One moment we were watching the evening news Christmas countdown with anticipation. The next thing we knew, we were watching ourselves on the news, heartbroken and devastated to the extent commensurate to the damage around us. Just when we were so excited to greet Christmas with a festive mood, we were suddenly knocked down with Nature's fist of fury--tearing us apart, breaking our hearts, driving us to tears.
With the recent disaster and its aftermath haunting us, turning into a nightmare in high noon, reminding us of the sufferings of others and our own, do we still have a reason to celebrate Christmas?
Yes, we do.
To Christians, Christ itself is enough reason. Our sufferings from the disasters of this world pale in comparison to what He endured for all of us. Surely, no amount of despair could make us let go of even the smallest reason to remember Him. This very act is an act of Hope, that even at our darkest times we fight against that black hole forming in our hearts, sucking all of the remaining light.
We may not be able to sit around our Christmas trees in our comfortable living rooms now rendered unrecognizable with the filth and thick sediment, prepare a bountiful dinner in our beloved kitchen that now lays destroyed, or hear the sounds of torn wrappers together with peals of laughter as we jump in surprise of the gift we receive. But celebrating Christmas was never about these things. It was not about how loud and merry we get, how inebriated we become from our drunken revelries and how varied the dishes served on our table will be. It is not in the best greetings we speak, but in the quality of our prayers. It is not in the mere physical presence of our loved ones, but in the extent of our remembrance and love which transcends borders and can even get past death.
Celebrating Christmas is lying in the silent knowledge that despite what we've been through, Life is still worthwhile because Someone cared enough to give up His own in an ultimate expression of Love.
Forget the breeze, the lights and the songs. It is Christmas in our hearts that brings Christmas in the air.
This is exactly why I need to have a space of my own. Otherwise, roommates would be buried in a heap of scientific journals, handouts, Bato Balanis, and other stuff. The table is equally cluttered, and the bed barely gives space for someone to sleep. When I do sleep I become an instant contortionist, and like a fluid which takes the shape of its container, I content myself with the available space (which I never really took as a discomfort since I only get to sleep for an hour maximum). Oh the life of an academic.
I don't look good with my poker face. I don't look good when I laugh, either. There was a point in my life when I cover my face when I laugh really hard. As much as possible, I suppress my laughter. But who needs to look good when they laugh? The important thing is, you FEEL good! And probably more important for us, ever curious creatures, is to find out why.
1. Start way behind schedule. In order to do this, choose judges that avail each and every salon service an hour before the show actually starts. Or you could choose judges that simply have the guts to let people believe we have all day to wait for them. Choose those judges who believe they are very important. They are those who do not know that the reason the pageant needs them and cannot start without them is that their valuable subjective judgments play a crucial role, not because they have an unlimited sense of entitlement.
2. Assign a boring host. Choose public speaking veterans who have gained the accolades of their peers with probably a century of experience kicking ass in the hosting industry. Their long experience made them sank into complacency as they are certain that even though they are pulling the flow of the pageant together with their dragging spiels and effortless vocal nuances, they still believe they are doing a great job. Make them introduce the board of judges in a time duration equivalent to one judge per day. This way, the audience which is mostly composed of young and highly-energetic students, will be able to relate to the host because the generation gap is non-existent.
First, most of the time the problems we have with other people are actually problems we have with ourselves. In introspect, it is not actually the other person's actions that is making you uncomfortable but it is your attitude, your reaction, and your paranoia that is causing all the distress. Thus, before condemning others by attributing to them the error and fault of the circumstances, ascertain first where the true problem lies. It could be within your area of responsibility and burden pushing other parties might lead to irreparable consequences. If you found out that it is your fault, then rejoice. The easiest mistake to correct is the one you have committed, for you have no control of others' errors but you have full control and responsibility of yourself.
People assume a lot of things. For example, when you say something is easy they are keen to understand that you mean it is menial. But the truth is, you said it is easy because it is what you love doing. For instance, when I say Biology is easy, I do not condescend on Biology. Rather, I declare that my love for Biology makes me enjoy studying it thus making the experience EASY.
This is something we should do: renovate the construct of our understanding and widen the narrow bridges of our mind.
I believe shouting is therapeutic. When all of a sudden the worlds pins you down, and you get to eat dirt from all the distress, shouting at the top of your lungs seems to expel all the stress out. See how Regine does it, with musicality of course. ( And for the record, it's belt, not shout.)
Hindi ko alam kung maituturing bang karumal-dumal na karanasan ang sa ami'y kamakailan lamang na nangyari.
Halos mag-aalas nwebe na ng gabi ng makumpleto ang aming grupong hayok na hayok na sa pagkain na kahit siguro'y isang buong buhay na manok ay kayang kayang lamunin ng hindi pinapatawad kahit ang bahaging ipinangalan sa isang brand ng sapatos. Dahil nararamdaman namin na kami'y sosyal (affluent kumbaga) noong gabing yaon, napagpasyahan naming huwag munang sugurin ang bulalo sa talipapa at sa halip ay magtungo sa isang sosyal umano na restaurant, ay hindi, cafe and diner pala, odibaaa!!. Sadyang nakaeenganyo ang air con sa panahon ngayong pati ang problema mo sa lovelife ay binabaling sa global warming.
Do not allow yourself to worry over lousy overreactions to your opinion, of which you are rightfully entitled. You have tons of other things to think about other than what others think of you and how you might appear to them. If you do so, you are giving these people the means to become popular. Everybody wants to be talked about and in the process you are giving these people the very thing that they want.
Engineering is a tough course (not the toughest for others already claimed the tough spot. But to quote Janina, it came from one of the tough ten) and it requires (among all other things) FOCUS. When you are distracted from your work, buildings may collapse, factories may explode or airplanes may crash. The fabric of the world as humans made it may wear and tear and find us all helpless, if not inexistent. Distraction gives birth to mistakes, and all engineers who take the oath of accuracy treat error susceptibility as a malady, much like the allergen to their allergy.
IT WAS very ironic. Two instances of horrific violence occurred in one of the most peaceful and peace-loving countries in the world last Saturday. An apparently mad, paranoid individual set off a bomb that killed seven people in downtown Oslo and later massacred 93 people, most of them children, in the island youth camp of Utoya.
It was the worst case of carnage in Norway since World War II and the deadliest day of terror in Western Europe since the Madrid bombings in 2004. Norway is a pacifist, peaceful country that hosts the annual Nobel Peace Prize awards. (The irony in the Nobel Peace Prize itself is that it was funded by Alfred Nobel, the man who invented the detonator or blasting cap for detonating nitroglycerin and igniting explosives.)
I have a couple of announcements to make concerning you, my dear readers. ( Who still haven't found a way to overthrow my blackmails so you could sever your ties to readership of my blog.)
I have managed, despite my esteemed reputation of barely passing CSC 101, to spice up my blog and incorporate the like button and comments section from Facebook. That is, you can now like any of my posts (or dislike if you will but hey keep it to yourself) by simply hitting the Like button appearing after the title. Likewise, you can post comments at the end of every post.
Words of caution: First, you must have a Facebook account and logged in. (I factor this in because although it may sound highly improbable, there are netizens out there without a Facebook account. Example: Jessica Zafra.) Second, the plug-ins do not appear in the homepage. You must go to the post itself by clicking on its title.
I would like to thank AllBlogTools.com for the codes and the instructions. Still, I must say I have to congratulate myself. Digging into the HTML code was quite a feat. I guess proofreading training back in high school journalism proved eventually useful.
Enjoy reading!
Always,
JanMell, who just bought himself The Geek Atlas: 128 Places Where Science and Technology Come Alive by John Graham-Cumming
"For every one student who needs to be guarded from a weak excess of sensibility there are three who need to be awakened from the slumber of cold vulgarity."
I have an unusual predicament. Right now, I can think of a lot of things to write but I couldn’t write a single thing. So I decided to write that I couldn’t write a single thing even though I can think of a lot of things to write. Others probably are envious. Occurrences like having a lot of things to write do not just spring out of thin air. Being able to conceive them is laudable but to write them is a feat. In times when the workings of your mind give you an ailment, writing them might prove to be a remedy.
I always wondered what it would feel like sitting next to him. That was probably because I never entertained the idea that sitting next to him would be possible. I figured that if it were to actually happen—myself in proximity to him—he could never have sat next to me because I would have passed out by the time he gets three meters close (provided there is absolutely no opportunity to run). So imagine my reaction when it really happened. Suddenly, the ice in my glass of soda started to sink as its density exceeded that of liquid water, somewhere in outer space energy was created and destroyed, gravity was turned off and it felt like the entropy of the Universe inverted its arrowhead. I could go on but I think I made my point. My friends told me I was as red as his shirt, as if all my blood rushed to my face in screaming panic. Damn, where is the power to escape to a parallel universe when you need it?
May I interject something? Actually that query is quite unnecessary because I certainly will interject something. With all due respect, will you please cut the crap about homosexuals and how they piss you off and instead go back to what you are supposed to discuss, that is, Science and Technology and its impact to the society? If it would make me feel enlightened can I ask ask you how your opinion that gays are indecisive about things as much as their gender contribute to our value judgments about—again—Science and Technology and its impact to the society? If you think that hesitating to read my essay out loud in front of the class is so gay, and thinking twice is a hallmark of gayness, don’t you also think twice on things that pose as an advantage yet upon second thought, can jeopardize you in the long run? Are we then, including you, all gays? I would like to make this clear to everybody. There is no room for idiosyncrasies of a bigoted chauvinist in here. Not when I am around. An opinionated person such as you will always clash with an opinionated person like me. The natural property of impenetrability and the Pauli Exclusion Principle both implies we cannot be at the same place at the same time, especially when one is speaking his mind. This is not acknowledgment of defeat but it would be a pleasure if you will graciously excuse me while I show myself out.
Bowing my head down as if someone might find out what I had done, I munched heavily on my cheeseburger, making sure that I do not remove my gaze on the unfortunate bun in case I accidentally catch eye contact with anyone I know who happen to drop by the fastfood. Imagination still eludes me as to what these people’s reactions will be when they find out what I had done. Guilt aside, I think above all persons in the Multiverse, the person who I owe an explanation to is myself.
Great tales from the past speak of people going beyond the conceivable and doing what we might have thought impossible. Moses, obeying the command of God and wielding His power, crossed the Red Sea by splitting it in half, racing against the tyrannical chariots of oppression and making way for the desolate people of Israel to continue their pilgrimage to the Promised Land. In Greek mythology, the ingenious Deidarus thought of a brilliant escape from the tower where he and his son were imprisoned. Gathering the feathers of birds who unwittingly pass by their window, he painstakingly designed wings to allow them to fly their way to freedom. Deidarus succeeded of course, and the sad thing about his son is, well, another story. It seems therefore
One boring night my board mates and I decided we could go for a little drink in one of my board mate’s room. It is spacious and strategically located so as to dissolve the maximum amount of sound waves and muffle our expressions of revelry. It is essentially, a noise-cancelling room. Since I just got paid, I bought the booze and let the drinking roll. By the time it’s over (the drinking and the frustration soliloquys), we helped one of my board mates get up the stairs to his bedroom. I had an initial feeling that it wasn’t a good idea but since my claim to fame is the ability to tame the alcohol in me, I felt responsible to help. Next thing I learned, I slipped and hit my head on cold, hard concrete, holding it in agony and panic. Immediately, I checked my senses-- I still knew that I should use an integral and not a differential to solve for the area under a curve, I still memorized Shakespeare’s sonnet 116 and I still had the same crush. It gave me a headache but it wasn’t probably that serious due in part to the cushion provided by my big hair. Up to know, though, I am still giving myself tests to find out if there has been anydamage brought by the unfortunate incident.
Lessons of the Story:
1. I cannot tame the effects of alcohol. It’s too wild.
2. Drunk men helping another are like blind men leading another blind man. They all land on a ditch. In our case, I fell off the stairs.
3. Stay away from alcohol. It can kill your worms but it can cause brain damage.
Welcome to college. Brace yourselves for an exciting-but-sometimes-boring adventure. Remember, you can choose your own ending and it is all up to you. Good luck.
"The time has come, " the Walrus said, "to talk of many things:
Of shoes-- and ships-- and sealing wax--
Of cabbages-- and kings--
And why the sea is boiling hot
And whether pigs have wings."
-Lewis Carroll, Alice Adventures in Wonderland
An open and inquiring mind sees everything under the sun, including those which are hidden and even those which are deemed inconceivable.
The Cheshire Cat from Alice Adventures in Wonderland.
For quiz show geeks out there, the real name of Lewis Carroll is Charles Lutwidge Dodgson who wrote the story for kids. But it doesn't end there since it has also captured the imagination of practically all ages. This makes Alice in Wonderland required reading, even for engineering students. As a matter of fact, Science, Technology and Society lectures have reference to the social parodies of Alice, which places the book together with Thoreau's Walden and Pirsig's Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, to name a few, among the best in their discussion of the role of science and technology in the society.
There is a copy by Bantam Classics which incorporates Alice and the sequel, Through the Looking Glass, in one book. If you're going to tell me you'd rather watch the movie instead, or there's no need to read because you already watched the movie, then accept my look of combined disappointment and derision.
Halfway through watching X-Men First Class someone sat on the chair beside me and started using her hand sanitizer that smelled like strawberry grown in the arid soil of Dante's hell. With that, I am being kind. The putrid odor I suppose came from the essences of plants grown in Mordor, in the fires of Mt. Doom, tended by Orcs. That being said, I think we could all agree of the degree of aversion I had with that offensive smell, and by extension, that woman. If not for the awesome scenes I dared not miss, I would have stood up and grappled that woman out of the cinema, or at least where diffusion would not allow her scent to cause distress.
Then I thought this is exactly our general attitude towards something different, eccentric or shall we say, something which stands out. Our collective revulsion against something different from what we like, or what we are used to, manifests in our fear of the unknown, racial and gender discrimination, prejudice, and in the case of the X-Men, all of these.
Basic genetics tells us that we are all different from one another and sometimes our differences elicit varied reactions from people. We sometimes find ourselves among the mutants at the shore, bombarded with a shower of missiles that could instantly annihilate us and forever eradicate our uniqueness from the face of the earth. The good thing is, we can always be Magneto and it is up to us whether we stop the missiles in their tracks and make them drop dead without harming anything other than your feelings, or make them turn the other way around and destroy the very entities that caused injury in the first place.
If you were to have that power, what would you have done? What do you think is a better judgment, to believe that you could live in harmony with the others who might someday accept your differences, or strive to eradicate them in your life as they have sought to eradicate you from theirs? If they can't stand you, will you hope for that to change or do otherwise?
By the way, I still want to wrestle that woman beside me.
Between physical and emotional pain, the classic stand is that physical pain is more tolerable and therefore preferred over its intangible counterpart. The good thing about being physically mutilated, it seems, is that the pain is gone together with the gauze and bandages. On the other hand, emotional pain lingers, pestering like a deep, throbbing wound. The truly painful is not the sustained physical damage while lying at the hospital bed, but the wreckage brought by the one you hold dear who did not drop by and wish you well because he or she don't give a damn anymore. Imagine sleeping with a broken heart-- the waking up is the hardest part.
Fair enough, but snap out of it. Although emotional pain do cause a great deal of pain, it is at least preferable. Consider the pain of a break-up. At least with a broken heart I could become a poet, or become one of those DJ's in the local radio station who call themselves Dr. Love. (In this case, suicide is an option for people with impaired cognitive function who are so willing to eliminate themselves from the gene pool.) But what would I do with a painful tooth besides silent sobbing and sleeping to oblivion?
This brings to mind the conundrum posed by the classic forwarded text message:
Which is more painful, your bf/gf leaving you or your finger getting crushed by a slamming hardwood door? Ouch.
No life claiming to be worthwhile has not endured any amount of sacrifice. History tells us that sacrifice is an act of noble cause. In the ancient civilizations it is in order to please the gods that they roast human beings or cut their hearts out, dancing and yelling in praise, hoping these would placate their gods' anger and give them the rain for sustenance. In the modern society, however, where human sacrifices are an outrage, man's world view has become so complex that each time, at the major turning points in our lives we have to make sacrifices of a different kind. We can no longer turn at other people to mutilate with impunity in order to please our God and make everything better for us, so we must find someone else who might not take offense-- ourselves. In order to get that job, we sacrifice our leisure time and work hard. In order to get that coveted grade, we deprive ourselves of sleep. For us to provide for our family, we must bear the pain of loneliness in a strange land away from them. Because we truly love a person, we let them go where their happiness takes them, even at the expense of our own.
It is an integral part of the human condition that one must endure the pain of prioritizing. The thing that matters most is the one that can cause all the pain against everything else. Yet this is not a reason to despair. Since time immemorial, sacrifices for our utmost priorities serve a great objective. The ancient had their rains, we too, will have what we have longed for. After all, Michelangelo went blind after painting his magnificent work at the Sistine chapel. He may have lost his vision, but the beauty of his work-- a masterpiece of sacrifice-- reveals beyond sight.
is another way to say that on one evening, I went to the Kultura exhibit where artworks of several Dipolognon artists were on display. Of course, Lea Abigail Prima's work was there. This time, the paintings revealed something quite familiar. No, it was too familiar. When the stupidity faded away, I realized it was Lea herself that Lea had drawn.
This piece is entitled 'Baguio Morning Fix." A very apt one. I didn't know she had a cat in Baguio. The other painting on display was evidently ethnic, something characteristic of Lea's works. It was entitled " Bali in my Dreams."
I insist that I am not in this picture. Anyway, it was a good way to spend a balmy evening. I felt so affiliated with the arts. Dipolog should encourage the local arts to flourish. With gifted artists like Lea, prominence in the field might just be a stone's throw way. Plus, Dipolognons can have access to real artworks and art appreciation, something necessary for a cultural well-being.
During my final year as a chemical engineering student, I took up Humanities 1. Yes, it's that subject where you have to pretend you do not know anything about the humanities because you do not want to spoil your teacher's enthusiasm to actually teach you something you already know. It was nothing new, nothing that I haven't read somewhere or heard about countless times. But it made me ask a simple question:
What do you do with Iligan City?
Hah. After some time, I figured out an answer: Photograph it.
But first I had to complete a checklist. I needed interesting subjects and a good camera. There was no problem with thinking about good spots to photograph. (Oh please it's not because Iligan City overflows with those, but because of simple narcissism: everything I think interesting is, to me, really interesting.) The minor dilemma was obtaining a good camera. With that I mean a dSLR. I have a friend who owns one but it spawned a new problem. I do not know how such a camera works. Poor me. By some unexplained force of inexplicable origin, (thru the efforts of my friend, the Renaissance painter) I actually got not just a camera but a photographer as well. Think about it. For my humanities project, I get to tag along a photographer.
So with everything all up, we toured the city proper taking pictures when I feel like telling him to. I felt like a director, pointing here and there, explaining where the best angles would be and what subjects display the drama of the life of an Iliganon. Except that most of his shots were his ideas. ( Manaka-naka lang ang sa akin, anoobaa!)
In reality, I looked like his personal assistant. I, dressed like a troglodyte, tagged along by the photographer looking so preppy with walkshorts, fitting shirt and Sanuks, with the dSLR hanging on his neck as if not to burden him of his task but to accentuate the look of a "journalist" from the metro. And when he's not futzing with the camera, the Ray Ban gave him a look of a tourist prowling the streets of a strange land. That's probably why people keep asking if we are reporters. I mean, they asked that to me. What they asked him was when his next teleserye would be airing.
I tried hanging the camera on my neck, hoping that I would exude the same look. But it just won't. How frustrating.
Rarely do I accept dissolving in the background, much more as a P.A., but the evidence was unarguable. Plus, I cannot spoil his look (in addition to being a camera no-brainer) so I dare not took it from him. We went to the bustling streets of Iligan City, to the Pala-o public market and to St. Michael's Cathedral. The streets were teeming with interesting subjects. Equally of interest was the everyday life of people in the public market and well, the cathedral was perfect for pictures in time of the feast of the Black Nazarene.
Since I was ironically just tagged along, I spent the time observing what he'd do. At the market, he pointed the camera to a Moslem woman brewing coffee, adjusted the focus, zoomed in and out as much as he desired, and with a click, the woman brewing what seemed like delicious, native coffee, was macvinced.
These kids who are in the talipapa most of their lives, with that camera-shy giggle, turning to each other for cover, afraid that their realness would be captured by the camera, something they haven't had the luxury of thanks to their meager life, were macvinced.
Outside the church, he sat on the bench, casually talked to the woman selling Black Nazarene necklaces, asked her why they were around, arched a little and did the same: point, adjust, shoot. There was something very human about this photo. It was as if the essence of what she does not just for a living but also for her faith, was permanently captured on the picture. The woman, too, was macvinced.
Next, he went to the business of getting all these red candles macvinced. By that, I mean capturing on photograph an emotional response to a seemingly ordinary thing. The flame is awe-inspiring and the dripping candle is haunting, like blood from your own bleeding conscience.
But I digress.
I told you he was good, didn't I? For someone who always shirks compliments and says he is still learning, the pictures suggest how fast that learning proceeds. We now advise him: When you're this good, humility is an annoyance.
Seeing apparently that you want more, these are but a few of the pictures he took during that photo walk. This blog will be featuring more of these as photo essays in later posts.
By the way, because he is my friend, and most of all because he's good, I told him I will let him photograph me for my first book. To be able to photograph me successfully, (that is, adding aesthetic value to the photo) is quite a feat. Actually, I just like to get myself macvinced too and see if it works.
Hey, did I just coin a new adjective? Get yourself macvinced, everyone.
It was a good idea to watch The Red Riding Hood instead of Catch Me I'm In Love although I admit that I wanted to watch the latter so I can fall of my chair because of cheesiness. It turned out that the detective story woven into a children's classic to deliver a more mature and absorbing plot revolves around the task of figuring out who the wolf (with the big eyes, big ears and big teeth all the more to see, hear and eat you, my child) is.
The movie went on hinting on characters that you think might be the wolf. It was all simultaneous that you can think a pack of wolves exist and not just one. And of course, in the comfort of our seats, we were all too busy guessing just who it might be. The main character, played by Amanda Seyfried, offers the best clue to the wolf's identity. I even thought that the twist would reveal in the end that she herself is the wolf. Apparently, she can talk to the wolf and they understand each other. That rendered my guess implausible. Moreover, the story went on pointing to her two lovers or grandmother as the wolf. One of my friends said it's the other lover. No, it's the other one. And towards the end of the movie: Aynyuwet, it's the grandmother!
But a bunch of engineering students were all WRONG.
The wolf it turns out, is Amanda's father. And the reason why they understand each other is because they are kin. His father is trying to pass his "power" to the next generation. At first, it was her older sister but then she cannot understand his message, which revealed that he was in fact not her daughter. This got her killed, accidentally though. So it was Amanda who bore the onus of their clan. But she clearly didn't want it. So, from a peaceful conversation with her father, convincing her to accept the power, the lover comes in to save the damsel in distress and entered into a fight with him. Of course the wolf was stronger, even in human form but he is a weakling to argentum. Yes, silver-- from the nails of the dismembered hand of the pastor who volunteered to head the village hunt against the wolf that Amanda brought along with him to her Grandma's cabin. (She too, thought it was Grandma.)
She killed the wolf successfully, but in the commotion her father bit her lover and passed on the curse to him. From then on she gets visits from a wolf, rides on a wolf, explores the nighttime with a wolf and probably get to do it with a wolf. Damn, all I want to say is 'Bongga ang sex life ng babaeng ito!" I guess the scenes in the ending blurted out, " And they lived happily ever after."
It is what we call hiding in plain sight: the truth that humanity is overly dependent on electricity. In fact, this truth has become so ordinary and obvious that we do not mind. No one asks questions. But what if, one day, all devices and contraptions that run on electricity suddenly shut down and become inutile?
Anelectromagnetic bomb, or e-bomb, is a weapon designed to take advantage of this dependency. But instead of simply cutting off power in an area, an e-bomb would actually destroy most machines that use electricity. Generators would be useless, cars wouldn't run, and there would be no chance of making a phone call. In a matter of seconds, a big enough e-bomb could thrust an entire city back 200 years or cripple a military unit.
Because JanMell would graduate, hewould like to thank:
1. his power Plant Design groupmates Sheila, Russil and Jade. Especially Sheila, Russil and Jade. Without the three of them, he would never graduate. He believes that the best group to join would have to be the group where you can have the least contribution and your design would still be completed. He found that group in those three amazing people. He owes them a lot of money and gratitude. This part includes their printers, PCs and unrelenting patience for his lack of cooperation for reasons that range from livelihood to drinking sprees.
2. his extended family. They have been his constant reminder aside from the patabaing baboy, accumulating debts and cash flow problems that he should not give up and strive to graduate. Moreover, Imelda and Eric are so proud. He can’t disappoint them. They’ve practically told the whole neighbourhood that their firstborn will finish his bachelor’s degree with flying colors. His two brothers, John Michael and Paul Joseph and many a cousin need a luxury Kuya and his aunts, particularly Merle, Charity, Juvy, Grace, and Beverly need a trip around the world. He can’t fail them. The financial support they have provided to the point of depriving themselves will make this sheet of paper drenched in tears if he contemplates about it too much.
3. his inspirations. Chocolate, balut, ice cream and yes, fastfood chains. They have made every waking day tolerable. The prospect of eating always gets him going. He would like to single out McDo and Greenwich for being so delicious. And speaking of delicious, he would like to thank someone for being his inspiration. (Oh puhleease. Not two. The other one is an expiration).
(The thought of you makes him trip and stumble and your presence incites clumsiness. But he likes it. In your honor, he named his break-even analysis graph after you.)
4. Jessica Zafra and the iconic, Regine Velasquez whose blog and videos respectively have kept him awake during moments when he doesn’t know what to do and yet cannot find the audacity to sleep lest his group mates would throttle him. (Given of course that an internet connection exists.)
5. his friends. They taught him to party, emaciate a poor videoke machine, and get inebriated in between deadlines. Soo fake barkada for being true to their name. Special mention to Bernaden, who can tolerate his nagging and cravings for any food that comes to his mind. She says he’s just sexually deprived. He says it takes one to know one.
6. Malu, for being a constant reminder that he will always have a friend no matter what.
7. his netbook whose name would incite anarchy if mentioned. It rises beyond utility and rests above high esteem, despite its price. Ha ha.
8. Engr. Ronald Bual (Ron!), Engr. Vergil Aleria (Verj!), Engr. Edmark S. Icalina (Fled!), Engr. Rodel Guerrero (Rodel!), Engr. Ralf Ruffel M. Abarca (Barcs!), Engr. Arniel Ching O. Dizon (Ching!), Engr. Dexter J. Navales (D’King!), Engr. Kristine Grace Bama (Tin!) and Prof. Rosalinda C. Balacuit (Rose???), Chairman, ChE/MetE/CerE Department, College of Engineering (whew!) and to all his teachers. Without their immense patience for his despicable character, he would not be able to get relatively wonderful grades, let alone pass.
9. Ate Malou, Kuya Chang and Uncle Pitman. Without their kindness, he would have been nowhere and hungry. During the hardest of times, they showed compassion to his struggles and they never questioned nor expected anything in return. It is the kind of genuine kindness he can never regard as memories. It keeps itself fresh and vivid. He was literally adopted by them. He could never thank them enough.
10. Christian Saguin and family for the succulent dinners, the surprising bonuses, and most importantly for regarding him as someone important. They have been a blessing to his life in more ways and another.
11. Ate Rica. Without her and her patience for accumulating debts and delayed payments, he would find himself kicking tin cans in the street and stitching garbage in his clothes. Not only does he owe Ate Rica his latest meal, but also his graduation.
12. Nanay Azon and family for generosity, patience and kindness. It would be preposterous to say that he would return all their favors because the magnanimity of it renders that impossible. His whole family is indebted to them yet they never remind them of it.
13. his former boardmates. The Limbago brothers, Jade, John Eric, Justin and the Gallardo sisters, Charise and Charmaine. Boarding life would have been insufferable without their company.
14. ChEpaPervs for reasons they already know.
15. his friend, the Renaissance painter, for an unknown reason.
(Somehow, he cannot end this without including you. But that doesn’t change the fact that he hates you.)
16. himself and his other selves for going beyond the limits of his intelligence and surviving Engineering, for not giving in to DOTA, endless movie marathons, or the temptation of the overpass. They should make a lot of certificates. They will all graduate cum laude.
17. everyone who in any way, minuscule or ginormous, have helped him achieve his goals. You are only too many and he may not be able to name you here, but there is no posting limit in his awareness. He will always be grateful. In moments when he apparently forgets, don't worry .You are all in his subconscious where, in principle, nothing is forgotten.
At last, after a year of dormancy, the Silahis is now here to satisfy our need for information. After waiting almost to oblivion and teetering to the point of forgetting there is an official school publication, it resurfaced and confirmed that our publication fees are not put to waste, right? That after all, the birth of new writers and the pleasure of reading them would vindicate their absence and compensate for their failed issues, right? True, it was put off for long but here it is now, geared towards affirming the "world-class" ambition of the institute by equally "world-class" articles, right?
WRONG.
If there is one thing that the latest issue of Silahis proved in any of the above mentioned it would be that the publication was done to remind students that the publication fee is put to use. And this it proved barely. Putting to use does not necessarily mean putting to good use. I do not have to enumerate in this post everything that compelled me to litigation of the paper which could be distilled to the grammar, diction and content problems. You only have to turn to the editorial section to prove to yourself that the alleged return of the Silahis is a premature one.
What reader would not grimace at the realization that the editorial written in Filipino would be flawed on the first paragraph? Who can tolerate a movie review when the author apparently knows not how to punctuate? Where on earth can "grace and yoke" be a better and more apt replacement than blessing or burden? What self-respecting editorial staff would publish that they have undergone rigorous selection of writers composed of neophytes, yet the rigor of it all failed to inculcate the perfectionist character of a writer,at least, in his prose? Who would not believe the haunting feeling that this paper did not even fall under the scrutiny of an editor? When the world is teeming with a lot of better things to write about, who would bother giving a second thought to a truncated article about metrosexuals? (Unless one is bothered about her boyfriend.)
Drowned with all these thoughts, I remembered my old issues of Silahis. What happened to the writers? The likes of Jay-Ar Decenella, Karen Nueva Ecija, Gratian Paul Tidor? Has their excellence in their craft failed to proliferate in the succeeding generations or is it still on the process of doing so? Either way, it only affirms the unlikely publication of Silahis. I do not wish to undermine the writers of which quite a few are freshmen, but their works have spelled their demise. Published works are supposed to be impeccable. Content, grammar and other elements. All the more when you are writing under the banner of a school with a claim to prestige. When you look at the latest issue of Silahis and compare it to a school paper written and edited by high school students you would think that Silahis has just recently released a lampoon issue, in obvious defense of the absurdity of the articles. After all, what is not absurd about an editorial, editorial cartoon and student reaction survey about pedestrian lanes and security guards all in one page? I need not mention that a topic about pedestrian lanes and security guards is pretty trivial for an editorial of a paper returning from an "invigorating slumber" and "recharging hibernation."
The release of the recent issue has not stirred the Silahis from dormancy. Not until the staff and whoever is responsible for the school publication would realize that releasing a schoolpaper is no avenue to display mediocrity, it goes without saying that this dormancy could head on to extinction.
Well, you could argue that Silahis lacks writers and that the authors are still proving themselves. The dire situation is exemplified by this quote from the article 'The Silahis and the Neophyte.' (The first "the" should have been omitted, by the way.)
(sic) "Out of more than 10,000 students of MSU-IIT, only 14 have the eagerness to join the team. Although there are still brilliant thinkers out there who may have the best writing skills necessary for the publication, enthusiasm lacks them all, the enthusiasm which is vital to a student journalist. Thus, there are no questions that these 14 students were qualified automatically to become a staff of the student publication. Besides, these 14 students were not just chosen since they are the only present but they all took the examination as well underwent the process of interview."
Aside from the grammar and construction going straight to hell, this paragraph seems to regard enthusiasm as the only requirement to become a staffer. Nothing could be further from the truth. Enthusiasm alone doesn't make a good writer. Talent does. And the paper needs good writers. Judging from the quality of the articles, the standards of qualification were not what they claim it to be or they were just so desperate to fill the spaces with people, not with talent.
Rejection, if viewed on the bright side, is an effective motivator. These writers have a lot of promise. Some may even turn out to realize the writer's dream. However, the OFFICIAL paper is not meant to exclaim this and mere inadvertence is unacceptable. It is not a medium for aspiring writers to prove themselves. For the love of God, it is not a DRAFT.
The lack of writers, QUALITY writers, means one thing-- lengthen and intensify the search. The problem of Silahis is that no one seems to be interested in being a staffer. Did you delve deeper into the reasons why this is so? Why not attack the problem from there? Why not go to the tasking business of making students interested? Multiply advertising efforts, double incentives, conduct writing workshops and propagate concepts to spark the interest of the skilled writers out there.
I am not aware of your internal affairs but if this is what you claimed to have done and by all means did not work, then do not PUBLISH. To do so in order to appease the students in their collective clamor against misuse of funds while sacrificing the quality of the published work is atypical of an institute geared towards excellence. Imagine this issue competing with UP's The Philippine Collegian, The Guidon of Ateneo de Manila, The LaSallian of De la Salle University to name a few. If non-publication due to lack of writers is the problem, then let the students know that the funds are being used to secure the necessary talents. Surely this could not go on for long and when that comes, get a better editor and PUBLISH. The test of the pudding is in the eating, so to speak.
On the bright side, this could be a decree for "the brilliant writers" who are ahead of their time to save the quality of the school publication. I know there are a lot of you out there. Children of the Schools Press Conferences, spawns of the union of the pen and paper, young students who aced their Formal Themes. Or to the staff themselves to improve exponentially. Do not allow readers to laugh at your articles like how Pinoys laugh at carabao English, then later come to realize that the situation is rather sad and unfortunate. Reject mediocrity and deserve the honor of being a student journalist.
That is an ardous process.
In the meantime, I am hoping that this disconsolate feeling would elude me.
To everyone who has come to the end of this post, here's a treat. Read it. Just read it. It's here.
I have always thought that ever since I left Dipolog City to study in Iligan, I have never acquired something newsworthy. It was the opposite for my high school classmates. News always reaches me that one of my high school peers was either given a big singing break or won the lottery. Ha ha.
Recently, a headline in the Philippine Daily Inquirer caught my attention. It said something about Dipolog women. Interested with having to do with Dipolog, I read the full article and wapak!! My friend Talong's (who graduated from UP College of Fine Arts) artworks will be featured in Europe. For the full story, click here.
That's Europe, everyone.
Talong is already a brilliant painter back in high school, winning National Competitions with her unique way of mixing colors. Her artworks are always colorful and back then she always has the knack for portraying lives of the natives. Since we entered college, her pieces had become a favorite among local art displays in DIpolog City and everytime I go to one in the rare moments that I am able to come home, I always look for Talong's work.
This is one of Talong's paintings in an exhibit in Dipolog City. Unfortunately, I forgot the title. Calling Talong, maybe you can help me with this.
By the way, the other Prima is her mom. This is a situation where mother and daughter are both proud of each other.
Kudos to all of you. You make us Dipolognons proud.
PGMA ran for president after saying she won't. She emerged victorious.
ERAP insisted he was innocent even after proven duly guilty of plunder beyond a shadow of doubt.When he ran for president again, he ranked second.
GUTIERREZ went into plea bargaining when she should have prosecuted Garcia fervently. Though the beheading scythe of impeachment looms and although technically she is not, she is still the Ombudsman.
YOU ran for senator after making a major (major) blunder, saying you were coerced by the previous administration to betray your folks, causing others to cause anarchy, lying about making a public apology and indirectly injuring the reputations of people who should have known better than giving you that responsibility you messed up. The least you could have done was stage an "Angelo Reyes" and the worst is run for public office. And yet,
It occurred to me that everywhere I go, the fact that I am a fan of Regine Velasquez always shows. One example was during my Nestle M.I.L.E. experience where I dined with Bear Brand's brand manager, Ms. Jasmin Estacio. Because the topics usually revolve around business and management ideas, our conversation shifted towards Bear brand's endorsements and commercials. I asked her if she had met Regine-- a stupid question since she sure had met Regine, being the brand manager. She said yes. Before she could even ask me why, I told her that I am a huge fan of the diva in an exaggerated manner (probably forgetting that I am dining in a five star hotel's international buffet with no less than accomplished and high-ranking professionals around me). That sent her the message that my newfound 'close' connection with Regine (Me to Nestle MILE to Nestle to Bear Brand to Ma'am Jazz to Regine) meant the world to me so she offered to bring me along during Regine's new Bear Brand commercial taping. To my extreme disappointment, the MILE program would be over by that time and while Regine was taping her new commercial, Ma'am Jazz would have to bring something else instead.
A piece of paper, I suggested. Regine could sign it and Ma'am Jazz would send it to me. The piece of paper I gave was a Bear Brand stationery with blanks for your name and ambition. I wrote my full name and after pondering for a short while I scribbled 'to be successful' as my ambition. Then I left her my address.
A Facebook message from Ms. Jazz revealed that Regine Velasquez, my idol, rejected to sign that piece of paper. But it was a different kind of rejection. She proposed instead to give me her soon to be released album sometime in November.( The MILE program was from Oct.26-29). To quote Ma'am Jazz, "with dedication pa ha."
She was referring to "Fantasy," her last album as a single woman before tying the knot with Ogie Alcasid. It was October then and I never heard from Ma'am Jazz until recently when she asked for my mailing address once again because aparently she never forgets her promises.
I used MSU-IIT's Chemical Engineering Department as my address because I was worried that if I use my boarding house address I might not be there to receive it. At least my instructors would be willing to secure the package for me.
Imagine my elation upon receiving this.
My reaction was, "Omigad, she wrote my name. Look friends, she got the double L right!!"
When I opened the package I saw the CD enclosure and a beautiful Regine greeted me with her lips parted.
Great.
But this was greater. Regine postcards.
I remembered the time when I browsed through these pictures in Facebook and showed them to my friend the Renaissance Painter. He refused to believe that it is Regine. As usual, it was a heated debate I insist I won.
To Ma'am Jazz, I could never thank you enough. It was very kind of you to do this and this is something deeply engraved in my memory.
To Regine-- if this can be considered my message to you-- finally, after watching all your videos in YouTube for n times, going to one of your concerts, listening to almost all of your songs original or cover, watching all of your movies and TV shows, a dream of mine came true. I keep on wondering what is next-- meeting you in person, perhaps or singing with you? It is not an exaggeration to say that I would be ready to die when that happens. Thank you, Songbird for this tangible gift of my admiration. I believe it transgressed the electromagnetic waves, radio signals, huge concert venues and silver screens between a fan and his idol. I cannot help but think that your kindness and compassion to those who admire you as a singer and as a person is the reason why you are still reigning beyond compare.
