Of velociraptors and tyrannosaurs

It's not something to be proud of. Jurassic Park by Michael Crichton and its sequel, The Lost World has been there for decades and I've only read them recently. However, it did not diminish my amazement. It's like being a child again. Eras ago, when I was still a child (probably even before these dinosaurs), I would often wonder about these strange creatures. Phenotypically, we might be relatives. That was probably why.

The writing wasn't phenomenal but for Crichton's creation, Ian Malcolm. The assertive mathematician who specializes in chaos and complexity theory became endeared. He is, to quote, "a gadfly who stings the plot to life," providing the passages I love to quote. It was only Malcolm who appeared in both novels. (Dodgson of course, but for purposes of bias I dare not include him.) Of course Sarah Harding is incredible (JZ would be fascinated with this superwoman) and the kids, what can I say, they are always part of the marketing ploy.

My favorite aspect of the book is how it provides deep insights about history, culture, and life in the context of extinction and survival. In this way, the book touches upon the enigma that is human existence and its cessation. Coupled with disgusting and tales of gore (evisceration is ubiquitous), the books are indeed riveting. At least for me, I can completely relate to the Gaussian distributions, computer interfaces and so on. For others, it may well be regarded as another one of the avenues for learning.

Yes, you're right. I am. So?

Romans, countrymen, friends and lovers. I do realize that the consequences of my actions lately include resisting an intense desire to cover my face upon entering the engineering building and being the object of revulsion of certain individuals. I am prepared in anyway, if my simple admiration would lead to cataclysmic outcomes. But even so, I do believe, and so does any sensible individual, that I do nothing wrong in the context of placing the object of my admiration to ignominy or public consternation. He remains, with or without my existence, an individual of indubitable integrity and honor. I take solace in the fact that we, from the moment I saw him until I accidentally managed to have my picture taken with him, are strangers and will remain strangers as far as the cosmos is concerned. If by any chance a hint or even a shadow of an acquaintanceship looms, I will welcome it without feeling anything like what a hiker feels after surmounting a major hurdle on his treacherous trek towards a picturesque mountain.

If for my welfare my friends will advise me to cease such publicity knowing that I can never compromise my own valuable integrity which I have built and strengthened since time immemorial,  I can only thank them. But forgive my vanity. This wouldn't last for long. Follies are a luxury for me, sometimes.

And to you, lucky individual, whom the universe showered favor by allowing me to have such eyes for you, I only ask that you wouldn't mind. And I mean it literally.

I am overreacting, of course. Duh. It's just a crush. It just goes to show that I'm normal.

Abnormally normal. Ayeee...

(Because of the hype on plagiarism, the first sentence is inspired by the speech of Marcus Brutus in the play Julius Caesar by William Shakespeare. Just in case. )

Killed by a book

This will be your fate when you nicely  try to take a peek  into my room, comment about how nice my reading backlog looks from afar, asking me to hand you over one of the books, borrow it, and after ten seconds return it with an expression of disgust on your face. And as if you're not yet done with your self-expression, you say you don't want it because they're boring. The hardbounds, with all its volumes, will definitely flung themselves at you screaming to take away your life by endless papercuts and bludgeons.

If only you could exert extra effort to just keep it to yourself, you will not suffer the above mentioned.

So that you readers can have a blight insight into this predicament, allow me to list the books in my reading backlog:

• Weekend Wodehouse by P.G. Wodehouse
• Saturday by Ian McEwan
• The Journey Inwards (I forgot the author)
• a book about the Korean war (I have not touched it, yet)
• 3 issues of the theosophical digest
• Youngblood 2.0

I apologize to you if the only definition of an interesting reading material you know is one regarding aliens, science fiction and puhlease, vampires. I find them enjoyable to read, too. Honestly. But, por pabor, the last thing that you should ask me, His kingdom come, is whether I instead have a copy of the Twilight book after handing you the collated works of young essayists in Youngblood. The next thing you know,you'll be running for your life.

I understand that these kinds of books/reading materials require a higher level of appreciation. That's probably why you showed apparent disgust when I said I prefer books studded with words that enrich my vocabulary, without minding the hassle of opening a dictionary everytime I encounter one. My fault, probably, is not telling you beforehand that if ever you want books with simple language and straightforward symbolisms if ever there are, you cannot get that from me. Don't get me wrong. I read a lot of popular books, but I don't OWN them.

I'm glad my copy of The Prophet was lost.  If it ever reached your hands and in your audacity, vilified  it beyond consideration, labeled it boring and inscrutable, then it's your problem that you look like a man yet you're as intelligent as a trilobite.

You can insult my face and my social status, but I have low tolerance for people who insult my English, my music preferences and the books I read.

Don't get killed by a book. You know you don't want to.

You know who she is? She's Iphreeta, the demon goddess. And she's ready to unleash her wrath on you unworthy mortals.

Running the Nestle MILE: Meeting Amazing People

First is the title. Then there's Jiggy Aquino-Cruz. He was the first MILE Committee member who caught my attention. Not because he's chubby and cute and all, but because I watch Y-Speak and I'm an avid fan of the Aquinos. ( Admiration that is deeply rooted on the eloquence of Ninoy and the compassion of Cory and of course, the contrast to the Marcoses.) I'm like "Omigad, Jiggy Aquino-Cruz (yes, complete) works with Nestle!" But more than that, he was assigned to look after my group and he, together with the rest of our mentors literally were with us even in the wee hours when we painstakingly finish our business cases.

Of course who could forget the Ate ng Bayan. The one who I first knew via airwaves. The ever "maasikasong" Leslie Kate Tseng. Technically, she's not an Ate. I think were from the same batch. However, she was always there for us to the point of having to sleep uncomfortably just to accompany eight distressed MILEES working hard to finish their business case. That in itself is so "family." And by the way, the headphone she lent me was great. I felt like drowning in the music of the iPod shuffle. I mortified myself because I entertained thoughts of not returning it. That's how "quality" it was.

Fellow MILEES Ian Obach Palermo and Giovie Boschi with Ms. Leslie Kate in the center.

Speaking of family, there's Ms. Steph and of course Madderrr Judy. The two of them were technically the mentors. They set aside their high ranks to mingle with newbies like us. They gave up comfy nights to guide neophytes in the career world to develop themselves. They were so game and eager I never thought they held top positions, considering the existing stereotypes.  Ms. Steph is the  brand manager of MILO (who is supposed to bring Chris Tiu along the basketball training, but damn, stars have unforeseeable schedules) and Ms. Judy is the head of Nestle's packaging. When I first saw her, I felt an instant connection. Something feels familiar. Then she started talking about terephthalates reacting with ethylene glycol to produce polyethylene. I asked her, "What was your college course, Madderr??" She replied, sharply, "Chemical Engineering." That explains the connection, and I thought, I'm really bound to be successful.

Team Lucky. Front row from left: Abel Reyes, Camille Dominique Tacastacas, Lea Karmina del Mundo, Ms. Judy. Back row from left: Carla Sia, Ms. Steph, Crystal Balili and Adrian Manlapig.

Ms. Steph and I.

Then there's the Bisaya group. First is Ms. Jasmin Estacio, who hails from Cagayan de Oro, Bear Brand's brand manager who was supposed to tag me along to Regine's shooting of her newest Bear Brand commercial. Unfortunately, my return flight was scheduled in conflict. (To my utter disappointment). So she just asked me to send something for Regine to sign her autograph on. Apparently, a piece of paper. The next thing I knew, Regine asked if I could instead have a signed copy of her newest album out sometime this November. I almost fainted. and I'm not exaggerating. Composing the Bisaya group are Ms. Rhea, the one from Iligan City who purposely went to Mandarin Oriental to visit the 4 Iliganons who made it to the top 48. That's just thoughtful. Also, Ms. Anna Lee, Maddeerrr, who is single by the way. She's from Dumaguete and the group just loves her. No fuss and palavers. I have to include here Sir Andrew from Cagayan de Oro, whom I have mistaken for a basketball star and her wife 3na and of course, Ms. Maila who's not really a Bisaya but took the time to introduce us to the Bisaya people.

Jesther Ian (MILEE), Ms. Anna Lee, Ms.3na, Ms. Jaz, and JanMell.

 There are still a lot I haven't mentioned but are equally amazing. There's Ms. Grace De Castro, the head of recruitment, the MILE 2010 Course Director, or fondly, MAMA G. That hypocorism defines her role and the amount of compassion she has.

Mama G and child.

These are the kind of people in Nestle. Everyone I met in MILE is amazing. They were not apprehensive of showing that even if they work hard in the number one food and beverage company in the world, they still have the funny and playful side. They were not mindful of the top positions they hold and mingled with students who still have a lot to prove. They had patience for hungry minds who asks questions every now and then and the compassion to help us out of tangled circumstances, often involving themselves in the process that you never thought would come from a person you barely know. 

When I first saw the poster for Nestle MILE, the tag line at the bottom reads: See the Nestle difference. I think it should have been, Experience the Nestle difference. The kind of people in the company-- this, for me, is the Nestle difference.

Running the Nestle MILE: The Not so Usual Way to Spend Your Sembreak

Prefatory Note: Ahemm.. I would like to apologize to my,ugh, blog followers who constantly visit my site (so?) and after refreshing the page for a jillion times, found that there were no new posts. If ever there exist such followers, the reason, my friends, for this deplorable blogging deficiency is because I was off to run for the MILE. 

I shall now entertain questions.

Follower no. 1: You ran a mile? You did not update your blog for a week because you ran a mile?? What are you, a turtle?

JanMell: There, there.Relax.I know that you miss me that bad. I did not say I ran a mile. I said I ran the MILE. It's different. MILE means Management Immersion for Leadership Excellence organized by the number 1 food and beverage company in the world, number 1 health, nutrition and wellness company in the world-- Nestle. You better watch this.

 

Follower #2:  Did you do those things in the video??

JanMell: Not only those, but a whole lot more. Sorry I can't spill the beans and tell you the activities.. I am bound by a commitment to make future MILEES roll in excitement and anticipation of the activities in MILE. (Especially that, ugh,  many followers of my blog qualify for MILE next year.) But the whole thing was such a BLAST! There's this thing we call experience but it's different when it's unforgettable. The MILE experience was not something that can easily drift into the subconscious. If ever it does, it's the easiest to recall. 

Follower #3: Can you describe your MILE journey?

JanMell: Of course. But that's another blog post. Although there's free wifi in the hotel, blogging is virtually impossible to insert into jam packed schedules so I decided to post everything memorable after the four days of the not-your-usual-sembreak.

I never thought this is challenging.

If there's one statement that haunts me in the instructions given by Nestle in preparation for the Management Immersion for Leadership Excellence (MILE) of which I'm lucky enough to be one of the 48 students in the Philippines who were chosen, it would be:

Exercise good judgment in dressing up as you will be meeting up top executives of the company.

Since I am not well off, my clothes literally fall under the category "yagit." Which in English translates to "horrendous". Kidding. What I mean is, untidy-- the common stereotype for engineering students, reaching as far as claiming that we, inhabitants of the engineering building, never wash our jeans for a month. But that's a BIG myth. We do wash our jeans after 29 days of everyday use. 

This could only mean one thing-- use every ounce of resourcefulness to obtain the "good judgment in dressing up." For four days I need 4 casual attires, a strictly formal one and 2 sets of workout apparel. (Never mind the clothing for sleep time. I remember Marilyn Monroe, when asked what she wore in bed, she replied: "Perfume.") That's when I remembered my friends.(Ha ha, play That's what friends are for here) True enough, I was able to confirm that a friend in need is a friend indeed. One casual attire, check. Formal attire, check. (Although I borrowed it to broaden options.) The rest now depends on my uncle's "baul" and my limited funds. My already vanishing bills brought me to the department store, where I spent a jillion years trudging to and fro a fitting room. I just can't find good clothes to fit my build. I'm very skinny (I think I have a reason to be with the No.1 Health and Nutrition Company in the World) and formal clothes are literally too big (and too expensive) for me. After suffering from instantaneous alopecia from scratching my head in indecisiveness, I finally settled for 2 polo shirts, a really big (my aunt says it's psychological) long sleeve, 2 slacks and a tie. (Of all of the items, I was most amused with the tie. It just fits. Ugh!)

 I'm literally excited. I'm like a young sailor about to make his maiden voyage in a large ship in search for a rare, valuable sea creature that will bring him laurels if captured.

And thus with my wardrobe, top execs, prepare to meet me.

Kinatoks: What people do when they just don't understand

Once upon a time in a Kinetics class, when information seems too much and differential equations lull you to an uneasy sleep (knowing that you still have to deal with it when you wake up), when students look at each other in unanimous realization that the ability to understand has left them just when they need it most,

they do one of these things:

Sheila: (Excited and sincere) Karl, can you give me some candy?

(My classmate Karlisle (pronounced Karlayl) is known for hording candies in his pocket. Probably because he's afraid there might be an impending candy shortage. This time, he just ran out of it. So, brilliant as he is, he thought of a solution. Bravo,bravo!)

The topmost scribble is not intellectual doodle. In integral calculus it's called change of variables, to make the expression "easier" (and by easier I don't necessarily mean easy) to integrate. We do a lot of that in Kinatay Kinetics. 

P.S. Note that the word Ondoy doesn't mean that the candy tastes like a supertyphoon.  Believe me, it's just his surname.

Look what Kinetics does to them. 

Kinatay, Kinetics

Of course the alliteration is considerable. However, not so considerable as the meanings itself. Kinatay-- that is-- to slaughter (wailing optional) depicts nothing short of the deplorable condition which I got myself (or any Chemineering student, I suppose) into. It's called Chemical Reaction Engineering. In response to the everyday call of laziness, we call it Kinetics because in my limited knowledge of the subject it concerns reaction rates. Simply put, however, we call it headache.

Headache because of the sleepless nights spent in studying and headache during the exam itself.

Afterwards, everybody would pray that when the moment the results come, the headache wouldnt turn into a heartache. 

Somehow I can understand the sentiments of that guy who jumped from the overpass. To prevent oneself from following his unfortunate demise, one motivation is to always bear in mind the patabaing baboy meant to be roasted when thy graduation comes. The ceremonial killing must not be postponed. It has grown enough and you must graduate.

Aaahh!! Kinetics!! It's a necessary evil, so to speak.

This calls for a celebration

Prefatory Note: The blogger in me cannot resist the urge to recount my wonderful experience with you. Hence, I apologize to you Nestle, for I will have to state here how it is to be summoned by the number one health and wellness company in the world. 

After submitting a 2 page comprehensive resume, interviewed twice by phone, and depleting my English vocabulary, I was finally in for the final screening (I wondered what mesh will they use). The confirmation call was quite brief, but that was only because I've got nothing else to say except two words-- Thank you. By virtue of being here in Mindanao, they would have to fly me in to Makati, to Nestle Philippines Main Office, and then fly me out. That to me, is exciting. For one, I feel important.(Yes, especially when all expenses are paid for you.) Second, I feel rich. (Yes, especially when you know all expenses are paid for you, again.) And third, it was what I wanted. Ideally, nothing beats the feeling of getting what you want.

So I prepared myself for the big day. I did not know then, that the next 24 hours of my life would be life changing. Within 24 hours, I

•  was airborne twice, 

• devoured Jules Verne's Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas, 

• learned that Manila Centennial Airport is connected to NAIA and hence cabin crews will not announce that you had landed at Manila Centennial Airport but at NAIA, 
• learned how to ask cellphone load from a Nestle executive, be escorted by a uniformed driver (equipped with 2 smartphones for SMART and GLOBE, taray!) from airport to hotel, 
• had exquisite dinner at the luxurious A. Venue Sky Suites hotel (could it be that they thought I am a celebrity?), 
• wondered whether the waiters in the restaurant are waiters or matinee idols disguised as waiters, 
• made friends with 4 other students who speak the same language (Oy Raffy, Annsille, Athena and How-mini), 
• learned how to wear a necktie (by sleeping late enough to learn it on my own, by sheer luck), 
• dressed up in my alleged corporate attire where I could easily have been mistaken as a waiter, 
• ate the most sophisticated and overwhelming breakfast in my life that I thought that would be the last time I'll eat breakfast, 
• met more students from UP Diliman ( Oy Cara, Carla and Arianne) and San Beda (Oy, Mon) and be amazed with their personalities, 
• brushed elbows with senior executives, 
• witnessed how a senior executive got to tears because of a touchy question (it's adorable)
• defended a presentation from these senior executives (it felt like AI or PGT, only classier),
• learned that in the Nestle office MILO, Nestea, Lemonade and Nescafe are available bottomless,
• ate lunch for 15 minutes because a flight was waiting and the traffic is debilitating, and finally 
• had a great time!

When I went back home I was still smelling of the aroma of the fresh experience when I realized it was not yet the end. I am, after all, still vying for the real deal-- the four day live-in training program this October 26-29, 2010.

Just a while ago, they called me up and said I will have continue my journey with Nestle.You're right. They called up to congratulate me because I am officially a MILE Elite. The first reaction was: Huwaaaat?? But then again, I wanted this. That's why I want to extend a jillion gestures of gratitude to all who were kind enough to support me and of course to Nestle, who saw my potential in that 1 and a half hours of group activity.

As I've said, nothing beats the feeling of getting what you want.

It's Ms. Grace de Castro, Nestle's senior executive herself when MILE visited MSU-IIT.  This time, everyone's motivation for success was rekindled.

Evidence of how Ms. Grace de Castro rocked the MSU-IIT Mini Theater. She was really, really entertaining. Hands down.

 Photos courtesy of Nestle M.I.L.E. If your on facebook, you could visit them here.

Mugna is devise, concoct, contrive, fabricate and an amusement park.

In our place  we call it "perya." But ever since I studied in Iligan City and got to know the place through the arduous  years of college education I now call it "mugna." The first time I heard the words I couldn't make out what it means albeit the literal English translation. In  my Bisaya, mugna means devise, concoct or contrive or even fabricate. In Iligan, when jeepney barkers shout at the top of their lungs the controversial yet popular word they mean amusement park.

And to the amusement park we went. It's quite amazing how a vacant lot during most days of the year turns into a place laden with so many make-shift shops and boutiques clad with hundreds of people who seem to remain undecided as to which pirated DVD would they buy, or which henna tattoo design would look good on them. As for us, we were captivated by the hats and bags made from abaca fiber and in our zeal we    took photos wearing them. (Clearly, the consent of the owner is out of the question  when our group is so bent on  having our photograph taken. That rule goes without exception.)

Don't look for me. I'm not there.

And of course, who could forget the rides? They're obviously close to dilapidated compared to the famous (and sometimes infamous) rides of big amusement parks like Enchanted Kingdom or Star City but  still they beget excitement and the occasional shrill of mixed terror and longing to indulge thyself. (Ha, I imagined myself unable to restrain a jump.) There are, in fairness, a considerable  number of rides. Although some are unexciting, and other highlights scientifically uninviting (headless lady, to see is to believe. Gah!), some still stood out from plain eyesight. They name them Galactica and Spider (although we insist to call it Octopus.) Galactica reminds me of the physics problem about uniform circular motion that ends with the statement "riders say that they felt like being pushed to the wall. Is there really such a force?"

Experience with the Galactica told me that it pays thirty pesos to get dizzy. It also works when you want to increase the number of people you see by threefolds. However, the feeling of travelling on a bus traversing a long and winding road did not deter me from trying the ride named after the mollusk with eight tentacles. (The truth is, I've wanted to try it ever since. This time, I succeeded in doing so.)

Whopee-doo. The enjoyment is apparent. Even when subjected to high angular velocity, we still managed to contort ourselves just to pose for the camera and bathe in the photons emitted by the flash.

                                                                                     

Now who would deny Iliganons and non-Iliganons alike to find revelry in the place by forwarded bomb threats from God-knows-where? 

Happy fiesta, Iligan! Viva Sr. San Miguel! I'm deeply indebted to this event. Without it, we wouldn't have no classes for 2 days.

This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you

During the ChE quiz  bowl I was able to answer a question about him at the mere mention of the thickness of his brush strokes. Vincent van Gogh is ubiquitous in quiz shows and it is because of this fact that I came to appreciate his artworks. (Not to mention include Vincent by Don Mclean as one of my favorite songs.)

To honor the artist whose posthumous fame is rivaled only by Rembrandt, NASA features the astronomy picture of the day.

Drumroll please.

Starry Night Over the Rhone
Credit: Vincent van Gogh, Wikipedia; Acknowledgement: B. Schaefer (LSU) 

 

Explanation: How can the majesty of the night sky best be captured in a painting? This was a continual challenge for Vincent van Gogh, a famous painter in the late 1800s who pioneered stirring depictions of star filled skies into several of his works. Pictured above is van Gogh's Starry Night Over the Rhone, where the French town of Arles is depicted complete with gas lights reflecting off the Rhone river. van Gogh's night sky appears alive with turbulent stellar images contrasting with lofty dark blue hues. Above the river, one can discern the stars of the familiar Big Dipper asterism. Following a line connecting the two Big Dipper stars on the right, the North Star Polaris could be easily found, the height of which can then be estimated and actually gives the latitude where the painting was created. 

Credits to:

http://antwrp.gsfc.nasa.gov/apod/astropix.html

I love astronomy.

The frenetic

The adjective is too fitting it can't be the right one. Frenetic- busy as a bee. Thanks to the 5th Chemical Engineering Week Celebration. This year's theme is "Filipino Chemical Engineers: Breaking Boundaries." 

First on the list is the essay writing contest. I'll assess my own performance. It's deplorable. I never thought that waking up after having a very bad migraine could hamper my writing. The throbbing pain was still there at the back of my eye when it was augmented by the sight of what I am going to write about: On House Bill No. 1743 otherwise known as "An Act Converting MSU-IIT into a national state university in Iligan City to be known as Iligan National University (INU)." 

I almost surrendered. I have no firm grasp of that bill. The KASAMA officers were given copies of a primer on that bill but I failed to read it. It's so unfortunate I curse the moments when I read newspaper wrappings of flowers. I read crumpled material intently yet I overlooked the primer printed in bond paper. All I can do was use a different style, and I pray the judges were as informal as me.

Next came the Lecture Series.(Assuming 2 consecutive lectures would qualify for a series.) I was asked to deliver a lecture about nuclear power. I decided to focus on the feasibility of putting up a nuclear power plant here in the Philippines. My lecture was entitled "Why go nuclear? (And other frequently asked questions about nuclear power in the Philippines)." The lecture went on smoothly, with a couple of inquiries from a persistent classmate (Oy, Russil!) barely affecting my composure. I condemn my cough for destroying my moment. I can't amplify my voice and raise intonations without straining. And the worse thing is, it shows.

Which brings me to Radio Broadcasting. Yes, the one only heard of in Schools Press Conferences is now in the ChE roster of Literary Events. They made me the anchor, Henry Gabi Diaz with a whooping cough and an "excuse me po" to countermand it. I am so elated that I did not went into coughing fits while we are "on-air." I did not have to use the "Excuse me po."

Unless of course you champion in the spelling bee and quiz bowl. Spelling bee for 2 years and quiz bowl for 4 consecutive years. You definitely have the air of what you've achieved. 

Taking all these, I've already proven myself in the literary arena. What I'm excited about is my newest venture. A cross over into the Cultural events.The WannaBe competition. I want to be surprised, even shocked by no other than myself.

I can't wait.

In search of a clean, well-lighted place in hopes of memorizing the ChE code of ethics

We found ourselves hopping from one coffee shop to another, until we finally settled for Aruma. I refused with the idea of  reading at coffee shops at first, thinking that it was not my idea of a clean, well-lighted place. (I suggested Jollibee, if you must ask. Don't laugh. I'm quite serious.) I found out later that I was right. The lights are not as intense as that in the aforementioned fastfood chain. It's relatively dimmer. However the ambience was infinitely more relaxing and that fact beats everything. 

The deliberate misspelling is ingenious. It almost sounds like the repeated syllables of a Lady Gaga song. The place wasn't so large by the way and that actually makes it homely. There are plenty of magazines (Mostly for men. No. Not anatomy magazines for men. Gadgets, tailored suits, etc. They could also pass for men's interests. Duh.)

We settled for the part beside the wall, where we stood to take the picture above.It is because the couch was more comfortable albeit you want to read intently. Also, the table design is interesting. Look.

I wonder if these are real coffee beans. Nevertheless, I never placed my things on top of it for a while. I took time to revel at the artwork. (For a coffee lover, it is.) But of course we never forgot what we came here for. (No, not the code of ethics.) I ordered an Aruma Jelly Frappe and my friend, Madam, bought me a banoffee pie. Banofee is an apocopation of banana and coffee. True enough, there's banana, coffee and of course chocolate in every bite. 

I would dare to say my sweet tooth was overworked. The pie was too sweet I could become hyperglycemic. I was a little disappointed with the frappe. I couldn't taste the coffee distinctly enough. Later, I realized i should have bought the caramel one. The taste of coffee in here was more pronounced.

What about the code of ethics? Well, I perused the photocopy haphazardly. I never got it all absorbed during the Aruma stay. The experience and the company of my friends was overpowering and in a general sense, more important.

I decided that I would go back. But I would never bring school stuff over.

To those who advised Regine to not tell she's a Filipina during her rise in Asia-- "I am a Filipina. But I can sing!"

Yes, we are a nation of servants. The truth hurts, eh? But look, where will the rage, the affront, the repugnance bring us? To the same state of complacency and lack of desire to improve our nationalistic sense? 

This is another one of F. Sionil Jose's essays. He's an old man. All he can do is to write about what we, the young generation, the next in line, the "pag-asa ng bayan" could do. I just hope admonitions such as these will be heeded by the youth. 

How many of you have the time to watch this, instead of watching videos of your favorite Korean superstar? My theory is that the youth seeks the unintelligible to escape the piercing truth of the state of the Filipinos in plain, understandable language. Well my advice is, FACE IT. 

If not now then when? If not us, then who?

The past, the present and the future of the Philippines is enough to remind us that our generation cannot afford to screw up. 

P.S. And yes, Regine was asked to not say she's Filipina, because in neighbouring Asian countries, Filipina means domestic helper. But she exclaimed to anyone who asks, "I am a Filipina. But I can sing!"

We are poor because we are poor-- this is not a tautology. The culture of poverty is self-perpetuating. -F. Sionil Jose

It's a shame I only read an article of F. Sionil Jose. The one entitled "An Open Letter to Noynoy." (To the non-existent person who doesn't know F. Sionil Jose, he's a columnist in the Philippine Star.)
Now, I came across this video accidentally and that accident placed things in perspective. I dedicate this video to all "mayayabang" Filipinos out there.

To all of you, inhale this!

Fly Me to the Moon

I want to escape all this ruckus. And one solution would have to be flying myself to the moon. If only I'm as ingenious as Phineas and Ferb, the siblings who could conjure a spaceship in their backyard without so much of a fuss.

But then again I'm JanMell. And I should take responsibility for whatever lapses of judgment I had incurred that made things wonderfully worse. I seriously pray that these PALAKASAN issues be settled already with the least possible damage to friendships. Personally, I don't care If I lose the sympathy of a whole college. What bugs me is to lose the closeness of a single friend.

*****************

During our Plant Tour in Cebu I bought a copy of Jessica Zafra's Twisted 8 and 1/2. (I also obtained a copy of Ian McEwan's Saturday and the classic Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Seas by Jules Verne. Until that time, I did not know that Jules Verne is the most translated author of all time.) One article in the compilation was entitled The Moon, The Meryl. There's this thing about the Meryl Syndrome. Apparently, people doesn't get excited with the excellent performances of Meryl Streep anymore because they have become used to her superb artistry. After reading it, I thought the same idea applies to Regine Velasquez, this time in singing. I call it The Regine Syndrome when listeners do not get too enthralled with you singing on stage because they have become used to you singing beautifully and mind-blowingly. (That's actually literally mind-blowing, try reaching B5 with pure chest and you'll know what I mean.) I think that explains why the only video of Regine who reached a million views is the video where she sang Beyonce's Listen with awfully wrong lyrics. The public wants something different from Regine's impeccable vocals. And that would spark their interest towards her.

*************

Have you made a bus wait and delayed a field trip departure just because of books? Yes I did. Thanks to the hardbound Ian McEwan, the classic Jules Verne and the wicked Grungella, Ms. Zafra. They cost Php 300 all in all and of course a scold from the official chaperon. Note to self: Do not say "be back in a jiffy" if going to National Bookstore, or any bookstore for that matter.

Where were you when...

...Venus Raj plucked her answer from Neptune?

Photo Courtesy of cbsnews.com

 I was surfing the net looking for beautiful streamer designs at a classmate's boarding house. The wi-fi is free and the television is far away. The sounds are barely audible you'd think the Ms. Universe pageant was broadcast through radio (with matching ek-ek-ek-zzz). I actually went there just to check. ( It is indeed a TV, albeit the video quality was deplorable.) That moment the top ten was about to be announced and I was happy (honest!) that Venus was in the top 15. Then I got tired of the long commercial breaks, so I went back to my work. After a short while the spectators raced towards my spot (which is the common area, incidentally) in hysteria. Apparently voicing out their utter disappointment, shaking each other, pounding the table and yes, holding back tears. Feigning interest I asked what happened and confirming what they said, I opened my Facebook account and found it studded with status updates that were either announcing Venus' rank or simply stating the word "major, major." Now, it has become a very hackneyed expression. (More like over, over and  pagxur oi!). I reckon Venus tried to translate bonggang-bongga to English. That is, I bet she was trying to say Wala akong bonggang bonggang problema. 

And it has become so popular. I am a major, major fan.

... the SWAT was apparently swatted?

I was at school the whole day. When I went home I passed by the ATM booth adjacent to the guardhouse at the exit of the institute where the flat screen television (Ows?) was tuned to ABS-CBN News. People were glued to it, and I tried to absorb the spectacle before my eyes. What I was able to process was " Quirino Grandstand." Then the bus, then the reporters and then the police. (Corny joke: Why did they send a SWAT team, what, is the hostage taker a fly?) Then there was Rolando Mendoza, who was a former policeman. I heard myself go, "WHAAATTT??" Afterwards, I noticed the bus was painted with Chinese or so characters. I thought they're Korean. (Say goodbye to SuJu encore concert). Later on it became clear to me, they were Chinese from HongKong. I felt morbid-- morbidly disappointed. I thought of the consequent tension in the international arena. I even thought of Venus Raj redeeming some of our sweet perfume to the nations. Then I went home. I murmured "Goodluck" in my mind.

Plant Tour MMX: Purging one of the 7 deadly sins

I never thought standing in front of the real, tangible Magellan's Cross would be hair-raising. Previously we've been to Pepsi Cola Products Philippines Inc. (PPCPI) where I committed indifference and earlier committed envy with the laboratories of the University of San Carlos. My goosebumps or horripilation or in medspeak, cutis anserina   (I claim to be a frustrated medical student) could be attributed to these depravities. It's as if the historical and religious ambiance was declaring someone like me unfit for the visit. But still I insisted. I admit indifference is a crime, and I often label it as The Sin, but boredom is a sure excuse to feel indifferent and to not feel envious when dumbfounded with equipment beyond your level is impossible. Hence, I concluded it was all forgivable. Don't ask me why, we can't confirm it with God, can we?

Here's an interesting fact we non-Cebuanos share. We saw this same image from our elementary Sibika at Kultura book. (Remember the Burnham Park, the Hagdang-hagdang Palayan?). I was enthralled to see it for real and unable to help myself, asked: " If Magellan brought this cross centuries ago (1521), erected this during the country's first Catholic rites, then how come it looks new?" Disregarding the idea of termites afraid of the consecrated wood and sanctity-induced immunity from biodegradation, I read the signpost at the foot of the cross. It says that the original wood is now enclosed by the new one, probably for aesthetic reasons. For me, it also gives an additional eerie feeling knowing that beneath the superficial gloss is that thing that symbolizes all of Catholicism-- the first ever to be engraved in the minds of the Filipino natives. It's the mystery factor that prevailed. 

Nearby is the Basilica del Sto. Nino where the statue of the Holy child is kept. It has become a tourist spot partly because it is thought to be miraculous, answering deep devotees' prayers (It's the apparent trend. Saints only answers prayers from devotees. It's called reciprocation. Duh) and partly because historically, it was given by Magellan to the then chieftain of Cebu, Rajah Humabon in 1521. The Sto. Nino is the patron saint of Cebu for which they dedicate the renowned Sinulog Festival. Strolling around the vicinity of the basilica was lethargic. It smelled like the Spanish era was just around the corner. And one more thing, the balloons smelled like childhood. I felt like having one.

Thank you Wenggay for the pic and the pose.

To prove that you can learn something from this post, the ones responsible for the artwork on the ceiling of the Magellan's cross were Serry M. Josol and Jess Roa. Moreover, the enclosure is octagonal. Nothing. I just figured it would help me win a million someday. Ahh, gameshows!

Photos by Karl Ondoy. Again, tenchuu.

Plant Tour MMX: Envious on the first day.

Still feeling like everything is shaken by the tempest of the sea, we ushered ourselves into the official place of stay—Cebu Business Hotel located in Colon, Cebu City. Colon is well, your usual populated district. The place reminded me of House trying to defend why he is certain that heaven is non-existent when in fact he hasn’t been there. “You don’t have to go to Colon Detroit to know that it smells.” Nonetheless, the agency arranged for the accommodation and as I’ve said, I’m not so good at complaining. It’s tiresome.

The moment we set foot on the hotel, everybody went straight to the dining hall which was named Sapphire, probably because of the color of the tablecloths. Our breakfast was already waiting to be devoured, and yes, we really devoured it. The food was ordinary—corned beef (not sure if it’s really beef, it looked like horse meat), sausage, and sunny side ups. It was supposed to be “eat all you can,” and with the famished appetite of everyone, the utensils were lucky they didn’t end up churned in gastric juice. The eating was incredible you’d wonder why the rice on everyone’s plate is red. Apparently, it’s the corned beef served in an amount that would make you think it’s the staple food and the source of carbohydrates.

But the day has just started. By 10 am we immediately proceeded to the first place of visit— University of San Carlos. We were greeted with yellow USC shuttles which seem to remind us how small our campus is. However it was not enough of the intimidation. Our purpose there was to visit their renowned Chemical Engineering Department.  Renowned because they have an adequate Unit Operations Laboratory. For those who don’t know what a unit operation is, examples are agitation, distillation, mixing, and other operations that doesn’t require a chemical reaction. It is contrasted to a unit process such as clinkering, where limestone and shale is converted to cement.

Back to the tour.

 The feeling of being confounded with Unit Operations laboratory 1 and 2, a research facility, wastewater treatment laboratory and a separate laboratory for chemical analysis of biodiesel and biogas was nothing short of envious. That was my first time to see actual machines like the lab-scale heat exchanger, the fluidized bed apparatus, the plug flow apparatus, the equipment for sedimentation, even a plate-and-frame filter press! Add to that the towering distilling apparatus that seems to be the pride of the department. Everyone seemed to be staring in awe as the apparatus stands 2 storeys high. I need not mention how grandiose it is. They have all this equipment, and their laboratory activities utilize these. On the other hand we utilize styro cups and thermometers, and of course, heated water. Their school, with the affluent studentry, can afford those high sounding equipment. Well what do you expect from a state university whose net tuition expenses for an entire degree equals that of a single semester tuition at USC? This argument could lead to the issue of separation of IIT from the MSU system for which I feel no sentiment to discuss. The Chemical Engineering Department of USC is housed on a 2 storey building, with the 2 Unit operations laboratories on separate infrastructures. The Department of Chemical Engineering at MSU-IIT is “roomed” on Room 318, sharing the space with the Ceramics and Metallurgical Engineering faculties, with a unit operations laboratory that is next to defunct. While the USC students were busy separating the volatile components of their mixture in their gigantic distilling apparatus, we were busy waiting for water at 60 degrees centigrade to cool to room temperature, and from that work our way to complicate the laboratory reports to compensate for the apparent simplicity of the performed activity.

However it is interesting to note that while knowledge of the fundamental chemical engineering principles is augmented by the utilization of such equipment, the Chemical Engineering Department of MSU-IIT never lacked the edge to perform well in the board exams. It would probably feel good to rationalize our deficiencies with our good performance, that even though we failed to get our hands to play with these apparatus we’re still at par with them. However, I believe a Chemineering student of MSU-IIT would excel and outlast if given the same resources. True, the tuition is never enough, and if ever the millions of peso required would be solicited from the government, it would take a jillion years to be realized. But without constant lobbying and requests and follow-ups, the department would continue to feel envious of such facilities and schools who own those.

It actually felt very informative and good to be able to visit other school’s ChE department. But it feels better if we have the capacity to let other schools tour on our department instead.


Photo taken by Karl Ondoy. 

Plant Tour MMX: Ang Paglalayag.

Ordinary. The last time I traveled by sea it was awesome because the vessel was ginormous. This time, the passengers were clearly clamoring for space. In the economy class, lying down becomes precarious as changes in sleeping position could lead to a man overboard emergency. Well, my bad. I chose to get an accommodation at the economy class. However, it turned out to be an advantage. The sea wind overcompensates for the air conditioning, and this makes the entire area air continuous a.k.a. "air-con."

Plus, you're supposed to pay 300 pesos additional for a tourist class accommodation (tourest, as heard many times) and I hate to part from my three hundred pesos. After all, I only utilized my economy bed for 2 hours. I slept by 1 am, I woke up by 3 am to get ahead with the shower. Most of the time, I loitered at the tourist area, with my classmates very eager to have me there to contribute to the body heat against the extreme air conditioning that turned it into an accommodation at the North Pole. 

The Trans-Asia ferry lifts anchor by 8 pm, and in order to deal with the waiting, I played cards with my classmates. The loser shall bear the punishment of the baby powder and shall walk around the place with demeaning white streaks all over the face. I'm quite lucky with all the training I got with card games. Back home, I'm a frequenter of gambling houses and gambling at wakes and that was way way back when I was  still at high school. I'm not kidding.
When everyone had enough of the powdery sensation, the restobar was already on fire. They almost had the videoke machine broken with the input volume of songs and too bad for me, because of unrestrained loquacity earlier during the trip, my voice was not in the tip top shape. But still, I sang. (Malat nga lang.) After I murdered Irene Cara's "Fame", I realized I would never light up the sky with a flame. So I decided instead to explore the "vast territories" of the ferry. 

I found myself at my bed. Seriously, I went to the topmost portion of the vessel before I got to my bed. All I got was wind and more wind. At least the view comforted me-- a canvas of black. And I mean really black, although there were some faint illuminations of a few candelas, enough intensity to make fireflies proud. I decided it wasn't at all life changing, and the shortness of my stay up there is testament to my diffidence about talking to someone I ought to explain myself to. As such, I preferred the "comfort" of my bed.

Notes: I got to the shower first. It's deplorable. I'm glad I'm not whiny. I don't usually voice out my complaints. It's tiresome.

Photos by Karl Ondoy. Doy, tenchuu.

When all caution and censorship have let go: The Story

In connection to my previous post regarding inspiration that denotes lifting the lid of the unconscious, Jostein Gaarder, in her masterpiece, Sophie's World, tells us a story in illustration of the importance of the artist to not let reason and reflection control a more or less unconscious expression. (Warning: It's a very serious and sad story.)

Once upon a time there was a centipede that was amazingly good at dancing with all hundred legs. All the creatures of the forest gathered to watch every time the centipede danced, and they were all duly impressed by the exquisite dance. But there was one creature that didn't like watching the centipede dance- that was a tortoise.'

'It was probably just envious.'

'How can I get the centipede to stop dancing? thought the tortoise. He couldn't just say he didn't like the dance. Neither could he say he danced better himself, that would obviously be untrue. So he devised a fiendish plan.'

'Let's hear it.'

'He sat down and wrote a letter to the centipede. " O incomparable centipede," he wrote, "I am a devoted admirer of your exquisite dancing. I must know how you go about it when you dance. Is it that you lift your left leg number 28 and then your right leg number 39? Or do you begin by lifting your right leg number 17 before you lift your left leg number 44? I await your answer in breathless anticipation. Your's truly, Tortoise."'

'How mean!'

'When the centipede read the letter, she immediately began to think about what she actually did when she danced. Which leg did she lift first? And which leg next? What do you think happened in the end?'

'The centipede never danced again?'

'That's exactly what happened. And that's the way it goes when imagination gets strangled by reasoned deliberation.'

When all caution and censorship have let go

Some writers claim that their hands have minds of their own when writing sometime of the day, say, at dawn. For some, it's amazing, and some of them grow out to be prolific writers whose work reflect poignant experiences concealed in characters that are in introspect, mirror images of themselves. In reality, the "mind" of the hand is actually the subconscious of the wielder of the pen, resurfacing and manifesting itself when all caution and censorship have let go. However, for me, it's just scary. To live a life full of caution that borders on paranoia, I have never really let some part of me go berserk-- i mean, out of control. When I write, everything is within my umbrella of consciousness, and I guess this is where I come to be problematic.

To lift the lid of the unconscious is essential in creative writing, for the very fact that the unconscious houses a whole universe of experiences that when exploited can lead to works like "The Tell Tale Heart" of Edgar Allan Poe, or even "Letters of St. Paul to the Corinthians." Different writers have different ways of lifting the lids of  their unconscious. Edgar Allan Poe, the father of the english short story, writes when drunk. His famous short stories, like the Cask of Amontillado, even reflects his fondness of wine. Similarly, the writer Ernest Hemingway who wrote the short story " A Clean Well Lighted Place" (a phrase I utter everytime I'm asked where i want to eat) was a heavy drunkard, and even this short story of his was definitive of his neurosis which eventually drove him to suicide. 

On a lighter note, some writers (not just writers but artists in general), drown themselves in coffee and then smokes. I know of one who even named his blog after the empty coffee cups that was the detritus of his artistic side, and an esteemed debater and writer of my school smokes a lot. The revelry of the experience is the closest they could to obtain the "high" that would allow themselves to let go of repression and let the inner artist take control. But then again there's drugs. Drugs, and this is not taboo, is popular also for some artists, who says the experience is irreplaceable and accept no substitutes. Artists who take this course though, oftentimes unwarily, or even warily (eerie!), leads themselves to self-destruction(think Kurt Cobain).

Liver cirrhosis aside, or worse, suicide (Oh the ignominy!), I realize that If I want to ace in writing I must find ways to access my subconscious. Right now, coffee solves the problem somehow. But I know for certain that there is only one reason why I cannot develop my writing to a deeper extent. It is because, tadaaa!, I'm too busy with struggling to graduate this year in an engineering course. When you're supposed to commit gluttony with living upon reaction rates and Laplace transforms, you cannot expect to commit wholeheartedly to devouring the novels of Ian McEwan, Robert Ludlum or Michael Crichton much more Immanuel Kant's Critique of Pure Reason. (Personal sentiment: Add to the list the Complete Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, which until now remains impossible for me to read because I'm busy with equipment design.) I must say no amount of coffee could leach the stain of a straightforward prose so devoid of creativity it reminds you of the solution of a problem involving quadratic equations.

I think I have to allow myself to graduate first before I allow my subconscious to resurface because seriously by that time, all hell will break loose.