Bouree 1 from Cello Suite

An attempt!

Merry Christmas

I can’t remember my age when I received the most unforgettable Christmas gift from my father. It was a gift wrapped box (I can’t tell what’s inside) and my father told me not to open it until the Noche Buena time. The box was on the table, and I kept looking at it. I shook it, I peeked at it until at last I can’t take it anymore; I unwrapped it.

It was a string powered (pull the string to make it fly) helicopter. I was ecstatic. I didn’t know how to fly it but just holding the helicopter made me very happy. When my father arrived, he found out what I did, and he became angry. Not really angry but disappointed, but he looked angry to me.

But he took me by the hand and we went to the vacant lot across our house, and there he flew the helicopter. My brother was there and they each took turn flying the toy helicopter while I was breathless chasing it, picking it up, giving it back to them, and then joyfully watched while they flew the toy helicopter over and over again...I can’t tell how many hours or minutes my father and brother flew the helicopter but it seemed long enough to make a lasting impression on me.

It was the most expensive gift I received from my father because it was the gift that captured my imagination. Of course the toy was cheap, and my father had bought more expensive Christmas gifts like shoes, shirts, pants etc. But as a child, the value of a gift is not measured in money; it is measured in the joy that it could bring. My father could have given a branded shirts or pants, and I wouldn’t have cared about it because I didn’t care about my looks then. But that helicopter made me think of flight and that’s something money can’t buy, gifts that made me imagine things, made me think of things beyond my understanding then.

I was saddened when I found the toy chopper inside our chicken coop broken. It was really my brother who enjoyed it, but I did not complained….hmmm, maybe I whined.
Christmas has different meanings especially in today’s materialistic world, but for children the best gift is still the gift of time, of simply sharing the warmth and happiness of family and of the season. It is not expensive yet it lasts a long, long time.


Merry Christmas!

Chronicler Regional Presscon 2007

Regional Presscon

Our campus joined this year’s regional tertiary press conference held at Angel Hills, Tagaytay City on December 9-11. Although I didn’t qualify for the Luzonwide (I didn’t even make it to the top ten lists!), our paper garnered four citations in page lay out design, news page, feature and literary sections.

Rommel, our artist and Kathrina, our Editor in chief, news writer and editorial writer in Filipino, will be part of the representatives of region 4A in the Luzonwide tertiary press conference to be held in February next year at Tugegarao, Cagayan.

What can I say but, what a dismal performance from the oldest writer of the group. Waaahhhhhh!!!!

The Lord had need of me

As the transcontinental train zipped past the scenery, an elderly bishop was telling a young parson fresh out of divinity school the story of his eventful life. He then turned to the young cleric and asked him to tell the story of his vocation.

“Oh, that’s very simply told,” he smugly replied. “All I can say is that the Lord had need of me.”

“That’s a remarkable coincidence, young man,” observed the bishop. “So far as I can remember, only once in the gospel did the Lord ever say that He had need of anything. In Luke 19:34 on the occasion of his triumphal entry into Jerusalem, He said he had need of an ass.”

So true...of course it apllies to rear ends in the church too

City Blues

It’s been a long time since I have been out of our small town. That’s because I hate traveling to the city. The smog is oppressing, the sight depressing and the noise is deafening. So, when I was asked to deliver something to the city, I was not surprised to find out that there’s another supermall being built. On board the jeepney, as I was looking at the scaffoldings and the workmen busy with their work, I remembered what a friend said to me, “One of the requirements for a municipality to be upgraded to a city is a supermall.”

It has been observed by many that it is ironic that as the standard of living in the Philippines deteriorates, the more supermalls are being built. As the buying power of the ordinary Filipinos drop, the more stalls are being erected.

As I was observing the construction, I can only shake my head because it seems to me that supermalls are really churches promoting the religion of materialism.

Maybe it’s because I am poor, and that looking at goods, gadgets being sold in the stores arouses that primal…hmmm…what do I call this? This primal desire or drive to have, to show off, and this depressed me because I know it is wrong especially if I don’t have the money and most especially if the money I am spending (Oh how wish that this is the case) did not come from my own labor. How easy to spend money that is not yours.

Maybe it’s the gloom of Christmas…How I wish I am a child again.

My Classmates cheerleading to Vivaldi

Actualy they are dancing to the laest dance craze but I hate that kind of music. Maybe it's becuase I'm old, so I put in Vivaldi's concerto in C major.

Korean child guitar play of Al Hambra

I have been trying to practice my fingers into doing "tremolo" playing but I find it so difficult. IT could take me months before I can play this piece. But look at the little girl, her fingers are so small. I used to complain that my fingers are too short for playing the guitar but watching this little girl is really inspiring and amazing.

Sir!

I was walking home in my barong carrying a bag that looks like a lawyer’s bag when one of my former drinking buddies called me attorney and pastor and a funeral homes agent, in succession, for fun. (Actually the bag belongs to my adopted little brother. He used to work as a med-rep and now that he’s jobless, I’m using the bag because it’s convenient for carrying books and those immortal manila paper visual aids.)

 I was not offended. In fact I stopped by and asked him and his buddies if they wanted to be prayed over by me. (I am already raising my right hand.) He laughed and they laughed but the friendship is still there although I am now a teacher and they are still bums.

One of the mothers shouted and told them, “Hey don’t you know he’s now a teacher. He’s now a “sir” a “maestro.” Respect him.” So now, some of my neighbors call me “sir.”

I don’t know, but whenever I am called “sir,” I feel like a knight in a shining barong!

(My computer was attacked by virus and I can't open some of the applications and files. I have a lot in there doodles, bible materials, thoughts, articles etc. and now I have no choice but to reformat the PC hard discs!)

Time management

I have been teaching elementary pupils for three weeks now, and now I am having problem with time management. I am used to doing things by impulse. If I want to write on my blog, I just sit down and type on the computer. If I want to practice guitar, I just pick up my guitar and play. I have no sense of time or schedule; I don’t budget my time.

But now I need to discipline myself with regards to time management. I am getting busier. On regular days I teach grade school pupils at our church school, on Saturdays I teach music in the church and on Sundays I teach the men’s department of the Sunday school. Add to that preaching! (I don’t have regular pulpit but there are Sundays when I am I am called on to preach.)

My gulay! Although my practice teaching takes about four hours but it is so draining that when I get home all I wanted to do is to sleep. Half of my energy is wasted trying to keep order in the class especially for the grade one pupils.

But I am not complaining. I am still enjoying it. Come to think of it, I have to enjoy it because I will be doing this for the rest of my life!

Ooopss

Ooops!

I got used to writing directly, not thinking much about grammar and mechanics and usage and all that English things that when I got to teaching grammar at grade school, I brought this carelessness along. (To tell the truth, I have difficulty with grammar.) I gave my pupils some homework and I didn’t notice the subject verb agreement. And during the PTF meeting, one parent showed the head teacher the error in the home work. The head teacher kindly reminded of the error. I was a little disappointed with myself because if it was not for that one parent, who knows many errors I could have committed. Anyway, I have to be careful now.

Children are so meticulous. I was writing on the board and I didn’t put hooks on my “g’s” after a while, they all shouted, “Sir, is that a “9”, or is that a “q.” They are driving me nuts!

Teaching

I am now doing my student teaching. I am teaching six subjects, language and reading for grades 1, 2 and 3 pupils at our church school. I have been preparing for this for a long time. One of my mental preparations is to imagine all the worst case scenarios that I can think of that can happen in the class room like pupils stabbing each other in the eyes with a pencil, or a pupil poopooing during class, or a student having seizure attacks, or a grade 1 student carrying a submachine gun spraying the class with water etc.

Another preparation that I do is a mental mantra on how to keep my composure and my patience in times of war. I am reading a book about Buddhism and all that stuff about nirvana and the annihilation of the senses and the overcoming of the self and all that eastern stuffs about being numbed, and I am developing this mantra that I keep repeating to myself over and over again so that I can separate myself from myself and not be overcome by fire (or passion):

Hmmmmmmm-a-hmmmmmm don’t kill your pupils,

Hmmmmmmm-a-hmmmmm don’t hit them with a steel pipe,

Hmmmmmm-a-hmmmmmm don’t kill your pupils

But I was a little disappointed, to tell truth, that all these preparations were unnecessary. Most of my pupils are good natured children with good sense of humor. Some are hyperactive and some are cool. Most are intelligent and some are just late bloomers. They are not that difficult to handle, really. All it takes is a lot of patience and a lot of …hmmmm…preaching (teachers are preachers!).

If there’s one thing I forgot to prepare for, it is my body. Teachers talk a lot and I strained my vocal chords (or whatever organ it is teachers used for teaching, preaching, threatening and pleading) that before my second day was over it already felt like I swallowed a kilo of shoe tacks.

On the third day, I can’t recognize myself speaking; I sound like Fred Panopio with a cough doing the yodel in front of my class.

“Yodelehiiiii-hhooooo-hooooo

“Yodelehiiiii-hhooooo-ubo-ubo-ubo…..

Anyway, I’m beginning to enjoy it, to tell the truth.

I am still adjusting to my new hmmm…what do I call this? I am still adjusting to my new identity and to my new schedules and to my new job so my blogs will be neglected for a while. I am still trying to “settle down.”

Micro Teaching

This is the moment of truth. Today I will doing a demo teching. The result of the demo teaching will determine if I am fit to go out of the campus for my student teaching. I have my lessons with me complete with the Filipino traditional teaching aids, the immortal manila papers.

It's a good thing I am a male and I am already married becuase statistically speaking a lot (maybe even majority) female teachers who go into teaching single end up being single for the rest of their lives or else they marry tricycle drivers, jeepney drivers or bums.

A lot of stereotyping about techers but their heroes!

Haaahhh...this blog is already 1 year old!

This blog turned a year old last September and I didn’t even notice it!

It started year ago when my older brother gave me a Pentium 1 PC. That was the first time I had a PC. (Most of my computing experience was through document printing when I used to work as a copier operator.) So, when I found out that the word processors can check grammars and spelling, I began writing anything I can think of. I had this Doogie Howser M.D. fantasy.

Then the Pentium 1 PC died. My brother, who is a newly commissioned missionary bound for Thailand, gave me another PC, this time it’s a Pentium 2. So, I continued doodling on the computer. I began writing stupid poems and some compositions—it’s really just writing exercises. Of course the ancient Pentium 2 computer died a few weeks later also.

When my brother was already in Thailand, I began thinking of sending these poems and compositions to him and to some people I know, I even sent some of them to my sister’s best friend, an editor not because I want to have them published (my gulay!) but to ask for help on writing. I kept sending them, so maybe, my older brother had pity on me so he asked his eldest son Jared to create a blog for his miserable uncle. And that’s what how I got this blog.

Thinking back, one thing I got from this blog was freedom. I have so many questions about theology; in this blog, I was able to express them. These are things I dare not talk about openly with my pastors for fear of being called heretic. But as I ask these questions here, I realized that by simply expressing them I had this sense of release and relief. Also by reading other theology blogs (especially Adventures in Div. Dchool) (I gotta to meet wonderful Christians too!)I realized that people have similar questions and some even have proposals that borders on the bizaare. My theological angst has lost its steam, thanks to this blog. There will be more theological reflections and questions on this blog but they will not be as venomous as they were before. I tend to think that I am growing up, theologically speaking.

How about those angry, sarcastic, offensive things I wrote here. I can’t explain them and I will not defend them. Most are done in bad taste and some are just plain stupid. But like what I said before, these angst, if they are not expressed in this blog, could become pimples or boils or they may give me diarrhea and sore eyes.

Most of the time I wondered what would the people who read this blog think of its author and I will not be surprised if they think that its author is a schizophrenic or crazy or a Satanist or an egotist or something. All I can say is, I found a way to be free and it’s in here (and in my Filipino blog) so just have fun reading because who knows you maybe reading yourself (or not) here the same way I can read myself from other people’s blog.

It’s all about experiences and how people experience the same things but in different perspectives, that’s the fun with blogging.

It’s like omniscience…nahhh…that’s for another post.

Why “That Strange Feeling”?

My brother used the title of the poem I sent him as the title for the blog. He told me that I can change it but I did not change it because somehow it captured what this blog would be all about…hmmm… which is really all about nothing. Here’s that strange poem.

“That Strange Feeling”

This was how it felt,

And I’m telling you I didn’t add more or take less

For this was indescribable and only a full story

Is what would do justice and nothing less.

After I swallowed the bitter medicine, and drank my cup of water
I suddenly felt ticklish like a feather was in my underwear
And I felt altitude as if riding on a Ferris wheel
Going down, from up, exhilaration was what I felt

The tickling was unbelievable and my heart was murmuring
I dread seeing but I can’t help feeling
The butterflies in my stomach were fluttering,
And the bees in my heart were buzzing

Sitting, waiting, and my buttocks were itching,
Stand, walk, trot, and run to make time fleeting,
What’s more killing than my anxiety
To pull and see what was bothering me.

They were all there as far as I can tell,
All my siblings, mother, father, and the neighbors as well
They were all expecting for something to happen
It’s like their waiting for the launching of Apollo eleven

At last I can’t take it no more, I cried out, Father, it is a fore’
A torn newspaper and baby oil, my father, pulled it a sure’
And I’m cutting this story short, for I don’t want to be gross
‘Cause what I’m here tellin’ was the effect of my first dose

Of that medicine called combantrin!
And I’m sure you know what Im tellin’
Yuck!

Kyrgyzstan and some stories

Two weeks ago, Dadai my younger sister arrived from her six months mission work in Kyrgyzstan. I was happy because it has been almost a year since we had a talk and I am eager to hear stories about her experiences in the mission field. Dadai is the second of my siblings (the other is my older brother Joey in Thailand) to go to a non-Christian country to share the love of Christ. We were apprehensive because Kyrgyzstan is a Muslim and at the same time a former communist country; I never even heard that name before. But God has been faithful and He had kept Dadai and the other missionaries safe.

As Dadai was talking, I had this question in my head: If my father was alive what would he have said about my siblings going out of the country for missions? My father had big dreams for us. Before he became a Christian, my father was a heavy equipment operator and for sidelines, he does small time contracting jobs. He knew that there’s money in the construction business. So he had my older brother take up civil engineering in college and my other sister took up accountancy. I was to be the lawyer. He had it all figured out, the engineering stuff would go to my older brother, the accounting to my sister and the legal stuff would be my job. I tend to think that my siblings went along with this. But my father became a Christian. He became the pastor of our church and my siblings became involved in the ministry as youth leaders. Then my father died, I felt God deprived me of my father. Then after my father’s death, my siblings went to the seminary for their theological education and I didn’t understand it then. I felt, alone. I knew it was nobody’s fault, but I was fourteen then and my father was such a strong presence in my life that when he died I lost direction. Add to that my hormones kicking in and I’m also having philosophical, theological questions that looking back-- it was so confusing. I dropped out of school and became a drinker.

I was a backslider for sixteen years and I have done a lot of bad and crazy things. Back then, I felt I distance from my family but there’s this nagging, silent feeling that kept telling me that I have no other course but to come back to the church.

During one of my Christmas visit to my sister’s apartment at the seminary, as I was browsing through her books, a prayer list fell on the floor. I picked it up and written on it was: “Please, Lord, bring my brother George back to the fold.” Maybe those nagging, silent feelings that kept telling me that I have no other course but to return to the church were my mother and my sibling’s prayers. God has heard their prayers.

Now I’m back in the church as a deacon, a musician and a teacher. I got my life back and in a few months from now, I will be having my college degree. God is faithful to keep his promises.

As I was listening to my sister’s Kyrgyzstan’s stories, I feel that in some way the family business that my father dreamed of has finally been realized, and the business is booming.

.

Barangay Blah, blah

The Baranggay Election is over and after the ballots were counted, our incumbent barangay captain, a distant relative of mine, lost the election. Personally, I don’t care who wins the election because for me politicians are all the same—they are all alike. But today I felt sadness, not for the losing candidate but for the supporters of the losing candidate. Majority of our barangay’s employee came from our place; this is not surprising because our captain grew up here. So when the news got around that he lost, I could feel my neighbor’s gloom because their jobs are co-terminus with the captain. They are now jobless.

Sad.I have been sneezing violently lately because Tamia our Labrador gave birth to eight (two died after a few days) cute, gorilla like puppies. Haaayyyy…no matter how cute these puppies are they will always be a torture for me. Anyway, my brother will be disposing (sell) them after a few months.

Election season

I was surprised when I saw that there are mobs on the streets. I heard someone calling my name, and when I looked, a total stranger shook my hand, told me his name and then gave me the most beautiful smile I have ever seen. I was a little dazed and when I looked at him, he wore uniforms carrying photos and banners....its election time! The most sickening seasson here in the Philippines.

People going around, shaking strangers hands and smiling their best and most artificial smile!

I am being mean again!

Ministerial Ethics 101 or why Pastors should not enter politics

Imitate me, then, just as I imitate Christ. 1Co 11:1 (The Good News Bible)

I was (not) surprised when a Reverend cum Pastor of a Fundamentalist Baptist Church cum politician cum congressman of the Philippine congress admitted pn TV to having accepted money from Malcanang Palace (the snakepit of the Philippine government). The Reverend cum Pastor of a Fundamentalist Baptist cum politician cum congressman of the Philippine congress even have the gull to say that now that what he has done was out, he now felt good! He even tried to justify the money! It’s a gift he said…(Pastor haven’t you heard of deontological ethics, or Kant’s Categorical imperative, or the ten Commandments, or what our mother told us when we were young: do not accept candies from strangers, or how about the Scout’s honor?)

This Reverend cum Pastor of a Fundamentalist Baptist church cum politician cum congressman of the Philippine congress was known for barricading cinemas when the Da Vinci code was shown in the Philippines. He “was” the powerful voice of God and of morality and of holiness in the Philippine government, yet he admitted to accepting gifts from Malacanang. Why I even saw him on TV condemning “Desperate Housewives” and how ladies dress (talk about T-backs!)

His admission was halfhearted and forced because a Catholic Priest turned Governor earlier beat him to the…err…media attention. The good Father turned governor of Pampanga admitted to receiving five hundred thousand pesos (around 10,000 USD) from Malacanang and the good governor exposed the money to the press. (I say Amen to that Father! I wonder if the good Father did not expose this to the media how long would have that …you know he is…benefited from these “gifts.” Hmmm…I wonder why this Reverend cum Pastor of a Fundamentalist Baptist church cum politician cum congressman of the Philippine congress did not exposed the “cash gifts” in the first place. I really, really wonder why? This reminds of the Adam when God caught Adam eating the “cash gifts” err... I mean the forbidden fruit… Adam’s excuse was, “t’was not me, it was the woman in the Malacanang...errr…t’was not me, t’was the woman that you gave to me.” ) See what the Reverend cum Pastor of a Fundamentalist Baptist Church cum politician cum congressman of the Philippine congress had done is that by keeping silent about it, he is already part of it (Guess money is the best way way to make allies). And that’s what made it so, so, so horrible. My gulay! He has been in Congress for how long and how long had he been receiving money! And now he is in the bandwagon doing admitting receiving cash gifts. How traditional and unbiblical.

The Reverend cum Pastor of a Fundamentalist Baptist church cum politician cum congressman of the Philippine congress did not want not to be out-“moraled” by the “pagan-idolater Roman Catholics.” He held a press interview of his own. While I was listening, I was wondering where the thundering condemnation of corruption was! Where the thundering condemnation of the blasphemy of the Da Vinci Code was! This time, the thunderous voice and the machine gun Bible verses has become nothing more than a melodious fart of a little bad boy caught with his hands inside the money jar. Why, I wonder why he spoke with such a soft voice. (I say what’s the problem with you Pastor…err…congressman! See the problem! Can’t differentiate between the two now.) The tribes of these reverends cum politicians are increasing. Why, one even tried to run for the presidency of the Philippines complete with the prophecies of his sycophant prophets, when he lost—he was cheated. (Better than calling the prophecies and the prophets and the supposed sources of their prophecies, the infallible God according to them, and their hand laying a disgraceful farce. Where is that guy and where are his court cases now.)

It’s sad how “men of God” with all the bravado, and all the Bible verses, come charging into the corrupted halls of government to change it, to condemn it and in the end, end up being one of them—rotting and now rotten!

I have seen pastor like this and they make me mad! They spread their theology and ethics like viruses to unsuspecting churches. They like to hide behind 1John 1:9 (If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.) Talk about license. (During one of our devotions I told my students not to memorize this verse. I told them that in times of temptation instead of hearing the Holy Spirit saying “Don’t” they will instead hear Satan and his cohorts quoting this verse and saying. “Hey, remember what the preacher said about 1 John 1:9. Go ahead, null problemo there’s always 1 John 1:9 Go ahead!)

(When Jesus saw the condemned woman about to be stoned, he wrote on the sand: “He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.” What would have Jesus written on the sand if this pastor cum congressman (and his tribes) were hauled out of congress for accepting bribes and was about to be stoned… (I’m using my imagination here) “Shoot him! He’s had classes on theology, church ethics, ministerial etchics, business ethics, missiology, New Testament Studies, Old Testament Studies, counseling, ecclesiology, Christology, soteriology, Church History, apologetics, eschatology, he wrote papers, he preached, he condemned other people’s sin, why shoot him (them). He (they) fell short of the measures he (they) used for other people! He (they) are as guilty as hell! He (they) put God’s name in vain! Shoot him (them) with a submarine launched inter-continental ballistic missile with a carabao dung warhead. He (they) should have known better, much, much better than better!!!!” Or Jesus would have gently and kindly said, “Let them be, forgive them for they don’t know what they are doing. They suffer from spiritual down syndrome.” Or Jesus would have just walked away and say, “I have nothing to do with these sons Sceva.”)

It is not up for me to judge the soul of this Reverend cum Pastor of a Fundamentalist cum politician cum congressman of the Philippine congress (or his ilk). That is outside of my prerogative but it is for me as a saved sinner, to react, to judge and to discern what he has done (or what pastors like him had done) and that is to put the name of God and of the hardworking pastors and workers of God from other churches and from other denominations into shame.

Apologies are good and they should be accepted, but the consequences and the loss of integrity is unfortunately, unforgettable. They have stood up and recovered from their sins but the people they have brought down with them are still flat on their faces in offense. Sometimes people don’t understand that, like these Reverend cum Pastor of a Fundamentalist Baptists church cum politician cum congressman of the Philippine congress.

I sure would like to hear him preach on morality, on clean living, on holiness, on cinemas, on underwear, on honesty, on Desperate Housewives, on government corruption, on evangelism, on counseling, on good stewardship etc. I’m sure it would be fun to listen to him—and his stand up comedy.

Imitate me, then, just as I don’t imitate Christ. 1 Col. 11:1 (The Bad News Bible)

I was a bit touched when a classmate of mine handed me a note saying that he looked up to me as a “real parent.” She thanked me for being kind and for being generous to my classmates. I am a bit rattled because I am not that “close” to them (I am close to them but not in the sense of “close.”). It’s a generation thing really because I can’t relate to the music they listen to, the TV shows they watch (Pinoy Big Brother) and I can’t even keep up with their energy and enthusiasm. So, all a long I was just there in the class most of the time silent, just observing them. So I was thinking what made me generous to them?

Hmmmm….I’m thinking. Maybe it’s because they always ask me for some yellow papers (legal writing paper). It’s like this, most of the time (especially in my junior and senior years) I go to school carrying nothing but a pad of yellow paper and a pen. So whenever there’s a quiz, most of them would look at me, smile and say, “Daddy, can I have a yellow paper?”

Sometimes they come to me for advice.

Sometimes they ask me for a peso or two but they usually pay it back. I remember when we had a play about the life of Rizal. I wrote the script so I was exempted from doing anything else. But sometimes during their practices, I visited them twice and I brought with me pandecocos (bread with coconut filling) and like little girls some of them would jump and shout, “Daddy has brought us some meriendas!” Of course I did not do it to impress my classmates. The easiest thing to do is to impress people; all that takes is the ability to lie without flinching. No, it’s not to impress them. It’s really to ease my guilt at seeing my classmates practicing the play immediately after our classes while I had nothing to do.

This is not unique for me because our class has mommies too, student my age who are also studying to be teachers. They are treated the same way I was treated, like a parent. I remember one of these mommies distributing gelatins and candies and sweets to the class and my classmates, like children, were so happy.

Of course to us adult students, these little things, like giving those candies or the pandecocos are nothing but random acts of little kindness but for me (I don’t know about the mommies) and maybe without me knowing it, I had created an image in their minds of me being a daddy or a big brother.

Here’s the funny part, I think I conformed to that daddy or big brother image not because I tried to be one, but because unconsciously, I began to see myself hating to disappoint these little classmates of mine.

These little classmates of mine inspired me, and I hope in some ways I inspired them too.

Blind Willie Johnson Trouble Soon be Over

I love traditional blues. This one is a gospel blues sung by Blind Willie Johnson. YOu van feel the music through the black and white movie as well as in the guitar playing and singing. So spiritual!

I feel like a Daddy!

Posing with my classmates as we line up for our lunch during our student teacher enhancement seminar. As you can see, there are very few men/male who take elementary education here in the Philippines, eighty percent of my classmates are beautiful ma'ams.

With Michelle the bunso (youngest or should I say the cutest) of the class. I am very proud of my classmates. I can't help but feel emotional because a few months from now we will be on our own as teachers amd I will be missing how they make fun of me. Four years of being the Kuya and Daddy to these wonderful human beings and now we'll be spread across the province of Rizal for our practice teaching. My gulay, what an emotional moment.
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Posing with the campus mothers: The lady in yellow, the one with the glasses is the mother of the campus Mrs. Violeta T. Cano, the Dean of the Institute of Education. She has been teaching for more than three decades now. As a testament to her dedication and staying power, the University President and the Campus Chancellor were her former students and it's wonderful how they acknowledge Mommy Cano whenever they give speeches. Besides Mommy Cano is the Cluster II Director for Student Development (I forgot her name!) and the Cluster II Campus Chancellor Dr. Reneecillia Paz-de Leon.

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We felt like brave soldiers being commissioned for battle.
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I love my humble school.

What!? No Sembreak!!!!

I thought that we will be having a semestral break but I'm wrong! Instead we will be having student teacher enhancement seminar for two weeks and then after that enrollment. I thought I'd have two weeks of undisturbed reading and blogging and guitar playing and revising my thesis and writing my community immersion papers etc. No rest!

Barber Talk

When I entered the barbershop, I heard two barbers having a passionate discussion about Manny “the National Fist” Pacquaio.

First Barber: “How can they make Manny a hero? Heroes don’t get paid! Heroes don’t gamble! Heroes don’t have extra marital affairs; heroes don’t punch people because of road rage…etc.”

Second Barber: “He is called a hero because he brought honor to the country!”

First Barber: “Since when did hurting other people become honorable?”

Second Barber: “He is a hero because everybody admired him!”

First barber: “That’s wrong! That’s why I tell my children not to admire Manny.”

Third Barber: “He is a hero because he can knock people down!” He is a punching hero!”

First Barber: “ What is happening to the Filipinos?! Ninoy Aquino is a hero because he died for the country, so is Rizal, Bonifacio…these people are heroes not Pacquaio.

Fourth Barber: “Relax. You can teach your children not to admire Manny as a hero but you can’t do anything about other people who admire Manny as a hero!”

Second barber: “This is a democracy!”

First Barber: “See what kind of people admires Pacquaio! You even have the Vice President of the Republic of the Philippines in the ringside….and then being interviewed…look at them…there’s senators congressmen etc.

Second Barber: “That’s politics…”

My barber finished the haircut shaved the hairs on my napes and patilyas (or sideburns). I paid the barber and left the shop. As I close the door, the barbers are still discussing Pacquaio. I can only wonder where the discussions will go next.

(Manny Pacquaio is being hailed as a national hero. This is sad because we all know that its just a marketing ploy.)

My daughter's questions

“Father, what would you like to be when you grow up?”
My daughter asked me
I answered, “I am already old my dear daughter
Look, I am your father and I already have some white hairs.”

“No, What I meant is what would you like to be?”
My daughter asked me again.
And I said,
“I am already old and it’s too late to be a be.”

“Then why are you studying to be a teacher?”
My daughter smiled.
“To tell the truth my dear daughter,
I don’t know why I’m studying to be a teacher”

“All I know is God have a plan for me.
So, please stop asking me
Because it is God who will make me
What He wants me to be.”

“So what does God wants you to be?”
My daughter can’t help but ask.
I just smiled because I know
That that’s the time to shut up.

Larry Carter/When I found Jesus I lost the Blues

Hallelujah!

Cofee talk

One of my childhood friends came by to borrow our celphone charger. I haven’t had a talk with my buddies for a long time, so I asked him to sit for a cup of coffee (no, not beer…) and a little reminiscing to go with it. We talked about our childhood and all the adventures and misadventures that we did then.

-

Talking to a childhood friend is like talking with a brother, there’s sincerity especially if you really knew the person. It’s an honest to goodness conversation and then I realized that I missed it, the chatting. Although my friends lived only a few meters away from our house yet family and work created distance.

I asked my friend this, “What do you think if I became a pastor?” My friend laughed! I laughed. My wife laughed too. We all laughed. My friend looked at me and told me, “Knowing you, my friend, I can’t think of you being anything but the old George.” No, I’m not hurt or anything because he's just being honest.

-

“Why, did I not change?” I said. My friend looked at me and said that he has seen a lot of changes in me it’s just that he knows me too well; he knew of the things that I did. My friend can’t imagine me being holy or something. Well at least he’s being honest about it.

It’s been along time since I had a talk with my childhood buddies and its getting rarer and rarer by the year. We’re thinking of having a reunion. We are all now in our thirties and it’s funny because of what we all became. Two are engineers, one is a former drug user and is now a policeman, one became a pastor and is now out of the closet gay, one a former logistics manager and now a bum, one a former contractor who married an OFW nurse and is now living a pensioned life, one became a bus conductor, and I am the oddity of all the oddities, I became a student.


My life has been full of ironies. I hate school and now I’m going to be a teacher…hmmm. I laughed at being a pastor and yet I am teaching music, Sunday school and I am even preaching in the church. My gulay , I sometimes think that God is humoring me (I meant that in a nice way of course).

Barefootin'

I slipped off my flip-flops and walked barefoot on the pavement. People were smiling, some of them were shaking their heads and some were just pretending that they were not looking at me. No, I didn’t go crazy or something, I am just experimenting and trying out what I heard from a lecture in our reflexology class (part of our non-formal education course).

The instructor was discussing pressure points and nerve endings and all those stuffs about reflexology. To tell the truth I am not that interested with reflexology, so I’m just being polite and pretended that I’m taking down notes. I have nothing against the instructor; it’s just that the subject was boring. But then the instructor discussed the history of reflexology and she mentioned how the people from the earlier times especially the American Indians were healthier than the people today because the people from the earlier times wore no shoes while the people today wear shoes. She said that according to the textbook, the gravel and the soil and the branches that the early people stepped on stimulated nerve endings on their bare feet thus activating nerve points that stimulates the inner organ and stimulates the release of hormones and making them healthier—the predecessor of today’s reflexology

Naahh….I don’t know if such claim can be scientifically proven i.e. people who walk barefoot live longer than people who wear shoes or slippers. Experience tells otherwise, when I was a child I almost died of tetanus (not really almost died of tetanus, truth is I almost died of panic becuase of my mother's shriek and shouting and yelling and calling on the neighbors for help) when I accidentally stepped on a rusty nail. One of my friends was walking barefoot when a dog poop almost killed him. He accidentally stepped on the poop, lifted his foot, looked at it when he lost his balance and almost fell headfirst. I remember my mother telling me that worms enter the blood stream through the pores of the feet. That’s why I grew up with the thinking that walking barefoot is not good.

Anyways…I was curious so I tried walking barefoot. To tell the truth, it felt good.

I was wondering if walking barefoot on fire can be considered a super duper reflexology…I mean it can not only stimulate the nerve, it can stimulate everything!. It also simulates hell…nahhh.

Duetos de sintunados/Seek ye first

My 8 year old daughter playing Seek ye First on the bamboo flute. My wife took the video using a celphone. Look at my daughter's eyes, she was giving my wife the look because my wife was smiling everytime my daughter hit a flat note.

I hope my daughter will take music more seriously than her father.

I know whom I had believeth

My favorite hymn. I was singing the melody as I was playing...my daughter is taking the video and if you listen carefully you will hear her chewing candies and there's the broooom of motorbike passing by on the last part of the video.

I love this hymn especially the Tagalog version.

The Lathe of Heaven

Dreams. I have always had this fascination about dreams, so mysterious and powerful. I am not talking about aspirations or those things that people dream while they’re awake. I’m talking about dreams that people have when they are asleep.

Imagine having the power to make your dream come true, I mean literally come true. It would be fascinating and at the same time scary waking up to a different world every time you wake up.


Imagine having the power to change reality through dreams.

I read this interesting sci-fi classic (it was made into a movie according to the cover) by Ursula K. Le Guin (one of the best in the genre) titled “The Lathe of Heaven.” The story is about a man whose dream can change reality.

The novel was set in future, the year 2002, a time when there are tamed aliens roaming the earth.

George Orr realized that whatever he dreamed became reality. Not all his dreams could do it, only the “effective” ones; the ones that are produced in deep sleep. He was afraid of this power, so he avoided sleeping. He took prohibited drugs that gave him dreamless sleep.

Orr was caught using other people’s prescription. He was arrested and taken to counseling. He was given a choice, voluntary therapeutic treatment (VTT) or Obligatory therapeutic treatment (OTT), which is the nut house. George submitted himself to the VTT program. His therapist is Dr. William Haber, a psychiatrist and a researcher on dreams. Haber discovered Orr’s power. He used hypnosis and a device of his own design which he called “the Augmentor”…(hmmm…the Augmentor… an interesting name that sounds more like a plastic surgeon’s device) to manipulate Orr’s dreams to change the world, to make it a better world.

Haber, through hypnosis, asked Orr to solve the population problem and through this suggestion Orr dreamt of a less populated world. But when George woke up, he was shocked to find out that in this world that his dream created, billions of people died because of a plague, and that solved the overpopulation problem but the death of those billions of people was on his conscience. He kept the memory of the past realities, Dr. Haber kept them too, but the world has no idea that reality was being changed by Orr’s dreams. The change was so complete that if Orr dreamt of a pink dog, even evolution will produce a pink dog; the changes are untraceable except for Orr, Haber and a lady lawyer.

Haber made Orr solve wars. When Orr woke up to a new world, there was unity in the world, the only problem was there was an alien invasion and this is what made the warring countries unite—in defense of earth.

Haber made Orr solve racial discrimination. When Orr woke up, all the people in the world has one skin color. There was no racial discrimination, but people with sickness and diseases were arrested and euthenized.

Problems were solved by Orr’s dreams but the dreams have its own way of solving the problem; Orr has no control over it. Orr has no power over his dreams.

Orr only wants the dreams to stop.

The sessions stopped and Haber took away Orr’s powers by telling Orr that his dream does not have the power to change reality.

Orr woke up to a normal life. He was on his way home, together with his wife, the lady lawyer, when he suddenly realized that something was not right. He watched as reality was being changed. He ran back to the lab and he found Dr. Haber sleeping with a device attached to his head. Orr realized that Haber had somehow discovered a way to have dreams like his. Haber was changing the world in his own image of it. Orr realized what would happen and stopped Haber.

Haber went mad and Orr continued on with his normal life.

(There are turtle like aliens in the story that knew dreams, but they speak different language so Orr can’t understand what in the world these aliens are saying about his dreams.)



Why do we have this reality? Once in a while we have these questions. I don’t know but the novel by Le Guin made me think about reality. Like the question my Sunday school students asked: Why do we have this reality and not the other reality where it’s the man who ate the apple in the Garden of Eden? (My reply to that was, would it make a difference because if that was the case then we would be thinking of a reality where it was the woman who ate the apple in the Garden of Eden and where back here thinking about a reality where it was the woman who ate the apple in the garden of Eden and if that were so, then we would be thinking of a reality where it was the man who ate the apple in the Garden of Eden…)

It’s like a game, we can think of having reality according to our image of it and would it still be a better world? Or each one of us can have realities of one’s own where one can be in control. Maybe this is madness, maybe insane people have this world of their own, a universe of their own and its us whose outside it, that’s why we can’t understand them or them us…Or it may even be true that each person has his own perspective on things that in a way made each individual’s experience of reality different from the other people’s experience of reality that what they are actually experiencing is a different reality from what the other is experiencing as their own reality, so, there’s this difference of experiences of realities from other people’s experiences of realities. We all have experiences of realities that is unique to our own…it’s like we are all interconnected realities and universe….I just made a breakthrough here! I have come to the very deep realization of what reality is really all about and I suddenly realized, it’s like the “Eureka phenomenon” you know, hey Eureka there’s something I realized about reality! That is reality is reality….is the realization that I need to go to the comfort room. I had too much fish cooked in coconut milk and it’s making me…realized that I’m losing touch of reality.

Maybe Leibniz is right when he said that this reality is the best reality we have, the best of all possible worlds.

I can live with that.

Le Guin’s book is outstanding, a classic. There is humanity in the story (what ever that means).

(I am reading an old Robert Heinlein novel about twins, telepathy, interstellar travel and psychology. I’ll talk some nonsense about it when I’m done.)

Carabao English

One of the first things I learned while watching Sesame Street is the realization that there’s many English. There’s Birtish English, there’s American, there’s Black American English, there Hispanic, and being one of the English speaking countries, I am sure there’s such a thing as Filipino English or Carabao English. The differences can be as minor as pronunciation to as major as grammar and idioms.

I saw this TV special about China’s preparation for the Olympics. In the program the Chinese were shown implementing programs to train their people, especially those in the Beijing area, to speak English. To check if the program was working, one of the reporters rode a taxi and he asked the driver to take him to the railroad station. The taxi driver was scratching his head and told the interpreter that he can’t understand. They tried it to different taxi drivers and the result were always the same. Even simple words like proper nouns were beyond the common Chinese to understand. This made me realize that even though English as a second language is declining in the Philippines yet we are still better at it than other countries for even the smallest child here have enough vocabulary for an understandable and decent conversation in Carabao English (or Pidgin English).

Yeheyyy!

Yehheeyyy! My friend and classmate Rommel came knocking at...or rather shouting at our house carrying this cake. He told me that this was for me. I was surprised because it is three months too late and ten months too early for my birthday. After the initial surprise had vanished, Rommel told me that I was one of the winners of the school’s cake raffle. Hmmm…and….hmmm when was the last time I won anything…hmmm….and….hmmmm too long ago to remember.

We ate the cake with gusto. Little and unexpected things like this makes me very happy.

Hitler

I was looking through piles of brand new second hand books when the name Albert Speer and the book “Infiltration” caught my eye. I was wracking my brain trying to remember where I heard that name. So, I opened the book and read the synopsis and then I remembered reading Speer’s earlier book “Inside the Third Reich.” It was a few years ago when I bought a dilapidated paperback edition of that book. I was looking for it in my shelfr so that I could review it, but I can’t find it. (I had this habit of buying old books and then after reading them, I just forget about them. So whenever the titles books I had read were quoted in other books, I have this urge to look for the book and re-read them. Of course, most of the time, I can’t find them.)

Here’s an interesting description of Hitler:

Hitler so thoroughly embodied his politics, and all his helpers had so utterly lost their own will power, that Hitler’s person, rather than political considerations, counted for everything. In regard to anti-Semitism, Hitler could have safely taken a radical about face without his follower’s rebelling. For, example, there was unprotesting acceptance of his pact with the Soviet Union, which directly contradicted his doctrines of many years. Such denial of all the principles with which he had waged his struggle for power was accepted unthinkingly. His will alone determined destiny.

Infiltration is a book about Himmler and his plan to build an SS industrial empire.

(Actually this is the subtitle of the book. My gulay, I need to learn how to write book reviews!)

Treasure Hunting

I was on my brother’s bike passing a vacant lot when I saw these people rummaging through sludge looking for treasures. (These trucks vacuum sludge from drain canals.) Usually it’s the children that do this. Every afternoon, on my way to my afternoon walks. I can see children, some still in their school uniforms, feeling through the sludge looking for coins. What is surprising is that these children are not really that poor because they wear decent clothes and they look healthy enough for me to say that they were not that desperate in life. I heard some of them do this so that they can have money to play computer games.

One afternoon I saw this man checking out a ring found by a boy. The man was trying to haggle with the boy; he was offering five hundred pesos for the ring. I could hear them because the man was loud; he was almost pleading. Five hundred pesos, that’s a lot of money for a child. The ring must be worth a lot of money. I was just passing so I don’t know what happened to the ring. I hope it’s not Frodo’s ring because I hate to see Orcs attacking our humble town.

Anyway, news must have gotten around of treasures in the sludge. Trucks that arrive in this vacant lot are now awaited by children and adults alike. Some are so “greedy” that they can’t even wait for the trucks to complete the dumping--these are dump trucks and some of them tilt and fall and could crush them. But what are these risks if they can find treasures in an hour or so of hunting.

Boxing and Prayer

I saw Manny “The Pacman” Pacquaio, the Filipino boxing champion, being interviewed on TV. He said he was practicing very hard and praying very hard in preparation for his fight against a Mexican boxer.

There are campaigns to pray for Manny's fight…The other side must be doing that too; the Mexicans must praying hard for their champion too.

During his fights, Manny’s mother invites priest to conduct masses for Manny. There were prayer vigils and even some TV people and sports commentators asks the Filipino to pray for Manny “the Pacman” as he tries to knock out and maim his opponent in the ring in the name of nationalism and patriotism and dollars.

This is my attack: How can a country that values life, that oppose legislation against family planning and so on… and the church that prided itself as the moral force in the country leading the fight against family planning, human rights abuse, tortures, kidnapping and gambling conduct masses for a murderous sport like boxing!

Or is it because the pay for these masses is good?

For the life of me I will not be able to understand this.

If there’s one thing that the church should hold masses for is that brutality like these should be stopped in the name of God.

Let’s pray that Manny Pacquaio know that God is love.

I don’t care if Manny wins or loose, but let’s leave God out of this…what you call this…barbaric sport.

(My gulay, I’m in a bad mood today.)

As The Deer, Jim Greeninger

This is good! Maybe its time I do something like this.

Speed Trip

I was bored. And, to cure my boredom, what I did was to ride my brother’s bike to the unfinished high way in Taytay, Rizal. (The highway is called “High Way 2000” and its now 2007 and the high way is still not finished. The projected accomplishment date of the project was the year 2000, that’s why they call it “High Way 2000.” But it’s almost 2008; I think they better change the name of the highway from “High Way 2000” to “High Way 2000 years to Build.” It tells so much of the efficiency of the inefficiency of the government’s infrastructure building…hmmm….whatever.)

Anyway, (the parenthesis made me lose what I’m thinking about) I rode the bike and had fun. I full throttled the 125 cc bike and watched as the speedometer climbed to over 100 Kmh. (It may not be fast enough for some, but in the Philippines where the average speed of vehicles in city traffic is 5 meters per hour, 100 Kmh is supersonic.) I had this sense of freedom, like I’m flying.

I could feel the bike’s motor vibrating as it reached its maximum revolution, but I quickly reduced speed because I can already feel that the front wheels were wiggling. This is the problem with small bikes; other riders say that to avoid the front wheels from wiggling, the rider can lean on the front wheel to put some weight and stability in there. I tried it, but it felt awkward. A short burst of speed is enough for me, I am not planning to break any speed record; I’m just having fun.

Riding bikes reminds me of my late father and my uncle and the senior resident pastor of our church going to the eastern towns of Rizal Province preaching the gospel. Me and my siblings backriding and…it’s an early training in evangelism…that I missed (actually what I missed are the meriendas!).

Questions

We were discussing sin when a member of the class asked me, “Why is it that God made life this way? Why can’t he just make things easier for us?” The other asked why is it that it was eve who sinned and not Adam? Why was it that it was Eve who was tempted and not Adam? Would it be different if it was Adam who was tempted first?”

Another theorized the necessity of balancing good with evil…and so on and so on. These questions are inevitable in a Bible class and I have seen a lot of pastors, even those from the TV, attempting to answer these questions with Bible verses and sometimes with logic and sometimes with just pure speculation and, really, what usually happens is that as answers are formulated more questions arises until, without noticing it, more question arises ad infitum.

I asked questions like these and I knew the answer. Most people who ask these questions, I think, knew the answers too but they just can’t help asking them. So, I smiled and told the class that, the answer to these questions is that there’s no answer to these questions because these questions are beyond us.

If we believe the Bible, the answers can be quite simple. But people can’t help being curious.

Philosophy can explore these questions and if one reads them, and get pass through the first few pages, one forget these questions and suddenly realized that “head aches” is a good way of diverting these questions. But unfortunately there’s no answer in there in a way, well, most Filipino’s think of an answer, which are concrete answers.

I have a good way of dealing with these questions and it always worked: I read sci-fi novels.

Mea Culpa

I accidentally entered a one way zone. I was stopped by a policeman, who looked more like a policeboy, and asked me for my driver’s license. I gave it with a smile because my driver’s license had expired and I have not renewed it. He looked at it, brought me to the station, and removed the license plate of the motorbike. I tried pleading but it didn’t work.

In the police station all the young policemen were looking at me, some were whispering, “Hey, he looks like the chief.” “Hey, isn’t that the chief?” They were looking at my driver’s license and they kept asking me if I’m related to this or that person and most of the time I didn’t even know the names they were mentioning. I have the impression that because I wear glasses and looked like a “learned man", I think they thought that I am a man with connections. So they were a little kinder to me. They called me “kuya” or big brother and the guy who gave me the ticket even told me this, “Brother, I am just writing you the ticket. I am not the one who apprehended you; tell that to whomever you will be calling.”

Yes, I’m bad. I was caught driving without a license. Anyways, I am not proud of this: After a few days my driver’s license and the bike’s license plate were brought to our house by my friend, a policeman. I didn’t pay a single centavo, though I offered to pay the fines.

I’m bad!

My wife told her lady friend of what happened to me. A few days later my wife’s friend had a police story of her own. Her little brother was apprehended for the same reason that I was, he entered a one way lane. His driver’s license was confiscated and he was issued a ticket. My wife’s friend, the older sister, went to the police station to settle the matter. It just so happens that my wife’s friend is attractive. So when the policemen saw her, they gave her back the driver’s license without any ado. They were even joking about how one of their colleagues could apprehend such a “beautiful lady.”

Of course my wife’s friend was not flattered. She told my wife that she almost thought of calling Mike Enriquez, the “imbestigador,” to have the policemen’s “unfairness” and “lustiness’ exposed to the media when she saw a homely lady begging the policemen for her driver’s license and the way they treated her shabbily.

I’m bad but… the whole system is worse.

I know, I'm working on getting a new license but it's that hassle that's driving me nuts.

Beep!

Our church’s senior pastor, my uncle, was about to do the benediction when the church was disturbed by the ascending beep of a cellphone, it’s an ancient NOKIA. First, the congregation was searching who was the culprit. But as the beeping grew louder, we found out that it was the pastor’s cellphone. The whole church was laughing.

The scene was funny and to tell the truth a little humorous disturbance like this can sometimes break the monotony of the church. But…hmmm...it becomes annoying.

It reminds of the scene I saw on House MD, a primetime TV program. Dr. House was sitting on a chair and watching his pocket TV, moving it from time to time for a better reception when a nun approached him and told him that he is in a house of prayer. Dr. House looked at the nun, sarcastically smiled and said, “No wonder the reception was strong.”

Hmmmm…and….hmmmm…. “No wonder the reception was strong.”

Table Turned

I was reviewing my blog and I noticed that there’s no post about theology for almost a month now. I haven’t done much “theologizing.” Maybe it’s because that as a Sunday school teacher now, especially for the men of our church, the table, somehow, has been turned. Instead of being the “asker”, I am now forced to become the “answerer” of other people’s questions about God and things that are concerned with God. And, as the Sunday school classes progress, I realized my inadequacies when it comes to Bible doctrines. I have spent most of my “theologizing” by reading theologians and very little of the Bible.

I am not saying that this is bad because I have learned a lot from these theologians; although, most of the times, I don’t even know what they were talking about. But, this has resulted in my faith becoming a…hmmm…mental…pursuit. I am by nature an inquisitive person. The problems I encountered with faith are more of the rational basis for having it. Looking back, I don’t know if I thought that way because I used to live a sinful life, or I lived a sinful life because I used to think that way. Really, it’s a spiritual emptiness subconsciously disguised as an intellectual...hmmm…what’s the word…hmm…wandering?

Anyway, it does not matter now because I’m back in the church.

I am humbled at the same time troubled and most of the times stumped because most of the questions asked in Sunday school were questions I never even took the time to consider and even think about seriously. Questions I took for granted because I was not that interested in them in the first place.

Examples are: Is man composed of three parts namely body, spirit, and soul? Or is man composed of two parts, body and spirit and/or soul? What is the difference between a follower and a disciple? Do angels have freewill? And etc. All I can say is what the Bible and what the books and commentaries say, but on the personal level, I found out that I don’t even have a stand on these doctrines! So what if humanity is composed of three or two parts? Who cares? Here are the views; you choose which one is acceptable to you.

That has been my attitude about doctrines and I am really surprised to find out that it is impossible to teach the Bible without the teacher, in this case me, having any stand and convictions on what is being taught!

I thought that teaching Bible doctrines would be as simple as teaching other doctrines like communism, or idealism, or materialism and other-isms, but it is not. It is teaching about faith--objectivity does not apply!

As I am teaching Biblical doctrines, I am also relearning them.

On aging and ageism

Fundamentally, the term “aging” is derived from the organic realm. Aging is also a social process, and as such it is accorded different cultural values in different settings. The terms “youth” and “age” belong to the rhetoric of this continuum of the biological life span, which is given different meanings in different societies. But we also apply these terms to artifacts. And when we do, the negative connotations attached to the term “age” when it is used to describe, for example, a material object that is falling apart (such as car or a washing machine), will return to the human domain laden with negative associations.

We also, of course, use the term “new” and “old” to describe both artifacts and organic beings--it’s a new tree, we say, or a “new” car. But we do not say that a computer or a blender are “young.” The problem, then, is that the term “old” but not the term “young” is transferable from the organic realm to the technological realm—and then back again. And generally speaking, in our technological culture there is nothing good about an artifact or a technology that is old. The supreme value is to work efficiently (which is understood to be synonymous with being new), not to breakdown. In short, I would argue that rhetoric (as well as social practices) of the technological culture of advanced capitalism contributes to widespread ageism against older generations.

Age relations are power relations—with the young generally holding the power over the old.
Kathleen Woodward
From Virtual Cyborgs to Biological Time Bombs:
Technocriticism and the Material Body

Erap's Verdict

Former Philippine President Joseph Ejecito "Erap" Estrada

I was rudely waken by our neghbor's TV airing the covering (coverage is what I mean) of Erap's, our country's former president that has been ousted by that thing called people's power, judgment. Erap was convicted of plunder, which is a capital offense, and was sentenced with reclusion perpetua (why can't they just say "forty years"), pending motions for reconsiderations and appeal to the Philippine Supreme Court.

Jinggoy, Erap's son, and Atty. Serapio was acqutitted of all charges.

Other alleged Erap accomplices was issued warrants of arrest for their non appearance in the trials. One lawyer said they missed the chance of being acquitted like Jinggoy.

This is funny: Erap was convicted of plunder and all the money and properties he has stolen was confiscated by the government yet he was acquitted of perjury cases. I mean, how can that happen?

Copyreading and Campus Journalism

One more month and the semester will be over. Just like an average lazy Filipino thirty five year old teen ager, who like to do things at the last minute, I will spend most of the last weeks doing copyreading, lay outing and writing articles for this semester’s issue of our student paper.

I used to love doing student publication work. I joined the student paper because as a language major, I believed this is the best place to hone my poor English. (Truth is I love reading and writing but I hate grammar and all its rules.) I was first a contributor, and then I became the paper’s copyreader and later on it’s chief. I am a bit of a trivia because as a sophomore I was the youngest chief, but at the age of 33, I was, at the same time then, the oldest student publication chief (I can’t remember how many times I was mistaken for the faculty adviser or a professor or the campus director) in the history of the campus and maybe even in the history of the whole university, and maybe even in the history of campus journalism in the whole archipelago! Beat that!

I apologize; I sometimes have these delusions of grandeur.

But issues after issues, the work became…hmmm… boring. Maybe it’s because as I grow older, as I become more ancient by the day, my attention span grows shorter. Maybe, just maybe, it’s because I’m already into my very early second childhood.

I must get back to work and copyread articles. Strange thing is…I hate doing this, copyreading, to my own writings because most of the times I have this urge to push the delete button and erase all the nonsense things I write about.

(One thing I noticed is that most of the literary articles I am copyreading talked about love. I am a bit jealous because most of my poems and articles talked about nothing. I mean compared to love, everything else is mundane. No, I’m not being sarcastic because it is true, as it was for me during my youth, that love is everything to teenagers who are just beginning to discover the power of their super hormones. But for old timers like me…”love was a many splendor things.” )

Copyreading love poems do this to me. Crazy, crazy…bwa,ha,ha,ha (ala Vincent Price’s laughter in “Thriller”). Bwa, ha, ha, ha…Boy, I’m sick.

Failure of Examinations

It happened a few weeks ago. Our English instructor, who is a nice lady (I'm sucking up here) and is also the campus institute of education head, was fuming mad about a call she received that morning. She was murmuring like a constipated killer bee. So, being the grand “kuya” of the class, she told me what’s bothering her. She said me that she received a call that morning about some students from the campus applying for a part time job. I don’t know if it was one of those clerical part time jobs, but the company where these students were applying for called the campus to enquire how these students got good grades when they can’t even write a decent sentence in English. She’s pissed off when she received the call; she’s a veteran teacher of English so when she told me that she handled the call well, I believed her.

I’m not good with grammar, but I’m trying my best. That’s why I have this blog, sort of a laboratory and a gym. Anyways, I do average in my English class. (Yes, I’m trying to create an exit door in case my instructors who read this blog ask me who am I to say such things when I can’t even write a decent composition and when I can’t even pass their quizzes …)

Our instructor bombed the class that morning. How dare….? How dare…? And how dare?! And then she ranted about the instructors’ grading system. I heard she called a faculty meeting) Not satisfied with that, she ordered the class to do sentence writing exercises using the formula S-V-O, S-TV-DO, S-TV-D-O-O blah, blah, and all those things that I never took the time to study and memorize. I mean, I hate math and all those formulas, so, why do I have to torture myself with it in my English class. Anyways, I think she suspected that the applicants came from our class; I suspected that too. It’s like she’s punishing them, or us.

Students’ English proficiency problem starts from the bottom of the educational chain and there’s very little a college teacher can do to correct this. But our instructor is right about the grading system. There are classmates of mine who I think don’t deserve even to pass the course yet they received grades worthy of magna cum laudes. Yes they deserve the grades because they did well on their examinations and recitations. But on the other hand, they don’t deserve the grades because the type of the examinations that were given was mostly the objective type—very little comprehension, critical thinking and expression involved. I mean, anyone who can memorize all those things the instructors wrote on the board can pass the exams with flying colors. Language, English for that matter, is more than that—it’s communication and has very little to do with “regurgitating” terms and definitions.

I told our instructor this in a more diplomatic way, and, I think, she agrees with my obvious observations.

I don’t know I write about these things when even I, most of the times, don’t even know if my grammar is correct! Ironic.

Backlog

I'll be back nextweek, I think. I'm taking a little break from blogging.

My First Church Preaching

I was a little occupied these last days because I was asked to speak in the church last Sunday. So, I spend these last days jumbling themes in my mind for my sermon. I have a lot of things to say but it’s difficult to discern what would be meaningful and relevant to the need of the church. I have to forget myself this time, unlike in my blog where I can write about anything where I can be selfish and even egotistical. The pulpit (by the way I didn’t use the pulpit) is a different thing. It’s like driving a car; if the driver is not careful he may end up plowing the whole congregation into spiritual…hmmmm…I don’t know the word…roadkill? If the speaker is not challenging enough, he may end up boring the congregation to sleep. I the speaker is too challenging, he may end up boring the congregation to death. Of course, these considerations are minor compared to what the message would be all about.

The biggest challenge in preparing and delivering a sermon is taking the self out of it and letting God speak.

Anyways, my wife told me that she understood the sermon. That’s enough for me.

Books/Typhoon holiday Hang over

I am now at the school using the student publication computer. I have finished reading reading the book that a blogging friend has sent. And here's how I feel and think about the book. (I am trying to make use of my school break.)

When I opened the first page of the book and read a few chapters an alarm went off in my head, "Prosperity Gospel!"

I belong to a church that is composed mostly of the poor; a church situated in a poor neighborhood. I grew up in a poor family. Most of our pastors came from poor families who studied in poor schools. I grew up poor and up to now I'm still poor. I grew up thinking that being poor is good. I grew thinking that being poor is a blessing. So, naturally our theology is mostly the theology of the poor. I grew up thinking this way; thinking that God made some people poor so that his grace can be manifested wherein the day-to-day struggle for survival is seen as a virtue, an imitation of Christ. So upon reading the book I can't help but feel threatened or scared of what it is saying.

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The book is a study of money. It is a biblical study on the rights of every Christian to be financially well off. In fact the books says that it is God's will for Christians to be prosperous, to share in the riches of God. The author cited biblical passages with sound interpretations to support his assertions. His challenge is true and practical for how can we expect the church to evangelize if the church has no money!

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One thing about this book is its study of the foundations of Christian prosperity: salvation, service, sanctification and holiness that made this book sound.

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Seek ye first...

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If we are prosperous in spirit why not in material wealth?

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And I say why not?

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A good book that made me rethink our theology of the poor. It made me rethink that being poor is not necessarily a virtue in the same light that being rich is not necessarily sin.

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But I can't help but be scared.