Ms. Salazar

Every school had a “terror” teacher; every exclusive girls’ high school had the stereotype spinster administrator who made sure all the rules were followed and everyone followed the straight and narrow. In St. Scho, Miss Salazar was ours.

She wore big glasses, had curly hair and being called to her room meant that we were in trouble. I remember always dreading being late because that would mean having to explain ourselves to her. We would heave a sigh of relief when it was Vicky, her secretary, signing the tardy slips for her and making the appropriate notations on our index cards. Even then though, we always held a grudging respect for her conscientiousness. And looking back, even if some of her methods were a tad outdated, the discipline and work ethic that we carry with us to this day are due in no small part to her steely resolve to make us behave like “proper young women”.

After graduation, as we moved on with our different lives and chosen paths, it was regrettably all too easy to forget the gray-haired prim old lady who made sure that the high school ran like clockwork.

Until two days ago, when Jordan sent me a very sad email about Miss Salazar’s physical condition. The email is quite hard to cut and paste because it’s a running thread of emails from different individuals. Summarizing the emails, Miss Salazar had been suffering from bed sores for a long time now as well as a variety of illnesses usually afflicting the aging. Apparently, the apartment she lives in all by herself is infested with rats. One day, some rats crawled in and, attracted to the bed sores, gnawed on them. Vermin bites were seen on her head, chin and forearm. She was alone and could not move.

Eventually, she was brought to the hospital for treatment, but is now back in her apartment recuperating with the assistance of her niece, Tett Salazar, who lives nearby. Her knees are constantly in pain.

In emails and Friendster bulletins posted back and forth, her specific needs were listed. To quote from Mrs. Pengzon’s Friendster entreaty: ”The other items we could help out with aside from adult diapers (size L) would be the food supplement PEPTAMEN (very expensive according to Tett) and the medicated patch AQUACEL by Convatec for her bedsore. BTW, the bedsore has been reduced in size due to this patch. However, the patch is hard to find in Manila so perhaps the girls in the US could help with this.“

I know how it feels to be sick and scared. You feel cheated by destiny. But during all my illnesses, I never found myself alone. I’ve never had to go through a major tragedy with no one with me. I’ve always had my family and my loved ones by my side, forming a steady and happy little barangay for me, and yet many times, I still find myself complaining. After reading Jordan’s email, I could not stop  myself from weeping at the thought of vermins biting at a person immobilized by illness because no one was around to shoo them away.

My heart bleeds at the thought of what Ms. Salazar had gone through and what she continuous to go through. I can only pray that God extends His kindness and grace to this woman who has been such a faithful servant of His, and ask for prayers from my fellow Scholasticans and other friends. I also pray that this entry be read by a kind soul in a position to extend material assistance to Ms. Salazar in this time of great need.

Those who want to help may get in touch with Tett Salazar at 4007070. I suppose you can also call the High School Department of St. Scholastica’s College.

Hypocrisy

In an interview with NBC television presenter Brian Williams, Vice Presidential candidate Sarah Palin refused to label abortion clinic bombers as terrorists — “I don’t know if you’re gonna use the word ‘terrorist’ there.”

This is the same woman who has accused Obama of ”palling around with terrorists” because of his so-called engagement with Bill Ayers, a leader of a 1960’s anti-war leftist group called the Weathermen.

Watch the video here.

That kind of inconsistency demonstrates not only a double standard, but also hypocrisy of the highest order.

Like say, religious superiors that profess to champion the rights of women, but seek to impose parameters on those rights by saying that it does not include the right to access reproductive health or the right to have autonomy over one’s body.

Or a revolutionary armed group that claim to fight to liberate the masses from the clutches of the elite but routinely kills small farmers and peasant leaders who assert the right of their communities to chart their own development trajectory.

Or a self-righteous lynch mob holding themselves to be feminist that views procedural due process as a legal nicety and not a core value in itself, fails to see that the right against double jeopardy is a function of procedural due process, and finds nothing inconsistent between the concept of “shaming” as punishment and the aspiration for restorative justice.

But wait, maybe Sarah Palin is right. Maybe abortion clinic bombers aren’t terrorists.

Maybe they’re fetus freedom fighters. FFF.

And on a final note, watch this video. Downright scary. Sent chills down my spine.

Bohol On My Mind

On days when the world churns too crazily for my liking and I find myself teetering too precariously on the edge of sanity, I find a quiet corner, close my eyes and take myself to Bohol.

Boracay is a dance-dance-revo machine, with a loud, in-your-face brashness that grabs you by the gut. Bohol is the plaintive strums of a solitary guitar on a quiet afternoon. Laidback is an obvious adjective. Bewitching, entrancing, are other adjectives that come to mind.

We went there in August of this year to attend the wedding of Anik, a friend of mine. Grateful for the promo fare of Cebu Pacific (how do you argue against P2,000 tickets each, round trip?), we packed our bags and hied off to the island destination whose tourism potential has only recently been discovered. It was our first time to ride Terminal 3 and we were impressed at how big and world-class it was compared to the NAIA domestic airport or even to the Centennial airport.

If staying in Bohol for only three days, it is imperative that one maximize his or her stay. A good idea I picked up from reading online forums and travel blogs is that you must hire a tour guide prior to getting to Bohol so that he picks you up straight from the airport and you can go directly on your tour before checking in the resort or hotel at the end of the day.  Mang Jun came in highly recommended in the online discussions, and his contact number was made available online (09176905627), so I fired off a text message to him and he responded right away.

The Bohol Countryside Tour is a standard package that doesn’t vary much, but that doesn’t detract from its charm. First time visitors will be awestruck at the sight of the Chocolate Hills (said to be the handiwork of underwater volcanoes millions of years ago) and the pristine beauty of the Loboc River as the river boat rows lazily down it.

The tour then took us to the man-made forest in Bilar, and we passed through a breezy stretch of road with mahogany trees standing proud and erect on both sides. Close to that was the hanging bridge which you had to cross to take you to the hut where the Coconut man lives. When visitors come, he regales them with an impromptu demonstration of his skill of tearing open a coconut using only his teeth.

We also got to see the old churches of Bohol, most notably the Baclayon Church which is one of the oldest churches in the Philippines and made out of coral blocks taken straight from the sea.  The church houses a fascinating museums with religious artifacts from centuries ago, when the Spanish first invaded the Philippines and sought to Christianize our natives.  Sikatuna, as we have learned from our history books, is a Boholano Chief who entered into a blood compact or Sanduguan with Miguel Lopez de Legazpi. This heralded the start of Catholicism in the Philippines. It is of little wonder that the Boholanons are a prayerful and happy lot.

After our tour, we were brought directly to our resort in Panglao, the Alona Tropical Resort. It was only in Bohol that we learned that Alona Beach was named after Alona Allegre, the bold star who traipsed around naked in that solitary theretofore-unnamed stretch of white sand. Alona Tropical Resort is one of many resorts on the Alona beachfront. We chose it because it was reasonably-priced and came with good reviews. Our room was cozy and simple, with a king-sized bed and a large bathroom. It was only a few steps away from the glistening white sand of the beach.

Party animals used to the throbbing beat of Boracay might find the Alona beach lifestyle to be boring and staid. There are only a handful of bars playing music and providing entertainment. For those who seek to escape the noise of Manila and hanker for some old-fashioned peace and quiet by the sea, the shore line of Panglao is perfect. There is nothing quite like walking hand in hand down the strip of sand under the cover of night and hearing only the sound of the crashing waves. Dinner at the resort is almost always a candlelit affair, with the invariably friendly Boholano service attendant waiting unobtrusively and politely to take your order.

Be sure to have breakfast in Bohol Bee Farm. It was a ten-minute bumpy ride from our resort but worth every bump and bukol. They serve hearty and delicious concoctions and winner fruit shakes. We had a gigantic mango waffle, fish steak, honey-cured ham and a mango-banana milkshake, with corn coffee (the best!) and complimentary bread served with malunggay pate.  The Farm sits on top of a cliff and overlooks the ocean.

I have other Cebu Pacific destinations lined up over the next few months (all of which were procured at  promo rates). My family and I are going to Macau over the Christmas break. Jonas, Clang and I are taking advantage of the P500 fares to go to CamSur in January. And come February,  it’s our Coron adventure. 

Someday though, I hope to find my way back to idyllic, beautiful Bohol — the land of majestic hills that change color as the earth changes its moods, where the ocean is crystal clear at daytime and hauntingly black at night, where old churches exist not only as remnants of history but as testaments of a living and breathing faith, and where the River Loboc bubbles as merrily as the people who live alongside it.

San Pablo Weekend

I’m a big fan of using the internet to plan trips. I can spend hours upon hours just googling destinations, reading through forums, comparing one hotel with another based on tripadvisor reviews.  I also like reading restaurant reviews and discovering secret hideaways close to Manila. I’ve found, however, that most of these websites that feature these secret hideaways and charming destinations provide directions that assume you have a car.  Every so often, I plan to feature on my blog travel haunts and getaways that can be reached without a car, and give commuter-friendly advice to people like me — driven by wanderlust but without wheels.

Last weekend, we went to San Pablo, Laguna, one of the towns that I pass through every time I go to Quezon but which I don’t know a lot about. I’ve heard about Viaje del Sol (way of the sun) over the net, and it apparently is a list of must-visit destinations along the Laguna-Quezon route. Casa San Pablo is a charming hideaway prominently featured in Viaje del Sol.  We paid P2,100.00 per person, inclusive of buffet lunch, dinner and breakfast.

It’s easy to get to Casa San Pablo via commute. You just take a Jac Liner bus (In Kamuning-EDSA beside DILG) and ride the bus going to Lucena. Go down at San Pablo Medical beside Chowking and hop onto a tricycle. Ask the trike to take you to Casa San Pablo inside Kay Inay Resort. You should expect to pay P50.00 for one trike.  A guard will meet you at the front and direct you to the reception. It should be a hassle-free process.

The first thing you’ll notice about Casa San Pablo is how it’s so quiet. There are hammocks scattered around a vast field of green, resting underneath swaying pine trees. The main room or hall in the center is noisy only during mealtimes (where meals are served buffet-style); at any other time, it looks like a quirky house in the province from a bygone era. A touch of whimsy is everywhere, from the wrought iron plantsahan prominently displayed to old and rickety mailboxes in the garden.

The rooms are equally quirky, with each room looking completely different from the other. We stayed at the Casita room, a stand-alone room for two with glass windows all over overlooking the pretty garden.

At night, the place becomes even more magical. They put out candles in the garden and the whole place lights up. More romantic lovebirds can choose to walk around hand in hand, or gaze into each other’s eyes while seated on mats by the candlelight. My partner and I, however, being the competitive nerds that we are, got out a box of SCRABBLE (board games can be borrowed for free) and engaged in one rowdy game after another.

In the morning, we played basketball and then had breakfast. Afterwards, we decided to check out early and take a tricycle ride to Sampaloc Lake, one of the seven lakes of San Pablo. While the lake is pretty, the surrounding environs are quite disappointing. There aren’t enough trash cans to go around, so people throw their trash anywhere. The vendors are arranged in a haphazard manner, and you sort of miss the charm of Dumaguete’s famous Boulevard where there are vendors selling all sorts of stuff but everything is orderly and clean.  Trike to the Sampaloc Lake is around P50.00 as well.

Afterwards, we went to Kusina Salud, which is also featured prominently as a must-go destination in San Pablo. We loved it so much! The place is owned by Patis Tesoro, and like the designer and her legacy, it is distinctly Filipino with pride of place written all over. You can get to Kusina Salud via trike also by telling the trike driver “Barangay Santa Cruz Putol” and just look out for the Kusina Salud sign.  They have a spa inside, where you can get a 30 minute back massage for P100.00, we did and I really enjoyed the ministrations of my masseuse.

The restaurant has fantastic ambience. You eat overlooking a thick foliage, with Filipino ornaments and artsy decor all over. Every Sunday, they have a buffet and the buffet we had on that day was a yummy spread of Pako Salad, Fish Tempura, Binagoongan, Bulalo, Asian Curry and other food I can’t recall now but enjoyed. You have to call them for reservations, and while you’re at it, ask them for the menu for Sunday. I also sent messages to their multiply site www.kusinasalud.multiply.com and they were very accommodating and answered all my queries promptly. Lunch is around P400 per person. To go back to the highway where you can take a bus back to Manila, just hope onto a trike once again.

If you’re still up for more adventure and have more time on your hands, you can proceed further south and visit Kinabuhayan Cafe. We didn’t do it for this weekend, but we did it a few months ago. Kinabuhayan is in Dolores and you can go to it by taking the same Lucena bus, going down at Tiaong Market, and taking the jeep that goes to Dolores. Kinabuhayan is famous for its gourmet food, so if you want the complete foodie adventure, you can start off at Casa San Pablo, proceed to Kusina Salud, then wrap it off with Kinabuhayan Cafe.

• For more details and instructions (like if you decide to take a car), you can visit the websites at www.casasanpablo.com and www.kusinasalud.com . 
• Sorry, both of us forgot to bring a camera. The pics of Casa San Pablo were taken from their website, already mentioned above. The pic of the signage of Kusina Salud was taken from www.sanpablocity.net.

I Used To Be So Much Smarter

– is my current gripe with myself these days.

Do you get those feelings at all, those panic attacks that maybe yesterday’s you was smarter than today’s you? I know I do.

Like a few hours ago, in Rockwell, I was looking at the books in Fully Booked while waiting for my blockmates who i’d be meeting for dinner, and I saw this book that goes something like “100 Books You Should Read Before You Die”. I browsed through it idly and then realized I have only read maybe one third of the selection. But that’s not what REALLY scared me. What scared me was the realization that an overwhelming majority of the titles that I actually read from the list of must-read books was read from the period of 1995-2000 (late high school to College graduation.) That means, I have not been getting my fill of the important books for nearly a decade.

Second. I have recently been reading stuff I’ve been writing, and this I can say with utmost conviction: the best stuff I wrote (and certainly, they were “best” only in comparison to the other Jae works), I wrote from 1998-2000, the period of time when i was under the instruction of the best journalism and creative writing teachers of the Philippines. Not only have I not been able to polish my writing, but it has apparently been on steady decline.

Third. While I love my work and the people I work with, 90% of the things I learned in law school I do not apply on a day-to-day basis. I worry that the time will come when I eventually forget them and I lose, not only the stuff I learned, but also the rigor and discipline we were taught — the skill of looking at the law as one does a puzzle or a rubix cube. I am grateful for the instruction of my former boss, Mabel, one of the sharpest and meticulous AR lawyers around, because of her mastery of the law and her work ethic. I liked showing my work to her and it gave me a high when she validated my legal arguments. Her command of the law is something I aspire for, but I’m still a long, long way from that.

Fourth. I haven’t learned anything new (as in a hobby or a craft) recently. I told myself I’d learn at least one exotic foreign dish, but I’m way past the deadline I set for myself.

Fifth. I have a sneaking suspicion my comprehension skills have gone down. A few days ago, I was reading a recent article in The Economist recently on the world financial meltdown and I discovered to my consternation that I have been reading the same paragraph over and over. And this isn’t even some fancy highfallutin economic treatise. This is The Economist. Sold in 7-11, beside the pack of condoms by the counter.

I woke up at 3am today (it’s 5am now) and scared myself silly at the thought of going completely stupid. As in completely daft. As in malunggay-deficient, Sarah-Palin-level kabobohan.  I know, it’s so weird, people usually stay up at night over a wide variety of fears like dying or getting their house foreclosed or being cheated on by the person I love. I on the other hand am scared that I’m dumbing down. Which is not to say that I think I used to be brilliant. Hell no. You can still go on a steady decline from a peak that’s not very high.

I’m not simply whining here. I’m identifying a problem in order to come up with a concrete action plan. I don’t have an action plan yet, but I’m giving myself three days to figure it out. Feeling ko it has to be something super clear like read one important book a month, or digest cases instead of doing Facebook in my free time. Or get one complicated issue completely outside my realm of experience or knowledge and understand it completely, enough to be able to talk like an expert on it. Any other suggestions?

The only thing I take comfort in right now is that I know what the Bush Doctrine is.

Monica

There are some people who saunter quietly into your life. They enter gracefully, make themselves comfortable, and fill you with the kind of warmth a merrily-boiling kettle at the hearth gives.

Monica is not one of those people. She breaks and enters with a sledgehammer, leaves her messy foot prints all over the place, is shrill and bossy and loud and indignant and cross and cheerful all at the same time.

Ten years ago, she was this tiny, flat-chested college student who looked like she was ten years old and whined and complained that all she wanted was FOR ONCE to be treated like a sex object.

Two days ago, she was packing her life in two big balikbayan boxes and about to leave for good to live in the United States with her greatest love Ian. “Have you ever tried it?” she asked us, “have you ever tried packing your life in a box, deciding what goes with you and what stays behind?”

Here is my answer: I haven’t, Mon. But if the time comes that I would have to, I am sure I would bring with me -

• That long, long bus trip to Ilocos Norte in 1999, when we missed our stop because we were too busy talking and you stood on the seat and begged the irate conductor and driver to take us back.
• Those two nights in Galera when we ran out of money, sold alcohol on the beach in our bikinis (with self-confidence and without a liquor license), proceeded to lose the money we earned, and slept in the house of a bangkero who was the boyfriend of a halo-halo vendor we chatted with.
• The shopping expeditions we had in 168 and the Ukay-ukay hole-in-the-walls, all in the name of looking fabulous for dirt-cheap prices.
• The one million conversations on the College boys of our lives – 30% of whom turned out to be gay in the span of a decade, and 50% of whom we’d rather deny under the clear and appraising light of sobriety and (ahem) adulthood.
• The bar exams of 2005, when you were the bar buddy everyone else could only hope for, inflicting physical pain on my person during times when I felt like slacking off.
• That moment in the car when you told me that you and Ian had gotten married civilly and I cried because I was so happy for you,. It felt that one chapter of our lives had officially come to a close, and we were moving forward and telling the world that this time we meant business. Strangely, there was no fear. Only joy and anticipation. And security in the cohesion of time-tested friendships.

I would take with me, Monica, let freight charges be damned, all the moments generated in the past ten years spent laughing together, being bitches together, wringing each other’s necks for wrong life-choices, making fun of each other’s College boys, swapping clothes (sometimes in the middle of the day), stealing each other’s books, looking out for each other, looking forward to the future, looking good ALWAYS. (hehe).

But if you can’t take all these with you, by all means, don’t. Travel light. Travel free. Carry with you only the certainty that even as we are all moving forward and coasting along with a world that churns and changes by the day, if you look back, the things that matter will be exactly as you have left them.

*          *          *

October 10 is the day Monica left for the United States to live there for five years. However, October 10 is also the birthday of the person from whom I have discovered that pandesal is best eaten shared. Happy birthday, be…

Mamang Driver Manghuhula

Last night’s experience is worth breaking my blog hiaitus for.

Like all of my friends know, I’ve had more than my fair share of taxi experiences, including one who offered me money to buy myself spam because I looked sad, and a manyak one whom I stabbed (okay, more like a daplis in his hand that wouldn’t require more than a checkered band-aid.)  But this one is in a class all its own.

After a round of beer with Enteng and Bobby at Pork Barrel, I decided to call it a night a little past 11pm and hopped into a taxi. The driver was chatty from the get-go and never one to turn down an opportunity to have a pleasant conversation with a kindly stranger, I responded to his friendly overtures.

Then he suddenly turned to me and said, “Hindi pantay ang balikat mo at parang may sakit ka sa kidneys.”

I sat up with a start. I don’t know about the pantay-balikat part, my shoulders seem perfectly fine in the mirror, but I have been having problems with my kidneys. 

And then he said, “Wala ka pang anak ano? Mababa ang matris mo. Mahihirapan ka magkaanak.”

I felt my eyes welling up with tears. I have always loved kids and there is nothing I want more than to be a mom. And it shook me so much because it confirmed what a doctor had gently warned me about before. I remembered that afternoon when the doctor told me that. It was just a warning, but I felt someone had taken a cutter  and shred my heart into ribbons of red.

Not noticing my consternation, the driver went on and on.

“Yayaman ka. Aasenso ka sa buhay. Wag ka lang masyadong magastos. Matuto ka din mag-save.”

I looked out of the window, barely listening. I hear that from my mother a million times.

“Magkakachance ka mag-abroad, pero bakit parang ayaw mong kunin? Parang ayaw mo umalis.”

I nodded my head. He was correct, but I didn’t want to get into a long discussion about why I do the work that I do. I wanted to hear what else he had to say.

“Wala ka pang asawa. May nobyo ka na ba?” To which, I nodded.

He then asked me the name of my “nobyo” and asked for my name. Now, I know this is something I would ordinarily not do, but my curiosity got the better of me. I gave both our names. He then asked me to hold out my palm and he felt my wrists.

“Nakakarinig ako ng four bells. Compatible kayo.”

“Ha?”

“Four bells. Nadidinig ko lang sa isip ko. Pag one or two, di masyado compatible. Pero pag three or four, ayun, compatible. Nasa inyo yan kung magkakakatuluyan kayo, pero pareho kayo mag-isip at pareho kayo ng ugali.” Hmm. Many people would probably say that my nobyo and I couldn’t be more different from each other. 

The taxi was now turning the bend towards my house. I didn’t realize we were almost there until the driver prompted me by asking whether he should turn left or right after Tomas Morato. When we were close to my house, he swiveled his body back to face me and said:

“Pero ang paalala ko sa iyo na sana wag mong ikagagalit… mag-isip ka ng sampung beses bago ka mag-asawa.”

Heard ya loud and clear, Manong.