
emcee: Tesa de Vela, Deputy Director of Isis International Manila

Dr. Elvira Galang, a Breast Cancer Survivor and Secretary of
Breast Cancer Society of Manila, Inc. and Board Member of
Philippine Breast Cancer Network (confirmed)

Tristan Choa, Director of Bikram Yoga Manila (confirmed)

Tyrone M. Reyes, M.D., contributor of Philippine Star “An Apple
A Day” and writer of several articles on Breast Cancer (invited)

5:00 – 5:10 Healing through Music with Susan Fernandez (confirmed)

5:10 – 6:10 Yoga 40 minutes, Breathing 10 minutes and Meditation 10 minutes

6:10 – 7:00 Songs of Renewal and Peace with Cynthia Alexander (invited),
Bayang Barrios (invited), Noel Cabangon (invited) and
Cookie Chua (invited)

Basics for the Yoga session

The Yoga session hopes to show how comforting and unintimidating the practice of Yoga is by introducing a sequence with basic postures. Bring Yoga mat. If you don’t have one, a thick shower towel can be used as substitute. Remember, Yoga is synonymous to simplicity.

Regardless of limitations we and the society impose on ourselves, everyone is welcome. No limits based on age, weight or gender. Options for different postures will be shown. It is advised that anyone with prior injury or health problems should first consult medical doctor to reconfirm fitness to do Yoga. Experienced and certified Yoga instructors have been invited to help check movement and postures.

Contact Person:

Joanne Carmela Batistiana-Barriga
Mobile: 0918-9405455
Email: joanne_carmelab@yahoo.com , yoga.tayo@yahoo.com

Obscene Tokens

I think what is most appalling for me is not the fact that money had exchanged hands in order to ensure the filing of a defective impeachment complaint meant to immunize the President from a real impeachment complaint. It’s not even the separate allegations of Ka Bel and Among Ed that they were approached with envelopes of money. What is truly appalling is the way our good congressmen and local government officials and cabinet secretaries have dismissed the bribes as  “small cash gifts” or “rewards for the long nights during the budget hearings” or “assistance” — the emphasis being on the bribes being tokens. Tokens on which not much significance should be ascribed. “It was nothing extraordinary,” averred former Manila Mayor Lito Atienza, “the discretionary funds of Malacanang are overflowing.”

Indeed, the rich are not like you and me.

I have been given the gift of working with farmers who amaze me every single time with their resilience and faith, but every single time as well, I am angered at the sheer poverty in which they are forced to live. In a certain landholding in Quezon, they are not even allowed to gather fallen coconut husks to sell as bunot for a few pesos.  After petitioning for agrarian reform coverage, even the smallest revenue generating activities like selling coconut by-products have been denied them. Unable to harvest copra as well, they live in abject poverty and hunger. On top of being stalked like common criminals by police officials conniving with the landowners.

In Agusan del Sur,  farmers were made to ratify an unconscionable addendum to a leaseback agreement that would grant the farmers the unholy lease rental of P635.00 per hectare PER YEAR for twenty five years, when the average lease rental should be around P5,000.00 thereabouts. They were led to believe that they were simply signing standard attendance sheets in exchange for styrofoam-boxed lunch and transportation reimbursement during one general assembly. (how do we know for sure? umm, the sheets actually contained the word “meals” and did not even contain the words “ratification” or “consent”. harharhar) That addendum effectively binds them and their children to two and a half more decades of painful and certain penury.  

Closer to Manila, PLDT employees on strike were violently dispersed after protesting the illegal termination of hundreds of rank and file employees, in violation of the Collective Bargaining Agreement. Four hundred fifty workers out of jobs, four hundred hungry households, about a thousand children who will not be sent to school for at least one school year.

In our organization, several employees — hardworking, dedicated individuals all — had to be retrenched because there simply was no more funds to pay for their salaries, which were to begin with, not very large. The discretionary funds probably overflow only for those who approve of the President and her policies, who kowtow blindly at her and absolve her of every single infraction and sin to the people. They certainly do not flow in the direction of party-list organizations who oppose administration policies and make no bones about it — but also, who fight tooth and nail to bring down the prices of medicines for every Filipino and who struggle to put back the “reform” in “agrarian reform” for the sake of our country’s farmers and farmworkers. On this I bet my bottom peso: not a single one among the Congressmen who received money for the Pulido complaint has worked as hard, as seriously and as steadfastly as Akbayan has  in the legislature.

Do what you want with  your 500,000. Spend it, save it, buy a car, build basketball courts, go to Disneyland. But don’t tell us it’s token. Spare us from the thought that there are millions and millions of pesos floating around, as tokens and “small favors” for the fortunate few to wantonly wallow in, while the rest of the country is subsisting on a medley of MSG-laced broth and day-old rice.