The Law Of The Garbage Truck

I hopped in a taxi and we took off for Indianapolis Airport. We were driving in the right lane when, all of a sudden, a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his breaks, skidded, and missed the other car’s back end by just inches!

The driver of the other car, the guy who almost caused a big accident, whipped his head around and he started yelling bad words at us. My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And, I mean, he was friendly.

So, I said, ‘Why did you just do that? This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!’ And this is when my taxi driver told me what I now call, ‘The Law of the Garbage Truck.’

“Many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it. And if you let them, they’ll dump it on you. When someone wants to dump on you, don’t take it personally. You just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. You’ll be happy you did.”
So this was it: The ‘Law of the Garbage Truck.’ I started thinking, how often do I let Garbage Trucks run right over me? And how often do I take their garbage and spread it to other people: at work, at home, on the streets?

It was that day I said, ‘I’m not going to do it anymore.’

I began to see garbage trucks. Like in the movie ‘The Sixth Sense,’ the little boy said, ‘I see Dead People.’ Well, now ‘I see Garbage Trucks.’ I see the load they’re carrying. I see them coming to drop it off. And like my taxi driver, I don’t make it a personal thing; I just smile, wave, wish them well, and I move on.

Good leaders know they have to be ready for their next meeting. Good parents know that they have to welcome their children home from school with hugs and kisses. Leaders and parents know that they have to be fully present, and at their best, for the people they care about.

The bottom line is that successful people do not let Garbage Trucks take over their day.

—- Author Unknown

Principles of Life

• Winning isn’t everything but wanting to win is.
• You would achieve more, if you don’t mind who gets the credit.
• When everything else is lost, the future still remains.
• Don’t fight too much or the enemy will know your art of war.
• The only job you start at the top is when you dig a grave.
• If you don’t stand for something, you’ll fall for everything.
• If you do little things well, you’ll do big ones better.
• Only thing that comes to you without effort is old age.
• You won’t get a second chance to make a first impression.
• Only those who do nothing do not make mistakes.
• Never take a problem to your boss unless you have a solution.
• If you are not failing, you’re not taking enough risks.
• Don’t try to get rid of your bad temper by losing it.
• If at first you don’t succeed, skydiving is not for you.
• Those who don’t make mistakes usually don’t make anything.
• There are two kinds of failures: Those who think and never do, and those who do and never think.
• Pick battles big enough to matter, small enough to win.
• All progress has resulted from unpopular decisions.
• Change your thoughts and you change your world.
• Understanding proves intelligence, not the speed of the learning.
• There are two kinds of fools in this world.: Those who give advice and those who don’t take it.
• The best way to kill an idea is to take it to a meeting.
• Management is doing things right. Leadership is doing the right things.
• Friendship founded on business is always better than business founded on friendship.

—- Compiled by Tony Peeris —- India

Nobody's Friend

My name is Gossip.

I have no respect for justice.

I break hearts and ruin lives.

I am cunning, malicious and gather strength with age.
The more I am quoted, the more I am believed.
I flourish at every level of society.

My victims are helpless.

They cannot protect themselves against me because
I have no name and no face.
To track me down is impossible.
The harder you try, the more elusive I become.

I am nobody’s friend.

Once I tarnish a reputation, it is never the same.

I topple governments and wreck marriages.
I ruin careers and cause sleepless nights, heartaches and indigestion.

I spawn suspicion and generate grief.
I make innocent people cry in their pillows.

Even my name hisses.

I am called GOSSIP.

Office gossip
Shop gossip
Party gossip
Telephone gossip

I make headlines and headaches.

REMEMBER, when you repeat a story, ask yourself:

is it true?
Is it fair?
Is it necessary??
If not, do not repeat it.

- author unknown

When A Winner Loses, He Always Comes Back To Be A Better Winner

Refuse to remain fallen.

Refuse to quit.

Refuse to give up.

Refuse to accept a ‘No’ from life.

To fail without putting in the efforts is wrong, but failure in itself can never be wrong. Dare to fail, for only those who fail enough can succeed enough. More than any one single factor, it is your fear of failure that is going to leave you as a failure.

No new venture guarantees success and no new diversification promises profits. Champions understand that it is better to face outstanding failures than mediocre successes. Only those who are willing to persist in spite of temporary set backs, only those who are willing to persevere in spite of midway failures, only those who would not succumb to defeats, can finally sign their own success stories.

Failure is a parenthesis inside which success hides and history makers dig them out through relentless striving against all those failures. Life cannot be punctuated with success alone; failure too will find its imprints.

There is no sunrise without sunset.

There is no life without death.

There is no success without failures.

Learn from your failures and move on. Keep on keeping on. When a winner loses, always come back to be better winner.

—- Sri T. T. Rangarajan, Editor, Frozen Thoughts

A short course in human relations

The six most important words:
‘I admit that I was wrong’

The five most important words:

‘You did a great job’

The four most important words:

‘What do you think?’

The three most important words:

‘Could you please…’

The two most important words:

‘Thank you’

The most important word:
‘We’

The least important word:

‘I’

Potatoes, Eggs and Coffee Beans

Once upon a time, a daughter complained to her father that her life was miserable and that she didn’t know how she was going to make it. She was tired of fighting and struggling all the time. It seemed just as one problem was solved, another one soon followed.

Her father, a chef, took her to the kitchen. He filled three pots with water and placed each on a high fire. 

Once the three pots began to boil, he placed potatoes in one pot, eggs in the second pot, and ground coffee beans in the third pot. He then let them sit and boil, without saying a word to his daughter.

The daughter moaned and impatiently waited, wondering what he was doing. After twenty minutes, he turned off the burners. He took the potatoes out of the pot and placed them in a bowl. He pulled the eggs out and placed them in a bowl. He then ladled the coffee out and placed it in a cup.

Turning to her, he asked, “Daughter, what do you see?”

“Potatoes, eggs, and coffee,” she hastily replied.

“Look closer,” he said, “and touch the potatoes.” She did and noted that they were soft.

He then asked her to take an egg and break it. After pulling off the shell, she observed the hard-boiled egg.

Finally, he asked her to sip the coffee. Its rich aroma brought a smile to her face.

“Father, what does this mean?” she asked.

He then explained that the potatoes, the eggs, and coffee beans had each faced the same adversity, the boiling water. However, each one reacted differently.

The potato went in strong, hard and unrelenting, but in boiling water it became soft and weak. The egg was fragile with the thin outer shell protecting its liquid interior until it was put in the boiling water. Then the inside of the egg became hard.

However, the ground coffee beans were unique. After they were exposed to the boiling water, they changed the water and created something new.

“Which are you?” he asked his daughter. “When adversity knocks on your door, how do you respond? Are you a potato, an egg, or a coffee bean?”

In life, things happen around us and things happen to us, but the only thing that truly matters is what happens within us.

 (storiesfortrainers.com)

The Cracked Pot

A water bearer in China had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which he carried across his neck.

One pot had a crack in it, while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water. At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his house.

Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect for which it was made.

But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After 2 years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream… “I am ashamed of myself, because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house.”

The bearer said to the pot, “Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side?” That’s because I have always known about your flaw, and I planted flower seeds on your side of the path. Every day while we walk back, you’ve watered them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table.

“Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.”

Moral: Although each of us may have our own unique flaws, it is in our uniqueness that we find our special talents and have an opportunity to brighten up the world for ourselves and others!

(storiesfortrainers.com)

The 7 Failures That Will Make You a Better Leader

“Success Covers a Multitude of Blunders”.

That was a famous quote from George Bernard Shaw, and it has always stuck with me throughout my career as a leader and executive.

What it ultimately told me was yes, I was going to fail – multiple times. But if I was truly determined to overcome, or “cover” them, I absolutely needed to learn from every failure, and leverage that accumulated learning into success.

In so many ways, I’ve grown to appreciate my failures – as counterintuitive as that may seem.    Because I now know if I just let them go, without reflection, then they were doomed to be repeated.

There are 7 failures that I believe bring the best improvement opportunities:

• Failure to Prioritize – Many a bad decision has come from our lack of perspective on the importance of one thing over another. The key learning here is to fully grasp the concept of “opportunity cost” – the cost of NOT doing something in favor of something else.
• Failure to Decide – If the buck is going to stop with us, then we need the courage to make timely decisions, regardless of consensus or the lack of 100% of the information needed to make them.  We learn that more often than not, it’s better to “do something” then let fear and inertia overtake us.
• Failure to Progress – When a target is reached, the bar must be raised. And when that target is hit, it must be raised again. And again.  Complacency is a state that HAS to be avoided, at all costs, and the ultimate learning here is that continuous improvement is an essential focus of any enterprise.
• Failure to Praise – Great talent needs to be nurtured and retained, in a manner that goes well beyond the paychecks and bonuses.    These lessons come hard, after the loss of individuals who felt unappreciated and undervalued.  We learn that humans need to hear those simple words – “You did a great job”.
• Failure to Trust – When first taking on a leadership role, there’s always a strong “pull” to be involved in every decision, or to want to “sign off” on literally every dollar spent or contract signed.  Until we learn that trust is an essential part of great leadership, we are doomed to overwork and a huge misapplication of time and talent.
• Failure to Mediate – Every organization will have conflicts, whether it is person to person, or department to department.  Successful leaders learn that stepping into the breach to resolve them, rather than standing back or ignoring them, can avoid even bigger problems down the road, and build influence throughout an organization.
• Failure to Fire – Nobody likes to fire anybody.   It’s one of the toughest things a leader will ever do.  But when you know in your gut it’s time to cut the cord, cut it.  Don’t wait.  Your gut will usually be right.  The failures here are a lesson to the heart – it can’t get in the way of these decisions (but it certainly can come into play in the manner in which it is handled).

Remember this lesson from the baseball diamond:  You don’t have to bat 1,000% to be successful, but when you swing and miss, get out of the box, think, and then learn before you step back in and hit that home run.
- - - -
(http://www.terrystarbucker.com/2012/04/08/the-7-failures-that-will-make-you-a-better-leader/)

Parable of the Pencil

The Pencil Maker took the pencil aside, just before putting him into the box.

“There are 5 things you need to know,” he told the pencil, “Before I send you out into the world. Always remember them and never forget, and you will become the best pencil you can be.”

“One: You will be able to do many great things, but only if you allow yourself to be held in Someone’s hand.”

“Two: You will experience a painful sharpening from time to time, but you’ll need it to become a better pencil.”

“Three: You will be able to correct any mistakes you might make.”

“Four: The most important part of you will always be what’s inside.”

“And Five: On every surface you are used on, you must leave your mark. No matter what the condition, you must continue to write.”

The pencil understood and promised to remember, and went into the box with purpose in its heart.


Now replacing the place of the pencil with you.  Always remember them and never forget, and you will become the best person you can be.

One: You will be able to do many great things, but only if you allow yourself to be held in God’s hand. And allow other human beings to access you for the many gifts you possess.

Two: You will experience a painful sharpening from time to time, by going through various problems in life, but you’ll need it to become a stronger person.

Three: You will be able to correct any mistakes you might make.

Four: The most important part of you will always be what’s on the inside.

And Five: On every surface you walk through, you must leave your mark. No matter what the situation, you must continue to do your duties.


Allow this parable on the pencil to encourage you to know that you are a special person and only you can fulfill the purpose to which you were born to accomplish.

Never allow yourself to get discouraged and think that your life is insignificant and cannot make a change.

Lessons from Geese

FACT 1:

As each goose flaps its wings it creates an “uplift” for the birds that follow. By flying in a “V” formation, the whole flock adds 71% greater flying range than if each bird flew alone.

Lesson:

People who share a common direction and sense of community can get where they are going quicker and easier because they are traveling on the thrust of one another.

FACT 2:
When a goose falls out of formation, it suddenly feels the drag and resistance of flying alone. It quickly moves back into formation to take advantage of the lifting power of the bird immediately in front of it.

Lesson:

If we have as much sense as a goose we stay in formation with those headed where we want to go. We are willing to accept their help and give our help to others.

FACT 3:

When the lead goose tires, it rotates back into formation and another goose flies to the point position.

Lesson:

It pays to take turns doing the hard tasks and sharing leadership. As with geese, people are interdependent on each other’s skills, capabilities and unique arrangements of gifts, talents or resources.

FACT 4:

The geese flying in formation honk to encourage those up front to keep up their speed.

Lesson:

We need to make sure our honking is encouraging. In groups where there is encouragement, the production is much greater. The power of encouragement (to stand by one’s heart or core values and encourage the heart and core of others) is the quality of honking we seek.

FACT 5:

When a goose gets sick, wounded or shot down, two geese drop out of formation and follow it to help and protect it. They stay with it until it dies or is able to fly again. Then, they launch out with another formation or catch up with the flock.

Lesson:

If we have as much sense as geese, we will stand by each other in difficult times as well as when we are strong.

(storiesfortrainers.com)

 

~Based on work by Milton Olson

A Man and His Dog

A man and his dog were walking along a road. The man was enjoying the scenery, when it suddenly occurred to him that he was dead. He remembered dying, and that his faithful dog had been dead for many years. He wondered where the road was leading them. After a while, they came to a high, white stone wall along one side of the road. It looked like fine marble. As he reached the wall, he saw a magnificent gate in the arch, and the street that led to the gate made from pure gold. He and the dog walked toward the gate, and as he got closer, he saw a man at a desk to one side.

When he was close enough, he called out, “Excuse me, where are we?”

“This is heaven, sir,” the man answered.

“Wow! Would you happen to have some water? We have traveled far,” the man said.

“Of course, sir. Come right in, and I’ll have some ice water brought right up.”

The man gestured, and the gate began to open.

“Can my friend,” gesturing toward his dog, “come in, too?” the traveler asked.

“I’m sorry, sir, but we don’t accept pets.”

The man thought a moment, remembering all the years this dog remained loyal to him and then turned back toward the road and continued the way he had been going. After another long walk he came to a plain dirt road, which led through a farm gate that looked as if it had never been closed. There was no fence. As he approached the gate, he saw a man inside, leaning against a tree and reading a book.

“Excuse me!” he called to the reader. “Do you have any water? We have traveled far.”

“Yes, sure, there’s a faucet over there.” The man pointed to a place that couldn’t be seen from outside the gate. “Come on in and help yourself.”

“How about my friend here?” the traveler gestured to his dog.

“There should be a bowl by the faucet; he is welcome to share.”

They went through the gate, and sure enough, there was an old-fashioned faucet with a bowl beside it. The traveler filled the bowl and took a long drink himself, then he gave some to the dog. When they were full, he and the dog walked back toward the man who was standing by the tree waiting for them.

“What do you call this place?” the traveler asked.

“This is heaven,” was the answer.

“Well, that’s confusing,” the traveler said. “The man down the road said that was heaven, too.”

“Oh, you mean the place with the gold street and pearly gates? Nope. That’s hell.”

“Doesn’t it make you mad for them to use your name like that?”

“No. We’re just happy that they screen out the folks who’d leave their best friends behind in exchange for material things.”

(storiesfortrainers.com)

How many dirty judges, justices and lawyers are there?

It is jolting to reflect on the corruption of the Judiciary even though it can be everyday man’s assumption that our justice system sucks. The poor have long experienced a different kind of justice for them and a far friendlier one for the rich. That is nothing new and has been a powerful issue used by the rebellion to recruit partisans. But corruption is not about a rich-versus-poor scenario, it is the corrupt for themselves against everybody.

From the onset, I had welcomed the impeachment trial of Chief Justice Rene Corona. I have less interest in Rene Corona the person and much, much more for Rene Corona as the personification of both the Supreme Court and the Judiciary. It has been a keen interest of mine to have the public eye focused deliberately to the corruption of the Judiciary because it is the worst kind of corruption. And if others, especially the Judiciary and the legal profession would like to make a counter claim and deny the shameful level of corruption in their area of responsibility, they may wish to look at how the Philippines can be considered a corrupt country with one crucial branch not blackened as well.

For over thirty years, when I am in the company of lawyers, socially or professionally, corruption in the Judiciary and the legal profession has been a given. It used to be that corporations would have legal retainers on the basis of the relationships of owners of senior management and lawyers or law firms. But it began to expand a little when corporations would retain law firms with good connections to judges and justices. The imbalance of the Judiciary in dispensing justice warped even more when it went beyond the traditional difference between justice for the rich and justice for the poor to justice that can be bought.

Lawyers and/or law firms with good connections mean good connections with judges and justices. It means that decisions can be unduly influenced by relationships, for favors and for money. It means that judges and justices can be for sale. With judges and justices selling their decisions, there can only be corruption in the Judiciary.

The last discussion I had with a youngish lawyer in his 40′s produced the same information as has been mentioned in the last forty years. He said it is almost impossible for lawyers or law firms not to know a dirty judge or justice, and that many of them allow themselves to be used to corrupt those judges and justices in the interest of their clients. After all, clients who can afford want insurance far and beyond the merits of their cases. Why else are they looking for lawyers and law firms with friendly ties to judges and justices.

This young lawyer said that lawyers like him who have not established themselves are not in a position to risk their careers by exposing dirty judges and justices. He said there is a government agency under the Judiciary which accepts complaints against wrongdoing by judges and justices. However, he would never go there because complaints are leaked and the fate of the lawyer complainant is sealed – no more future in his profession. He did say that some very well established law firms had more leeway and courage to make complaints but they hardly do. Most prefer to keep things quiet and enjoy their advantage over smaller and newer law firms.

It was absolutely comical how many lawyers and law firms went to the defense of a Chief Justice accused of betraying the public’s trust. Corruption and protecting a former president anticipating plunder cases against her. It was as though they were fighting for their king – and they most probably think so. After all, Corona and his lieutenants act as if he were the Supreme Court, as though accusations against his character and behaviour are also attacks against the Judiciary.

Yet, the stained reputation of the Judiciary and its deteriorated credibility does not seem to upset them at all. They have been acting as though they are all in one clean branch of government and that the President of a dirty executive Branch and members of a dirty Congress had no right to think of their Chief Justice as unfit. They do not even begin to wonder if there are more dirty justices, judges and lawyers than dirty policemen by percentage.

The President was voted in on a platform of change, and change in a very specific field – corruption. The President is trying to live up to his promise and mandate. He needs the Judiciary to clean up. Without the Judiciary, the President only has one option for reform – a revolutionary government. What the President starts has to end with the Judiciary, has to end with justice being dispensed with firmness in a society long wracked by corruption.

Instead, Chief Justice Rene Corona and the majority of the Supreme Court have been the biggest and worst impediments for PNoy’s reform-focused government. It does not make it easier for the President to push a reform agenda by going after the Chief Justice, but a Chief Justice sneaked into his position around midnight forces a confrontation. The two of them cannot co-exist in harmony unless both agree to the cleansing of government.

The impeachment trial is not about Corona, it is about corruption in the judiciary. I understand, therefore, why the Corona cohorts in the Supreme Court who gave him a technical opening to be appointed in the dead of night have to protect him, and one another. I understand why judges and court employees have to defend one of their own as though they are defending their way of life. I under why many lawyers and law firms are totally uncomfortable with a President challenging corruption in the Judiciary. After all, when judges and justices do business with litigants, the lawyers are the usual go-between, the negotiators, the couriers of cash or favors.

It is not easy to beat the system, even if that system is a cancer that gnaw at the soul and nobility of the Filipino people. If we are afraid to confront the cancer, we can at least ask, “How many dirty justices, judges and lawyers are there?”

- - - -
Jose Ma. Montelibano Philippine Daily Inquirer Friday, March 9th, 2012

Fatherless

My father died when I was barely five years old. The cause of his death according to his death certificate was internal hemorrhage. I do not know what the medical term was that time. All I know was that he was stabbed one afternoon by one of his peers in a drinking session. And I saw right before my eyes the things that had happened that afternoon. That one afternoon that later on changed our lives.

I cried seeing my father helplessly crawl while blood profusely comes out from his body. We sought for help yet no one dared coming to us out of fear. He did not make it. Had there been a municipal hospital he could have been still alive. Had my mother just handed him our shotgun he could have protected himself. Had our neighbors and their drinking peers mediated at the onset of the dispute there could have been no death. Life could have been kinder on us.

It was hard to grow up fatherless especially in a family of six siblings devoid of economic stability. My mother, a former teacher, had no choice but to momentarily give my two older brothers and eldest sister to our well-off relatives so that they could continue studying. The three of us were left on her custody. Life was simple and hard in the province. Our daily survival is a struggle. After my father’s death, I could not remember any merry Christmas and happy New Year.

Eventually, we moved to Rizal and then permanently to Manila. We left the painful memories and rough life in Ilo-ilo. And as we moved from one place to another, life became smoother. There were big problems and difficulties yet we were able to overcome them. And as we picked up the broken pieces of ourselves, we were able to surpass the challenges brought up by a family without a foundation – without a father.

Looking back, it was a challenge for us to grow up fatherless. Our lives seem incomplete. Part of us is missing and we do not know where to find it. There is always emptiness, longing, and crave for a father. There’s always “what if’s” and “could have been’s”. And we always have no choice. For the three of us who were very young when my father died, we do not know what a father figure is. Being the youngest, I was not able to know and feel what fatherly love is all about.

Based on stories I heard from our mother and from other relatives, our father is very diligent, hard working and industrious. He is a family man in the real sense of the word. He is taciturn, resourceful, brave and protective. He has a green thumb.  He toiled our lands and cultivated our fishponds. He is a good fisherman, businessman and he has ventured in many trades in order to provide for the family.

During elementary days, I am shy during opening of classes when we are being asked to introduce ourselves and tell something about our families. I am conscious of what my classmates’ reactions would be. I do not want to be pitied. And every time I go on stage to accept my medals during recognition days and every time I emerged victorious in competitions, there is always a feeling that my father could have been very proud of me. He and my mother could have been the ones going on stage with me. Eventually I get used to it.

I was curious on how it is to be disciplined by a father, does it have any difference on how my mother does it. If still alive, will my father teach me how to drink, how to smoke, how to court? Will he be the one to assist me on the day that I will be circumcised? Will he teach me how to fist fight, drive a car or to shoot with a gun? They say fathers are good advisers. Is he also like that? I have so many questions, yet I am clueless on the answers.

I am imagining dining with the family where my father would talk about how was his day in work. And my brothers and sisters would talk about their studies. Later we will go to the sea and catch fish, he will teach me how to climb our mango and coconut trees, or we will fly kites or ride bikes. After all, it is free to imagine.

The greatest lesson this incompleteness had given us is independence, determination and maturity. We have learned so many things on our own. We do not expect so much and we live a simple life. We value the virtue of sharing and cooperation. We are protective, understanding and helpful to each other.

My five siblings have now individual careers and families. As the youngest, I am the only one still studying and unsettled. Our lives were not that successful but nonetheless we still continue to aim for a better life. A better life that is no longer for us but for the families we have.

To our mother, we owe you our lives - who we are today. You were not able to give us a well-off life, but as I remember those days when you cry when you cannot give what we need, I know deep in my heart that it is all what you want and dream for us. Without you our values would not be intact and we won’t become better persons. Your unconditional love and continued support for us is enough for us to realize that we are still lucky and grateful.

To our father, wherever you are right now, we love you. We know that you continuously guide us up there. Thank you for the gift of life and for being a good provider when you were still alive. Your life and love will always be remembered and treasured.

As I look back, I have realized so many things. Being fatherless is not a misfortune. It is a challenge to go on with life and fulfill the incompleteness and emptiness. It is a deficiency but it is neither an excuse nor a hindrance on becoming a complete and better person. It is not easy but if you hold on and treasure what is left you will eventually feel better. After all, life is what we make it.

Stale ‘pandesal’

In school, we were told to watch the news or read the newspaper daily. As journalism students, we were supposed to make it a habit to read about current events and watch the latest broadcast on what was happening in the country and around the world. We were not told to understand what these events meant, all we were asked to do was see if the stories were well researched or well written. The implications of what was  happening were always lost in our search for other angles that could have been explored or which facts had been left undisclosed.

Every news article was put under a microscope as we checked if all the rules and exemptions of journalism had been followed. It was a mechanical search for protocols, for rules, for compliance, and for the validity of each word written or uttered.

For some time, the thought that I was actually reading an article about a 12-year-old girl who had been raped and killed or about a family that had been murdered in their own home didn’t bother me. I was concerned only with the semantics.

That was how we are trained: although how events affect the readers is essential to evaluating news worthiness, it was given only cursory attention. All we saw was a string of events, voiceless, colorless. Everything was just a specimen that had to be studied for its news worthiness more than how it affected the people involved. We were being turned into an emotionless editing machine with nothing more in mind than observing correct grammar and punctuation.
 
It was only when I stopped going to school and went to work that I realized all the things I missed. I had known all along what was happening in our country. I had read every angle imaginable and heard all sides of the story. I had even given my own logical interpretation of the situation. But as a human being, I had forgotten the most essential part: the ability to feel and to be affected by what was happening. It was as if I had forgotten to be human.

I wondered if it was just me, but looking at the people around me, I know I wasn’t the only one.

Schools trained their students to be the best in their fields of choice. Journalism students where trained to be logical, to  have a nose for news. Nursing students were trained to know the correct medical procedures. Future teachers were trained in the art of teaching. Police officers were trained to enforce the law and maintain peace and order. None of us were really taught why we should be doing what we were supposed to do. We learned the basics, but not the heart of our professions.

Ask any student why he took up a particular course, and you will hear reasons as stale a pandesal that has been left on the table for two days. Most of them will tell you it’s the one thing that would bring that pandesal to the family table. Seldom will you hear about passion. It would come as a surprise if someone said that it was what he always wanted to do.

Education is now about marketability and the possibility of finding work, not about being passionate about what you do. It is not about being the best that you can be, but choosing a career path that will pad your bank account.

We call it being practical, but dehumanization would be a better term. We hear the tick of the clock and think of the money we can earn instead of the good that we can do. We work day and night with our paychecks in mind instead of doing service to our fellow men.

Ours is a world of balance sheets where every action is measured by the pesos it brings rather than the happiness and sense of fulfillment it gives a person. Yes, a fat paycheck can be fulfilling, but is that all that matters? We can buy all the material things we like, eat in the most expensive restaurants, travel around the world when our workload permits, but then we will always go back to the kind of routine where we can’t wait for the clock to tick five so that we can go home and rest and prepare  for another day at work.

People will say you can try to love the work you do and put all the passion you can summon into it. But passion is a burning desire to do something you have always dreamed of. It’s not about settling for what you have and making the best of it. That is a disgrace.

There is one question we should answer honestly: Why are we doing what we are doing? If we are there for the money, then we have taken our hearts out of our work because we have no use for them.

We have missed a lot because of our obsession with preparing for a future that may never come. We have forgotten how to live each day as if it were the last. We have forgotten that we have no hold on time and everything we have can be gone in the blink of an eye. We know that nothing lasts, yet we live from day to day as if everything is black or white and a rainbow is nothing but a colorful picture.

When we die, all that can be written on our epitaph is that we did well in our work. No one will say that we lived like a human being. We are nothing but stale pandesal.

Jayson Arvene T. Mondragon, 24, is a customer service representative at Convergys Philippines.

Youngblood PDI (12/05/11)

Pulitika. Pilipino. Pilipinas.

Maraming mali sa desisyon at pamamalakad ng gobyerno. Maraming pulitiko ang patuloy na umaabuso sa puwesto at umuubos sa kakarampot  na pondo ng bayang pinagkaitan ng pagbabago. Maraming naka-barong na buwaya at mandarambong sa Batasan na kailanman ay hindi mapaparusahan dahil sa lakas ng kanilang impluwesiya at kapangyarihan. Sa kabila nito, maraming Pilipino ang patuloy na nagbubulagbulagan at nagbibingi-bingihan sa tunay na kalagayan ng ating lipunan. Sadya ngang napakahirap gisingin ng mga taong nagtutulug-tulugan. 

Ito ay isang katotohanan. Ito ay isang mapait na realidad ng buhay sa isang bansang may kalayaan at soberanya ngunit walang tunay, buo at matatag na demokrasya. 

Sa isang gobyernong nagsusulong ng RH Bill ngunit walang sapat na health center at libreng gamot, mga nars na sa call centers bumabagsak, mga baryong sa albularyo umaasa dahil walang doktor, hindi matugunang problema sa dengue, tumataas na insidente ng AIDS, hindi tumatanggap sa pampublikong ospital ng mga walang pambayad, ano ang dapat nating asahan?

Sa isang gobyernong nagpapatupad ng K+12 program subalit walang sapat na bilang ng guro at pampasuweldo, mali-maling laman ng textbooks, binabahang silid-aralan, kapiranggot na chalk  allowance, binawasang budget sa edukasyon, daan-daang school buildings na hindi na matibay laban sa lindol, ano ang dapat nating asahan?

Sa isang media na ginagawang bayani ang mga pulitikong nandaya sa eleksyon; mga teleseryeng palagi na lang tungkol sa mga inang nawalan ng anak, ninakaw na anak at pinagpalit na mga anak; mga batang nagsasabunutan sa kung sino tunay na heredera; mga problema ng kapitbahay at magpapamilya na dinadala sa telebisyon, magkakabati sa harap ng kamera at pagkatapos ay tatanggap ng talent fee, batang pinagma-macho dancing ng tatay, ano ang dapat nating asahan?

Sa isang bansang ang korapsyon ay isang kultura, ang sining ay ginagamit pangkutya ng pananampalataya, ang facebook at tweeter ay pambansang adiksyon, ang pagtaas ng presyo ng langis ay mas mataas pa sa grado ng performance ng pangulo, tone-toneladang metriko ng bigas ay nabubulok at iniinsekto habang marami ang namamatay sa gutom, ano ang dapat nating asahan?

Sa isang bansang mas sikat pa si Lady Gaga kaysa kay Jose Rizal, naglipana ang mga pulis na walang pinagkaiba sa kriminal na kanilang tino-torture, naihahalal ang elitistang kumakatawan sa mga dyanitor at gwardiya, nakakalabas ng bilangguan ang mayayamang bilanggo, nagiging icon ng masa ang mga babaeng lumalabas sa media para sabihing nahawaan sila ng STD ng kanilang kasintahan at bukas makalawa may bago na namang lalaki sa buhay nila, ano ang dapat nating asahan?

Sa isang bansang pinapatay ng jejemon at bekimon ang wikang pambansa, ino-offer ang nursing ng IT schools, ang pagiging drug courier ay ginagawang propesyon,  binibigyan ngmilyong pabaon ang AFP officials, nanununtok ng sibilyan ang mga alkalde at kongresista, pabagu-bago ng desisyon ang Korte Suprema, ano ang dapat nating asahan?

Sa isang probinsiyang ang gobernador ay ang tatay, ang bise-gobernador ay ang nanay, ang mayor ang anak na lalaki, ang vice-mayor ang anak na babae, ang mga kongresista ay mga tiyuhin at tiyahin, ang mga konsehal ay pinsan - sa mga angkang ito na ginawang kabuhayan ang kinabukasan at pag-asa ng bayan, ano ang dapat nating asahan?

Anong klaseng matuwid na daan ang ating tatahakin kung ang mismong mga konkretong daan sa bawat mahihirap na munisipalidad sa bansa ay hindi pa rin nagagawa? Nasaan ang liwanag ng pag-asa gayong ilang libong baryo pa rin ang nabubuhay sa dilim? Hanggang kailan magtitiis sa uhaw ang mga lupang tigang at tuyot na lalamunan? Kailan uusad ang biyahe sa mga daang matrapik at konting patak ng ulan ay nagiging karagatan?

Kung nakakapagsalita ang monumento ni Rizal, ano kaya ang masasabi niya sa Luneta, ang kanyang tahanan, na ngayon ay pinamumugaran ng mga palaboy? Sasang-ayon pa rin kaya si Ninoy na Filipinos are worth dying for kapag nalaman niyang isinusulong na maihimlay sa Libingan ng mga Bayani ang taong naging dahilan para makitil ang kanyang buhay?

Ayaw ng Simbahan sa abortion pero talamak ang bentahan ng pampalaglag sa tabi ng mga Simbahan. Ayaw natin sa diborsiyo samantalang maraming kababaihan ang biktima ng domestic violence.Palaging nakikialam ang Simbahan sa mga polisiya ng gobyerno pero tumatanggap ng magagarbong sasakyan bilang regalo ang ilang nitong miyembro.

Malaki ang naging dagok sa ating mga buhay matapos ang pananalanta ni Ondoy at Sendong ngunit hanggang ngayon ay kinukunsinti pa rin ng gobyerno ang large-scale mining. Ano na ang nangyari sa Clean Air Act at Solid Waste Management Act? Tila dumadalas ang insidente ng fish kill subalitkumakaunti ang sightings ng mga butanding.Pati mga walang muwang na tuko ginagawang hanapbuhay. Pati nananahimik na buwaya kinukuha sa natural na lungga niya. Kasalanan ba niya kung ang teritoryo niya ay pamahayan ng iba?

Sa sobrang hirap ng buhay, maraming Pilipino ang umaasa na lang sa mga noontime show at pagbebenta ng kidney. At sapanahon ngayon, kahit sa loob ka pa ng mall wala ng seguridad, saanman may barilan ng mga magkasintahang hindi nagkakasundo. Bukas makalawa, tataas na naman ang presyo ng gasolina, toll fee, pamasahe sa LRT at MRT, tuition, presyo ng bigas at iba pang bilihin. May mabibitay na naman sa ibang bansa. May makakalaya pagkatapos ng ilang dekadang pagkakabilanggo. May magpa-planking na naman sa kalsada para manawagan sa gobyernong panay nagmamalaki na maraming nadadalang investment sa Pilipinas subalit lumulobo ang mga walang trabaho at underemployed. Higit sa lahat, may mali-link na namang babae sa ating Pangulo.

Ang Magna Carta of Students, Anti-Political Dynasty Bill at Freedom of Information Bill ay aamagin at aanayin na lamang sa apat na sulok ng Kongreso. Sa mga susunod na panahon, sa pagmulat ng ating mga mata hindi na bahagi ng Pilipinas ang Mindanao. Hindi matatapos ang giyera sa Lupang Pangako sapagkat hindi mga militante ang tunay na kalaban kundi ang kahirapan. 

Milyong Pilipino ang salat sa edukasyon. Tila sinasadyang gawing mang-mang ang ating mga kababayan, lalo na ang indigenous people, para madaling maimpluwesiyahan tuwing eleksyon. Isang kilong bigas lang ang katapat ng mga sikmurang salat sa laman at sustansiya. Ayaw alisin ang mga iskwater sa lungsod. Hindi dahil sa walang malilipatan. Hindi dahil sa walang pondo. Sayang kasi ang dagdag nilang boto.

Hindi malayong isang boksingero ang ating maging pangulo. Sino ang makapagsasabi? Kung yon ngang pinatalsik sa puwesto, muling kumandidato, pumangalawa pa sa dami ng boto. Ang mga artista sumasabak sa pulitika kapag alam na nalalaos na. Sa pulitikang mayroon tayo, lahat posible. Lalo pa at may Hello Garci. Kapag pinatawag ka sa Senado, sampu ng iyong angkan, walang dapat ikatakot, puwede namang magsakit-sakitan at mangibang-bayan para sa diumanoy kalusugan. Magandang istratehiya din na pagkababa sa puwesto ay kumandidato sa Kongreso para may immunity laban sa tone-toneladang kaso. 

Sa araw ng eleksyon, muling tatakbo ang mga pulitikong nandaya, bumaba sa puwesto at ginawang bayani ng media. May maninindigan na naman na siya ay hindi tiwali subalit kapag nasulong ang impeachment case biglang bababa sa puwesto at magkukubli. May magpapatiwakal dahil sa tawag ng konsensiya. At sa mga susunod na SONA wang-wang na naman ang ibibida.

Sa mga susunod na taon, may mga bagong pakulo, eksena, isyu, anomalya, eskandalo at ingay ang ibabalita ng media at pag-uusapan sa mga barberya. Gaya ng Senado na palaging may ginigisang mga pulitiko ngunit walang napaparusahan, ang mga ingay na ito ay mamamatay lang din. Mababaon sa limot. May mga bagong pangyayaring lulutang para takpan ang kasalukuyang pinag-uusapan. Subalit ang tunay na ugat ng suliranin ay hindi masosolusyunan.

MRT diary

You can meet a lot of people in public markets, but you can be too preoccupied to even notice them. You might encounter a number of strangers in a jampacked bus, but you can barely see their faces. You can be seated inside a jeepney with more than a dozen other people, but the noise, heat, and pollution are a big distraction. It is only in the MRT that you can read people’s faces and know their stories.

* * *
I saw you on a Monday. You were dressed just like me and the many other commuters patiently waiting for the next train to arrive. I was in my usual office dress. You were in a high-waist, semi-formal, black skirt paired with a white blouse and stilettos. You were about to put on a blush when the train arrived, unloading a bunch of people pushing each other out and running toward the escalators as fast as they could.

You looked cool to me, until you cursed out loud after a man in his 40s wearing a T-shirt and jeans accidentally bumped you on his way out. You were blocking the train’s door. You were rushing in while people were still alighting, and then you cursed. You were a young professional, an educated lady in my eyes at first, until I heard you cursing.

We got on the train, and luckily found seats.

* * *
I saw you on a Tuesday. You were the only man seated in that part of the train. I remembered how my Tang (that was how I called my grandfather) looked when he was still alive, and he looked like you: tall, wrinkled, gray haired. A fond smile crept into my face as memories of Tang flashed in my mind.

Then people came in and out, rushing as soon as the train’s door opened at the station. I was amazed that you stood up to give your seat to a woman with a child. You were elderly but still managed to be a gentleman. Or so I thought.

I was about to salute you for what you did, but then I saw you peeking at a young lady’s breast with a smirk on your face. Peeking might have been tolerable, but then you started rubbing your privates against her behind.

You are not like my grandfather after all. You are not even close to being a gentleman.
The lady alighted in the next station.

* * *
I saw you on a Wednesday. You were not like any of us seated in the forward coach. Your hair was way shorter, your moves way manlier than a man’s. You were not lucky enough to find a seat.

Then the guard started inspecting inside the train. He gave you a second, a third, and a fourth look. Finally he told you that that part of the train was just for women, children and the elderly.

You said, “Excuse me,” with the softest female voice, held your chin up, pulled your stomach in and thrust your chest forward. And the guard left, embarrassed.

I found it funny how you could instantly put your feminine side on display inside the train and how hard you tried to mask it again when you got off.

* * *
I saw you on a Thursday. You were carrying your baby. It seemed like you had not eaten for days. Your hair was messy. Your clothes were torn in parts. Your baby was crying out loud.

I offered you my seat so that you would be more comfortable, but you refused to take it. I wondered why.
Then I saw you approaching every passenger there, begging for money as the baby cried out louder and louder each time. Some passengers looked away. Others gave you a coin or two. Still others became irritated when you poked them repeatedly to ask for alms.

Your strategy puzzled me. You paid for the fare when you could have used the money to buy food. You used your child to elicit sympathy although you could have gone begging alone.
I gave you a coin.

* * *
I saw you on a Friday. You were among the blank faces inside the train. Your maternity dress suited you well. You were going to be a pretty mom, I thought.

Then you started rubbing your tummy slowly. As you touched it downwards, I was amazed by its size and shape. The wonders of being a woman, of being a mother, flashed in front of me. You must be excited and happy, I said to myself.

Then I saw tears rolling down your cheeks. All of a sudden, you were crying.
A little boy gave you his hanky.

* * *
I saw you on a Saturday.
You were fully made up and wearing a lacy sleeveless top, short shorts and red shoes. Your hair was curled and styled. You were chatting with someone on your iPhone. You were the only one talking so loud inside the train. You were the only one laughing so hard. Everyone else was either sleepy or staring blankly somewhere.

We all alighted at the last stop, and you were still talking with someone. When we reached the exit, you were in panic. You couldn’t find your ticket—and your wallet. Between your laughter and noisy chit-chat, someone must have found the opportunity to divest you of your purse.
We passed by you as you began to cry.

* * *
I wish someone will see me and try to know me, too. But I am not riding a train on a Sunday.

Ma. Erika Oliveanne P. Castillejo, 21, is a marketing communications specialist at Emerson Electric Asia Ltd. ROHQ.

PDI   Youngblood   11/19/11

Second best

Is it everyone’s dream to be No. 1?

Honestly, I don’t know.

All my life I can remember only three instances when I landed on the first spot. The first came during grade school when I bested the whole class in our spelling contest. It was not a big event, just a class exercise, but I really felt proud of my accomplishment. I got the right spelling of the word “school.”

The second time I landed on top was when I took my high school entrance exam. I got the highest passing score. Or so I assumed, because my name was listed first among those who were admitted, an impossibility if the listing was done alphabetically since my last name begins with the letter “Q”.

In college, I scored a beautiful win as the 2nd year representative. I was our batch’s voice. Although I was not No. 1 when it came to academics, I was the sophomores’ representative, and that made me No. 1.

Those three instances are the only times I ended up on top. I always seem to come in second. I will always remember that I graduated salutatorian in elementary, bagged second place in Division School’s Press Conference (Editorial Writing-Filipino) during my sophomore year in high school, and landed second in the Regional School’s Press Conference (Editorial Writing-Filipino) during my senior year.

I can say that I did well in college. But two significant events serve to confirm my consistency in being second best. During our senior year, I ran for the presidency of our course organization. I had promised my siblings that I would go for that position when I was elected as the batch representative as a sophomore. But then I had taken myself out of campus politics to concentrate on academics in my third year and so I was not well known among the lower classes. I lost—and I got appointed executive vice president, the second highest position in the organization.

By studying really hard and with lots of prayers, I graduated cum laude. I knew that I was not the brightest student in our class and I didn’t expect to get the highest average, or even the second highest. But I thought that at least I would be the No. 1 cum laude among the residents in our dorm. I wasn’t. I thought that maybe I was the best on our floor, but it turned out that the No. 1 cum laude lived on the same floor. So again, I was second best.

I have always been conscious about my consistency in coming in second, but this was never a big issue for me. In fact, the thought of it makes me smile. And the reason I am writing about it is that I want to share the sweetness of the experience and why I am at peace.

Being second best doesn’t mean that I am not good enough, because I only compete with one person: myself. I don’t look around to see what others are doing, and doing everything to outshine anybody. My only concern is to shine. Period.  I make sure that I do everything that will give me a sense of accomplishment at the end of the day, and whether I end up No. 1 or  No. 2 or not even placing at all doesn’t really matter. What matters is that I did my best, and if it’s not good enough to put me on top, so be it. I won’t waste my time fretting and being hard on myself. I don’t deserve that. As long as I don’t feel like guiltily telling myself that I could have done better, I can sleep soundly at night.

I have nothing against people who want to be on top of the  game, the best in their field, people who hate defeat. In fact, I admire them. People like them always shine brightest in the world of entertainment, always end up among the most successful people on earth, and turn out to be the greatest leaders.
I love Naruto. Naruto fans know how aggressive he is, how much he wants to win every battle, how he does everything to get what he wants. I admire him. And yes, a part of me wishes that I could be just like him. But I am not.

The truth is, not everyone can be No. 1.  Not everyone can be the greatest. Not everyone can be the leader. Just like not everyone can be a Hokage (the leaders of Konoha, the most prominent village in Naruto). But everyone can be the best person he can be, if he wants to. If only he would compete with himself alone. If only he would not care to outshine anyone else but himself.

Trying to always be the best, the greatest, the No. 1 can be frustrating, because there will always be someone better and greater than us.

I may never be No. 1 or the greatest in my field, but I can be the best person I can be. And I will not stop learning and I will forever enjoy competing with my toughest opponent: myself. And since I only compete with myself, that green-eyed monster called jealousy will find no place in my heart.

If there is Someone whom I want to please, Someone who serves as my greatest inspiration in everything that I do, it is God. I believe every failure, every second spot He gives to me is a simple reminder for me to practice humility and it inspires me to learn more, to become better. In being second best and even in failure I find peace.

I have always believed that my life is a gift from God, and whatever I do with my life will also be my gift to Him. And so I am giving Him a gift He truly deserves: not necessarily a life at the top but a life lived well.

Irhine A. Quintana, 23, works as a segment producer in Net25.

PDI   Youngblood   7/30/11

Kaya po kami nagjijeep kasi mahirap lang kami, utang na loob sa mga nanlilimos.

Ngayong season tiba-tiba ang mga nanlilimos.

Sa jeep na sinakyan ko, tatlo ang umangkas na bata at nanlimos/namasko. Hindi naman sa pagdadamot pero matagal ko ng iniisip ‘to lalo na sa mga sumasampa sa jeep at bus na mga emisaryo kuno ng ganto at ganyang foundation ng mga homeless, poor, sick at lahat ng kabiguan sa buhay, why don’t these people go to DSWD, PCSO at sa mga mayayamang korporasyon. Bakit hindi sila manlimos o mangaroling sa villages, subdivisions at commercial areas hindi yong sa public utility vehicles na ang mga sakay ay hikaos din sa buhay.

Kung totoong nag-eexist at legitimate ang kanilang mga foundation eh di magsolicit sila sa mga tao, institusyon at enterprises na may kakayahang punan ang kanilang mga pangangailangan nang one time big time. Kesa naman sa barya-barya nilang kinikita sa jeep. Kahit buong taon pa sila mamalimos hindi nila mapapakain at mapag-aaral ang kanilang beneficiaries as what they are claiming.

Nakakabwiset yong ginagamit pa yong Diyos sa hanapbuhay. One time tinawagan ko yong cell number na nandun sa papel. Out-of-service. Tang-ina. Yong sa mga bata naman pag pagkain ang ibigay mo ihahagis pa sa ‘yo pag nakababa na. Tsk tsk tsk.

Sa may bus ang dami ko ng naranasang ganyang modus. Isang araw may aakyat, namatay daw ang kasamahan nila sa pagsaside car, wala daw pampalibing. Bigay ang mga tao. Deadma ako. Next day, may aakyat na naman, namatay daw ang tatay niya, walang pampalibing. Deadma na naman ako. Same place na inakyatan. Same person. Next day ganun na naman. Kamag-anak na naman. Same person na naman. Matandain pa naman ako sa ichura ng tao.

Yong nagbebenta ng dried mangos sa bus. Pampa-enrol lang daw. Kung hindi bibili pwede raw ba magdonate na lang. One time nakaharap ng katapat si Kuya. Maurirat na pasahero. Tanong tanong. Saan ka mag-aaral. Ano kukunin mong kurso. Next year siguraduhin mong mag-aaral ka na ha. Sa loob-loob ko, kuya antagal na yang nagbebenta ng mangga hindi pa rin nakaka-enrol, nakatapos na ko’t lahat ng high school at college, anjan pa din siya.

Sa bus kahapon, si ateng maganda namasko. May xmas design kasi ang sobre niya. Ka-age ko lang. Nagpray-over. Naway pagpalain po kayo ng Poong maykapal blah blah blah. Hindi ako nakikinig sa sinasabi niya aside sa nakaheadset ako. Plastik eh. Ayokong mapa-away kasi madalas akong napapa-away sa ganyan lalo na sa mga batang umaakyat sa jeep. Nag-li-low na lang ako ngayon kasi mga nandudura kapag sinermunan mo.

Ang ipinagtataka ko lang, tuwing pasko lang naglalabasan yang mga volunteer na yan. So pag hindi ber months okay ang finances nila?Kalurks.

It is never wrong to give, but how long will these people cling to such kind of livelihood. Minsan ikaw na yong mahihiya sa pinaggagagawa nila.

Mr. Imperfect

One day I hope to meet an imperfect man who will seem perfect to me from time to time.

He will not be the best I have ever met, but he will be great when I need him to be. He will hold my hand when we cross the street and make sure I stay on the safe side of the road. He will kiss me goodnight before I go to sleep, and he will kiss me torridly when I don’t want to sleep. He will wake me up with a pat on my leg and once in a while surprise me with breakfast in bed. He will argue with me, taunt me, frustrate me, but he will also let me win without having to tell me.

He will cradle me when I need to be babied, respect me when I need to feel big, and scold me when I make a big mistake. He will sing to me when quiet makes me lonely, and remain quiet when noise makes me mad. He will not always read me correctly, but he will always make his best guess. His timing will often be off when calculating my moods, but when he does find that perfect moment, he will make it one that I will never forget.

He will touch me when my heart is cold and cool me down when my head is hot. He will see through my Tupperware expressions and detect my tears before they fall. He will understand many things I am saying with my eyes, but sometimes he will pretend he doesn’t see them at all. He will hurt me time and again, but he will ask to be forgiven just as often. He will lose his temper because he is human, but he will always strive to become a better man.

He will falter and fall and make mistakes, but he will also rise above himself. He will hold open a door for me, although sometimes he will forget. He will order me around, but will bow when I resist. He will take me to a bar, dance with me, go wild with me, but he will also escort me to the theater to watch a play he never really wanted to see.

He will go shopping with me, but he will roll his eyes only when I am inside the fitting room, not when I can see him. He will stand by me at the cosmetics corner, and pretend he’s not bothered by the shade of purple I am trying on. He will laugh at me, not just with me, to remind me not to take myself too seriously.
He will tell me the whole truth when I am ready for it, but he will be ready with his half-truths when that’s what I should hear. He will make me realize that I need him, but only up to half as much as he needs me. He will make me admit that I want him, but only after he professes how he feels about me. He will bring out the best and the worst in me, but he will stick with me always.

One day I will meet an imperfect man. He will love me, and I will love him wholeheartedly.

Georgina Angsanto, 26, writes ads for a living but is really a full-time aunt and “yaya.”

PDI  Youngblood  11/22/11

Recharged

I was born into a family that leaves unspoken some meaningful words like “Thank you,” “I love you” and even “Happy birthday!” Our father, a strict disciplinarian, probably had much to do with it. We have distanced ourselves from everything sweet, mushy and cuddly. But still our home is filled with the familiar noise of a typical middle-class Filipino family, where the mother has to shout her every complaint to a chaotic household and the entire neighborhood hears it.

While growing up I wondered if all households were like ours. I suspected that it wasn’t the case. I did not have to wait too long to find out. At the age of 12, I left our house to study in a high school located in a rural area three towns away from our own quiet little town in Laguna. From then on my horizons expanded.
I saw parents who still kissed their teenagers as they brought them to school and teenagers who disrespectfully answered their parents (probably because of overactive hormones). I got to see big, empty houses that were perfect venues for group work and hanging out with the barkada, as well as families that were just like ours: closely knit yet distant in their own unique ways.

From my first week in high school, I only got to go home every weekend. This continued until I studied in a university two towns away from home. Summers, Christmases and other long vacations were the only times I spent at home for more than three days, yet even these were often cut short by extra school work, extra-curricular activities, extra work for extra money, or some social activities.

As my horizons grew wider, so did the distance between me and our home. After graduation, I found work in a company based in Alabang, but my job also involved traveling to parts of Northern Luzon and Mindanao as well as Singapore. But I was staying at home at last—at least on most workdays from 8 p.m. to 6 a.m. and on Sundays, of course.  Saturdays were reserved for my social activities in the university, my second home. By then I thought of our home in Cabuyao merely as a place where I could sleep, take a bath, eat, change clothes, watch TV and see my family.

After working for seven months with the company, I was assigned in Singapore for five months. Then I got assigned in Isabela, which meant being separated from home by 10 to 12 hours of land travel, and I got to go home just once or twice a month.

After working for about two years in Isabela, I was moved to Mindanao, several islands away from home. Now I get to go home only once every two to three months.

I do not intend to complain about the places where my work has brought me or about how I have always been away from home. It was a choice that I made—every bit of being far away. And it has always been a choice that my family agreed with, in spoken words or silently, because the opportunities are out there and I need to follow where they are.

But there comes a point in one’s life, when you can’t quite figure out what is happening to you and where you want to go. There comes a point where you feel the need to stop, sensing that something needs to catch up with your fast-paced life. You try to sleep through the weekend, waking up at 11 a.m. only to eat brunch and then sleep again. You try to party and dance and drink till dawn, or get together with friends over a cup of expensive coffee, thinking all you need is a bit of socializing and some wild fun. In the end, you realize with some surprise that all you need is a dose of that drug called home.
This was what I discovered after being away for three months and finally getting to sleep in my bed in Laguna for eight hours, before hitting the road again and flying back to Mindanao. During that one night and one day that I was back home, I felt stronger and optimistic once again. I was able to go away the next day feeling invincible, feeling ready to face whatever the world would throw at me. I felt like I could do whatever I wanted to do or fall while trying, but stand up to continue the quest.

Perhaps, we are all like Harry Potter in this regard. Whatever evil obstacles Lord Voldemort has put against us out there, we need only to go home every now and then to restore our magical protection. The difference is, unlike Harry Potter’s “home” in Privet Drive, the nurture our homes provide don’t expire when we turn 17.

In my life I have done a lot of running to and fro. But at the end of those runs was home: an occasional text message from Nanay asking, “Musta ka jan?” that I disregard more times than I can remember; my father and my brothers, who are eagerly waiting for my every return, even though they don’t put it in words. Home is my ultimate charger, the one place I can return to whenever I am broken and then walk away from, knowing that I am always welcome to come back and recharge again.

At 23, I realize that a home can come in all shapes and sizes, and it may have a close-knit family or an extremely broken one. Regardless of it all, a home is still a home and no other place has quite the same power to make you complete.

In a world where we get lost quite often and sometimes we don’t know where we are or who we are, we can always find comfort in the thought that just around the corner our homes wait. No matter how far  we have strayed, or how long it has been since we left, or even when we are planning our grand escape because we think we have stayed home for far too long, we know that our home is always ready to embrace us and we  want to embrace it back.

You know those times when you feel you can’t see the end of the tunnel? Well, home can be the light you can transport yourself to anytime. When everything goes crazy, you can always come home.


Auraleen Harina, 23, works as a sales executive for a multinational agricultural company.

PDI Youngblood 12/12/11

Why Women Cry

A little boy asked his mother, “Why are you crying?” “Because I’m a woman,” she told him.

“I don’t understand,” he said. His Mom just hugged him and said, “And you never will.”

Later the little boy asked his father, “Why does mother seem to cry for no reason?”

“All women cry for no reason,” was all his dad could say.

The little boy grew up and became a man, still wondering why women cry.

Finally he put in a call to God. When God got on the phone, he asked, “God, why do women cry so easily?”

God said, “When I made the woman she had to be special.

I made her shoulders strong enough to carry the weight of the world,

yet gentle enough to give comfort.

I gave her an inner strength to endure childbirth and the rejection that many times comes from her children.

I gave her a hardness that allows her to keep going when everyone else gives up, and take care of her family through sickness and fatigue without complaining.

I gave her the sensitivity to love her children under any and all circumstances, even when her child has hurt her very badly.

I gave her strength to carry her husband through his faults and fashioned her from his rib to protect his heart.

I gave her wisdom to know that a good husband never hurts his wife, but sometimes tests her strengths and her resolve to stand beside him unfalteringly.

And finally, I gave her a tear to shed. This is hers exclusively to use whenever it is needed.”

“You see my son,” said God, “the beauty of a woman is not in the clothes she wears, the figure that she carries, or the way she combs her hair.

The beauty of a woman must be seen in her eyes, because that is the doorway to her heart - the place where love resides.”

(reposted: http://www.facebook.com/myloveloveforever)

Ang Esensiya ng Maliliit na Bagay

I GREW UP IN THE 90s.

We are the last generation who learned to play in the street, we are the first one who’ve played video games, and we’re the last ones to record songs off the radio on cassettes and we are the pioneers of Walkman and chat-rooms.

We learned how to program the VCR before anyone else, play with Atari, Super Nintendo, & Genesis. We also believed that the internet would be a free…… world.

We are the generation of the Bioman, Maskman, Dragonball Z, Yu Yu Hakusho, Slam Dunk, Magic Knight Rayearth, Gundam, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Kamen Rider Black, Mighty Morphin Power Rangers, Ninja Turtles, Transformers, and Shaider. Traveled in cars without seat belts or airbags, lived without mobile phones.

We didn’t have +99 television stations (but we had 999 games in 1 for the Family Computer), flat screens, surround sound, mp3, iPods, Facebook or Twitter but nevertheless we had a GREAT TIME!

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Nababasa ko palagi yan sa facebok. Maraming nagrerepost. Marami na rin akong youngblood articles na nabasa having these kinds of sentiments. Kahapon sa huling araw ng bar operations, nabanggit ko kela Elaine, habang nagpapakasasa kami sa lechong handa ng kapatid ni Julienne, na ibang-iba na ang panahon ngayon. Masyadong komplikado na ang mga bagay-bagay. Sobrang dami ng lumalabas na gadgets, kalalabas lang ng ganitong model, maluluma na agad. Ang mga tao sabik na sabik na makasunod sa uso. Bili ganito, bili ganyan. Na para bang ang sukatan ng pagkatao ay kung gaano ka-mahal at ka-latest ang iPod at iPad mo.

Hindi ko magets ang punto ng pag-iipon for an iphone or samsung galaxy tablet, while depriving yourself of the many experiences na pwede mong magawa using those thousand bucks. O ang pagkahumaling sa kape ng starbucks samantalang mas masarap pa yong 3-in-1 kesa dun (napaka-ironic ko sa part na to, hindi na po ako suki ng starbucks. Haha). Buying pirated cd’s in Quiapo samantalang mas masarap tumili sa loob ng sinehan with your friends than having a marathon in front of your laptop, alone.

Hindi ko alam kung nakakatuwa, nakakabilib o nakaka-inggit ba ang ganun?O kung dapat ko bang pakialamanan ang ganung bagay samantalang pera naman nila ang pinambibili. Pakialam ko ba. Kaso parang maraming naisasantabi ang mga tao dahil sa modernong teknolohiya. Private schools are now using tablets instead of books. Nagiging tamad na ang estudyante. At ang mismong paaralan ang nagtuturo sa kanila nito.

May mga naglalibrary pa ba ngayon?Parang wala na gaano. Lahat kasi nasa internet na. Isang click lang nandyan na agad. Hindi mo na mararanasan na ma-amaze sa mga antigong libro sa library at sa masungit na librarian. Hindi mo na mararamdam ang feeling na sa wakas pagkatapos mong mahilo sa kapal ng alikabok nahanap mo rin ang hinahanap mo. Isang pakiramdam na hindi mo naman mararanasan kakaclick ng mouse.

Noong bata pa ko, sobrang excited ako sa national bookstore. Sobra akong na-aamaze sa rami ng librong nakapaligid sa kin. Nag-iipon ako para makabili ng mga gusto kong libro. Para sa isang bata, struggle na yon. Ngayon, karamihan sa mga libro nadadownload na. Even nga yong letters and cards. Namimiss ko yong pakiramdam na sa birthday ko bibigyan ako ng mga bestfriend ko ng cards. Ngayon, hanggang facebook na lang ang mga greetings. Iba pa rin talaga ang epekto pag personal na sinulat at personal na binigay at may kasama pang kiss at hugs. Kesa sa facebook, na minsan happy birthday na nga lang gagawin pang HBD.

Dahil galing ako sa debut nung Saturday, napaisip na naman ako. Maraming babae ngayon ang pinipera na lang instead of having a party. Tas yong pera ipambibili lang pala ng kung anong gamit at gadget. Nakokornihan kasi sa 18 roses, 18 candles at 18 chuchus. Di ba nila naiisip minsan lang sila magiging 18. Na ang isang gabi kasama ang mga mahal nila sa buhay at mga kaibigan nila ay mas mahalaga pa kaysa sa pera o kotse na hinihinging nilang kapalit. Lahat naman yon pwede nating mabili pag may work na tayo. Eh yong memories and experiences na dapat sana baon-baon natin hanggang pagtanda, wala na. Masyado kasing minamadali ang lahat. Gusto sa ganitong age pa lang mayroon na dapat mga ganitong bagay at accomplishments. 

Ewan. Sa bilis ng panahon at mga pagbabago, pati buhay ng tao bumibilis na rin. Naranasan kong gumawa at magpalipad ng saranggola. Ilang beses na rin ako nahulog sa puno. I appreciate parks than malls. Naranasan ko na maligo sa ilog, matulog sa dalampasigan while looking at the stars, magluto sa pugon, manghuli at maglaro ng gagamba, sumabit sa traysikel, magpastol ng kambing and a lot of weird experiences that for me were extraordinary ones. I dunno. Yon ata ang kainaman ng taong naranasan mabuhay both sa province at city. You get to meet both worlds.

Ang mga artista, mga anak nila, o kaya yong mga anak ng elitista, home study na lang. Kawawang mga nilalang. Hindi man lang nila naranasan at nararanasan ang maging tunay na estudyante. Yong mapahiya sa klase, magcram sa project at thesis, mangopya, flunking an exam, mapingot ni teacher, ma-guidance, js prom, excited kaka-antay kung may pasok ba o wala dahil may bagyo. Poor people. 


I think we are missing the real essence of life and relationships. Natetake for granted natin ang mga simpleng bagay, ang mga simpleng karanasan at ang mga simpleng pakiramdam. Darating ang panahon, iba na ang persepsyon ng tao sa totoong kahulugan ng kasiyahan.

A LAWLESS LOVE: Para sa mga Law Students na Nagmahal, Nagmamahal at Magmamahal Pa Lang

by Chun Li

May jynx daw sa Law School.

Karamihan daw, dahil sa nag-Law School ung isa, nauuwi sa break-up ang relashon.  Minsan nga, hindi pa nagsstart ang enrolment, nagbbreak na kasi alam na nilang dalawa na hindi kakayanin.  Meron din namang mga tao na dahil lang sa nag-Law School ang chorva, nag-Law School din (eto ung mga madalas na nauunang masipa sa Law School).  At meron ding kahit pareho nilang gusto talaga mag-Law School, after few months, nagbreak din.

Bakit ba ganun?? Ganon ba talaga ka-toxic sa Law School at hindi kayang pagsabayin ang Law at Love??  Antagal ko ding pinag-isipan ‘to.  At may isa akong theory kung bakit.

Dura Lex Sed Lex.  (the Law may be harsh, but it is the Law)

Eto na ata ang pinaka-popular na legal maxim of all. Eto ay isang malaking malakas na sampal na ang ibig sabihin ay  “wala ka ng magagawa e! ganyan talaga.”  Sa mga panahong hindi mala-fairy tale ang lovelife ko, napaisip tuloy ako.. “pwede palang sabihing in pari materia ang Love at Law”.  Dura Love Sed Love. – Love may be harsh, but it is Love.   

Dahil tulad ng mga superfluous na statute, MALABO din ang pag-ibig.  Ika nga sa Statcon, vague and ambiguous.  Ang love na yata ang isa sa mga pinakamahirap i-construe.  Hindi ito madaling ipaliwanag dahil susceptible sa various interpretations ang lahat.  Lalo na kung praning kang tulad ko.  Dahil I’m sure, ang construction na magagawa mo ay absurd, impossible at mischievous.

Dahil ang love ay isang aggravating circumstance – it is an unlawful entry.  Hindi mo naman pinilit ‘tong maramdaman. Hindi mo ‘to pinili, hindi ito pre-meditated.. Kusa na lang pumasok sa puso mo ito nang walang paalam. Ni hindi mo alam na dadating sya, kaya wala ka ding magagawa kung paalis na.

Para din itong alternative circumstances – parang intoxication, parang lack of sufficient instruction.  Nakakalasing ang umibig,.nakakatanga. Kaya minsan, hindi mo na alam kung nakakabuti pa ba o nakakasama na.  Minsan kahit contradicting na ang sinasabi nya sa ginagawa nya, okay pa din.  Ikaw na ang nag-aadjust. Pag sweet sya magsalita, verba legis. Pag hindi mashado, iniisip mo na lang, “hindi, ratio legis naman”.

Kung pwede lang sana mag-employ ng alevosia habang nagmamahal, ginawa ko na.  Para sana walang risk na masaktan, para sure na hindi ako maaapektuhan, para siguradong hindi kita iiyakan.  Kaya lang alam ko namang hindi pwede yon.  Minsan kahit ginagawa ko ng self-imposed ang destierro, hindi ko naman mapanindigan.  Andalas ng air time mo sa utak ko at hindi ko talaga maiwasan.

Sa totoo lang, hindi naman na din ito ang unang beses na nagmahal ako. Malamang nga, habitual delinquent na ko e.  Kung tutuusin, dapat patawan na ko ng reclusion perpetua para magtigil na ko.  Kaya lang, ayoko namang magpatalo sa uncontrollable fear.  Dahil paulit ulit man akong mabigo at masaktan, sobrang willing pa din akong mag-risk ng paulit ulit ulit  mahanap ka lang.

Dahil wala naman akong ibang pinangarap sa buhay ko kundi ang magkaron ng valid na kasal, ang magpundar ng madaming conjugal properties, ang bumuo ng masayang family home, at ang mag-alaga ng mga legitimate na anak. Sa madaling salita, ang nais ko lamang ay ang habambuhay na magmahal at mahalin.  At kasama sa mga pangarap kong ‘yon ay ang “atty.” sa unahan ng pangalan ko, at ang apelido mong idudugtong ko sa dulo.

Sa ngayon, mahirap lang cguro talagang pagsabayin ang dalawang parehong komplikadong bagay.  Lalo pa’t parehong malabo.  Umaasa na lang ako na mawawala din ang sumpa, at pagdating ng panahon, makakasama ko na ang tunay na nakatakda.

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*sa mga lawyers/law students at sa lahat ng babasa.. please, wag mashadong mag-over-analyze. legal terms were used for creative writing purposes only. this is not a legal document. okay?? hihi
**based on first year, first sem subjects only.
***salamat sa’yo na naging dahilan kung bakit ako nakasulat ulet. saktan mo ulet ako by the end of the sem ng maisakatuparan ko ang Oblicon version ko

I Hate My Mother

My mom only had one eye. I hated her… She was such an embarrassment. She cooked for students and teachers to support the family.

There was this one day during elementary school where my mom came to say hello to me. I was so embarrassed.

How could she do this to me? I ignored her, threw her a hateful look and ran out. The next day at school one of my classmates said, ‘EEEE, your mom only has one eye!’

I wanted to bury myself. I also wanted my mom to just disappear. I confronted her that day and said, ‘ If you’re only gonna make me a laughing stock, why don’t you just die?’

My mom did not respond… I didn’t even stop to think for a second about what I had said, because I was full of anger. I was oblivious to her feelings.

I wanted out of that house, and have nothing to do with her. So I studied real hard, got a chance to go abroad to study.

Then, I got married. I bought a house of my own. I had kids of my own. I was happy with my life, my kids and the comforts. Then one day, my Mother came to visit me. She hadn’t seen me in years and she didn’t even meet her grandchildren.

When she stood by the door, my children laughed at her, and I yelled at her for coming over uninvited. I screamed at her, ‘How dare you come to my house and scare my children!’ GET OUT OF HERE! NOW!!!’

And to this, my mother quietly answered, ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I may have gotten the wrong address,’ and she disappeared out of sight.

One day, a letter regarding a school reunion came to my house. So I lied to my wife that I was going on a business trip. After the reunion, I went to the old shack just out of curiosity.

My neighbors said that she died. I did not shed a single tear. They handed me a letter that she had wanted me to have.

‘My dearest son,

I think of you all the time. I’m sorry that I came to your house and scared your children.

I was so glad when I heard you were coming for the reunion. But I may not be able to even get out of bed to see you. I’m sorry that I was a constant embarrassment to you when you were growing up.

You see……..when you were very little, you got into an accident, and lost your eye. As a mother, I couldn’t stand watching you having to grow up with one eye. So I gave you mine.

I was so proud of my son who was seeing a whole new world for me, in my place, with that eye.

With all my love to you,

Your mother.

Source: (http://www.facebook.com/InspireYourLiving)

Lessons my father taught me

This is the second year I’m celebrating Father’s Day without my father. I do not cry myself to sleep every night anymore but not a week will pass without me still shedding tears. His death in January last year will always leave a void in my heart. Many times, I consciously fill this stinging emptiness with the many lessons he taught me. 

My father was an ordinary man  a farmer all his life. His burnt skin was his badge of honor. The cracks under his feet were the insignia of his dignity to raise a family. His rough hands were his arsenals to provide food on the table for his loved ones. 

He was not known to complain about the hardship he underwent just so he could see his family through. Just like a superhero, he never let us down. But unlike a superhero, he had no powers. He only had the wisdom to do the right things in his simple ways. He could barely read and write, having only finished Grade 2, but he surely had a PhD degree in the School of Hard Knocks.   

My father and I never had a photograph together when I was growing up. We never had a camera to begin with. Nobody had one in the community where I grew up. There was a resident photographer for hire in the nearby village but economic circumstances deterred us from getting his services. In my heart, however, I freeze photographs of us together  so beautiful and warm are these memories that to this day I still remember how, I was perhaps four years old then, he asked me to jump from a raised table down to his arms. He would raise my chubby body up, then throw me in mid-air. He never missed to catch me. He never did my whole life. 

But not everything was fine and dandy between us. We ventured into some sort of a silent war when, in the prime of my teenaged years, I did not hide from him my being gay. He was up in arms. But our love for each other brought us back together. The walls between us soon collapsed. He accepted me for who I was and embraced me for how I wanted to live my life. Thanks to tough love. We became inseparable since then. He took up many battles for me. His welfare became my source of inspiration to better myself, to better my craft. I promised myself to give him a better life. Somehow, with the grace from The Guy Up There, I did. I worked hard  a trait he showed me by example  to spoil him. More than that, I spoiled him with love.

He never asked for anything from me. But I always anticipated his needs. I never waited for him to ask me for something. He gave me everything he had when I was small. My eagerness to indulge him of his needs was so small a token as compared to the many joys he brought me when he would go home from the rice field with his hands full of sweet aratilis and the pockets of his smudged gabardine trousers bursting with ripe duhat, which we would shake in a plastic container with salt. Early on, I already knew what it meant to appreciate simple happiness. 

My father taught me to be innovative. I never had a toy when I was a kid. Except for a top my father fashioned from a dried ipil-ipil branch. I still see the top twirling in my mind, spinning endlessly in the circle inside my heart. 

In those days when it was easier for others to buy a ready-made parol (lantern), my father taught me how to make a sturdy one out of bamboo sticks. We just had to spend a little for papel de hapon to dress up the wooden lantern. Some houses in the neighborhood were teeming with Christmas lights. Our home was decorated with a lone parol hanged proudly in the makeshift awning of our old house. 

The itak (bolo knife) my father used to make the parols of my childhood is still intact and oiled to keep it away from the rust. Yes, my father taught everyone in our house to be masinop. In the store room of our humble home can be found my father’s axe, screwdrivers, gusi (a medium sized earthen jar for salt) and other trinkets, which had been in his possession since he was a teenager. The araro (plough) he used for farming is now a decorative piece in our garden. 

Poverty taught my father not to be diferencioso (difficult). Life was difficult enough, he didn’t want to complicate it. “Kung maliit na bagay lamang naman ang pagsisimulan ng gulo, palampasin mo na (Let small things pass if they will just cause you trouble later on),” he reminded me many times. 

Despite the hardship our family experienced in the past, my father’s first cardinal rule in the house was “Huwag na huwag kayong magnanakaw (Never ever steal).” That act, he said, betrays trust. He taught me that it is important that people trust me in whatever I do. 

In the subject of forgiveness, I learned a lot from my father. I have a forgiving heart because my father did not believe in keeping grudges. To this day, I get sick if I keep grudges against others for more than 24 hours. My father taught me to have an understanding heart; that I need to be kind even if others are not.
I will always, always thank my father for teaching me to have a grateful heart. Because of this, I now get to lovingly fill the void of not being able to celebrate life with him every day, every night.

By Bum D. Tenorio Jr

(The Philippine Star) June 19, 2011

Mindanao from Moro Eyes

A useful starting point for any analysis of the problem in Mindanao is the recognition that the Philippine government is not, and indeed has never been, in full control of Muslim Mindanao.  The ubiquitous checkpoints that dot the region, manned by forces belonging to traditional warlords and rebel groups, concretely attest to this. To all intents and purposes, Philippine laws and institutions have never defined the framework of political rule in these parts.  Periodic elections conducted by national agencies may indicate membership in the Filipino polity.  And the presence of state-run schools may suggest integration into the national culture.  But this is largely an illusion.

What we have here is not a sovereign state that disintegrated because it failed in its functions. This is rather an example of a state that, from its inception, could not hold sway over a swath of land it regards as part of its territory.  It has used all the violent means at the disposal of the state to pacify the Moro people—to no avail. The veneer of order that exists today in the region has been won mainly by coopting the local power-wielders, rather than by forming active citizens.  This method worked for as long as the traditional warlords remained self-centered and divided.  Things changed when young leaders from these communities sought to unify their ethnically segmented people under one Bangsamoro banner.

Two distinct but related processes have followed from this.  The first is the complex internal struggle for leadership among the different elements of Moro land.  This struggle continues. The existing ethnic faultlines (e.g. Tausug, Maguindanao Maranao, and Lumad) are compounded by inter-generational conflicts and the assertion of rival ideological visions (Moro secular nationalism vs. Moro religious nationalism).  The second is the transformation of the Bangsamoro people’s relationship to the Filipino nation-state as a result of the realignments within their community. As the idea of a self-governing Moro nation took shape, secession from the Philippine Republic loomed as a possibility.  Unable to ignore this prospect, the Philippine government has offered regional autonomy as a compromise.  Yet, despite this, many Filipino leaders still do not appreciate the validity of the Moro quest.

The Moro National Liberation Front (MNLF) under Nur Misuari became the first beneficiary of this accommodation.  Misuari was installed as the first governor of the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM), an entity created by the 1987 Constitution.  The ARMM was supposed to be an experiment in limited self-government by the Moro people, but from the start, it offered little promise of succeeding.  Moreover, the incompetence and corruption in its leadership hobbled the new regional government. The ARMM’s failure under Misuari was taken as confirmation of the inability of an imagined Moro nation to govern itself.

A new Moro leadership under Hashim Salamat reframed the vision of a Bangsamoro state, giving birth to the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF).  Unlike the Misuari-centered MNLF, the MILF was more collective in its leadership.  The organization continued to flourish after Salamat’s death, and earned the right to be the dominant voice of the Moro people.  Meanwhile, ARMM passed on and became a plaything of traditional warlords, like the ruthless Ampatuans, who had no problem embracing the equally corrupt games of Manila’s politicians.

The MILF program was secessionist at the beginning.  It specifically drew its vision of a desirable community from the core ethics of Islam.  Basing itself in Maguindanao, it sharply distinguished itself from the Tausug-dominated MNLF.  But what is truly remarkable about it is that in addition to the support it received from the Islamic countries, it managed to get the active backing of the United States. This gave it the standing and clout in the international stage that Misuari, in his heyday, never enjoyed.

Though it fell short of the dream of an independent state, the Moro “substate” concept that the MILF introduced into the 2008 Memorandum of Agreement on Ancestral Domain (MoA-AD) promised a more substantial autonomy than the MNLF got from the Ramos administration.  Negotiators from both sides had worked on it for five years, hoping the agreement would be sealed before the end of the Arroyo term. Alas, the unpopularity of the Arroyo regime gave the whole enterprise the unwarranted stigma of a midnight deal being rushed.  After the Supreme Court declared it unconstitutional, there was no choice but to abort it.

One has to understand the sense of frustration and betrayal that this has created within the ranks of the MILF. In a sense they are back to zero.  For trusting in a process that, in the end, yielded nothing, their leaders have suffered a great loss in credibility.  Now, we expect them to rein in the hotheads among their commanders, and threaten them with all-out war if they don’t behave.  It is as if it were so easy to end this conflict by sheer military means.  Can we even imagine the scale of the humanitarian disaster that will result from a total war in Mindanao?

No, because the arrogant voices that call for total war are typically the ones who do not know that the Philippine state has never effectively established itself in Muslim Mindanao.  They remain ignorant of the historic injustices that have been committed against the Moro people.  They see only the death of Filipino soldiers, not the pain of people who have been stripped of their lands.

By Randy David

Philippine Daily Inquirer        Public Lives       October 26, 2011