Ano ang "P" sa P.E.?

If I were any worse at P.E. perhaps I wouldn't be able to answer this question.

There are sporty people, flexible individuals, and the physically fit. And then there's me.

As much as I enjoyed playing dodge ball and kickball in my younger years, the fear of spraining an ankle or breaking a bone always lurked at the back of my mind, preventing me to, well, be at the top of my game. Then volleyball happened. And just when I proved to NOT suck at it, I had to undergo surgery (at my wrist), get well and lose the volleyball momentum.

I consider it excruciating every year, when we have to undergo that thing called "Philippine Physical Fitness Test" (PPFT). I can define flexibility, agility, endurance, strength and the likes but my body most definitely cannot define them. Not at all. Especially since I am one who can NEVER do decent sit-ups, nor crunches. Really I can't. So you can just imagine how embarrassing it was to record "1" or "2" under number of sit-ups every time I had to take the darn test!

And this happened when I was at the perfect weight for my height and, if it matters, age.

I guess, P.E. and I were just not meant to be.

Swimming was better though. I found out that I am capable of learning and doing three out of the four strokes in our curriculum. And I passed the quarter for successfully pulling off a few laps in our school's junior olympic-size pool.

The dances were awful. Be it folk dance or ballroom, I was a mess. And I cannot even muster memorizing the proper counting for "Carinosa" or the "Itik-itik" or "Binhi". Perhaps the "step-hop-hop", "hop-step-step" didn't appeal to my brain cells, or my muscles for that matter.

Chickenpox once saved me from gymnastics class. I didn't have to force myself to do splits or head stands or other stunts. But I will be eternally reminded of our pyramid-building efforts for it was then that I broke a bone, or probably it was dislocated. I don't know for sure. I was too afraid to see a doctor. I just relied on good ol' self-healing! As it turns out, I'm no wolverine. I can still feel the broken, if not dislocated bone, until now.

I would have enjoyed softball if we played more of it. I probably will never be the best softball player in class but I did hit a few balls with my bat. Few is better than none. And although it took a lot of guts to say hello to a flying ball, I knew how to catch using a stinky mitt. I thank my reflexes for that.

College offered me more freedom in exploring what P.E. can do for me. I took Tai-chi and aced it. I guess, I did well at imagining the ball of energy moving around my body while "painting the rainbow", "stroking the peacock's tail" and what-have-you. It helped that there were no impossible bending involved. Thus, me sailing through tai-chi.

I wasn't bad at table tennis and bowling either. Perhaps table tennis is the one clear edge I have over Jessica Zafra. I passed my class with a whopping "line of uno!". I remember I never made a strike in bowling (we played with duck pins). But I did spare several spares. Not bad for a beginner.

For a long time I haven't done anything PE-ish. Other than a few games of badminton with my family in the past; and, if it counts, my short-lived stint at Fitness First. And by "short-lived", I mean 5 to 7 visits out of my 3-month membership with them. Let's just say, Fitness First and I just didn't work out.

I can hardly believe I will ever consider joining yoga classes. Of course, I'm not good at it. It's about bending and reaching for-oh, I don't know. But even though I laugh my way to yoga class, I do appreciate the calm I get while doing the tree pose - which, thank god, I can do!

Now you see, "Ano ang 'P' sa 'P.E.'?" is a challenge for me, too.

Right, Chuck?

Twas a Sunday when I felt Normal again

For a few months now, I've been spending my Sundays unconscious--trying desperately to catch up on the chronic sleep deprivation brought about by the lifestyle I chose to embrace. I say "trying desperately" because I am aware that one cannot really make up for lost...well..err sleep.

Sunday has become a day of rest to indulge in my hedonistic ways, if not laziness.

But this Sunday was different. I woke up. Sat in front of the TV for a few hours. Cleaned my room--well most of it--let's just say I was able to get rid of a few clutters and much dust. Dust which I abhor by the way. I was able to go to the mall to have my eyeglasses fixed. (Clumsy me dropped my poor eyeglasses on the floor causing one lens to pop.) Went to another mall to buy a couple of shirts. (Loved it!) Got home to do a household chore. Found the time to do my personal laundry--by "personal laundry" I mean my personal clothing which I wouldn't ask anyone to clean for me. And finally, clean my finger and toe nails--a must-do which I sacrifice every time my weekend proves to be short.

I felt like were a normal person again.

Paano ako natuto mag-Ingles?

2 words: Sesame Street

Mula spelling hanggang pronunciation, sa Sesame Street ko nakuha ang basics.

At ngayon 40 years na sila. Ilan pa kayang mga tulad ko ang natuturuan nila?

Yes, may pagka-ginulo ng Sesame Street ang kultura ko bilang Pinoy but just the same, ang intervention nito sa edukasyon kong sinagot ng telebisyon worked to my advantage. Bilingual ako ngayon.

Sina Big Bird at Snuffy, Cookie Monster, Oscar the grouch, Grover, Maria at Luis, pati na yung typewriter na panay ang pag-aaksaya ng papel at mahilig mag "niw-niniw-niniw" at iba pang dabarkads sa world's most famous street ay tumatak na sa akin the right way. (It is important to note na, although I regularly watched Sesame Street, Batibot was always there to take care of my Filipino education on TV.)

Nakakatuwa.

Eto ang cute na "intrusion" nila sa Google:

Malamang Mabatukan ako ng mga naging Math Teachers ko

I just lost what I haven’t been using. And taking a test that will measure my skills is the most inopportune time to find out about it.

At malamang sa oo, mabatukan ako ng mga naging Math teachers ko for being sooo slow at handling simple arithmetic. I had around 20 equations to solve in 10 minutes. The moment I saw the numbers, I swear, naramdaman kong bumaluktot, if not nag-shrink, ang mathematical side of my brain. Hindi ko pa yata nakalahati yung dapat sagutan. Nakakahiya talaga ako!

If the seventh grader me were to answer that exam, I would have breezed through it with extra time to brush my hair. Pero na-spoil ako ng calculators na very conveniently kong na-aaccess. Deprived na sa exercise ang math part ng brain ko. Hindi na siya as alive, alert, awake, enthusiastic (!) as before.

I wasn’t bad in Math, you see. At least not generally. In my last year in high school, I could solve complicated equations—those things called polynomials which seemed to have bordered on calculus—in 5 seconds while in front of the whole class. Ms. Maranan, my 4th year high school Algebra teacher, had a thing for board works and she’d literally count to five and expect you to arrive with the correct answer at the stroke of her “-ve” (for “five”). And there would only be two of you in front so it wasn’t difficult for her to see your every move.

If Mrs. Canzana, my grade 6 math teacher, knew I am screwing up my multiplication table again, she’d be throwing her volleyball at me along with her simple yet nerve-wracking “6x7?’s.”

If Sir Melo and Ms. Zuela, my Geometry and my Trigonometry teachers, respectively, knew I’d end up like this, they wouldn’t have placed me in Math A class come senior year.

If Sir Marwin, my Math 11 instructor, sees my score for the arithmetic part of the test I took today, he’d surely take back my 1.0.

If my dad discovers my day’s mishap, he would certainly ban me from going out and playing until I’ve mastered my multiplication table. Again.

Kapag Tumibok Ang Puso (Or maybe I can call it, "Be Still My Heart")

It’s not love. It’s palpitation.

It happens when a non-regular coffee drinker gulps a glass of strong ice-cold brewed coffee in one sitting, carries and swings a baby around, takes a stroll, and then goes down and up and down again to a series of steep flights of stairs (that is, minus the baby).

Of course the non-regular coffee drinker I am talking about is me. And the rest is part of today’s story.

Back to the palpitation, I felt every vein (or artery) in my body beat like crazy, my fingers where even trembling because of it. It was scary. I’m just lucky nothing burst. But I have to say the unflushed caffeine in my blood made me want to jump all around and it is keeping me alert up until now.

As a kid, I wasn’t allowed to drink coffee. It’s for adults, my parents would say. And I didn’t mind, anyway I’d rather have Ovaltine or Milo. It was only in college that I took flavored coffee—toffee, java, hazel nut, cappuccino, chocolate. But it was reserved for special occasions, all-nighters to be exact. It resulted in accomplished papers good enough to beat my deadlines. Coffee shops were starting to bloom in the small town of Los Baños then but since I was no coffee addict, I didn’t really visit those places. I did get one invite at KA (Kofiholics Anonymous) but I ordered juice.

At work, I drank coffee to save my extremely sleepy days. But I usually limited myself to half a mug of flavored instant coffee in those extremely sleepy days. (For the normal sleepy days, I just chat with my seatmates to stay awake.) I have never gotten over the bitterness of plain coffee so I remained loyal to the flavored ones. Plus plain coffee, including the instant kind, gave me headaches.

I am not a frequenter of commercial coffee shops populated by customers who, more often than not, may think of themselves as cool. It really isn’t easy for me to dish out P150 for a tall glass of frappe—one, because I am perennially on a tight budget, and two, because I’d rather spend that much money on regular food. I occasionally hang out at those shala coffee joints because they were secured establishments that kept me and my friends in even when it was past midnight.

Given my preferences, I never had the opportunity to become a coffee connoisseur. I don’t even think I will ever get mixing instant coffee, cream and sugar right. Therefore, memorizing those coffee jargons that flow smoothly out of some people’s mouth is close to impossible for me. For those instances when I seem to crave for “coffee,” I really am craving for sugar and whipped cream; the coffee itself may not be there and I wouldn’t even know it.

But today, I downed a glass of strong ice-cold brewed coffee in one sitting. It was probably one of the most bitter servings of coffee I’ve had in my life. Obviously it didn’t have the amount of sugar I normally prefer and there were no whipped cream on top either. But amazingly I liked that glass of Kopi-C mainly because of the ice. I didn’t lay it to rest until I finished the darn thing.

Of course it came with a price. My heart went palpitating as if I’ve found my true love. Lesson learned.

Note to self: Lie low from Kopi-C’s to avoid scary palpitations. Reserve the crazy heart throb for love.

A Trip to Pati’s Point

I’ve noticed that there are plenty of schools around Singapore and students are everywhere! Aside from being mall rats, these students leave another lasting impression on me: they dress sloppy.

Last week, an article on how slack Singaporeans dress up came out in a local newspaper. It lambasted their penchant in dressing down—sporting T-shirts, shorts and flip flops everywhere including theaters and art museums. The article also pointed out that Singaporeans seem to have forgotten how to dress appropriately such that some locals even appear at job interviews wearing sandals or go to work wearing midriff tops.

Locals use the hot weather as an excuse for their manner of dressing. But the way I see, the heat is no excuse to break dress codes, even the unspoken ones. I mean, don’t wear a coat to work if it will cause you heatstroke but at least wear something decent!

I suddenly remembered how, four years ago, an HR manager my mom forced me to see scolded me for not wearing a blazer when she interviewed me for a “job.” If she weren’t friends with my mom, I could have told her right then, “Are you kidding me? It’s blazing hot outside. This long-sleeved-and-collared blouse is killing me as it is! How do you propose I zap myself from home to here without melting in that weather?”

I wonder what that HR manager will say to the less than formal Singaporeans. But don’t ever think I’d wear my “wais” T-shirt for a formal gig in sizzling Pinas. I am one who honors dress codes. But then there are impractical fashion rules which I try to get away from just by dressing smart and tidy. (Unfortunately for me, the HR manager didn’t appreciate my strategy.)

Looking at the kids here and how they carry their uniforms, I guess the issue on dressing up—or down—in this country has a long way to go before it finds a resolution because apparently, its people begin dressing sloppy at an early age.

At this point, I am seeing Miss Patiño in a new light.

Miss Patiño, is our high school’s version of a fashion police. If she catches you wearing colored hair clips, bracelets or bangles, a dangling pair of earrings or an extra, colored thing pinned on your tie, then you're toast! Get ready for an impending C in deportment. And when you are wearing a skirt longer than two inches below the knees (long skirts were a fad then unlike in my mom’s time when girls loved to wear obscenely short skirts), it will be wise to steer clear of Miss Patiño. I literally had to lock myself inside a washroom cubicle once just to avoid her.

Looking back, having an authority like Miss Patiño around while growing up instilled discipline in me. Yes, I think it did. Despite the hide and seek incident, I managed to realize my responsibility to dress accordingly which somehow I generally did back then. And so did most of my schoolmates. Our blouses were white and well-ironed, our socks weren’t so low they were sinking inside our heels, and our shoes were black leather which wentwell with our uniforms unlike a pair of rubber shoes which obviously is a mismatch. If you line us all up, it’ll be pretty much difficult to point out who’s smart and whose grades are on the rocks.

But the kids around here—with messy hair, crumpled tops, varied lengths of skirts, confused tucking of shirt (do they go in or out?), too short socks, and rubbershoes? I just have to wonder how the smart ones look like.

And if Miss Patiño were here, she’d have a hell of a lot of visitors in her L-shaped table we otherwise refer to as Pati’s Point!

***

NOTE: For all its worth, Miss Patiño is nice lady. I even found her sweet for remembering that I was once her minion when I bumped into her last year during my short stint in my former school. And Miss Patiño love to make chikka. Just make sure you greet her once you see her, even if you are no longer inside you uniform and even if you are nine years older than when she last saw you.

Getting Lost isn't Hard to Do

I had a great time getting lost today.

It was almost 9 PM when I alighted at the Orchard station all by myself. I have very little clue where to exit. Although I consulted two to three maps, I decided to go with my treacherous instincts only to get lost.

But I didn’t mind. At least I saw for myself the mall called Wisma Atria.

The clue I was working around with was Ate’s tip that Wisma is opposite Lucky Plaza, the home of the Pinoys, and Paragon, the mall where I found Jude Law. So at the MRT station, when I saw the sign pointing to an exit that led to Paragon, by virtue of common sense, I took a 180-degree turn and headed to MY exit.

So there I was, walking around in circles at Wisma when I finally decided to get help from the nearest security guy. With crossed fingers, I approached him to ask how I could get to Takashimaya, my desired destination where I was meeting Kate. It was a mall known for its expensive stores.

I was hoping that the guy’s English would pass my standards of “intelligible.” Otherwise I would be more confused than I already was. Then what do know? Security guy speaks in a nasal manner! We call the likes of him, ngongo. But necessity overpowered language barrier wrapped with a speech impediment. I got to decipher this, “Enter second level, go up (soon I learned he said DOWN, not UP), turn right.”

I said thank you to the guy.

I entered the second level, went down the escalator and turned right after exiting the mall. At that point, I saw a more familiar mallscape. That was where I needed to be. At Orchard Road, not Orchard Boulevard where I initially brought myself to.

I entered Takashimaya. With stores like Louis Vuitton, Channel and what-have-you, I knew I was at the right place. The right place to meet Kate, the right place not to shop.

I guess I did find my way. At 10:44 PM I managed to get back in the house in one piece.

I said, “thank God.”

* * *
A quick flashback.

When I was around six to seven years old, I went with our kasambahay to visit her friend a few streets away from our home. I roughly recall banderitas hanging everywhere so I assume that it was during a fiesta.

At home no one knew I went with her. Everyone thought I was lost. I think they went crazy looking for me.

When our kasambahay and I got home a few hours later, I saw on my parents’ face a mixture of fear and panic. They told me not to do that again, not to leave without telling anyone where I was. That’s how, at a young age, I developed the habit of informing people (mostly my parents) of my whereabouts—where I am, when I’d be home.

Although I did not have to do much of that when I was in LB, I went back into the habit once I moved back home on a 24/7 basis.

Somehow I miss that.

Hollering my version of “Hey, I’m alive!” and getting an “Ingat anak.” or a “Tekker 14344eva!” in return.

Awww!

Ang Alamat ng Agimat

A while ago while I was with Nichi and Dad at the hospital awaiting the Pediatric Endocrinologist who would hopefully solve the mystery behind Nichi’s narcolepsy, I saw this poster about autism at the next clinic:



If you zoom in at the image at the last row, center column, you’ll see this:



I suddenly remembered my infamous agimat. Now I’ve decided to end my birthday month by sharing my agimat story.

My dad has acknowledged my annoyingly extreme thirst for attention probably even before I learned how to talk. Being the loving dad that he is, he tried to give me special attention to avoid surges of tantrums and even a hunger strike on my part. As a consequence, I’ve grown closer to him than to my mom.

As my parents would relay it, it was pretty much impossible to separate me from my dad. I would cry like crazy when he’s not around, which I guess happens all the time since Dad didn’t actually work at home.

No one thought that my dad’s old t-shirt will shut me up and bring peace in our home.

I started out sniffing the said shirt. Perhaps it smelling like dad made me believe that he was there with me all the time. Mom said I’d wrap it around my neck and hug it in my sleep. Needless to say, I never let go of the shirt, my agimat.

Eventually the shirt looked and smelled raggedy; my mom realized the need to wash it. She sneaked it away from me when I wasn’t looking. Later, I searched for it but to no avail. And since newly laundered clothes do not dry up at will, shutting me up has once again posed another challenge to my parents.

What other way to solve the problem but to give me another shirt. So I ended up with two shirts, one taking the other’s place when the other’s too filthy for a kid to hug.

My agimat remains a tale told whenever my family is in the mood to reminisce on things from the past. It highlights my one of my quirks as a child and it never fails to make everyone laugh including me. I’m just happy that autism wasn’t a big thing then as it is today, otherwise my parents would have interpreted my “inappropriate attachment to an object” as a sign that something psychological is wrong with their second child.

Of course quirks such as this are a part of me. I would love to say that I’ve outgrown them but somehow I feel that they’re still there. Like my agimat. I’ve lost Dad’s two worn-out shirts but I still seek comfort from material things that remind me of assuring thoughts. Thus explaining my packrat tendencies which I swear I’ve been trying to overcome. (Space constraints.)

On a final note, I guess we all are entitled to our own comfort blanket if it does make us feel safe. Ate Vi has her hanky. People think it’s cute. Get yours and who knows? People may find it cute on you, too. (Like the cute part matters.)

(Notice that I’m talking to myself. Perhaps I really am autistic!)

Still on Freedom

Most schools open today, a supposed National Holiday. But since our Independence day was moved a day earlier to prevent it from being sandwiched in between two working days, we're all expected to be the slaves of whatever institution or company we "serve" even on this special day.

I deem it timely to post an essay which I wrote as commissioned by my Playwriting class instructor back in college, probably for him to know something about us.

And, on my last semester in college, this I allowed him to know...

Prison? School? What’s The Difference?

I have never been to prison but I have been to school.

If you think that my statement is purely non sequitur, I suggest that you think again. Prison and school have more things in common than most people believe. I myself am not sure if it is because of our so-called original sin why we are sentenced to attend school or if it is because we are born savages that is why we are required to enter an institution that will tame us. Whatever it is, the unwritten law—the one strongly imposed by society—which says, all of us should attend school, thinks of us as criminals who badly need rehabilitation. And, we are left with no other choice but to disregard such accusation and go to school.

Prison and school do not rhyme but, sometimes, they sound the same to me. They have numerous similarities which I am going to try to point out the best way that I can. The same as in prison, there is a time frame set for one’s stay in school. The length of time one is required to serve may vary depending on one’s performance. Being good will mean a shorter time of freedom deprivation. A behavior that defies “being good” will result to a longer sentence. If you are still confused and still cannot grasp my point, consider this analogy: Acceleration is to school as parole is to prison. Now, if you behave poorly, you are bound to get a demerit. In school, you will fail and repeat your class, while in prison that means another unwanted year or two added to your stay in the penitentiary.

The steward of the savage individuals in school and of the detained lawbreakers is another thing. They are more popularly known as teachers and wardens, respectively. Students and prisoners are compelled to please their temporary guardians. If they like you, it will be easier for you to get out. If they do not like you, you will be together longer and the relationship will simply be hellish.

Being the social individuals that we are, we can view school or prison as a venue to build friendships or enmity among classmates or inmates. A harmonious and pleasant bond with the people around you makes life fun, enlightening and stress-free. On the other hand, a hostile relationship with others characterized by rivalry, defamation, and occasional cat fights will make life more exciting and entertaining. These two “theories” which I have just bravely come up with holds true in school and prison—I think.

Both school and prison are not there just to tame you. They are there to impart ideologies which you never thought you would adhere to. When you enter both, you are turned into mere robots which passively accept programs set by the “bosses.” In the end, you either consciously or unconsciously imbibe the principles the institution you enter into advocates.

Probably one of the best things school and prison have in common is the people’s opinion and feelings towards them. Students most of the time hate school while prisoners have a logical aversion to prison cells. The bottom line is: they both want to get out as soon as possible.


I have never been to prison but I have been to school. I had been good and I had been bad that is why my stay turned out longer than it was supposed to be. I had teachers whom I pleased which made my stay pleasant. I had teachers who did not particularly like me and they made life suck worse that it usually does. In a “restricted” environment, I found friends who made me forget that I am under some kind of a rehabilitation program (I think the term reformatting is more applicable). I never made enemies but there were some people who were not so nice which allowed me to balance my sunny disposition with my “unsunny” disposition. Being in school for 17 years permitted me to acquire knowledge which I would not have gotten somewhere else. It goes without saying that I had allowed myself to become a passive robot at several points in my life. But that is besides the point.

Why is school like prison?

Because I had tried running away from it but it came after me. That explains why I am still here. However, I would like to believe that I have already served my time.

After being good for the past years, I am preparing myself to scream: “Laya na ako!”

Missing Miss U

I missed it alright. Watching the 2007 Miss Universe Pageant. Actually I missed the pageant before that and even before that and even before that. I cannot really remember the last time I witnessed a Miss Universe coronation ceremony.

It used to be that shows like the Miss Universe is one reason for my family to gather in front of the television and wonder, if not bet on, who will win.

I heard Miss Japan won, Miss USA fell flat on her skinny ass, and Miss Philippines didn’t make the semifinals.

I was hoping to catch video clips on the net but instead I got those takes from the 1994 pageant which was incidentally held here in the Philippines. My youngest brother, Nichi, was just a few days old then. My Grandfather whom we call Tatay successfully taped the whole show. Unfortunately I lost track of who kept that tape after Tatay died.

With the wonders of technology I was able re-live that pageant, the one in 1994 at least. I may drag Nichi into watching the allegedly most beautiful women of 70+ countries (in the year when he was born) out-smart and out-pretty each other to covet that sparkly crown!

You can catch it, too!

Opening Number (Check out our country’s Miss Universes!)




Parade of nations 2 (I skipped the first part. Anyway I’m after Miss Philippines.)




Swimsuit (Is it just me or are their suits more conservative back then?)




Evening gown (Do they still have this little sister tradition until to day?)




The Final Three (The essence of being a woman bit.)




The Crowning (They act funny, don’t they? Demure is funny)

***OK, I've officially abused this YouTube embedding thing.

Confessions of a Dancing Queen

Houston, we have a problem: Kailangan kong sumayaw!

Magiging plastic ako kung sasabihin kong ayaw kong sumayaw dahil gusto ko naman. I really do. Ang problema, ayaw ng sayaw sa akin.

I find myself faced in a constant dilemma. And it has something to do with my anatomy, probably due to a loose wiring in one of the lobes of my brain: Kailangan kong pumili which extremity ang sasabay sa beat—yung upper or lower—hindi pwedeng both. For some reason, hindi talaga kaya. So patay talaga!

Noong bata pa ako, bibu-bibuhan naman ako. Sayaw kung sayaw! Minsan din akong sinabihan ng tita ko na may future ako sa pag-indak. May kakayahan daw kasi akong sumunod sa rhythm.

Sandali namang nagkatotoo ang sinabi niya. Mula grade 1 hanggang grade 3 ay naging cheer dancer ako. (Hehe. Peachy Crystal Girls, doo-bee-doo dum dum!) Tapos naging aktib ako sa mga dance numbers noong grade 4 and 5. Tapos, ayon! Napagdesisyonan kong mag-lie low sa dancing at magtago behind the scenes.

Pero siyempre, wala akong takas sa pagsasayaw. Madalas kasing lesson sa PE ang iba’t ibang klase ng sayaw kagaya ng folk dancing na minsan kong isinumpa. Pohtek! First year high school na ako, pinag itik-itik pa ako! Eh talent lang iyon ng mga bata sa Little Miss Philippines, eh. Then there’s the ballroom dancing na good luck na lang sa partner ko kung paano niya ako papasunurin. Hindi naman ako bumagsak sa PE so I guess, hindi naman ako ganoong kasama sumayaw. (Or then again pwedeng naawa lang sa akin ang teacher ko.)

During high school required kaming lahat maging part ng pep squad. Yung mga graceful and elastic (I mean, flexible) nagiging cheer dancers. Again, let me say na seryoso ang cheering competition sa St.Paul, Pasig kaya hindi biro ang maging cheer dancer. Yung mga sporty, nagiging players. May special participation lang sila sa cheering. Sa isang kanta lang sila papasok, unlike the pep squad and the cheer dancers na the whole 30 minutes ay nagkakakanta at nagsasasayaw. Needless to say, yung mga di pumasang dancers at players ay bumabagsak na pep.

Pero yon OK lang sa akin. Masaya namang maging part ng pep squad. Lalo na kapag pep squad ng batch namin! Hehe. Naaalala ko na ang favorite na lugar namin kung saan kami nag-papractice ay sa red tiles kapag nasa loob ng campus at sa Green Meadows naman kapag nasa labas. Somehow, may swerteng dala sa amin ang Green Meadows. Na-try na din namin sa Green Park, covered court ng White Planes, clubhouse ng Valle 2 (or 1?) at sa basketball gym ng Acropolis. (By the way, sa clubhouse ng Acropolis ako nakatakdang sumayaw. Yikes!) Pero talagang mas gusto ng batch namin sa Green Meadows.

Segue lang. One time habang nag-break kami sa practice, natripan kong mag-swing with my friends. Eh nabore na ako sa conventional way of “swinging” kaya naisip kong ilipat ang kamay ko from holding the swing’s tali to holding the inverted Y part, connected to my seat. Siyempre tumaob ang swing. Napa-back roll ako. Next thing I knew, nakahiga na ako sa damp grass at ang natatanaw ko ay ang ant’s eye-view ng seat ng swing. At dahil wala akong extra shirt, the whole day akong may putik sa likod. Kaya yata extra memorable sa akin ang Green Meadows dahil doon.

Back to the dance, kinakareer ko rin naman noon ang routine ng pep squad (in fairness). Masaya kase. Enjoy! Plus, mga 200-300+ naman kami kaya hindi nakakahiyang sumayaw.

Ngayon, eight lang kami. Brighter side: one-minute exposure lang. Pero OK lang talaga. At least now I found something that will make me nerbyus again. May pagka-sucker for stage fright kasi ako. Masaya para sa akin ang kabahan dahil pupunta ako sa stage.

Isa sa mga regrets ko ang di ko pag-sali sa cast ng mga play sa UPLB. Well, except dun sa chamber theater namin na parang street play kung saan ako yung roving narrator (memorized lines yon—something which is a challenge to my forgetful brain). Pero culminating activity kasi yon so no choice ako. Nga pala nagkalat ako doon sa dance part ng chamber theater namin. Bakit ba kasi kailangan pa naming sumayaw for that?!

Hindi sa auditorium yon so it doesn’t count. Noong naging stage manager naman ako, in one of our rehearsals, may pasaway na Moon Dancer na di nagsabi na aabsent siya. I had to learn her part in 15 minutes. Mabuti na lang at supportive ang iba pang Moon Dancers. Tinuruan nila akong sumayaw. Pero kahit sa D. L. Umali Hall yon, rehearsal lang siya. Somehow nilimit ko ang sarili ko sa backstage. Ayan tuloy hindi ko na-feed mabuti ang aking star complex!

So this is it! The chance to satisfy my frustration has come. And of course, I’ll seize it.

I’ll seize it with my dignity intact, I hope.

COMMENTS:

sasayaw ka sa FDC Christmas party? ows? ;p
Posted by: Kate | November 23, 2006 09:07 PM

Believe it or not, oo, kate and I am hoping that you will go dance with us, too. Masaya yon!
Posted by: Tyrene | November 25, 2006 04:41 AM

Gusto ko yung "Scissors" (o Scissorhands?). Eto lang ata kaisa-isang chance ko na magawa ko ang dance step na yun (medyo weird nga naman kung sasayawin yun elsewhere, gaya ng debut ng pinsan o sa club). Go, go, go! masaya nga! :)
Posted by: Ody | November 25, 2006 06:01 AM

Goodluck tyrene! haha natawa ako sa swing story mo! anong year tayo nun? bat di kita nakita? hahaha! naalala ko rin tuloy mga hs PE classes natin with itik itik and all that crap! goodluck! galingan mo! tayo mo bandera ng batch98 pep! hahahah! balitaan mo kami uli!
Posted by: Christmas | November 25, 2006 10:28 AM

Gud luck talaga sa akin! Second year tayo noong nahulog ako sa swing, the same time na naging manager kita...sina Corina, Jane and Cyn Clare and naalala kong witnesses--mahusay talagang mga kaibigan...pinagtawanan ako! I remember na ikaw ang partner ko doon sa swing--as in the ballroom dance practical test. Hehe. I hope walang kang namatay na toe nails dahil sa akin!
Posted by: Tyrene | November 25, 2006 08:43 PM

Grabe naalala mo pa talaga! Ako di ko na nga maalala kung sino teacher natin nun! at kung sino sinong partners ko... naalala ko lang na may PE na pinatakbo tayo up and down ng gym na sobrang kapagod. first year ata yun. second year though, masaya un, i think i remember isa sa mga pep pracs naten sa busport e habang nagiintay ng practice dun tayo umupo sa tabi ng mere maria at nagtatawanan. di ko na maalala sino sino kasama naten. kaw ba partner ko nun sa pep?! hmmm...
Posted by: ChRiStMaSII | December 9, 2006 08:39 AM

Halloween Special

Allow me to boost my dying confidence by reminding you that, once in my life, I was a Youngblood baby. To be exact, the first article I ever sent to the Philippine Daily Inquirer was published two years and one day ago—in time for the season of dead people.

Thus, Halloween becomes extra special to me.

To commemorate that fateful day, I shall post all the text messages I received and saved on my notebook which have something to do with the said article. (My excuses for presenting this important part of my blog entry in photos are as follows: I am too lazy to type them, I wish to preserve these pages of my notebook, and I am abusing this gadget called scanner.)











There are two times in my life when I felt so happy for myself that I didn’t mind getting hit by a car, that if it were the end of me I knew that I will pass away REALLY happy. My Youngblood moment is one of them.

Spirits don’t just die, everyone. Especially this time of year. Happy Halloween!

In Memory of Aaron Rabajante

13 August 2004. Past
Someone I know just died. It’s sad really. I haven’t been to a hospital to visit the dead before.

* * *

12 August 2006. Not-too-distant past.
He’s been dead for two years now. Yes, his was a death that bothered me the most.

He used to be one year younger than I was. Then it became two. Now it’s three. I guess, Peter Pan has found a way never to grow old.

* * *

18 August 2004. Past
I went to his wake last Sunday (August 15). At first I hesitated to look inside the coffin. Later, curiosity kicked in.

I peeped. I didn’t see Aaron. It was a carcass I saw; it didn’t look like him. It didn’t even look like any human I know.

He’s being buried today. For all it’s worth, I hope he’ll rest in peace.

* * *

Present
“In Memory of Aaron Rabajante” was the original title of the written eulogy I gave his mom two days after his death. Not wanting to keep the piece between his mom and me, I quietly sent a copy to the Philippine Daily Inquirer. Little did I know that it will be the piece that would put me on the same page as Rina Jimenez-David as well as on the net.

In a way, I exploited his death. I ask him to forgive me for that.

And still I continue to exploit him. My need to tell people how it feels to lose someone obliquely family is my only excuse.

I ask him to understand me for that.

Back To The Basics

Simple lang naman ang buhay e. Ewan ko ba kung bakit madalas pinapa-complicate natin, pinapa-complicate ko. Kaya siguro dapat kong alalahanin ang mga simpleng happy thoughts ko.

Isa sa mga oldest memories ko ay yaong sa house number 1. Alas kwatro ng umaga ako nagigising noon. Aga no? Tapos ngayon hirap na hirap akong gumising ng six. Kapag medyo sikat na ang araw, sinasama ako ng daddy ko sa me kanto para bumili ng dyaryo. Bilang bonus, binibilhan nya ako ng favorite kong hopia. Ayos na ang araw!

Favorite pasalubong ko yung ET. Swerte talaga pag nag-uuwi si Mommy ng isang buong sari-sari store pack! At least yon, tig-three to four packs kaming tatlong magkakapatid. Pag hapit ang budget, isang Stork lang ang uwi nya. Matibay ang ngipin ko kaya ako ang tagahati nung Stork. Kinakagat ko para mabasag. Tapos yon, hating kapatid na.

One of the earliest Christmas memories ko ay sa house number 1 pa rin. Wala kaming Christmas tree. Well, meron pero two-dimensional lang. Gumawa lang kasi si Mommy ng outline sa pader namin using a green fuzzy metallic bough. Nung nakaluwag sya, pinalibutan nya yon ng 50-bulb blinking lights. Never akong naniwala na may Santa Clause. OK na rin yon. At least di ko kailangang ma-disillusion sa existence ng matabang mamang naka-red. Ang alam ko kasing Santa ay yung nakita namin sa Greenhills na nagtitinda ng candy. Hindi yon joke.

Hindi naman ako deprived sa gifts. Da best yung nasa hagdan kami ni Ate, sobrang excited kaming buksan yung regalo namin. Barbie ang laman! Yun ang one and only Barbie doll ko. Bad trip lang kasi the next day, putol agad ang ulo nya. Pinapalipad ko kasi, e di ko nasalo. Ayon tanggal ang ulo sa socket, nabali pa ang socket. Nagkaroon tuloy ng distinct personality ang Barbie ko. Naging punggok!

Another Christmas memory ay nung tatlo lang kaming nagpasko sa bahay. Pagkakaalala ko nasa ospital si Mommy at si Bunso. Nahulog kasi si Bunso sa hagdan. Hobby nya yon, ang mahulog sa hagdan. Anyway hinugot namin ni Ate yung gift sa ilalim ng sofa. (Two-dimensional pa rin ang Christmas tree namin noon.) Tig-isa kami ng plantsa. Yellow sa akin. Pink kay Ate. Ang saya saya ko. Parang totoo kasi yung plantsa—complete with kabayo! Pero ngayon, muhing-muhi ako sa plantsa.

Nung preschool na ako, gusto ko lang maunang matapos ang row namin (na column pala) sa mga activities para mauna kaming maghugas ng kamay at mamili ng placemat pag recess. Ayaw ko kasi nung red na bilog. Gusto ko yung blue na rectangle o kaya yung brown na square placemat. Maliit kasi yung red; lumalampas ang baunan ko. Bad trip lang pag nakakatulog ako sa class. Madalas ngang mangyari yon. Nagigising na lang ako kasi may nagtatap ng stick sa table ko. Huli na pala ako ng teacher ko. Pinapa-jump ako ng ___x—depende yata kung gaano katagal akong tulog.

Nung gradeschool naman, no problem talaga. Kelangan ko lang pumasok. Di kasi ako grade-conscious. Parang di nga yata ako nag-rereview sa test. Swerte lang dahil pumapasa naman ako, at minsan nasa top ten pa ng klase. Hindi ako masyadong nagnonotes. Pangit kasi ako magsulat kaya di ko rin naman mababasa. Mabagal din akong kumopya kaya di ko natatapos. Minsan naman talagang inaatake lang ako ng ADHD kaya heading lang ang kinokopya ko. Wala akong sense ng order o chronology kaya kung saan ko mabuksan ang notebook, doon ako nagsusulat. Ewan ko kung bakit ngayon, sobrang alipin ako ng order, ng date, ng chronology.

Nung high school, total high sa akin ang magreport sa harap ng klase. Yun ang best time ko to feed my star complex. Dami kong gimmick! Gamit na gamit ko ang Stabilo Boss collection ko. Nilalagyan ko pa ng glitters ang visual aids ko para maganda. Gusto ko kasi macolor ang mga props ko. Type na type ko rin ang mga role playing. Big break ko yata noon yung role ko na Muchacho sa play na “Wanted: A Chaperone.” Astig! Nakapag-mura ako on-stage. Not everyday makakalusot ang pagsabi ng “gago” sa isang Catholic school for girls. OK din yung magsasaka role ko sa panel interview kuno namin sa speech. Ako yata si Mang Art, Batangueñong magsasaka sa Cebu. Sumablay lang nga ako sa accent ko noon kasi biglang naging Cebuano e Batangueño nga ako! Favorite ko yung nagmonologue ako sa class as Llanares, character sa Noli Me Tangere. Extemporaneous kasi yon. Sinabihan lang ako ng classmate ko the day before kung gusto ko ng extra grade, magdala ako ng costume. Yun pala kailangang mag-speech sa harap. Buti na lang nabasa ko yung assigned chapter kundi patay! Lahat yan hilarious. Yun lang kasi ang alam kong way para makuha ang attention ng mga classmates ko para di ko sila ma-bore. Palakpak talaga ang tenga ko everytime na napapatawa ko sila. Aba dream ko yatang maging class clown!

Puro pang boy ang roles ko no? Wala kasing boys sa school. Tapos mas madaling maghanap ng costume pag lalaki ang role. In fact nagpabili na ako sa mommy ko ng sarili kong camisa de chino na nasulit naman sa dami ng guy roles ko!

Nung college naman, precious sa akin ang mga panahon ng pagtatanga sa dorm, sa Hum steps, sa likod ng main lib. Tapos kahit na anong trip kong look pwede. Kapag feel kong magmaganda, nagfoformal ako. Kapag tinatamad ako, tsinelas and tibak look. Minsan naman natripan kong pumasok suot ang pinantulog ko. Buti talaga di ako hinabol ng plantsa!

Dahil malayo ako sa pamilya ko, nakatagpo ako ng barkadang nagsilbing pamilya ko doon. Sila yung nakakasabay ko sa almusal, tanghalian o kaya hapunan. Minsan pag may tinatapos kaming papers, sa isang dorm na rin kaming lahat natutulog. Pag ganoon kasi mahihiya kang tulugan ang trabaho. Kapal nga namin kasi regular ang pag-crash namin sa dorm ng isang berk na naging dorm ng dalawang berks, na naging dorm ng tatlong berks, na naging dorm ng limang berks.

Da best talaga pag umaakyat kami ng bubong. As in yero na nakatagilid. Aakyat ka ng tangke ng tubig para marating ang bubong ng second floor nung dorm. Noon lang ako nakakita ng multiple shooting stars in one night! Tapos doon kami nagkukwentuhan, not necessarily usap. Minsan kahit di kami nagsasalita, nakakapagkwentuhan na kame.

Syempre kinareer ko pa rin ang mga speech classes ko. Ninenerbyos ako, yes, pero enjoy e. Lalo pag nagrereact ang mga classmates ko. Mas lalo pag pati di ko classmate may reaksyon. Nagtataka lang ako kasi ngayon ang bulol ko. Sa English pa! Parang di ako naka-uno sa Voice and Diction class ko noon. Nakakahiya tuloy!

Sa bahay naman, mas na-appreciate ko ang pamilya ko. Minsan ko na lang kasi sila makasama kaya every minute counts na. Lalo na sa dalawang pahabol kong kapatid. Nagkaroon kasi ng dalawang pahabol kaya naging lima na kami. Masaya kasi nakakabuo kami ng dalawang team para sa charades. Tapos bigla akong nagkababy in the form of my two brothers. Nakita ko kasi sila since nasa tyan sila ni Mommy hangang ngayong mas matangkad na sila sa akin. Patok din sa akin ang mga joke time namin at mga movie marathon.

Maalala ko lang ang mga ganyang bagay, OK na ako ulit. Iba na kasi ngayon. Kelangan kong mag-grow up. Nireresist ko sya pero di pwede. May pressure na. At hello, 26 na ako! Whether I like it or not kelangan kong maging adult. Sa ngayon, ang worst thing about being an adult para sa akin ay ang pera. Parang forced kang magkapera, magbudget ng pera, at kumita pa ng pera. Di lang root of all evil ang money ngayon. Root of all wrinkles pa sya. Ang pangit! Dati go lang ng go! Deadma kung low budget. Pero ngayon, kailangan ng maraming pera para maraming saya.

Yun ang malungkot.

Kaya naman sa panahong problema ang pera, inaalala ko na lang ang mga sayang naranasan ko sa gitna ng karukhaan. Only then do I remember na di lang pera ang susi sa happiness. Na pwedeng sumaya even without any money involved. Na simple lang naman talaga ang buhay at kahit adult na ako, pwede ko pa ring panatilihing simple ang buhay.

COMMENTS

Tapos nakakahanap na tyo ng comfort sa routine. Nakikita natin ang secutrity ng consistency. Parang dati, dapat palaging bago, palaging iba. Ngayon, pag may nawala sa pattern nakakapang panic. Hindi normal... hindi tama. nakakapag alala. nakakapang wrinkles...
Posted by: Jab | June 18, 2006 12:46 AM

totoo! =)
Posted by: Jea | June 19, 2006 06:09 AM

Salamat sa comment, Jea & Jab.
Sana ay wrinkle-free kayo ngayon!
Posted by: Tyrene | June 19, 2006 06:56 AM

Da Bodyguards

Sa di ko alam na dahilan, wala kanina sa hintayan ng jeep ang aking mga teammates sa pag-uwi. Ang nangyari tuloy ay naiwan akong naghihintay ng jeep na sa palagay ko ay dapat nang mabilang sa listahan ng mga endangered species--well at least yung jeep na patungo sa inuuwian ko. Sa gitna ng paghihintay, nakasabay ko ang tatlo kong kaopisina na pauwi na rin. Minabuti nilang maging pansamantala kong “bodyguards.” Medyo madilim kasi sa hintayan kaya pinauna muna nila akong makasakay bago sila nagsiuwian. Hmmm. Gentlemen. Naalala ko tuloy ang isa sa mga nakakatawang karanasan ko sa Los Baños kung saan ako naman ang nagpakabodyguard.

****klililili-lililili-ling……..

Ako at ang kaibigan kong si Leng ay nagmistulang mga bouncer samantalang si Joy naman ang nag-alo sa aming “alagang” si Nikka. Alam mo yung mga panahong gahibla na lamang ng buhok ang supply mo ng pasensya? Nasa ganoong mood si Nikka noon. Kaso yung gahiblang buhok na iyon ay napatid pa dahil sa napakasungit na ale na ayaw kaming pagbentahan ng karayom. So nag Sari-sari Store hopping kami para makahanap ng karayom na gagamitin naming pantahi sa wristband ng mga artista namin sa dulang, “Sundalong Hambog.”

Dalawang bouncer, isang taga-alo, at isang pikon nang babae in search for one needle.

May isang mama na nakapansin sa amin at sa kaibigan naming nagngingilid na ang luha. Buong pagmamalasakit niyang itinuro kami sa tindahan sa tapat, yung may nakadisplay na papaya sa harap. Totoong papaya ha. Perennial product ng tindahan iyon ang papaya. Simula yata freshman ako sa UPLB, nagtitinda na sila ng papaya. Pero ang main merchandise nila ay mga gamit na pang-cross stitch at frames. Nagdedevelop din sila ng pictures. All-in-one nga e. Pwede kang magpa-picture, kumain ng papaya habang naghihintay madevelop ang picture mo at mag-cross stitch muna habang fineframe nila ang picture mo. Ayos!

So ayon bumili si Nikka ng karayom katabi si Joy. Kami naman ni Leng, nakabantay sa labas ng tindahan, sa tabi ng mga papaya, nag-aabang sa sinumang magtatangkang mang-asar pa sa aming kaibigan. Ang tanging sandata lang namin ay ang tig-isang mais na nakatuhog sa barbeque stick. Two-in-one naman ‘yon. Merienda namin na pambambo sa sinumang gagago-gago. Ang lahat nang ito ay nangyari sa Grove, ang kalyeng tumutumbok sa UPLB gate. Bihirang mawalan ng tao sa Grove kaya naman kapag binabaybay mo ito at naisipan mong kahulan ang isang aso nang walang matinong dahilan, hindi ka magmumukahang adik sa iilan lang tao kung hindi sa buong bayan.

At ayun na nga. Nagmukha kaming cartoons sa harap ng buong bayan at wala kaming pakialam. Kahit na drama in public ang nangyari kay Nikka, kahit na nagpaka-alalay si Joy, at kahit na nagpakabouncer kami ni Leng. Ayos lang. At kung hindi ka natawa sa kwento ko, ayos lang din.

COMMENT

solb na ko...ang saya ng krismas gip mo sa akin....isang napalakas na tawa...
i am saved. mabubuhay pa ako.
Posted by: Nikka | December 14, 2005 12:26 PM

Rare Moments

It is but rare for me to show up on time for my personal, no-business-involved engagements. Last Saturday was one of those moments. I arrived before my friend did at the place where we were set to meet. Then we proceeded on meeting the rest of our friends in which case we came late because we were sidetracked along the way.

The attendance of my friends at our get-together last weekend is pretty much encouraging--seven out of thirteen. More than half made it despite the lack of careful planning and a clear list of our day’s activities. And no one was in a real hurry to leave that I got to spent more than 12 hours with them--something I haven’t done in a long time.

The weather had the most amazing behavior last weekend. You see, the weather almost always threatens my scheduled volt-in with my friends. It must have given up because however bad weather forecasts go, we choose not to mind them anyway.


This reminds me of another set of rare moments. It was rainy in this rare moment but I went on with my spontaneous outing with my berx (yes, that’s what we call ourselves). Despite months, even years, of living in Los Baños, I never got to go on an exclusively-for-berx swim at any of Los Baños’ resorts. Then came that rare day in July when Leng, Joan, and I splashed and screamed in a Los Baños pool. I swear; if you’re stressed out, go for a swim, preferably one with slides--the longer, the better. Forget poise. Push kids aside. Let your ass glide. Scream! The key is letting out your most unpretentious scream. Stress is gone in seconds.

More on that day in July. After the swim, a change in venue was needed in order to regroup with more berx. By this time Kate joined us three and we headed off to Pacita, San Pedro, Laguna via a fully packed jeepney speeding through South Super highway at 8 o’ clock p.m. If you think that is scary, wait till you read this.

We, four travelers, have no idea when to get off the jeepney. Arjane, another berk and native of Pacita told us to meet her at Mc Donald's. (Note to everyone: Food chains and convenient stores do not make good landmarks.) Like the four wise men, we looked at the heavens for that big M sign. Leng and I saw one so we got off, only to find out that such M stands for Mc Donald's Biñan. Ooops, wrong Branch! Up to the jeepney again. Apparently traffic is not exclusive to EDSA. Even the small streets of Biñan (or San Pedro?) have their share of congested paths. And it was as action-packed.

A guy passed by and almost got hit by the red pick-up at the tail of our jeepney. Must be a marathon athlete, I thought. Then came another man, just as fast but was carrying a bag. My heart started to bang. And bang it went--not my heart but a gun. My inference was confirmed because a few seconds later a man carrying a gun appeared and stood directly opposite our jeepney. He fired another shot. Had he lowered the angle of his arm, I would have seen blood that night. A mighty being saved us that night because we survived the trip, found the correct Mc Donald’s branch, reunited with Lowny and Arjane, and slept over at the Hatulan Mansion with all our limbs and organs intact.

Back to the almost present. The day with my berx ended with the movie, The Brothers Grimm. (The promised review for that film is well underway.) We rarely see any movie together. And what do you know? Inside the theater with us was That’s Entertainment’s very own, Jovit Moya! Now that’s rare indeed!

***Count how many times I mentioned “rare” in this article. Text me your answer and win a prize. Text RARE

***WARNING: Prizes do not include anything that will make you rich!

And It All Ads Up

I can hardly find any valid reason for LTO to grant a plate or whatever permit it is that will allow roving billboards to rove. As far as I am concerned, they are a nuisance. First they mock our streets. Sending off ads stuck at the back of a truck to major thoroughfares is like saying, “Abandon hope all ye drivers. Exposing yourselves to traffic is like crucifying yourselves among the billboards along Guadalupe!”

Second, our streets are already congested as it is; we need not add elements that will clog them further. From a pragmatist’s point-of-view, I’d say it would be better to give up these unstably slim vehicles than the 1995 models of Tamarraw FXs. The former bares a lighted ad; the latter carries people. Do the math.

Third, there’s a clean air act, right? Isn’t that about reducing pollution to the minimum level possible? Hello, people concerned, DENR, MMDA! Roving billboards have mufflers! Their purpose in our streets will never outweigh the carbon monoxide they emit.

Fourth, these vehicles use gasoline. We are told that it is a good thing to conserve energy. For all our sakes, let’s do the good thing.

Last, I don’t like them. Whoever came up with them might think of themselves as geniuses. I think otherwise. If they are as genius-like as they think they are, they would have opted to post their ads to the jeepneys of willing owners. That way they will still be doing the roving ad thing, still congesting the streets, still emitting poisonous gas, still consuming gasoline. However this time, they’d have a redeeming value—they would be giving operators of PUVs an extra source of cash. Yes, it has already been done but that’s where the genius’ challenge enters—to top what has already been done.

* * *

Due to a throbbing hemisphere in my brain, I was reduced to stay more than 24 hours at home. While serving my house arrest, I found solace in watching television—the non-cable television. While surfing through ten channels, I’ve come to the conclusion that Kuya Bodgie is haunting me.


His new McDonalds ad keeps on recurring; I can’t help but write about it. In the advertisement, Kuya Bodgie sports his old Batibot act and “teaches” what-seems-to-be-kids the numbers to dial when they are hungry. This, of course, is Mc Donald’s hotline. Later it is revealed that the kids Kuya Bodgie is talking to are not as young as we expect them to be. They are actually yuppies. At that point we are supposed to feel nostalgic realizing that the Batibot generation have already grown up, working to earn their living, paying to fill their stomachs, and hopefully, doing their share in making this world a better place.

The ad pinched my heart. It should. After all, I am a raw batang Batibot. When I was around three to five years old, my parents dragged me to Batibot auditions. It was not their fault. It was more of my Ate’s. She was the one with the star complex back then and pressed my parents into bringing her to the auditions. My parents thought they might as well make the most out of waiting in long lines and decided to bring me along. I recall singing and dancing in various parts of the same building which DepEd is presently occupying.

Then came the final moment. I vividly remember sitting at the foot of the Puno ng Batibot. It was a big tree without leaves, and it was made out of papier-mache. And I swear, there were a couple of empty San Miguel Beer bottles at its foot. What those bottles are doing there, I have know idea.



So there we were, aspiring batang Batibot, sitting, waiting for our turn on the spotlight. I meant that literally. When your turn came, you were supposed to stand up and enjoy the spotlight which was hardly possible because the light had a blinding effect; it hurt the cones and rods of my retina. The spotlight was more like the light at the end of the tunnel. After blinding you, you will hear an unknown voice but instead of it asking you what good you have been doing in your lifetime, it asks you, “Can you sing?” That was where Batibot and I lost each other. I thought, “What? After singing and dancing, ‘pag gising sa umaga, ako’y naghihilamos, tingnan nyo kung paanoooo…’ you’re asking me if I can sing?” I was probably in my smart ass mood so I replied a sarcastic, “no.”

Thus my being a raw batang Batibot. My sister made it by the way. It worked to my advantage though. I didn’t have to memorize scripts the way she had to just to go near the Batibot set or just to see Ate Sienna and Kuya Bodgie.

I really didn’t have to go through all troubles just to see Kuya Bodgie. Recently I spotted him riding the MRT. He was seated and was occasionally drifting off to sleep. Obviously, he is older than he used to be. He was carrying a humongous bag and was wearing a shirt with a Batibot design. He even looked a bit exhausted; I almost felt sorry for him. Then I began wondering what his life had been like after Batibot and after his short stint in an ABS-CBN telenovela. I wish he didn’t have a lot of dull moments; furthermore I wish him behind-the-spotlight bliss.

Kuya Bodgie really looked tired. Maybe he just got off the taping of that McDonalds ad or, then again, maybe a former batang Batibot just approached him to ask what those San Miguel beer bottles were doing in a children-friendly set.

It's My Party

My birthday makes me feel different. I'm actually used to people not remembering my "big day". It started way back in preschool. Everyone's so absorbed with the first day of classes which, most of the time, falls on my birthdate--no one, not even my so-called friends, remember my day.

However there's always a time for me to announce my DOB (Date of Birth). You see, kids, when introducing themselves in class, are limited to saying their name, nickname, age and/or birthday--BARABING! There you go! At that point, my teacher will call on the whole class to sing for me. Probably the most unforgettable Happy-Birthday Performance I ever got was during my 3rd year in highschool. My birthday was revealed to the whole class while we were having our music class. It's quite convenient because we were inside the music room and my music teacher was already sitting in front of a piano. After a few seconds of vocalization, the whole class were able to deliver a fair version of the most sang song in the world, complete with accompaniment, all dedicated to me. It was enough to make me feel special.

Even without having anyone perform a live song for me, I still feel fine this year. People actually remembered my day and actually greeted me. :-) It feels great really.

Before I end, I'd like to share a birthday trivia I learned from my professor in college. On your birthday, people will tell you, "happy birthday" then you'll reply, "thank you." Actually that practice is grammatically incorrect. "Happy birthday" is a phrase made up of the adjective "happy" and the noun "birthday." When put together, they form a phrase that describes a type of "birthday." Technically, the phrase does not say anything about you so why thank the "greeter?" The more apt response would be, "yes, it is a happy birthday" or "no, it isn't". Of course, we can always assume that "happy birthday" is an elliptical phrase which really means, "I hope you'll have a happy birthday." In such case, you can say, "I hope so, too" or "thank you for hoping that." Since the greeter is delivering a shortened message, you as the "gretee(?)" can probably give out an abbreviated retort and say, "thanks!" Therefore, in order for the exchange to be valid, both you and the greeter must be playing the same language game, one that doesn't mind violating grammatical laws. At that note, I'd like to say, it will be best to disregard the trivia I just shared. :-)

My Quick Weekend in UPLB

I intended to go back to UPLB early Friday morning but as usual, I failed. My alibi would have to be lack of sleep.

My alibi is always lack of sleep.

This time however I did not get enough sleep for a noble reason. I was finishing 12 surprise graduation gifts/cards for 12 of my closest friends who were scheduled to graduate Saturday afternoon. I desperately wanted to join them for the Department Testimonial, but I opted to prioritize my little project thereby sacrificing my ability to wake up before dawn.

I slept before dawn and gained consciousness one hour before the Department Testimonial. Sure I can get myself ready in 15 minutes but traveling from Pasig to UP Los Baños in 45 minutes is impossible since teleportation is not something I can avail of just yet.

Three hours after my target arrival time, I found myself zapped back into the place I called home for four and a half years. Contrary to my fear, I didn’t feel like I was an outsider. If it were not for the grocery store standing on what-used-to-be-a-vacant-lot and KFC occupying the spot which used to be Burger King’s, I would say Los Baños remained just as how I left it nine months ago.

The sun is hot in Los Baños—not that it isn’t hot elsewhere but there’s something about LB which makes one realize that there is indeed a sun. Of course I abhorred heat, the same way I hated dust and sweat, but I didn’t mind if my skin got toasted for a while just as long as I got another look around my old university.

Two of my friends, Nikka and Kistna, escorted me around. I had to see the third floor of the NCAS building. It wasn’t there when I left. And as history would have it now, my first photo for my return to UPLB was taken inside the newest ladies room at NCAS. We then proceeded to the Humanities building. After seeing NCAS, I had to see the Humanities. After all, the Humanities was the one that welcomed me in Los Baños back in 1998—at that time NCAS was probably just a blueprint inside some architect’s bag.

My UPLB tour had to be cut short because of the incessant way the sun is making his presence felt. Nostalgia would have kept me from minding the impending threat of skin cancer but it was not enough for me not to anticipate heat stroke. Kistna, Nikka and I surrendered to KFC for sanctuary. Later we were joined by Leng. There were only four of us (we were supposed to be 13) but we almost invaded the whole second floor with our reverberating laughter. One set of which was brought about by the idea that some people take acetone to get high. By virtue of reductio ad absurdum, we came up with the hypothetical possibility (Is there such a thing?) of people taking water just to get high. In that case, everyone can afford to go on a laughing trip without worrying about the adverse effects of what they’re taking. But wait, maybe when that time comes water will be toxic and taking it will automatically kill you—no laughing trip there.

A few more laughs later, we were in front of the S.U. building surrounded by almost all of this year’s graduates. Of course, I took pictures. And even if I already have my puny diploma and pink transcript of records at home, I’d still say I blended well with the crowd. I know many of the people that comprised the pack and many of them remember me, although not all of them recall clearly that I’ve been there and I’ve done that last year—graduating, that is.

To further my point regarding “blending” allow me to relay how I joined this year’s graduates during their practice.


Probably I didn’t get enough of last year’s pre-graduation cacophony that’s why I subjected myself to the same chaos this year. Then again all of my friends were required to join the practice. Since I wanted to be with them and I didn’t have anyone else to hang out with, I went with them as they fell in line, and as they entered the field where the graduates were supposed to sit, and as they established an obscure bond with the event’s marshal (the one who signaled when they were supposed to sit and stand), and as they marched on stage—the highlight of tomorrow’s ceremony.

The question is, what would you do if you were given another chance to walk on stage as if you were really a fresh graduate? Well I couldn’t sing or dance on stage —that would be too much and at the same time irrelevant. But I can capture the moment. I was debating on whether to take pictures while I’m on stage or to take a crude video with my cellphone. I ended up doing the latter for it was more convenient considering that I only had 10 seconds to implement my plan. Well I did it. I captured the moment and I can replay the feel of it anytime I like. Of course the event’s organizer reprimanded me but who cares? She can’t put my diploma on hold. I already have it!

Dinner was the only means by which my friends and I could spend what was left of our time together. We were only nine and we didn’t really talk but each other’s presence was enough to fill out the times we didn’t see each other.

The next day was shorter than the previous one. This time I was able to attend the College Testimonial for graduates. I took pictures of my friends and chatted with my past professors. Then I took some more pictures, bought my first UP shirt, ate brunch—the pancit distributed during the College Testimonial, freshened up, and assembled in front of the S.U. building. Then I handed out my little cards/gifts for my friends and kissed them goodbye and congratulations.



I saw my friends through the entrance march and took as much pictures of them as I could. I knew how much elation they were feeling at that point no matter how effective they were at concealing it. I expected to see all 12 of them walk but one of my friends seemed to have come late and another didn’t make it at all. To tell the truth, I hated not seeing all 12 of them there in the field with the other 900+ graduates. I knew that all of my friends deserved this once in a lifetime experience. And I hated knowing that my friend who didn’t make the event didn’t make it because the company where she now works did not make what would have been a great thing possible for her. It sucks but sometimes companies aren’t really what they claim to be.


Then I felt dehydrated and bought 500 ml of iced tea which I gulped in 5 seconds. I picked up a white flower which fell off its tree at the same moment I was passing by. I took a last look at my old university and took a picture of it, this time without the aid of a camera. I stored this image into my brain. I knew I would not be coming back anytime soon so I made sure I had the memory of a vital part of my past in a safe place. I walked as far as my feet and my ability to resist the heat would allow me. I got my humongous purple bag and rode a bus home, not looking back but with a genuine smile planted on my face.