Tales of the River

One fine day, an old man was picking pebbles along the river,

Under the sun, he raised, examined and marveled at the sculpture of his find,

But in the throes of death, he withdrew his stones, watched the sky, took his turn.

Then came I running to catch this dilapidated and restless man.

He hung loosely beneath my arms, our eyes bursting at each other.

Wondering what he meant in what transpired –

Language so foreign and mysterious.

Across the other side, the sun props atop the mountaintop,

I turned my back to head us back (home),

“This is the side we belong to, you and me,”

The further we went the further we went astray – lost and stolen.

My heart had sunk as deep as a ship from a hundred years,

Time has ceased, has it not?

But wind kept blowing, birds kept singing, and the forest danced in confusion?

Our path was open and wide, though dark and covered with fallen leaves,

I looked to his frail and naked body one last time,

It’s been shivering cold under the deep forest shade,

And so I headed back to the riverbank in the east,

Where the light bickers through the plants and trees,

And pushes darkness to some faraway ending,

While overlooking all corporeal and living.

I set foot again on the scattered sediments by the riverbank,

And saw radiant daylight atop the mountaintop,

Laying its golden field throughout the river to the stones beneath my feet,

Gleaming fiercely against us without peeling a skin.

Then I dove into the overwhelming force of the river,

Sailing ‘cross it while carrying him behind my back,

Toward this gentle ball of flame resting in the same place it has always been.

As we reached the shore where only men of gold thrived,

And broached the river like a massive whale,

He resurrected and dismounted my then weakened body,

Walking toward the starlight it made him warm and dry,

Before him I knelt and pored over the fiery sands of the oasis,

And as he widened the gap between us two,

I raised my head to descry his blurring image and see him thru.

His silhouette was in the backdrop of a magnificent mirage,

Dissolving and absorbing him into its own immensity,

I woke by the riverbank and saw two cups of tea,

One’s been empty, the other turned cold and dry,

I remember the forest where we used to pick fruits from trees,

And boiled the kettle and had cups of tea,

Now I know why life is short and why we have a memory.

The Fourth Man (Based on a true story)

Out the window aglow in sky,

A project of beauty in the eye,

All fingers cross upon this cause,

Hoping efforts make it across.

Before the sun had awaken,

Splashing liquid woke the floor,

Embarkation years forsaken,

Cleaning is his other door.

While engineers perform their tests,

And scientists equate the rest,

Along the halls, he mops the floors,

Though invisible he builds walls.

It’s passion – not a beat for fame,

A grain of sweat for a pound of dream,

What he does – among all the same,

Though, however, it may not seem.

Every seed could grow up a tree,

And reach the sky to eternity,

Before him, sails the crew of three,

‘Cross frontiers and possibility.

One day, someone asked what he does,

In plain response, he’s painted us:

“I help put a man on the moon.”–
Ah! Revelation that afternoon.

Cops And Robber

Mid-day this afternoon, inside J&M Coin and Jewellery, I was busying myself counting a sackful of '67 silver quarters with the help of a coin counter. Inactivity is a grave sin against the company. Once you're caught, okay. Second time, count your days. Third, expect the obvious: oblivion.

Though I may sound ridiculously paranoid and exaggerating, the dread has always been ingrained in me, especially since the owner, Joe, began his dehumanizing staring assaults at me; due in part to the innocence reflective of my questions, and the blunders that came alongside learning and experience. In order to neutralize the pretense of a seemingly lazy and idle day, I did find myself one of the least favored works, of counting coins and bagging them; that not only messed your head from the continuous barrage of loud clicking sounds from every count the machine did, but also back-breaking work that it demanded.

Just as the machine had began the intermittent counting, my attention got snatched away, when I heard Joe shouting (which I would always presume suggestive of trouble), "Hey! Don't let him out! Don't let him out!" Then even before I could assess the situation that was now on red alert , Joe began chasing after the quick devil who absconded away with his treasures displayed in the jewelery section showcase. For a very brief moment, I was held back by shock and indecision. But seeing the old Italian don chasing after the crook out to the open bravely, while Mr. Fong, the soon-to-be retiring veteran of our department, also following suit, I was quickly galvanized into action, and began heading out to the exit door alongside my colleague, Sean.

When we came out, it was like a game between cats and mouse. If seen from third-person point of view, I and Shaun would have looked like we concerted to concurrently turn our heads to our left, and seeing nothing turn it to our right; but again, barely seeing anything. Fortunately, a bystander who must have witnessed the chase told us the direction (to the right). Then we began with the gungho pursuit. We crossed the first block without really caring so much for the cars passing by, then immediately spotting two bikes speeding down the alley to our right, moved our butts to that direction.

After a block or two more down that stretch, the bikers had suddenly veered to make a left turn, and when I and Shaun came to the corner, we realized the futility of ever catching up with them, as their lead had already drawn a huge gap between us. But then, my years of experience in first person action shooting games played its role in making me quickly determine the most feasible and strategic direction to go. So, I told Shaun, "Ah! Let's go this way," while pointing my head to the direction straight ahead and move there. The idea was to bank on the possibility of the snatchers, whom I thought to be the two bikers at that time, to go back towards the direction we were now headed, by making another swift right turn after they had just done one and disappeared from our sight.

When we reached the other side and turned left, I was not quite sure what to make of the situation. The two bikers were in front of us from afar, but did not seem to continue moving towards or away from us. At that moment, my mind was still juicing up on our next step while moving closer to them. "Should I attack the bikers?" I confusedly wondered. Then I realized that they were actually helping us, just by judging the way they were left mesmerized from the mysterious disappearance of the culprit. Then a black SUV abruptly stopped beside me and Shaun, the driver pulled down his window, and tipped us, "He's behind one of those bush against the wall of the building." So we searched for the bush nearest us, and walked our way inside the building parking lot, which was where we thought the man was pointing at (half-ignoring the tip).

As I moved along the steps of the staircase of the building, I thought, "I might actually die today for reasons I shouldn't be dying for." while I kept a vigilant approach to my surrounding. Seeing no one, we all grouped up in front of the main building - I, Shaun, and the two bikers (Joe and Mr. Fong were missing). We all agreed that we must have lost him, but wondered how it was possible to escape an entrapment from both sides without catching sight of him. After a brief moment, the man in the SUV went down, and pointed to everybody the exact bush the thief was hiding behind. And Shaun and the bikers carefully moved in, peeked from the sides, and exclaimed, "He's here! He's here! Get out of there! Get out of there!" and commanded, "Drop on the floor! Drop on the floor!" repeatedly.

Unarmed and not dangerous, he went out with his hands offering surrender and laid on the floor just as seen in the movies. It turned out, the building in front of the one he was hiding against the wall of was actually a police forensics building. And everyone started becoming cheery, laughing over the unlucky circumstances the now hopeless, tired, and anxious rodent literally brought himself to. Shortly, Joe finally arrived. His eyes were dimmed infuriated at the sight of the thief, but uttered nothing. Silence is his intimidation, and he carried it out well. Later, two policemen from the police forensics building came out, and handcuffed the pinned down thief. When another police car arrived, it became apparent that there was nothing more left for us there. So the boss looked at me and Paulo (another one of my colleagues who just arrived) and remarked, "Okay, you two go back to the store" so we did obediently. All along our way, we jogged back with a hint of cheerfulness gleaming on our chin. Justice had prevailed without having the need for violence. And to that, I was thankful.

Comment: My entire life being spent in the Philippines, I have never even chased after someone for the same reasons. I have never deemed the prospect of doing so, ever, for reasons I think agreeably rational. The irony of it all is that I did - and I did in a first world country. What an experience. I should add it up in my resume.

The Looking Glass

Once I came across a child - not any normal one - for he did not glance or stare, look or watch, speak or listen. But everything that surrounded him did. He was still and silent; his face impassive, his eyes unwavering, and his mind void of consciousness. He is out of this world, but we have him in ours.


The eyes are the windows to the soul. I stooped down and with a searcher's eye attempted reading his. It was brightly lit, slightly teary, utterly reflective. As seconds passed, my pupils grew larger and larger in the desperate and exhaustive encounter. "Why won't you look at me? Look at me. Look at me!," I whispered to him in my consciousness, applying a sharp and painful whip of the tongue with it, as if a command that demanded action. I burst in outrage, of disbelief, of discontent. "Hopeless!", cursed I did onto his futile bearing. In a minute or so, I shunned away from the misery, and went back to my seat for dear comfort.

There seated slouching, with gazed eyes staring down, as if at a loss, I conclusively asked, "Why do you exist? What is your purpose?" Then, shortly, it was as if an angel, eavesdropping over my dreary thoughts, retorted, "What are you gonna do about it? What is your purpose?" An answer in the form of a question that made me fall silent, ashamed at the response that felt like two slaps in succession: one hitting my left cheek, the other hitting my right. The special child had spoken to answer the fool who mockingly asked.


Then as the event came to an end, words and hand gestures of goodbyes were made. Everybody who attended, one by one, visited the boy one last time; looked him in the eyes, held his hand, or touched his head, and said "Goodbye, happy birthday," then left homeward. When the queue had shortened and my turn was next, I gently pat his head with my hand, knelt down, and finally greeted him, "Happy birthday, 'God bless you -- and me.'" And after another glance at the looking glass, I stood up and walked away with the confidence of a new discovery.

President Aquino's Porsche 911 Purchase

The news of Noynoy Aquino's Porsche 911 acquisition has drawn too much unwanted attention. But is this justifiable? What makes such a decision grossly intriguing? There are those who, by their rationale, do not express anger, disbelief, or contempt for this volatile action. But many are protesting against what they consider an apparent insensitivity to the plight of most Filipinos.

Had it been a tycoon - the like of Lucio Tan, Henry Sy, or John Gokongwei - who obtained a luxury sports car, no feelings of resentment would have even surfaced. What drastically switches the media spotlight to President Noynoy Aquino stems from the holistic experience of a battered country. Ask a person experiencing poverty why he suffers, and his attention suddenly veers to government corruption, with little or no reflection of his own misdoings. So trite this response has become, that it has in fact become commonplace among Filipinos to share the same sentiment. This, in turn, justifies their claim when things such as Noynoy Acquino's "unethical" opulence happen.

People who stand neutral are content with the idea that the P4.5 million Porsche 911 Noynoy Aquino purchased came at his own expense - not the taxpayers's. At a personal level, Noynoy has all the right to the possession, so long as no evidence should prove otherwise. However, this mars the image his parents put so much effort to establish - one of conscience, love, hope, and peace. But then again, the question of whether his purchase is justifiable or not, rests not on our explosive visceral reactions. There is no difference between keeping P4.5 million in a local bank and concretely transforming it into a vehicle or any other material for that matter.

Mobilicity Service: Things to Know Before Diving In

Mobilicity Logo

Mobilicity is Canada's newest mobile phone network provider. It has solid aggressive marketing strategies that draw consumers easily to the fishing lines. And truth be told, I am one of those who got snagged within an hour of sales talk. The exclusive unlimited plan offers of Mobilicity lure many consumers, especially because of a promised unlimited data plan. And because Mobilicity keeps a competitive price and a no-contract reputation, they are able to breach through the market with apparent ease. At the rate they're going now, consider their CA$40/month Mobilicity Exclusive Holiday Offer, that includes all available options, an early investment. However, there are a few important things you might not know about Mobilicity's service that you should first consider and prepare for.

1) Misinformation - One of their sales representatives either deliberately gave out false information or assumed an innocent but pretentious role to me. He said a "CDN Roaming" instead of a "Mobilicity" icon on your cellphone was due to Mobilicity network updates, and works the same as the "Mobilicity" network status. But it didn't. And I'll explain why on number 2. The lesson: beware of some sales representatives, who may pay no concern to you - only their commissions. I reckon, this is not exclusive to Mobilicity, however.

2) Cellphone Issues  -  Mobilicity’s network uses a frequency called AWS, with bands 1700/2100. If you only need a plan for an existing unlocked cellphone, make sure the phone is compatible with the said frequencies. If not, your phone will either work under "CDN Roaming," or receive no network response at all. Under "CDN Roaming", you will experience a farrago of technical issues: no incoming and outgoing calls, text messaging, and no internet connection. Basically, paying for nothing. The only immediate solution would be purchasing a bundle (phone and line) with Mobilicity. However, it is also worth mentioning that, as an alternative, you may also purchase Wind and T-mobile phones that carry compatible frequencies - as Mobilicity currently lacks an interesting cellphone line-up. This does not guarantee having the "Mobilicity" status all the time though. Once you lose their network signal, you either see an empty network bar, or the "CDN Roaming" status that has the same effects previously mentioned.


3) Customer Service (by phone) - You may contact Mobilicity at this hotline: 1-877-866-2458, or you may call from a Mobilicity phone by dialing *611. Prepare yourself, however, for a grueling 30-minute (or longer) wait period. Unless willing, then there shouldn't be any problem for you, as they are helpful once they heed your call.


At this moment, Mobilicity's service is in tatters, as complaints on technical issues barrage their hotline all-day, all-night. Since Mobilicity offers no-contract plans, abuse the opportunity of testing the waters first by spending as little as possible. Purchasing an expensive bundle (phone and line) is a dangerous investment, since the phone will be deemed rather useless if you suddenly decide transferring to another network that does not support the same frequencies. You'll just find yourself in a tighter bottleneck with Mobilicity. As a consumer, your decisions should always put you in a comfortable position; being able to transfer from one network to another with as little constraints necessary.


Note: these were all based on my experience with the network. Don't get the wrong idea of mistrusting the Mobilicity experience. It is the service that needs most of the fixing. My problems are now solved, and currently enjoying their service.

Superheroes: Seattle Vigilantes

The streets of Seattle acquires a new League of Justice in addition to police presence. Criminals now have to think thrice (instead of double) before they dice. If you don't believe deja vu happens, then here's a reason why you must consider. 


Last year, an action-comedy film called Kick Ass enjoyed attention on the silver screen. The movie began with a glorified scene of a man standing upright, superman-like, on top of a high-rise building. Then in just a while, he leans forward gently - with arms in flying position - to attempt the impossible. You know what happens next. 'Houston, we have landed!' seems an adequate hint to say the least. Superheroes like Superman, Batman, Spiderman possess unique supernatural powers to defeat villains. The ordinary teenager in the film, Dave Lizewski, role played by Aaron Johnson, wishes to defy the odds, and plays the game of a superhero in 'real-life.' His first encounter with two brazen thugs nearly sent him to his grave. Though without success in his first attempts, he later meets and teams up with two other superheroes; not to get back at the thugs, but defeat a far more formidable enemy - the antagonist in the film. This is a cliche of a drama that unfolds only in the fictitious world of superheroes.

The Rain City Superheroes (from left to right: Red Dragon, Phoenix, and Buster Doe)

In Seattle, however, it is as if Batman, and two unknown black and red ninjas, fell off the screen of a TV to find themselves wandering the wrong streets for action. Phoenix , Buster Doe, and Red Dragon are only a few members of an organized vigilante group called Rain City Superheroes. And their purpose for mimicking what seems Hollywood-you-wish fantasies aligns accurately with well - Marvel superhero characters. One can only imagine the impact movies bring us. And the extent to which this might actually extend itself. Weirdos, fools, and a horde of imbeciles may soon be found at your local district. So just you know, this might actually hit the tipping point and become a norm and defining moment of our time.


Call them however necessary to contain their delusions of grandeur into your harsh judgments. But as for this current minority, some semblance of authenticity seem fragrant in their actions. The clash between a cacophony of disputes with matters such as this is like any controversy that remains with no definite right or wrong answers. It only brings us closer to familiar stories (like deja vus) of quixotic men, who once upon a time, boldly challenged the world. Died. But died changing it.

>>>WATCH THEM HERE<<< at youtube.com

Comments on True Grit

True Grit Movie by Joel and Ethan Coen

True Grit is one film for the wallet. Although I have not watched the original John Wayne version, I'd say it's still worth cashing out on. That distinct old Texan accent that pervaded throughout the film proved essential to compliment its theme and setting. However, being unused to words of old usage and peculiar pronunciation made it an extra bit more challenging for me to swallow the dialogues whole. Mind you, it's my personal flaw, not the movie's.

Jeff Bridges, taking on the role of Rooster Cogburn, put sense of humor to play. Unlike many western films we're used to watching, True Grit is part-action and part-comedy. And not just depictions of what would have likely been a cowboy - obstinate, brash, cocky and anything of similar degree. Some dialogues from certain scenes were instant hits of laughter among the audiences at the theater. The storyline, I think, had been a bit altered from the original version; though to be considered a new one that run its course in pure adventure and excitement - something I won't be able to compare with the former until I watch both.

Rooster's somewhat antagonist Laboeuf (character played by Matt Damon) at the beginning of the movie, acted in much earnest than him, whose interests in drinking and a laid-back, reckless lifestyle, only seemed to make him appear relatively incompetent for his task. At some point, Hailee Steinfeld (Mattie Ross in the film) did express her disappointment of him and was desperately withdrawing her support to transfer to Laboeuf. Unsuccessful, she had no choice but continue the journey by Rooster's side.

The plot revolved around the early intentions of Mattie Ross to find her father's murderer. And the quest had led her acquaintance with both Rooster and Laboeuf, who were guardians of justice as well as bounty hunters. The role play of all three leading characters was ingenious. The entire film was totally immersive, that I hardly thought of anything else while it lasted. Almost all the scene-to-scene transitions were laid out smoothly, except for one that I noticed to have been a bit hastily done. A flaw of little importance anyway. Overall, True Grit is a strongly recommended in my scorecard.

Cheffed by my sister Lianne, tonight's supper, like many others that had come before it, measured up to my discriminating palate. A simple dish, her slightly marinaded lamb chops saw dinner table earlier and proved irresistibly appetizing. Although it wasn't smothered to perfection with anything special, its source of simple key ingredients such as salt and pepper kept its natural flavor and aroma sensible in our taste buds.

After a bountiful dinner that comprised mainly of rice and her signature lamb chops, we both agreed to a short jogging session around the neighborhood. We challenged ourselves to a brisk walk through our chosen course and ran through uphills in a faster pace. We decided to come back home after 2 laps due to Mother Nature's ice-cold wrath, however. Exercise prematurely ended, but it was nonetheless better than none at all. I'd say, a relatively good night.

Blinding

My curtain hangs crooked and loose in the center of a large and wide window pane. Its lateral sides not stretched far and wide for absolute shade - a design neither intentional, nor intelligibly fashioned. In the narrow passages, while indulging in the dreams of my slumber, the sun's bickering light tightly passing through. On a daily basis, it peeks to color my pale face yellow. I never wake to be blinded by its immensely insurmountable radiance, however.

Eyes firmly shut from reality, I await only the howl from downstairs - of my sister, at the top of her lungs, calling out my name. The familiar resonating cry of urgency rings me wake from dawn. Then I continue my journey to a more distant world. Standing lost, I shudder the first few steps out my door. It takes a few moments before sobering up from my daily recurring stupor, a self-inflicted sleep-induced coma. An overdose of it.

Once again acquainted with the arcane reality, I wrap myself around the blanket of safety, as if going back (to sleep). Awake, I ensconce myself in the niche of family: my only remnant of haven. As to events of daily life, I play the blind role, mute my hearing and tie my own tongue in avoidance of it. Then half the day ends; and I once again indulge in the dreams of my slumber while the star up above gleams its hopeful eye onto mine.

Short Story Menace

When an idea for a possible short story masterpiece enters my mind, my heart starts thumping fast; as though in hot pursuit of something fulfilling yet incredibly tantalizing. I seem to have an apt for following thoughts that flow like a river across an uncharted territory - one I can claim my own genius. Often, I'd escape reality and join the adventures of my own creation.

Ask me what they are, and I'd gladly paint them as extravagantly as I could. I will stutter. I will stop for a while. Then with apparent diligence, draw the gist out flat on the table sooner or later. My mind wanders in the virtual recesses of my cave-dwelling soul just to keep me amused with the stories it brings back to my consciousness. It tells it so well, I would have a hard time falling asleep at night, already itching to put them down on paper.

My imaginative introductory momentum, unfortunately, remains within the confines of my memory, unable to extend itself out any further. Perhaps, admittedly, I lack the skills in the creative writing sphere. My long awaiting queue of stories to write and tell are rusting even before they materialize for my eyes to reread and others to find inspiration from.

Eye Opener In The Philippines

August 23, 2010 - What happened Tuesday in the Quirino Grandstand is none other than the result of both bad luck and law enforcement delinquency combined in a mix.

A Chinese myself, I know (and I believe) that July in the Lunar Calendar marks a full month of tragedies. While mere superstition cannot solely be the basis to explain the turn of events, police performance reinforced the claim into something agreeable. What seemed innocuous at first turned for the worse when the hostage-taker started opening fire inside the bus. All gleamer of hope got instantly snuffed out, and the gravity of the situation had to employ force into the equation.

Unfortunately for the victims, those in command were not able to exercise their authority to take full control of the situation. A bunch of journalists were broadcasting every second of the intensifying drama from start to finish. The hostage taker, SPO4 Rolando Mendoza, was watching the standoff being televised in every major local news channel. Gaining access to the information beyond the confines of the tourist bus played a major role on how the drama had suddenly turned awry.

Seeing his family suffering - his brother being dragged into custody like a pig waiting execution (on TV) - Mendoza was quick to react, beginning with several gunshots heard from within the bus, and later ending with some devastating M16 machine gun sprees directed outward. Bullet-holed glass windows, and people taking cover were not uncommon scenes. A stray bullet even hit one bystander on the lower limb. Hostage-takers gamble their lives into do-or-die situations. How their mood swings determines the outcome - the number of lives saved or lost. Feeling himself responsible for putting his family at risk fed him all the guilt that was the LAST THING negotiators want a hostage-taker to carry on their shoulders.

The incompetence of the police force that counteracted to the ongoing killing spree only led many to depend on miracles instead. Either he gets shot by snipers quick or he comes to his senses and surrenders. Clearly from the video news channels were broadcasting, the police force that stormed around the bus had made common sensual mistakes that put their names on the line for even more bashing. One, breaking in. Steel door versus fiber ropes? Two, taking too long to neutralize the frenzied Mendoza. It lasted an hour before victims got their medical attention. Three, wrong people to finish the job? They were panicking - not exactly sure what to do.

By the time Mendoza finally had his share of "Death" after his prolonged "Doing," some innocent lives had already been lost. Others were rushed into different hospitals for treatment, with some dying on arrival. A total of 9 people including Mendoza, died in a span of a few hours. He died from a single sniper rifle bullet to the head.

Rolando Mendoza, after receiving several medals for his good conduct within his 30 years of service to the Filipinos, marred his name by ending it like a terrorist - bringing innocent people along. However, his cause should never be ovelooked nor ignored; he is also a victim of injustice from a country limping from misgovernance since who knows when.

Now that the world has been disappointed by yet another "Made in the Philippines" action, the government must begin scrutinizing itself and look for loopholes that need covering. Implemening lapses on media coverage, for instance, should be handled with steadfast prudence depending on the context of the situation. And discernment must come from the authority - not the media. Strict regulations, together with improvement in our public servants's salaries and benefits, must also follow suit.

The incident was an isolated case; the victims were at the wrong place at the wrong time. But had Mendoza been taken with serious care and attention when he first filed a complaint about his case, the incident would have never happened. Now that it has already passed, however, learning things the hard way is what's left for Filipinos to reflect on again.

Correlation between Atheism and Voting in the Philippine Democracy

Introduction
The Philippines – from 1898-2010 – is still in the “process of” a revolution. Some say our “being Catholics” is to blame for all the mess we have created. Poverty so rampant and a government like a market place full of crooks are just some indicators a country is underdeveloped. The Filipino tendency to see government as the “God of their image” seems to result to an unreflective surrendering of power thru voting. Understanding the aesthetics of atheism may become a helpful tool to deterring this Filipino tendency to be over-ruled by the God of his image. Confronted with no strings to cling on to, survival instincts may fuel the Filipino appetite for a true and meaningful revolution under the democracy banner.

The Philippine Status
In a democracy, it is “power to the people” – not the leaders. However, in the Philippine political atmosphere, this only remains an ideal shaded grey. Government officials voted into office are not the public servants hoped for. They are more known as oppressive leaders, whose will is imposed on their subordinates, including the people who put them in place. Ironically, in the article of Paul D. Hutchcroft, The Arroyo Imbroglio in the Philippines, he states no country in Asia has more experience with democratic institutions than the Philippines. This system of government dates back to the Assembly created by the revolutionary republic that declared independence in 1898. However, the questions remain: How did the Philippines do since then? Is the Filipino truly independent?
Two world wars have passed, one dictatorial government brought down and EDSA Revolutions still counting in roman numerical values, but still a true revolution non-existent. Today, Arroyo still sits on a high chair inside Malacanang Palace despite several numbers of scandals directly involving her. The most famous of them is the Hello Garci Scandal, where the president’s voice is heard talking to a COMELEC commissioner amid the counting of ballots in the weeks of May 2004 election. In one oft-quoted segment said to be from late May, a female voice expresses concern for the electoral margin (“So I will still lead by more than one M., overall?”) while a male voice promises to work things out.

Voting in a Democracy
The ideal leader for the Filipino is unarguably the “saviour” type; one who possesses the characteristics of Christianity’s enigmatic Jesus Christ. This does not come as a surprise to many. The Filipinos are a people in need of salvation in many respects: economic, social, spiritual – even psychological. From rock-bottom poverty to questioning one’s identity, the Filipino is indeed living under the covers of darkness.
The rise of political icon Ninoy Acquino is a light that resembles Christ’s. People still remember him for his dashing character, his unparalleled decision-making, and most especially his Christ-like wisdom all often used to rectify the Marcos Administration. However, he only remains to be the ideal – a mystery the Filipino People can only wish for.
The Philippines is comparatively religious. In the 2001 World Values Survey, 87 per cent of respondents claimed that religion was “very important”, the highest percentage for any predominantly non-Muslim country, and 99 percent believed in God. In 2004, spirituality took centre stage in the Mass for Peace and Credible Elections, where the major presidential candidates, including President Arroyo, recited “The victory is not mine to take but yours to give … Grant us, O Lord, the perfect expression of the people’s will in this election.” However, despite these manifestations of faith, the public prefers religious nationalism to outright theocracy. In the same 2001 World Values Survey, majorities agreed that “politicians who don’t believe in God are unfit for public office” and favoured officials with “strong religious beliefs”, the most support from any predominantly non-Muslim country.
The country has little choice but to accept elections, since public opinion has rejected authoritarian and military government, communist revolution, and theocracy. Voting is the sine qua non of a democratic state. However, one wonders if the power truly belongs to the people. In Juliet Williams’s interesting essay, On the Popular Vote, she mentions four core democratic dilemmas – one of which is the fact that voting is considered at once the most fundamental and also the least effectual citizenship act. Voting translates to the surrendering of citizenship power. From a democratic standpoint, there is something profoundly perverse, then, about the cult of voting which treats a loss of power as the highest symbol of the people’s power. There can be no denying that democratic subjects vote for representatives precisely because they cannot rule themselves. This practice of citizenship right (to vote) translating to the surrendering of “trusted” power to the state is what creates an ineffective democracy in the Philippines. Greed and irresponsibility creates powerful politicians. At the other end, people are left paralyzed each time they vote. It is their greatest expression of choosing unfreedom over freedom. In the Philippines, development is often left at the leader’s desks piling – and not the people’s.

Catholicism in the Philippines
Catholic Christianity, though it has certain basic identifying characteristics, is expressed in various theologies and spiritualities or “forms of faith.” Another way of saying this is to affirm that in Catholic Christianity "there is one faith, but many theologies and many spiritualities or ‘forms of faith'."
One may include Folk Christianity an expression of such theologies culturally and socially accepted in the Philippine atmosphere. In Eduardo M. Domingo’s study, Intertextuality and the Study of Animism in the Philippines, he relates the interrelationships between animism with different religions aside from Christianity. However, since the country consists of 90% Christians, it is more often than not ‘Folk Christianity’ rather than any other. In his study, animistic rituals were discovered in certain places in the South Philippines. In these places, the older form of animistic rituals related to rice were Christianized. Although the ancient elements were still noticeable, the latter was given new a meaning. In some cases, the invocation to the anitos or spirits of their ancestors and other spirits were omitted; the amulets, charms and other symbols, however, now became their symbolic expressions directed to God. In other instances, even in the christian rituals, the farmers still attribute to the charms themselves the power of giving the rice these qualities. Hence, together with the plants or herbs that they believe will bring the desired qualities for their rice, christian prayers like the Our Father, Hail Mary, and Glory are recited in honor of the Blessed Virgin, San Isidro, and the patron saint of the parish [sic].
Moreover, yearly processions of the image of the Black Nazarene in celebration of the feast day of Quiapo may be one of the most familiar displays of faith in the country. Hundreds of thousand of people join the long procession, risking safety for what it is worth. They heave together in solidarity of one faith – that however takes many forms. One news article describes the familiar picture, “White handkerchiefs and towels were waved and the crowd erupted into loud cheers as a number of men tried – successfully or in vain – to clamber onto the carriage in an attempt to touch the image.” People gather at this momentous parade because of favors from God. Miracle stories are not rare; regained physical health and financial success amidst poverty are just some few examples of these favors.

Analysis of the Filipino
Understanding atheism per se is not what holds the key to understanding the dynamics of voting in the Philippines. It only acts as a counteraction against the Filipino attitude towards religion, particularly their image of God. For this reason, the discussions will start with the analysis of the Filipino mentality, followed by the counteraction of atheism.
Politics and Catholicism are both central to the Filipino choice of unfreedom. Politics in the country is more God-centered than in most western societies since Filipinos are religious; and a strong favour for religious candidates sound obvious. Does the Filipino treat his leader like God? To some degree, yes. The Filipino fears his leaders’ power; but more importantly, it is his promises that the Filipino looks forward to. When poverty torments him, he blames his poor governance – his unfulfilled promises for a better tomorrow. The image of the true Filipino politician is one who exhibits the ability to save, may it be thru words or actions – just like the Christian God whom he calls Father. In voting, he fully surrenders his citizenship power to his leader – an expression of freedom. However, like the way he treats God, to whom he prays for miracles of better health and financial stability, he chooses to surrender his responsibilities from society as well. It is precisely his tendency to create his own “image of God” that leaves him at the mercy of his leaders – his earthly gods.

Atheistic Views from Freud and Nietzsche
For this reason, Sigmund Freud criticizes religion as an enemy of science. To Freud, religion makes people go astray by means of constructing a restricted Weltanschauung [Worldview], which fulfills three functions: it (1) satisfies the human thirst for knowledge (it does the same thing that science attempts to do with its means); (2) is influential (religion soothes the fear that humans feel of the dangers, and advises them to submit to it); and (3) brings prohibitions and restrictions. Especially, the third function of religion is, to him, psychoanalytically related to the father-image who demands morals and ethics. In this sense, humans still remain just as helpless and unprotected as they were in their childhoods, which are programmed by a system of loving rewards and punishments. For Freud, slaying the father-image (God) will free man from restrictions, thus giving him independence.
Nietzsche, on the other hand proclaims “God is dead.” To him, God is only the created image of man, which makes man the real god who can transcend himself. The news of the death of God is the great liberation. "We philosophers and 'free spirits' feel ourselves irra- diated as by a new dawn by the report that the 'old God is dead'; our hearts overflow with gratitude, astonishment, presentiment and expectation [sic]. There are of course two sides to Nietzsche's hope for man: there is on the one hand the insistence on the full development of man as he is, leading to the "higher man," the flower of culture that is rooted in an actual and historical soil, and there is on the other hand the insistence on the more-than-man, the divinization of man (needless to say, not in the theological sense), in short, Superman

Applicability of Atheism to the Filipino
Atheism could change the way Filipinos surrender their vote. Both Freud and Nietzsche give importance to the development of the human spirit. They wish for men to be truly free. The entrapment of the Filipino from his choice of unfreedom is that which atheism may help shed light to. It is not suggested that the Filipino deny the existence of God. However, it is much preferable (as being presented by atheism) for the Filipino to start depending on his own, and indirectly speaking, to slay his created “image of God and gods” to whom he passes some of his responsibilities as a person and a member of the society at large. With this, hopefully his aspirations for a true revolution may be deemed more likely attainable than if he chooses to stay at his present condition.
Bibiliography:

Hutchcroft Paul D. “The Arroyo Imbroglio In The Philippines,” Journal of Democracy Vol. 19, No. 1 (01 January 2008): 140-155.

Linantud, John L. “The 2004 Philippine Elections: Political Change in an Illiberal Democracy,” Contemporary Southeast Asia 27, No. 1 (2005): 80-101.

Williams, Juliet A. “On the Popular Vote,” Political Research Quarterly, Vol. 58, No. 4 (December 2005): 637-645.

Intengan, Romeo J. “Are We Filipinos Poor Because We Are Mostly Catholic Christians?,” East Asian Pastoral Review, Vol. 40, No. 3 (2003), 234-242.

Domingo, Eduardo M. “Intertextuality and the Study of Animism in the Philippines,” Philippiniana Sacra, Vol. XLIV, No. 131 (May-August, 2009): 323-344.

Philippine Daily Inquirer, 10 January 2007.

Lee, Sang Uk. “Constructing an Aesthetic Weltanschauung: Freud, James, and Ricoeur,” Journal of Religion and Health, Vol. 43, No. 4 (Winter, 2004): 273-290.

Copleston, F. C. “Friedrich Nietzsche,” Philosophy, Vol. 17, No. 67 (Jul., 1942): 231-244

Reaching Heaven on Earth

Economics, principle no. 1: People Face Trade-offs. “There is no such thing as a free lunch.” Except life is not all about economics.
In the mountain province of Carranglan, Nueva Ecija lives a community of people called the Igorots. Not much of their history is known to me. But what I am sure of is this: they have outlived our colonizers, but not our system. Over December, I have spent three days and two nights living with them. The experience garnered from so little a fraction of life equals a year’s worth.
When I and a few others were dropped off by a Sarao jeepney, from which some had to climb their way down from the top, our first glimpse at the scenery left us mesmerized. It was only the beginning. The place was no other like we have seen before. The plentiful mountains hid the rest of the world from us; but there was ample beauty planted on those highlands to quench our thirst for a real adventure.
Atop the mountain we were left at was called Calisitan. A town center to a small barangay of 500, the average distance from each house to another roughly neared a kilometer of rough terrain. After some conversation with the locals of the area, our Formator Ms. Dudj Amor separated everyone into pairs, except for some few others. To each person and pair was assigned a family, to whom our entire lives would then depend on; we were their foster children, and they, our foster parents and siblings. There were several important questions everyone had in mind: Is their food clean? Is it safe to eat them? What if you’re about to go to the CR, is there even one available? Murmurs about sanitary and hygiene relayed through the silent air like fuzzy noises as everyone concerned themselves with the utensils and viands, among others. Seated in old nearly-breaking benches from all four sides, a few hesitated to get a plate and manually select his or her share of the menu from the center table. Nonetheless, since the three day long vacation meant an immersion with the indigenous people, there was little choice but take on the challenge. So everyone did. Some were twice a person; and others, with barely half a plate.

The Physical Challenge
After the banquet, comprised of recently-harvested rice and tasty Native Chicken Adobo, each family headed down from Calisitan to trek through the eskinitas of the jungle rarely visited by people from the city. The unforgiving steep mountains made it hard for ill-equipped visitors like us to descend without slipping. Those who had their fingers crossed earlier were indeed lucky; they only had to walk a few hundred yards to reach safety – their assigned home. But others like I and my pair Virgil had no idea two mountains were ahead of us. After the descent from Calisitan, accompanied by our foster brother Kuya Romy, the adventure had actually just begun. “Nakakalahati na ba tayo? Have we covered half yet?” we asked Kuya Romy with a discreet tone of complaint and exhaustion, after reaching the top of the first uphill. A rhetorical question, it would have been better left unanswered. We were distraught when he replied the unexpected “Hindi pa. Not yet,” to which he even added, “Malayo-layo pa eh. Still a little far from there.” As we went through the trails as old as the Igorots living there, the sound of our deep breaths gasping for more air became more apparent. Covered by the thick uncut grass, visibility of the trail ahead was very limited. Snakes could be everywhere. The nearest hospital cannot save any victim. Kuya Romy however, assured Virgil and me their mountain snakes were more fearful of men, than men were of them. So we continued on the journey fearless, or at least only from the outside. Due to the long walks, our group had to rest several times. But Kuya Romy did not need any of them.

Temporary Settlement
After two gruelling hours, we arrived home. Finally. By then, it felt as if Virgil and I were carrying giant elephants over our shoulders; our legs were dead-tired, unwilling to move any further. We both needed more air, so we decided to sit down and relax for a while as conversations between us and Kuya Romy started. A typical Filipino, they were a family of ten, of whom only seven were present during our visit. Besides Kuya Romy, there was Tatay and Nanay, Kuya Leo and the three kids – Patrick, Arnel, and Eric. The kids were all aged around five to ten, almost ten to fifteen years younger than their two Kuyas. They were our most beloved companions. They would always be with us from that point on. Shortly after being fed by Nanay and Tatay with their own cultivated kamotes (sweet potatoes), the kids, together with Kuya Romy took us to a “little walk” – a visit to their river.

The Dangers
The short but tedious way to that river was one of the most dangerous adventures we had gone through, second to the handle-less Log Bridge we had to cross earlier. There were shaky rocks along the way that had to be climbed up and down. One wrong step could cost us our dear lives, for it meant landing on giant beds of rocks, accompanied by sharp fallen branches. There was no way out for both Virgil and me. It was better safe than sorry; better turtles than Kuya Romy and the kids, who ran through everything like big cats. All they could hear from us was the usual Filipino expression of disbelief, “Grabe!”

Their Lifestyle, Dreams and Aspirations
Many things had happened when we were with the Igorots. On all occasions, there was walking, climbing and descending from the mountains. Visit to Calisitan each day proved inevitable since everybody was called to the town center to gather and celebrate as one community driven by the simplest, most important things in life: love and peace. And to achieve that meant five to six kilometers of up and down the mountains, back and forth each day.
After arriving back home from the “short walk” to the river of danger, we had the chance to talk about life with Kuya Romy. “Sobrang lalakas ninyo. Mas malakas ka pa ata kay Manny Pacquiao. Bakit hindi ka na lang magboxing? Sisikat ka na, kikita ka pa. You people are so resilient. You must be stronger than Manny Pacquiao. Why don’t you do boxing that could earn you fame and fortune?” I asked Kuya Romy to present him with a solution to their tribulations. Truly convinced of what he wants in life, he moved us with his simple but profound answer: “Hindi yan para sa akin. Hindi yan para sa amin. Ang gusto ko ang talento ko, nasa pagtatanim. Yung nakakatulong sa kapwa kong tao. That’s not for me. That’s not for us. What I want is to be able to use all my talents in planting, in cultivating. I want my skill to be able to help people.” To the Igorots, war did not exist. Only petty fights did. A quick look at their language proves this. There is no direct translation for “War” in their lexicon. Christianity has overtaken them completely; brought to them by the Americans during the Second World War, their life is now unlike that of their deceased ancestors, who bathe in senseless tribal bloodlettings.
On the second day, as we were heading back to Calisitan, to their town center for a communal gathering, our curiosity grew over the young boys who were always around – following, talking and playing with us. I asked one of them, “Patrick, how old are you?” He looked at me, giggling. Then a little embarrassed, he laughed away. They did not know exactly. Only their parents and bigger brothers knew their birthdays; and their exact age by retrospective calculation. Time is just an illusion, as Albert Einstein would put it; and to them, it is. Like the followers of Buddha, they ate only when they were hungry and slept only when they were drowsy. It is possible to make life simple if you make it. Only to them, this was a given.
After what seemed forever to reach back, with the last gusts of air, Virgil and I climbed back to the uphill of Calisitan – once more steamed by our very own sweat. After waiting for the others to come to the ritual gathering, a pig was being prepared to be sacrificed for the upcoming banquet. It was killed in front of everyone that afternoon. A swift cut on its chest, followed by a sharp wooden shaft pierced inside of it jacked in and out, the pig could only cry helplessly from the torturous death. It took half a minute before she breathed her last. It was not a quick one, and definitely not fun to watch. For the speechless and terrified visitors, only goosebumps was the chemical reaction.

Communal Gathering
While waiting for supper, an Igorot ritual dance took place in the middle of the town center. Each boy and girl visitor was randomly selected to participate in the circling dance led by a few old tribesmen. After having each one of us dance for at least twice, every respective family was eventually called to step in front, to voice their thoughts and feelings out. For most of us, to speak from within was impossible, especially with the whole community having their eyes on us. We were not like them. Our inner voice kept silent.
Although not free of shame, the parents were able to express well. Some would even speak for twenty minute, only sadly in their native language – which after translation, only took a minute or two to put into Tagalog. Even they were part of the world of ironies. “Nagpapasalamat ako sa pag-uunawa nila sa kalagayan namin, at napagtiyatiyagaan nilang kainin ang kinakain namin. I thank them for their understanding and perseverance, eating what we eat (without complaining),” say most parents. They feed us and thank us afterwards. In Nueva Ecija, the Igorots are closer to heaven. No doubt about that.
At around twelve-midnight, I, Virgil and Kuya Romy started our long journey back home. Everyone did. We all needed to get back. On the way, the full moon was the only light shining over us. Some brought flashlights to cut through darkness, but not everyone was prepared. Taking a shortcut, our group was able to arrive thirty minutes faster than the other day. Instead of sleeping with the rest of the family inside their quarter – on their wooden second deck bed – Virgil and I decided to stay outside, to evade the more uncomfortable constricting space inside.
A little unexpected, tomorrow came winter. Climate change must really be serious. The thinly weaved blankets on us proved inadequate against the early freezing morning.

Blast to the Past
“Was it a dream? It was not.” I tell myself on the third night, as I lay myself to bed – at home in Manila. Sleepless, travel-battered and stressed, I slept almost instantaneously.
Earlier that day, while Virgil remained on bed, I battled the cold weather with charcoal fire from our family’s kitchen. Stealing my blankets, Virgil now had four on him. The air was ever sounder; the freezing wind ever chilling. The Igorots were used to this kind of weather.
The kids were becoming agitated, especially Arnel – because it was the day we would have to leave them. As we packed our bags and headed back to Calisitan, Arnel jokingly pleaded several times. “Kuya, kuya, huwag ka munang uuwi. Brother, brother, please don’t go yet.” he begged me. With reluctance, I could only reply, “Kailangan ko eh. I need to.” adding, “Maninigas lang ako dito sa inyo. I’ll just freeze here with you,” to make fun of the escape from utopia. How ironic, I thought.

Repressed Voice Shouting
We had money, they only had veggies. And yet, our foster families even packed us some to bring home to Manila. We left them not a single penny. They sell their fruits and vegetables at the lowest prices – dictated by the buyer, and not them. They do the labor, but earn even less than the middlemen of markets. We are passive; we don’t help. They have outlived our colonizers, but not our system. But I have never heard them complain.
As we bid the kids farewell, some could not help but climb the hills and be shed in tears. Three days was all it took to hook them; to love us who were more liabilities to them. Patrick, the oldest of the three, was now infuriated. He was always cool with things. We could not understand. He no longer accepted the camera, which he only loved yesterday, hours ago, minutes ago. What the hell is wrong with him? Since when did he become so stubborn? He was in anguish, in unbearable pain, but... so were we.
On my first day back in Manila, I could not help thinking about the dream that had lasted three days and two nights. “But it was not a dream!” I convinced myself over and over – again and again. Finally, during that night, I reminisced on what I have dedicated in a speech to the whole community – the place, the people, and my family – as I was there in the communal gathering. I went smoothly on that sharing program, but it was not everything I wanted them to hear. There was more. With eyes closed, I put myself at the same moment. As if meditating, blending with the flow of immense emotions – with conviction I said, “Ang mga tao dito sa Calisitan, mas abot-kaya ang langit sapagkat hindi lamang kayo nasa mas mataas na lupain, inaaakyat pa ninyo ang mga ito nang walang pawis. At kapag makatingin kayo mula sa itaas ng bundok, paibaba, wala kayong hinagpis sapagkat wala naman talaga kayong naiiwan. Ang lahat nang may halaga ay laging inyo nang dala. You people here in Calisitan are closer to heaven; for not only are you in higher grounds, you also climb your lands without breaking a sweat. And when you are on mountains tops looking down below, you have no need for regrets because you really don’t leave anything behind. Everything that has value is already there with you.” When I opened my eyes and saw light, I realized that life – life is not all about economics. Not in Calisitan – definitely not in heaven.

The Memento of the Great Flood of Manila

September 26, 2009, it was the early morning until nearly the end of the day when the rain relentlessly threw its destructive force on the City of Manila. Waves and waves of monsoon rains, along with the devil-storm Ondoy, continuously pounded the city with no mercy. Early on, Taiwan also experienced such a calamity that had claimed the lives of many people. In the Philippines, where the words bahala na (which came from the words bathala na), meaning “Let God decide” is often said, tragedies are usually shone with little luminance.

When the rain came pouring down hard, people let it be. What can you do? Bahala na! This is the Filipino – a carefree race – one that did not really give a heck to what tomorrow might bring. Neither an earthquake, nor a landslide may bring this people down to the pits of intense paranoia. Any nation but not the Filipino! Years of misfortunes under every circumstance from the Spaniards, to the Americans and even to the eruption of Pinatubo could not wipe the smile off His face. During the endless cry of the earth over the heart of Luzon, just when traffic started to jam almost every road that was only passable the day before, did the nation start to realize the dangers and hassles of what was already right there over the sky. The wind was subtle, but the rain had more than enough water to submerge the easily flooded streets, roads, and highways of the city. At around noon, the usual bad news came abruptly, reporting about the terrors of the slow-paced storm that did not seem to show any signs of fainting. Cars, trucks, busses and jeeps, were all immobilized by the dashing rainfall that quickly flooded the routes mostly crossed, like Katipunan and Edsa. Those motorists who were behind and slightly clueless about the situation could only wish for the best: any signs of mobility. But the long wait inside the car was already an indication of something they were all familiar with. Cars stop, either because of accidents or floods. An entirely congested area, together with non-stop rain could only mean the latter.

By early afternoon, people from Marikina, Cainta and other areas like Fairview, started calling for rescue. It was the start of a grim end (of the day) for many, and a mesmerizing sight for those lucky some only watching TV. It is always the poor who takes the big punch, and this dreadful day was no exception. Luzon was slowly drenching, bringing along many homes, livelihoods and even some lives. The poor, who obviously had no choice but build their homes jam-packed in one unlucky rich man’s land, received the most damage. Many would lose almost everything they had worked for in years. Flood waters, joined by the over-flowing creeks and rivers, rose to up to more than a two-story house in some areas. The giver of life ends it as well; and since they say people die bringing nothing with them, the water claims everything. For the majority of survivors, with already so little, they had lost even those superficial things that made them happy. They are often labeled as, “Mga mabababaw” or those who find happiness in small things. And yet, they still became the numero uno victims by a storm that took their little joys.

By around 9pm that day, the rainfall started losing its strength, and some relief could be felt. But it was also around that time, when all the damage inflicted manifested in the news. Rescue operations were slow, as almost always expected from a government that talked more than it acted. Some who called for help even before their parked cars got totally submerged like submarines in the garage, never even had a rescue team coming their way. It was only when the muddy and polluted waters cleared away did the rescues become possible. Calls were made everywhere, and schools like the Ateneo de Manila joined the rescue operations. Internet Medias like the Facebook was extensively used to contact those believed to have been affected by the storm. The school itself became a haven for the less fortunate men, women and children whose homes were drowned like sinking ships; only of course water rising in this case and not homes sinking. To this very moment these words are being type-written, rescue operations by family and friends of those sank by the devil-storm are being carried on without the help of the sluggish government. The poor would hopefully retain their hope in view of humanitarian efforts showing them love and support, since they are very much included in this endeavor.

All that is there to see now is hope, stemming from that little luminance mentioned earlier. In the face of a calamity, the Filipino does not say bahala na anymore. He now gives a helping hand, free of stain and grease unlike His proud and useless administrator. The Filipino is learning to know when to say bahala na and when to act without his government’s often “all-talk” support. A midst this tragedy, He has learned to help His neighbor; a stranger – yet truly a friend, a brother, a sister, a mother and a father. He has succeeded and still is succeeding in being one with God through His neighbors. September 26, 2009 should remain a memento of the great flood that struck Manila, which became both a state of calamity and a state of unity – A True Revolution. The future is finally brighter in darkness.