The Homecoming

My mother accompanied me to the jeepney terminal. I am excited. Mixed emotions. I have butterflies in my stomach.

It’s been almost 10 years since I left Bilibiran. December 11 was my day to come back. I was not prepared for it. I was clueless of what to see. The decision to return was slapdash. And the feeling is nostalgic.

I traveled for almost two hours. While seated in front of the jeepney, I counted the times my seatmate fell off his hand on my lap and banged his head on my shoulder out of drowsiness. I picked out a human rights book from my bag and read about poverty in the Philippines. I returned the book inside my bag. The sight of squatters along Pasig River is enough to talk about poverty.

So much has changed in Binangonan. It became more urbanized. As the jeepney passes by my alma mater, I was amazed on how it has been transformed into a more beautiful structure. I’ve learned that there’s already a high school at the back side of BES (Bilibiran Elementary School) and that many of my former teachers were already retired. Others are now resting in peace.

As soon as I graduated in elementary our family moved to Manila due to matters of consequences. We left my uncle’s house in Montevilla Subdivision that served as our sanctuary for almost four years. We moved there after my father’s death.

That house is comparable to the garden of Eve. It is a bungalow with a plethora of trees – atis, guyabano, chico, star apple, santol, papaya, mango, macopa, chesa, rambutan, kamias, golden shower, bayabas, avocado, coconut, and would I ever forget the grapes that clings upward to the tall water tank. Whenever I am at the top of the water tank I can see the whole view of Rizal including Laguna de bay and Antipolo. I feel like I own the whole world. The water tank has been my favorite hang-out while eating grapes, watching the panoramic view and envisioning my dreams.

At the backyard we have a small hut where I used to sleep, eat, read and spend my leisure time. It was my refugee camp whenever I got scolded. I used to build a tree house out of wood strips at a small mango tree at the backyard. At the roof I used to fly kites and read novels. Sometimes I would climb the roof through the chico tree beside the house. Usually, I used the back side where I would climb our neighbor’s wall to get to our roof. The whole house and lot is enclosed by cacti and gumamela flowers serving as its fence. We have different flowering and non-flowering plants - name it, we have it. In front of the house is a vacant lot where I used to plant kamote. Another vacant lot at the left side of the house, facing the large mango tree, is where my grandfather used to plant corn, kamote, watermelon, squash and kamoteng kahoy.

I remember those days when my brother and I would roam the whole village looking for spiders; when I would climb each trees looking for fruits, swing at the macopa tree, entertain customers of my uncle’s pizza business, religiously water my vegetable garden and all the plants we have, feed and bath our dogs (cutray, petray, josapa, boom, others whom I no longer remember the names for there was a time that we have almost 20 dogs). There was a time I fell off from the avocado tree and got a broken foot. I used to collect stones and dig the soil for earthworms. At the age of 10 I’m already a trying hard geologist, biologist, gardener and ecologist. I would look for black widow spiders in every tree and do everything to kill them. Until now I am still haunted by spiders in my dreams.

I drop off my bag at Mai’s house and headed to the subdivision.

As I stood in front of the house and scrutinize its new look, so much has change. It has its new owner. Many of the trees and plants were no longer there and those that were left have been trimmed. The trees look malnourished. The house has been renovated and the backyard became a haven for roosters. The whole place became so constricted, so pale, so foreign. The front vacant lot is now a forest while a house already stood at the former left side vacant lot. Gone were the grapes and water tank. The plants that served as fence were replaced with cement. Gone was the garden of Eve. I was about to cry but I suppressed my melancholic feelings. I still have a reunion to attend later, I told myself.

On my way to Mai’s house, I passed by the house of the old lady whose dog bit me when I was in grade three. I saw the old lady cleaning her front yard. I didn’t see the dog.

While facing my former elementary classmates during the reunion that night at Pat’s house (same village where I formerly reside), I was a bit silent and awkward. I have an overflowing reservoir of things to say about my life, my experiences and my achievements, since I left the place almost ten years ago. But I am at lost with words. I do not know when and where to start. My almost ten years of absence is a tough enemy. I felt I am a stranger. They even call me Manila boy.

While observing my BESprens, I have noticed that they may have undergone physical metamorphosis but their mannerisms are still very much the same. Though a lot of them have now promising careers and have settled for good, still their youthfulness is intact. Just like the old days, they’re still good-natured and lighthearted. Loads of personal stories were told and bountiful memories were reminisced that night. And I am glad that despite the long years I was gone, I’ve been warmly welcomed by the people whom I spent four young years of wonderful experiences and memories.

All throughout the night, I was smiling. In my 21 years of existence it was my first time to throw up just because of ethanol. I felt very dizzy but at the same time fulfilled. And as we slept at 4:0Oam in cold cement at Ajong’s terrace, I felt relieved. We struggled for a piece of blanket in a very cold dawn. I snuggled at Pat’s side. I sought comfort from his warmth. I just missed everyone.

As we exchanged goodbyes in front of my alma mater, I touched the fence of the school while viewing the interior. My spirit bid farewell. As I sat at the front seat of the jeepney, I took my last glimpse of them, expressed my gratitude, and I smile. I am very happy and contented.

So That You May Know the Truth

This is the Truth, the whole Truth and nothing but the Truth. Every Isko and Iska of Pamantasan deserves to know this.

No Violation Has Been Committed in Choosing Relans Digital Photography

There were no formal and concrete guidelines for the graduation picture and yearbook. The Editorial Board acted in all good faith when it followed the same steps undertaken by the previous 2008 and 2009 Editorial Boards. If there may have been lapse on our part, it is maybe because there may have been miscommunication between the Editorial Board and OSDS.

Public bidding, as contemplated by Republic Act 9184, is prescribed only for projects funded out of government funds. In the case of the graduation picture and yearbook which is a project not by a government institution but by student organizations which carry another nature, it does not entail any funding from the University neither disbursement of any public fund. Hence, any prescription to place this project under the Bids and Awards Committee of a distinct government entity is misplaced. Clearly, RA 9184 does not apply to the projects of student organizations.

Considering that the University has customarily accorded authority to the SSC to create an annual Editorial Board to independently manage the publication of the yearbook, including the conduct of its version of a transparent bidding process for the selection of its service provider for this project, said practice was dutifully complied with. Necessary documents are available for public examination. We signed the contract with the mandate and power to transact official business so long as it is not contrary to law, morals, good customs and public policy. The power to regulate does not include the power to control.

Amenities and Past Mistakes

The graduation picture and yearbook is purely voluntary. The prices were determined through the kind of services sought from the company -- NOT due to amenities. The amenities all go back to the students in some forms of sponsorship during University and College activities. As a precautionary measure against corruption, the current Editorial Board has restrained itself from handling payments to insulate itself from pecuniary interests and other financial temptations that may cast doubt to its clean intentions.

If there had been unsavory issues committed in the past by other personalities, the accountability does not bear on the shoulders of the current Editorial Board. Those were not committed by the current Editorial Board. Undeniably, we cannot be made to suffer the consequences of someone else’s fault or omission. Putting the current Editorial Board at stake for the mistakes of others in the past does not in any way correct such mistakes. As for the current Editorial Board, we are completely aware of such mistakes made by others, and we commit ourselves to the satisfaction of our obligations as true leaders of our community.

Ang Pamantasan Allegations

Did the Ang Pamantasan, as a conveyor of truth (by the way it presented the news and commentaries on yearbook and graduation picture), had the guts to tell the whole Pamantasan the real reason why the approval of the said project was delayed? Is the dilemma just all about inexistent guidelines not having been followed? Why was the last batch’s approval of the same project been delayed too? Were there really powerful entities with vested interests and have personal bet on which company should handle the production of the graduation picture and yearbook? Was the Ang Pamantasan, with all strong conviction, really able to dig out and present the truth, and not just the superficial truths made available to it? Did it exert an extra mile in its efforts to uncover the truth that its readers ought to know instead of choosing what it only wants to convey?

It’s so convenient for anyone to say that the problem is rooted on corruption, but have we realized the efforts of the SSC to decrease the SSC fee as contrary to what other entities did considering that the SSC’s responsibilities are far bigger than theirs? It’s so easy to claim that the SSC and CSC Presidents will be receiving 10K from Relans, but is it really the truth? In the two previous Editorial Boards which handled Relans, no one from them received 10K! It’s so easy for us to judge that the SSC and CSC Presidents are not doing anything to solve this problem; Again, is it really the truth? Do we know all the struggles that the student leaders have gone through just to push for this project? No amount of money or any kind of amenities can equate the difficulty in proofreading thousands of descriptions, in personally lay-outing the designs and making templates for the yearbook -- all for the benefits of their constituents, while at the same time preparing for college days and college activities, as well as struggling to pass the academics.


It is hoped that write ups should not be made conclusive without concrete basis for we are depriving the people of their rights to know the truth. We should not talk about corruption when we cannot provide substantial evidences to prove it. Little knowledge can be destructive. We should not mix facts with personal judgment and perception. A newsletter issued months after the last issue has more than an ample time to search and validate the facts. It has no excuse at all in downplaying the need for fact validation and publishing a deeply lopsided view instead of a responsibly balanced article. Commentaries and Isyung Isko are not just about freedom of expression. Every article must be crafted in a responsible manner without disregarding the rights of others, as writing without solid basis is an abuse and violation of constitutional rights. We are challenging those who accused us of corruption to file a case against us and let the truth shake the four walls of Pamantasan!


Pieces of unbalanced news and baseless opinions can ruin someone’s credibility -- casting doubt on the credibility of claims for responsible journalism. With great power comes great responsibility and with great responsibility comes high accountability -- a dictum that with the passage of time the Media has not realized it has already complacently abused or forgotten -- leading to the breeding of false perceptions! Hiding behind the cloak of the enormously powerful “sword of the pen” does not help the community and is not a hallmark of true democracy -- but a monopoly of power when used to destroy the credibility of others while basking on its self-styled immaculate virtues.

Prayers

After all these, what will happen next? Can we not move and learn from the mistakes? We, the SSC and CSC, are more than determined to fulfill its commitment of serving the student body. Let the concrete guidelines be formally provided so that the next batch of Editorial Board be guided accordingly. We pray that this problem be resolved with SSC, CSCs, Ang Pamantasan and OSDS united as one. After all, we aim and serve the same purpose.

Ladies First

So many articles have been written about women and the LGBTs (lesbians, gays, bisexuals and transgender) in which they are posed and highlighted as the most vulnerable sector on the issue of gender inequality, discrimination and other forms of abuse and violence. Several international and local declarations, conventions, treaties, protocols and laws were signed and enacted to promote the human rights and protect the susceptibilities of this so called defenseless sector.

Amidst the attention given to women as the center of gender inequality, I am raising a question as to why male discrimination is not that well recognized and is less talked when in fact this shadowed issue does exist and continue to shroud men’s lives.

It may not seem believable but the facts vividly show that there really are battered husbands. A poll undertaken in United Kingdom by MORI and commissioned by Here and Now had these main findings:

• 1 in 5 (18%) of men have been victims of domestic violence by a wife or female partner as opposed to 13% of women by a man.

• 1 in 9 women admit to having used physical aggression against a husband or male partner (compared to 1 in 10 men)

• 14% of men say that they have been slapped by a partner (compared to 9 % of women)

• 11% men have had a partner threaten to throw something heavy at them (compared to 8% of women)

• Only 4% of women explained that their behavior (either verbal or physical) was because of drink or drugs (compared to 10% of men)

• Nearly half (47%) of women say that their behavior (physical or verbal aggression or verbal reasoning) was because "it was the only way I could get through to him"

• Working class men (20%) are more likely to have been subjected to physical
aggression by a wife or female partner than upper or middle class men (15%)

Is there a men’s desk that would readily assist men in times of abuses? The answer is none. How about the male who are sexually abused in the workplace? Do these people have the nerve to report it to the police or to file a case against their female or gay offenders when the society believes and says that men are physically stronger than women? So much compassion and consideration before the law is given to female whores and less for call boys when in fact prostitution regardless of what sex is violation of human rights.

Persistently we see women who commit crimes get off scot free. This is especially true for mothers who have children. In some countries, what is completely erroneous is that a mother who kills her young baby is not held accountable for murder but the lesser crime of infanticide. This helps mothers but does nothing to protect the vulnerable children. By contrast there is never any sympathy for fathers with children who have equal care responsibilities and the judges show no concern for the feelings of the children who need their fathers.

Generally when women are convicted of killing their husbands they receive an average sentence of only 6 years, while male spousal killers got 17 years. In most cases of spousal murders were males are victims, female killers often claims self-defense. Where is gender fairness in justice? I thought everyone is equal before the law?

Screening programs are provided by the government for women related cancers such as breast and cervical cancer. However, there is no screening of analogous cancers affecting men such as prostate and testicular cancer. This is very unfair since deaths from prostate cancer are almost as high as deaths from breast cancer and 6.7 times higher than deaths from cervical cancer. The partiality is further skewed because research spending is in favor of women cancers. Have we not realized that being the major provider of the family men are also the major tax payers of the government yet no consideration is given to their health?

Another thing, women would always assert that men do not get pregnant, have no menstrual problems or do not nurse babies but come to think of it, circumcision of females has been against the law and norm in most countries however circumcision of males is still widely practiced. Men have to continually cover the posts of women while they are on maternity leave while getting no extra leave when their wives have babies.

Family courts have a powerful prejudice of awarding custody to the mothers in majority of the cases regardless of her behavior or of her financial capability to support and care for the children. An unmarried man cannot apply for a passport for a child except he has the permission of the mother. This means that an unmarried father is incapable to take his own children on any foreign land. A mother does not need the father’s consent to apply for a passport since nationality for children of unmarried parents is via the mother.

If a child resides only with one parent and the other parent has restricted visiting rights then a psychological dilemma called parental alienation occurs where the children are turned against the other parent. Since children are awarded custody to the mothers in most of the cases then the alienation is mostly against fathers.

Many studies have found that that the presence of the biological father is a potent protector against delinquency. Children who grow up without their biological fathers have poor performance at school. The issue here is one of status and total control since the children are the automatic passport to benefits. Mother-custody is often a misnomer since the children are very often left with a child-minder or with relatives. This is often the case even when the biological father is available and willing to care for the children.

When men seduce women it could be an act of lasciviousness punishable by law while when women seduce men it’s viewed as something favorable to men. A simple stare, hand gesture or a whistle can put a man behind bars while there is no law provided for pamimikot of infatuated and desperada women. These obsessed women use their pregnancy to lure men into forced marriage.

The society condemns pedophilia and DOM (dirty old man) but less denouncement is given to the matronas who are old women engaging in sex with younger men who are usually sex workers.

Even secretarial jobs are exclusive for females. Does this mean only female can make a good coffee, arrange a meeting, organize an event, reserve an airline flight, or make a good PowerPoint presentation?

When man fails to offer a woman a seat inside a bus or a train, he is labeled as uneducated, uncivilized and uncultured. I thought women have long been asking and fighting for equality? Is it not the price of it? The price to suffer the discomforts that men also suffers just because all are equal. In a modern world where equality is a constant struggle is chivalry still worthy of practice?

Women in rural areas would always complain that their families deprive them of having education since they are just expected to marry and be wives in their community. But what about those farmers and fishermen who deprives their sons with education on the notion that they will just inherit their fathers’ carabaos and boats and be like them?

When good looking male is single, with plucked eyebrows, polished nails, powdered face and glossy lips, they are readily tagged as gays and bisexuals. Have we forgotten that we are now living in an era when male now wears skinny jeans and has kikay kit? When two female are holding hands in public their act is interpreted as something normal and that they are just best of friends. However, seeing two gorgeous males having a meal or watching a movie, they are maliciously and easily branded as lovers. This is very true in showbiz where famous actors are always in the headlines for their alleged hidden identities. Isn’t it discrimination against men?

In most schools, male does not have the right to grow hair because the society believes that it so untidy and scruffy for male to have long hairs. So does it mean female with short hairs are also untidy and scruffy? Men are reprimanded from wearing earrings because the customs dictates that only women wear earrings when in fact so many tribes in the country and in the world show men wearing earrings as part of their culture. Why do women have a choice in how will they look, in their sense of fashion, and personal bearing inside institutions like this, while men do not have?

Women have numerous lifestyle opportunities versus men. At present they have the option to work, stay at home as a housewife, stay home with children, work part time and care for children part time. While men, as dictated by traditions and norms, have no option but to work and provide for the family or else they’ll be branded as irresponsible husbands and fathers. Bearing that big responsibility men die on average 7 years earlier than women. Before the age of 65 they are three times as likely to suffer heart disease and twice as likely to die from lung cancer as women. Unfortunately, widows are able to claim bereavement benefit, but there is no equivalent benefit for widowers.

Male comfort rooms do not have much privacy because individual urinals are not provided with enough covers. Other urinals have no cover at all. Are women the only ones who do not want to be peep with? I firmly believe that men value the thing between their thighs as much as women do.

Feminists rallied because of a liquor billboard advertisement saying “nakatikim ka na ba ng kinse anyos?” They condemn the body painting made on 2010 Ms. Universe contestants saying that the act is a form of demoralizing the sanctity of women’s bodies. But no one reacted on a billboard advertisement for Lee jeans featuring a naked man lying on the floor. A woman wearing Lee jeans is shown with her stiletto above the man's buttocks. The caption reads "Put the boot in".

Beauty pageants for women like Ms. Earth, Ms. International, Ms. World and Ms. Universe are exceedingly publicized in all Medias while male pageants receive so little publicity. Why did we coin the name Mother Earth, Mother Nature and Motherland when in fact we could have used neutral names so as not to favor inequality between the two sexes? Do female basketball teams have escorts too? Or do female boxing or wrestling games has round boys too?

When it comes to the defense of the country, men are expected to sacrifice their lives for “kingdom and country”. During World War I and II billions of men died fighting for freedom and democracy. Now that everyone is fighting for the interests of equality is it not fair if we send women together with men into future battles?

This is not the first time feminists have asserted, in a sensitive dominion, that differences between the sexes are deceptive. A generation ago, they argued that differences in sexual attitudes and behavior were merely relics of cultural conditioning. They claimed that women were as good as men and they deserved the chance to prove it. And so is it not high time to allow all women to experience the responsibilities of men for them to fully understand the price of the equality they are seeking for.

I am not anti-feminism nor am I a sexist, what I am just trying to say is that men suffer discrimination as much as women do and that men maybe physically stronger than women but when it comes to discrimination, abuse and violence men are vulnerable too. Because when it comes to human rights violation, regardless of sex or sexual preference, everyone can be a victim.

In Lualhati Bautista’s novel Dekada 70 it says that we are living in a man’s world. But is it not ironic that in what they declare a man’s world so many rights of men are not being promoted, protected and fulfilled? If it is really a man’s world then why is there so called ladies first?

I am not asking that women should pay dowries too all I am asking is for the humanity to realize and understand that tough guys wear pink too and that real men do cry.

The Women

In my 21 years of existence I’ve been closer to women more than men. Maybe because I am a semi-mama’s boy and I grew up fatherless. And in that unbalanced environment I’ve been exposed more to the feminine world. In the family I am closer with my two sisters more than my three brothers and even with my girl cousins and aunties.

I feel more comfortable in talking and dealing with women. For me they are more open-minded, better listeners and wiser advisers, more caring, more sensible, more sensitive and less cruel than men (forgive me for being so sexist but I guess I am speaking based on my personal experiences).

I do have plenty of male friends however there’s really a big difference in having female friends. With women as friends, they have views and ideas contradictory to men, they look at things in contrasting perspectives, they have different approaches and solutions to problems, they have different interpretations and judgment on certain phenomena of life and somehow in those differences spring personal growth and widened possibilities. Unlike with men, when seeking advice or in weighing options and solving crises, we would hear the things we are expecting to hear because we share the same nature, instincts, impulses and outlooks in like.

Aside from my mother and sisters, six women shared a space in my heart. I have lots of female friends but these six are the closest to me and that I know when my burial comes they can speak a lot about me for they truly know the real Noliver inside and out.

C.G. (The Rowdy)

She’s my opposite. Her noise smashes up my eardrums, her badmouth rattles my senses. She’s a walking bully, and fits the definition of maligalig. You wouldn’t believe it, but she’s a P.E. teacher in a Christian school (kawawang mga estudyante). But despite her extremely thunderous laughter, gargantuan eyes, undecipherable penmanship and raucous behavior she’s a nice person inside. She’s someone you can really count on in times of need and trouble. She has tons of positivity (nasunugan na nga tawa pa ng tawa) and male hormones (she can kick a man’s ass with her fists).

Way back in high school (and even in College), she would always ask me to design her projects and made some letterings and other artistic stuffs. In turn, she would be there to look after and carry my bag, would wait for me until my last subject ends (she didn’t take up journalism) and then she would treat me kwek kwek and palamig on the way home. She loves dancing, spaghetti and McDonulds. During her birthdays, I would always buy her a cake; it became a customary obligation on my part. During our fights she’s the first one to lower her pride and make a move for reconciliation. And during my own fights she’s my greatest ally.

S.J.B. (The Chatty)

The front of their house is our tambayan. I would go there (usually with C.G. and sometimes with other Amitybulok friends) and have some long (as in very long) chitchat with her until we run out of topics and our jaws would drop dead. She has a very light personality – simple, friendly, cheerful, free-spirited, carefree. Just like C.G., she’s a tomadora but then she knows her limitation.

We share books (esp. those sensational romances) as well as advices on love and relationships, career, family, and life as a whole. She always brags my achievements on her classmates and it really makes me feel awkward. With that, I consider her as my greatest admirer (ang kapal ko eh no hehe). I would always tell her to have confidence on herself and that don’t be so martyr in her relationships. She’s the one who taught me a lot of things about techie stuffs. She’s my bank whenever I’m broke. Her company is my sanctuary whenever I feel lonely, miserable, anxious or upset. Whenever there’s good or bad news about myself I want her to be the first person to know it for I know no matter how big or small it is, if it’s about me, it matters to her.

J.A.C. (The Balahura)

I’ve known her since high school during those gatherings (contests, seminars, trainings etc.) of the society of walking neurons. Then we became classmates during my freshmen in the University. Having the same size of brain and bastarda attitude, we jived well. We share the same circle of friends. She’s buraot and makapal ang mukha with all those favors she asked from me. When we separated ways and have our own courses, every time she sees me at the corridor or canteen she would harassingly ask me to buy her this and that. At one point, she became my tutor in Math.

She’s goal-driven, practical (a.k.a kuripot), resourceful, creative and witty. Just like me – she’s a certified b-i-t-c-h. I always visit their house when I was still in college and we would talk about our lives. Her mother is very hospitable and maasikaso. She now teaches math (the subject I hated most) at ICAM. Because of her, I became a master in being pilosopo and pasaway. Despite her being balahura in talking, behaving, and with her things, she’s a totoong tao.

I.J.D.C. (The Guru)

We’re very much the same in being hard-headed and inconsistent. She’s daredevil, philosophical, boyish, very emotional, overly sensitive and apologetic for all her shortcomings. She’s the greatest martyr in the name of love. I would really love bashing her head in the wall so that she may wake up in reality and give up all the burdens love had caused her. But then, I am her friend and all I could do is guide and support her the best I can. Her silence means a disturbed spirit is residing inside her brain.

She would always seek my advice but she rarely follows it. I have slept in their house many times and I would love going with her in feeding their pigs. I’m her secret keeper and vice-versa. With all the things that happened to her life, I can say, that she’s the toughest woman in the whole wide universe. I admire her undaunted courage and exceptional strength. Aside from being mataray and worst critic, she can be very vulnerable at times. I do hope that day comes that she would let go the things that causes her unbearable pain. And when that moment comes, magpapaparty ako.

V.M.D. (The Pa-tweetums)

She’s very fun to be with. Together with I.J.D.C., our threesome group is a chaos. Among Superfriends (our College peer group), the three of us are the closest. She and I.J.D.C. are soccer players and ant hunters, literally. She’s having difficulty tumawid sa kalye and has an R & L speech syndrome. I learned so many abnormal lingo and expressions from her. She’s an epitome of makulit. And God, she giggles a lot.

Before, we see her as someone who is so childish and devoid of refinement especially in behaviors. And now that she teaches in a primary school somehow she became quite mature. If she wants something she’s really determined in having it using all her ganda lang attitude. Her jokes are really half meant and sometimes she looks and sounds abnormal with her earsplitting laughter and noise. If not for her and I.J.D.C., I would have a very difficult college life. The two helped me survive college (in assignments, projects, thesis, exams, reports etc.) for my other extra-curricular activities burdened me so much. And so they never left me.

C.M. (The Sweety)

She’s the sweetest and loveliest person I’ve ever met. Among the six, she’s the only one who hugs and kisses me. Her perennial tardiness in our hang-outs irritates me so much. But then she would always make up for all our canceled coffee chitchat and church visits. Honestly, I can no longer remember how did this bibo kid and I ended up in this kind of friendship or even when was our first meeting and how did it progressed.

She’s very motherly - maasikaso, thoughtful, caring and considerate. She doesn’t want me to be so bitchy with guys. But then, she’s the one doing so perhaps because she really has the face and the body that could launch a thousand ships. She would use her charm in dealing with people so that she would get what she wants. It’s quite annoying every time boys would look at her (boobs). We both love coffees and endless discussions on social issues. Our inclination on leadership, politics and activism made us closer. We always pretend in public that we have a relationship but the truth is we just simply love each other.

There are lots of commonalities that these women share – the brain, the talent, the charm, the attitude, and the substance. They are all unsinkable. But more than these, I am who I am without any reservations when I’m with them. Despite all my shortcomings and lapses they never judge me instead they’ve been very supportive in my search for my real self.

Part of my strength came from them. I was able to enjoy life, and make the most of it because of they gave me the opportunity to experience so many things that ordinary high school or college life, books, teachers, and education cannot provide. I was able to go out of my box and be exposed in different walks and areas of life.

These women have witnessed my struggles in life; they’ve been there as I conquered victories and succumbed to failures, they’re with me as I searched for truth and sought answers about my complicated self, they became my allies in every battle I have endured and they’ve created wonderful memories with me that in one way or another created an impact on how I view myself and life as a whole.

I wanted to thank these women for all their time, efforts, supports, advises, understanding, comforts, and most importantly, the happiness and lessons they have shared with me.

May our friendships last forever. . .
___________________________________________________________________________
As of now, there are women years younger than me who follow the footsteps of the six women I have mentioned above. I do hope that, they too, could also impart something on me just like what the six had.

The Wrong Pill

They’ve invaded the streets of Divisoria, Recto, Quiapo, Espaňa, Taft, P. Faura, Paco, and other busy, traffic-jammed areas in Metro Manila.

Tousled hairs, bulging eyes, filthy faces and runny noses accentuate their dreadful look. Their bodies are greasy, sometimes with burns, cloth with outsized tattered outfits and stink like dumpsite. Some are half naked and barefooted, exposing prominent ribs, protruding bellies and callous feet. The more awful they guise the more coins they get.

They would enter PUJs carrying tons of nerves and dead egos and would ask for mercy in order to relieve themselves from hunger. Most are solos (who have already outgrown coyness), some in tandems (who would morally support each other) and others in flocks (oftentimes hanging by the stribu and are always cursed by drivers). Superb acting is needed to look more convincing in their posed misery.

These beggars, embellished with tambourines and drums during Christmas season, hand out ordinary small white envelopes or at times the airmail. These papers, after being touched time and again by hundreds of hands, would get messier and shabbier as days pass.

Each time I’d be given an envelope I avoid touching it for I don’t know how many times it fell off the PUJ’s floor or in ground, how many dirty hands touched it and how many types of microorganism populated the almost dilapidated paper.

These envelopes show poor hand writings which reads as:

Ate, Kuya
Pahingi po ng barya o buo.
Pang kain lang po.
Maraming salamat po.

Sometimes the notes would ask for pamasko or pambaon. But more than this, it’s quite ironic for a beggar to be able to buy envelopes albeit having nothing to eat. At the back of my mind, Wala na ngang makain pero nakakabili pa ng sobre; dati lata lang ngayon sobre na.

Some time ago, as the PUJ passes Recto while I’m taking a nap, out of surprise I jolted back because a boy is polishing my shoes and he’s scratching my pants for payment. I didn’t give any amount not because I’m too selfish or indifferent but because the rags used were greasy and that instead of shining my shoes it even made it rubbish. Giving them money is tantamount to giving them the wrong pill for their illness, I thought.

On one occasion, the PUJ I ride stops at Paco corner Quirino Ave. where children ambushed us with their envelopes. As they leave, the driver told us that these children are being forced by their jobless parents to do begging. They are one big homeless family. The driver was amazed for despite residing in the streets the couple has produced such plethora of kids and that the couple is just “pasarap sa buhay” while their broods are working to feed their mouths.

In one of those rides, out of curiosity I asked a child where are his parents, why is he not in school and why is he doing that. He didn’t bother responding to my questions. Hurriedly, he collected his envelopes and leaves the PUJ together with his offended ego.

Another story is those men claiming they volunteer for a certain Christian foundation for the poor and out of school youth. They would give solicitation letters having a letterhead devoid of concrete address and an out of service contact number. No e-mail address. No website of the foundation. Not even a single proof of credibility. Take note, in the letter is a list of their preferred amounts. Who they think they are fooling?

One time, in a PUJ heading to P. Faura, a Badjao boy is singing while thumping his improvised drums. Maybe he’s really a Badjao for I can’t understand his lyrics. Just like others, he gave us envelopes but to my biggest surprise the supposed hand writings are now printed. I can’t imagine where did he get the stamp to imprint those words?

Likewise, on my way to Intramuros, a Badjao woman asks for money over the windows of PUJs that stopped before the traffic lights. She’s breastfeeding her child, thus, exposing part of her breast. What a heartbreaking sight of a mother and child struggling to survive from their horrifying fate. What kind of future awaits the child?

What happened to these indigenous people and their ancestral domains? Why did they leave their natural world in exchange of coins in the noisy and polluted streets of metropolis? Where’s the fang of IPRA that’s supposed to be protecting their rights as minorities?

Alarmingly, some beggars turn to violence. Once, my friends and I were on a PUJ heading Espaňa when a 5-7 year-old boy asked for coins. Our girl friend already gave but the boy insisted for more but when she politely refused he began scratching her arms until she almost cry out of pain and fear. The boy left while cursing us when scolded for his action. I’ve heard several stories where children would badmouth, prod, poke, and spit on commuters and drivers who would get angry on them.

With that, what else could we expect as these children with anti-social behaviors, turn 18? Sooner or later, if not rehabilitated, they’ll be behind bars for as they mature they carry with them tendencies to become criminals. Chances are, something more terrible may happen to them as they play patintero with death when they jump off from one PUJ to another.

Giving of food instead of money must be practiced for most of these beggars are part of mafias. Some would just buy drugs, solvents, alcohols and cigars out of what we give. As we continue to give coins the longer they would stay in beggary. Remember that we must not give men fish; instead we must equip them the knowledge of fishing.

Why beg inside PUJs (crowded with also poor commuters) when one can sell candies, mineral water, sampaguita, rugs, cigars, nuts and the like? Why beg when one can be a newspaper or gasoline boy, car washer, parking attendant, barker, and other decent jobs? Poverty shouldn’t be used as an excuse to resort into begging.

I am not writing this piece to mock the beggar’s looks, to belittle their lives or to demoralize their situations, but to condemn the government for not taking enough action on this perennial yet always ignored issue.

May our politicians to do something about mendicancy for this issue isn’t just about poverty and vagrancy. It’s more about child labor, exploitation, human trafficking, unemployment, crimes, accidents, illiteracy, health problems and overpopulation. It’s all about neglected and unattained basic human rights.

We can never travel in P-Noy’s purported matuwid na daan so long as the actual roads are being obstructed by the rising culture of mendicancy.

The Lip Gloss

The first time I saw her was during a simple recognition day for those who were qualified and chosen to be correspondents of Ang Pamantasan, the official student publication of our University. She was a freshy that time while I was a sophomore.

When we were asked to introduce ourselves and why we applied for the post it was then that I noticed her presence. The big-eyed, pale skinned girl in braces with a short black curly hair. She spoke good English and exuded an aura of a very serious person (there is something in her face that made her look nerd or maybe I am just being overly imaginative and too judgmental). She must be really good, I thought. After the event I’ve discovered that her sister also works for the publication. Maybe journalistic skills really run in their blood.

After that activity I no longer saw her for I quit from continuing when my doctor misdiagnosed me of having PTB and advised me to rest and have medications. Poor doctor from PGH, I believe she should go back to med school and review her lessons for she just deposited toxins on my body with all those unnecessary medicines. Had I known earlier about that wrong diagnosis I shouldn’t have quit being a correspondent. I was then really excited after being assigned to gather news at the office of the university president and Manila City Hall. I really hate that doctor.

Life went on and after a year or so, I had known that the former GenEd girl (freshmen during those days don’t have courses yet) and I belong to the same college and share the same course (maybe she is also fond of dissecting frogs and cats). What a coincidence.

Since our college is one of the smallest in terms of population, seeing that girl in the corridor, laboratories, college activities, catwalks, rooms, CS office and anywhere I go, became an ordinary scene. I just wondered if she continued working for AP. Guess what? She didn’t (Again, what a coincidence).

When my term as the president of the student council was about to end (thank you Lord), it was time for me to look for people who would dedicate part of their lives (and part of their money) in serving the student body. Surprisingly, Jorrel, my personal choice to be the next prexy is always with that girl with a backpack.

The election season was the time when I was formally introduced to that big-eyed, pale skinned girl in braces with a short black curly hair who spoke good English and exuded an aura of a very serious person. Amazingly I was wrong with my first impression on her, she wasn’t really that serious and aside from being smart, she is (just like any other girl) cool, cheerful, open-minded and easy to bond and deal with.

When I was able to get to know her better, I saw in her the eagerness to be part of the student council and I admire her for that. I have a high regard for female leaders. I believe that in politics women have much balls than men. The girl has the skills and leadership potentials, no doubt on that. As a matter of fact, she is an excellent writer, a good public speaker and a musically and artistically inclined person. She can really relate to people and can influence them to believe and follow in what she wants to instill in them. Later, she became the public relations officer of the College of Science Student Council.

But beyond those superficial characters, I saw in her a good person.
She is devoid of pretensions, especially on how she looks (I’m a bit confused, is she really a punky dresser or what?) and the way she talks (bubbly, naughty, good conversationalist, her eyes would always enlarge when surprised). Indeed she is very outspoken yet sincere, sensible, honest, caring and responsible.

And for me, after all those moments we’ve been together, she really has a dignified soul who is not afraid to fight for what she believes is good and true. She has the so called “girl power” - a strong woman who is determined to reach her goals no matter how many obstacles may block her way. Despite her background, she’s still down to earth.

Most admiringly, she has a golden heart. And during my visits to their house, I can say that she really loves her family and vice-versa, especially her sister and pamangkins. A very sweet lola’s girl. Undeniably she was brought up with a good foundation on Christian and family-oriented values.

I know that the time we had spent together was not enough for me to fully know her and dig the details of her life but it was more than enough for me to acknowledge her importance in my life. And I am grateful for having her as one of my friends.

I will miss everything about her. . .

To Rox: Wherever you are right now I want to thank for being such a nice person to me. I know that the friendship we have, even though we already separated ways, was built to last. I may not be the person who cried a river during your interment, but my mind and heart that day suffered a lot from the reality that I can no longer be with you. How I wished I am with you that time so that I could have protected you or at least I could have altered the events.

I will miss you so much. . .

I will long for the days when you would visit me at the shed or SSC office and you would hug me tightly and kissed me with your lips overfilled with lip gloss (honestly Rox, the moment your lips touches my face the feeling is so slimy, when you kiss it’s as if there’s no more tomorrow - peace!). I will yearn for the times when we would talk about your boy-toys, your crushes, and your ex-boyfriends. I missed those overnights (during LTS, at Alvin’s house, or in Zeta’s Brgy. Hall where we answered the cases filed against us by moronic frogs).

I can still remember those times when you would confess to me personal things. I really appreciate it for you’re one of those girls who trusted me and felt comfortable in disclosing things that are supposed to be for female only. I am sure many people would also miss you.

As of now, even though it’s been almost five months since you left us, it is still hard for me to accept such a great loss. There were moments when I would ask myself why life is so unfair and I can’t help but question God why He let that happened to a good person, to you. There are millions of bad and useless people in this world, but why you?

Death is really painful, not just for the person who died, but for those who were left behind. And it is really more painful if your loved one died not due to sickness but because of some cold-blooded criminals. I know the same feelings Rox’ family felt, I have experienced that before, for my father and Rox shared the same fate.

How I wish all criminals in the world would die the same way their victims suffered. I hope that these people would experience losing a loved one so that they would know how does it feels to have such great loss and that they would carry the pain all throughout their lives.

I don’t know how to end this piece, maybe because there is so much to say about you Rox, but I am at lost with words. Maybe there there are no really perfect words, only sincere thoughts. But one thing is for sure, you will forever stay in my heart. And I know time will come that we would meet again, perhaps on another point in time, in another place, and as different persons. But surely, when that time comes, we would still be friends just like the old days.

Thank you Rox for touching my life and adding color to it. May you rest in eternal peace. I love you more than life itself. And, see you somewhere. . .

____________________________________________________________________________
“In memory of the big-eyed, pale skinned girl in braces with a short black curly hair, with lips overfilled with lip gloss, my friend Mary Roxanne Musngi.”

The Shed

It’s been quite a while since the last time I sat on that shed. And as I look back on the old days when I was still one of its regular residents, I badly long for the feelings that sitting there gives me. A different kind of sentiment that no amount of words can fully describe.

Every time I sat there my mind and heart feel the soul of the memories I have made with different people, mostly and oftentimes my org-mates. Those embedded memories emanate in the five corners of the structure that had serve as our tambayan and even of our alumni.

And now, I just missed everything about that little place – the fresh and drowsy ambiance, the annoying sounds of insects on hot afternoons, the Adelfa tree whose poisonous flowers are always cut by ignorant students to place into their ears, the ever present mosquitoes that join us during our meetings at night, the bees that at the smell of sweets would bother us, the rumbling gymnasium whenever there is a basketball game, the freedom wall with no more space to write on, the cats that would always beg for mercy and if not given attention they would jump over our food, the flying balls from students having their soccer games at the field, the bothersome stench of the warm cement after being wet by rain and would I ever forget the inviting smell of pancit canton on the nearby store (whose seller put so much make up on her face).

And of course, the more worthy of remembering are the sharing of food by my penniless org-mates, the laughter every time a corny punch lines airs, the tears of those who received 5.0 during giving of class cards, the irksome shouting when there is debate on different issues, the walk outs of angry and short tempered people who would always comeback the next day, the “making parinig” to our frog rivals on the other shed, the endless and countless meetings whose attendees are always late which at times would be canceled since quorum wasn’t met, the sermon most of which I always render whenever there are unsolved issues and irreconcilable differences and most of all - our “chismisan” about peoples’ lives, boasting of courses, showbiz news, hidden sexualities, break ups, lover’s quarrels, abnormal professors, irritating subjects, family sentiments, and anything that is appealing to the hearts of young people like us.

For other students, just like any other shed in the University, it is just an ordinary area for those who are waiting for their next classes, for those who are seeking momentary shelter from heavy rain, for those who are reviewing for the exams and cramming for home works and reports, for baggage area of those having P.E. subjects at the field, for those having their meal because the canteen cannot accommodate them, for meetings of organizations who don’t have offices and oftentimes, a tambayan for those who have no place to stay.

But for me the shed is more than that. It is more than a waiting area. It is more than a cement, wood, bricks and metal joined together. It has a life. It has a spirit. It is home, our home.

It has stood there and roofed us while we are trained to be good leaders, while we passed what we learned to our protégés, while we discuss the issues of the University affecting the students, while we plan our projects and programs for the welfare of the student body, while we talk about social and political issues affecting our lives, while we reconcile and reunite slowly failing relationships, while we plan for the student election, and while we educate and convince our co-students to share the same mission and vision with us in making a difference.

It has stood there while we struggle to achieve our dreams and while we enjoy and make the most of our youth. It has witness our defeats, victories, cries, struggles, hunger, relationships, anger, failures, misunderstandings, happiness and everything about our metamorphosis from careless and indifferent grade conscious students into pro-active, service-oriented and transformational campus leaders who are not afraid to rally or become labeled as anti-admin just to champion the cause of the student body.

Way back, when I was still a freshman in the University, I do not give so much attention to that shed. When I entered my sociopolitical org in February of 2008, I detest going there because I avoid being seen and ambushed by our alumni. It is just that I am not comfortable talking with them because their presence alone is quite scary for a new member like me. For me there is so much to accomplish at the 6th floor of Gusaling Lacson than staying in that area with unfamiliar and intimidating faces.

But when I started getting more attached with my mother organization, I no longer feel uneasy going there. From time to time I would drop by to have some short chit-chats with my org-mates and even alumni. And when I was elected to head the organization in 2009, that place and I had made some sort of connection. It became part of my system.

Maybe it is true that you will only appreciate the importance of a thing when it is no longer yours or when it is no longer part of your life. How I wish I am still a student or perhaps a student again of that University so that I could regularly visit the shed and I could again eat siomai and pancit canton there and have a short nap whenever I feel sleepy.

But things have changed. I can still go there. I can still have the opportunity to study again. But the people I am with during those old days can no longer be with me in that shed. Gone are the people, only the memories are left there waiting to be reminisced.

I will no longer see Nat crying after being slapped and scolded by Hyra. No more Doms singing, bullying and planning the LTS. No more Nat (maliit, negro at walang pera) dancing his nakakaumay moves and always asking for food and drinks. No more tactless and giggling Mariazeta and her Michael Jackson nursing outfit. No more Alvin asking the timid freshmen to orient him. No more George answering election petitions and making fun of Jj’s built. No more Ren and his “R and L” syndrome. No more cuty cute cute Maan and bubbly Cham who would always drop by there.

Despite the longing I feel, I am still hopeful that when the time comes when I would visit the shed, there would still be Hubert who would massage my back, Emae who would buy me 3-in-1 coffee and would always flaunt her hair showing her continental-sized forehead, Tin shouting from afar and chuckling while tightly hugging me, Khimmy and her broad smile (and hips) while saying “Kuya Noliiii …I missss youuu.”, the forever lutang Padgi and his annoying nguso (in English – new so) , Jeng’s huge eyes and unsophisticated laughter while running after Tin (they’re always like that), Joel’s deadly silence who would just observe what is happening around him, Loe’s earsplitting noise and vice ganda punchlines, the protozoan Fermin and his hairy body and wide chest that readily hugs me, Macky’s unbeatable appetite (I think Nat can beat it), Kam who is always complaining about her subjects, the ever emo Vhic (are you still confused?) and always bullied Kennedy, the good looking Wilhelm (I hope you’re not one of them), Peter (when are you going to stop hoping for her love?) and Berto (the truth will set you free), and other residents who drop by from time to time.

I miss them so much. I hope that they missed me too.

And now, I cannot help but be grateful to that place for it became the venue for many friendships that continuously flower and prosper, for the people who became more than friends, for the ordinary students who became extraordinary leaders and professionals and for the lessons that were never learned inside the classroom but were taught there - the real lessons of life.

The occupants of that place now have parted ways, others no longer visit the spot due to busy schedules, most have surely grew older and hopefully matured, some already have families and promising careers, but the shed will just stand there and will wait for new occupants that would share their emotions, experiences, dreams, and lives.

It will just stand there waiting to be occupied, to shelter, and to witness new families, new stories and new memories.

The Office

Almost one year of hardships and inner suffering. It was on the summer of 2010 when fate slowly took away my happiness, my dreamed life, and my planned future. I knew it will come but I never expected it will happen that hard and that painful. My life was a big mess.

The whole summer, I would always go home late after having myself burdened with lots of mental and physical workloads in that small and cramped office. Time is running out for my stay in that institution. I must finish all my obligations and responsibilities before I leave that office. I need to put things in their proper places and must see to it that my replacement could effectively and efficiently continue and manage the things I had already initiated.

My routine of coming home late and tired was intentional so that upon arriving I could easily fall in a deep sleep and that no worries, fears and doubts could hold me back from having a decent rest. Tomorrow, and the succeeding days, will be another days of wearing a mask and putting on a fake smile.

That small and cramped office. . .

I can still remember how I struggled and strived harder on my way to handling that office. How I planned in my head the promising changes I will bring to the institution the moment I become triumphant in my fight for political supremacy. But perhaps, life has other plans for me. It has its own way of manipulating expected outcomes. I was almost there. I almost got it. Then little by little, it slipped away from my bare hands, together with the last drop of my remaining hope.

It is so painful to see how the things I have achieved gradually vanish right before my eyes and there is no option left for me but to openly accept it and let it go. I never cried and how I wish I have been emotionally weak so that I could unload the unbearable weight inside me even just in crying. It is so difficult for a dispirited person to have no choice but to be strong.

Sometimes I would just think that maybe it is true, that if something is destined for you, it is really for you no matter how much you ignore or run away from it. Or that no matter what you do, how much effort you give and how fast and far you have run after something, if that is not intended for you, you will never get it or perhaps you may have it but life has a means of taking it away from you.

I envied superheroes and how I dreamed we share the same genes. How I wish, like them, I had supernatural powers to do different remarkable things at the same time at different places. So that I could avoid compromising the things I am obliged doing over the things I love doing. Unfortunately, I am only human. I get physically, emotionally and mentally tired. I get pressured and off tracked. At times, I become too emotional and irrational. I became incapacitated in balancing my priorities. With all those emotional anguish and mental tortures I have suffered, I lost concentration with what I am supposed to be doing first. Thus, I ended up losing both my desires and my responsibilities.

I blamed my stupid self, the people who pushed me too hard to be in that edgy spot, the supervening circumstances I have no total grasp of - but never my family and God. Deep in my heart, I believe there must be reasons why it happened and why me of all people. And perhaps one of those causes is my own careless self. The premature choices and biased decisions I made became my waterloo that led to wasted efforts. I already had the idea that if I would still go on walking in that jagged and dim road, I might lose the right tract and travel in the wrong direction, but I took the risk of continuing and in doing so, I need to sacrifice something.

Later in that journey, I have realized many things. Perhaps it was my choice to fail and that I could have done something to prevent it. Maybe it was a matter of correctly choosing the more important priority when you are in front of crossroads. In my case, I chose both. And in choosing both, I have apportioned inadequate efforts and insufficient time on the one that needed those most. The one prospered but the other one tumbled. I accepted the risks and later I reaped the life changing rewards of choosing the wrong path.

And the most difficult part of it is how to tell my family about it. I was really scared to death, not because of what other people would say about me and my unfortunate fate but because of the grief, disappointments and frustrations that I will definitely cause my family. I have no idea how to approach them. I do not know when the right timing is. And worst, I do not know how they will take it.

Then I remembered that the truth will set us free. But how will I say the truth without hurting anybody especially the people I dearly love? How will I disclose to my family that I failed and lost my hundreds of thousands scholarship, when all my life I am an achiever? Will they believe me If I say that my subjects are very difficult, when they really know and believe that given enough time, resources and focus, I can make it? Will they believe me if I reason out that I got burned out in studying when I always go home late for academic reasons? How will they react if I say that on the opening of classes they can longer see me in white uniform? These thoughts tormented me the whole summer. It was even more painful when you have lots of questions and you are clueless with the answers.

But God has his own way of easing my problem and indeed prayers can move mountains. It took tons of courage for me to tell them everything that happened to my academic life. What I cannot disclose verbally, I put into writing. And when they had known about it I have not received any resentment from them, in all good faith, they had accepted me and my failures. They never judged me for all my mistakes, shortcomings and weaknesses. I never heard any single word of blame nor condemnation. Instead, they supported me while I am recovering from all my loss. They stood behind me while I am picking up the pieces of my broken self. They became the source of my inner strength.

I can now sincerely smile and laugh after all those storms that derailed my trail. I have learned the true lessons of life - that choice is a gift given to everyone, a powerful gift that can change our lives. Things change for the better when we take responsibility for our own thoughts, decisions and actions. Failure is only a fact when we give up. Everyone gets knocked down, the question is: Will we get back up?

It is true that I have failed and that I have let myself and my ship sink in the middle of its journey. But I believe I am not a loser. I am not a quitter. For I never let myself drowned and settled at the bottom of the dark sea. I swam harder to reach the surface and be able to breathe again and see and feel the promising light of the sun. I swam and swam, and gave my powerful strokes amidst the undulating waves, the freezing waters and the dangers of the sea, until I reached the shore.

Now, I became even stronger than before and I am now ready to face the cruel world and start a new life full of hope. In that darkest night of my life I saw the stars which eventually guided my way towards self restoration. My failure became an opportunity for me to look at life in a different perspective. I was able to know how much my family loves and understands me. It strengthened my faith. It made me see who my real friends are. And most importantly, it became a test and proof of my character.

No more regrets. No more what if’s. No more self-blaming and pointing fingers. I no longer ask myself why bad things happen to good people or why good things happen to bad ones. Likewise, I stopped looking back at the closed doors instead I focused on the newly opened ones. For it may sound a cliché, still, it is true that life is what we make it. We are the ones who create our own destiny. And in the arena of life, sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. In all those battles, win or lose, stronger warriors emerge ready to face the battleground’s unending challenges. Life maybe unfair and unkind but it is up to us how we are going to use those adversities to grow up as wise, renewed and restored individuals.

Special thanks to Ivy, Vera, Carol and Alvin. They are the people who were with me before, during, and after my wounded battles. To my family and friends, my resilience is dedicated to all of you. To Ma’am Glo, my favorite high school teacher, who said that I was never a failure and never will be – thank you Ma’am. To the people who did something to bring me down, thank you too but I am so sorry, you can never permanently bring me down. I am the only person in this world aside from God, who can permanently bring my own self down. To God, I owe you the greatest lessons of life, the gift of wisdom, the exceptional strength and the wonderful experience of failing and rising again.

Now, as I open a new chapter of my life to a different endeavor, I can still remember the feeling when I got kicked out from the College of Medicine and when I was not able to finish my term as the president of the supreme student council of my alma mater. As I look back, I can still vividly remember how I let go of that office.

That small and cramped office that witnessed the story of how I reached the shore and how I became a stronger warrior. . .

That small and cramped office that changed my whole life and made me a better person. . .

That small and cramped office that became my classroom when life taught me one of its greatest lessons. . .