Hello UP.

Some things just comes back to you when you have forgotten about it and don't concern yourself about it anymore. When I graduated from high school I have dreamed of studying in the University of the Philippines. Diliman campus in particular. But it was not realized because our meager income dictated so. Now that I have finished a bachelor's degree and proceeded to graduate school I was given a chance to cross-register in UP. That means I'll be staying here for summer in the comfort of the University Hotel. It's a refreshing break from the previous semester and I plan to be productive while comfortable (comfort often begets idleness). 

The UP registration form asked for a present address. So I wrote this.

The room was all right. But you'll know we flew 700 kilometers because it instantly turned messy the moment we came in and settled ourselves.

At least the comfort room is clean, organized and well-lighted. In fact, it's where I spend most of my time.

Right now all I wish is that I'll have a good time here. Allowance, please be quick.

Planners and Parlors.

When I come to think of it I am surrounded by planners. Ironically, however, the number of planners I have is inversely proportional to how organized I am. My schedules and to-dos always go haywire. There were even occasions when I fail to attend an appointment because I forgot about it, notwithstanding the fact that I wrote about it in a planner.

It's not the planner's fault. It's just that a certain mentality is hardwired into me. In other words, I am a person who finds it difficult to abide by a rigid schedule. However, in my profession a rigid schedule is common, hence the planners. But like some medicine, these planners seem placebo.  In the previous years I buy them because they're cute and not because they really help me with organizing. Later on I buy them and use them so I could look at it and say, "Hey I've got a life."

As a New Year token, my tutee gave me a 2012 planner. It's simple and I am "using" it now. And just recently, a good friend graduated from the Philippine Military Academy and gave me a PMA Bagwis Class planner.

We were classmates in engineering school for a year. On the second year she decided to join the Academy. During that memorable freshmen year she was the crush of almost all boys in our block. When she came back a year after studying in the academy, our boys turned into sissies compared to her.

Suddenly I am reminded of a joke my father used to crack on me. He said when I grow up I should go to PMA. As in Pedicure, Manicure, Alot.

The Ring

I met up with my friend, one of the Jessicii, in Manila last Saturday. In excitement to see each other, we have planned our activities a month before including all the "chika" we owe from one another. As a token, she bought me a ring of my choice and out of the many designs, I chose this one. 

I found this ring very, very useful when you ride a jeepney and there's an annoying girl in front of you. Just imitate Ninoy Aquino on the 500-peso bill. Make sure the ring is facing her. In general, the insinuating gesture is applicable to any annoying person who irks you. But probably what I like most about this ring is that I could use this as a substitute to brass knuckles whenever I want to punch someone infuriating. In addition to the pain and ignominy, the word BITCH is aptly stamped on his or her face.

It's more fun in COE.

I remember one of my instructors telling me that in their college, the word "KI-AT" is  justified in the truest sense of the word. Then he went to ask: "Kamo sa COE, unsa mo diha, ga-uga?"

I agreed with him. Yes. It's because "KI-AT" is not justified in COE. What we prove instead are the words "MAS KI-AT."

1. Take for example our sports events. It caters to the sports minded, the athletic, even to those who want to lose weight, wear a tan or stalk their crush.

A postapocalyptic novel to welcome the year.

With all the fuss about the world ending in 2012, I figured it would be a good idea to read "The Road" by Cormac McCarthy before the year ends. I heard of McCarthy as the author of Blood Meridian, whom the likes of Jessica Zafra enjoy very much and when I saw his name on a novel with an all black cover except for the words 'THE ROAD" printed in red, I immediately picked it up. It turned out that McCarthy really is not for the average reader that I am. I have to elevate myself to a thinking being to appreciate his style. In a McCarthy, you don't just react to the happenings and twists in the plot. It is not a page turner in the sense that you just want to know what happens next. Instead, you immerse yourself in the world he creates and leaf through the pages because you want to feel more. I want to call it as curiosity of what you might be capable of feeling, rather than curiosity of what's in store for the characters. 

Reading the first paragraphs can make you feel like you want to throw the book away. But all you need is elevate yourself from your usual reading attitude that serves reading mangas and tagalog pocketbooks well and you'll get through. Pretty much like Gabriel Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude.

The book did not explicitly mention the cause of the apocalypse (why America, or the world, was burned) but I figured it might be because of a natural phenomenon (eg solar flares reaching Earth) like the one in the film Knowing starring Nicolas Cage. One thing though, McCarthy is very good at describing the world he created and its stark contrast to the world of the man and his son "sustained  by love."

Do we still have a reason to celebrate Christmas?

Photo by

Naderev Saño

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. 

The Workplace

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.