SCi FI stories

A few years ago I read a sci-fi short story that unfortunately I forgot the title and the author. The story is about a machine that does everything for man (or humanity). In the story humanity achieved a level of technology where in they perfected a machine that requires no human intervention in its operation and maintenance --the machine is perfect.

Since the machine does everything for man, man became free of the burden of work. The time came when all the designers and the engineers and all the science people who created the machine died. Generations come and generations go the machine worked as expected. Because the machine provided everything for man not only did work ceased, learning also ceased. Man regressed to ignorance.

For thousands of years the machine worked well. Then the time came when the machine starts to breakdown. Nothing is so perfect that time cannot wear down. The machine started to malfunction and the people, dependent on it, started to realize that something is not right. Since all the learning vanished and the scientific and technological knowledge that created the machine died a few thousand years earlier, man is helpless.

“What are we to do,” said the people to the leader.
“Machine is angry at us for we are not worshipping right,” said the leader.
“Read the book and pray!” The leader was holding aloft a thick book titled “Operating Manual”.
And they knelt down and prayed hard for forgiveness of their sins.

This is how I remember the story. And this story got me thinking of the internet and Tielhard de Chardin. The internet may one day evolved to deity and may one day become the machine, like in the story. Chardin argued that through evolution and the emergence of man (or humanity) evolution entered a new dimension and that is the development of the layer of the mind or the noosphere as opposed to the biosphere or the layer of living things covering the earth. As the power of the internet increases, so does the information it contains and process. It is the pool of man’s mind. Imagine information interacting, processing on the internet on surface of the earth—earth, in reality is evolving a layer of mind.

This got me thinking of Arthur C. Clarke’s Child Hood’s End. (Most of Clarke’s novels that I read are creepy: Space Odyssey series, Rendezvous with Rama, The Songs of the Distant Earth and Childhood’s End.)

One day there came to earth great ships manned by “overlords”. These overlords solved the world’s problem like hunger, war, poverty etc. and promoted a golden age. After a few generations then came the phenomenon of the children; children were born with special gifts or powers. These special children were collected by the overlords.

The “overlords” then revealed that they (the overlords) are nothing more than an instrument of a higher consciousness or the “overmind” and although they are technologically superior to the earthlings they are at the end of their evolution; they don’t have the earthlings’ potentiality to higher evolution.

Thus said the overlord:
“In the centuries before our coming, your scientists uncovered the secrets of the physical world…Yet your mystics, though they were lost in their own delusions, had seen part of the truth…all the earlier changes your race has known took countless ages. But this is a transformation of the mind, not of the body. By the standards of evolution, it will be cataclysmic and instantaneous. It has already begun. You must face the fact that yours is the last generation of Homo sapiens.”

Then the overlords collected the children and left earth. The Homo sapiens left their childhood and evolved to a higher form.


Science fiction is creepy especially if you read some that was written during the 60’s and the 70’s because some their prophecies not only came true but some were even surpassed. Science fiction poses difficult question and they also provides profound answers to the questions they asked through stories that tickles and stimulate the imagination and entertains at the same time.

Another one is the story about the Kinimitz. Kinimitz are aliens that arrived on earth and solved men’s problems. They provided technology that solved war, hunger and poverty. The earth became paradise and all the earthlings became healthy, big and lean. Then came the invitation to visit the Kinimitz’ planet. Because of the promise of immortality, many volunteered and left earth happily. Then one earthman, a CIA cryptologist, decoded one book accidentally left by the Kinimitz in the UN assembly. He decoded the title of the book and it said “How to Prepare Man”. The cryptologist was thinking that the Kinimitz maybe preparing man for greater purpose in the universe. But on further decoding, he was shocked to find out that the book is really a cook book.

Buhay nga naman parang life.

Pirated CDs

My daughter has been asking me to buy SIMS 2, a computer game. I told her that I will not buy her one till its summer vacation because I fear she will be engrossed with the game that she will not be able to focus on her lessons. But classes are over now and since she did well in school this year, I decided to buy her the game.

Buying original CDs is not practical for someone like me (or us ordinary Filipinos) because they’re too expensive. Suspend moral judgments and techno ethics, I bought a pirated copy. It’s a four CD set that cost 200 pesos. When I installed it, this was when the nightmare began.

The first, second and third CD was installed without any glitch. But when CD no. 4’s turn came, error message boxes started appearing on the computer screen. I went back to the stall where I bought the CDs and asked for a replacement of CD no. 4. The sales lady obliged and replaced CD no.4. When I reinstalled the game, another message appeared telling me that CD no. 4 contains a corrupted file. I went back to the stall and this time the sales lady replaced the four CDs. When I installed the game, again, another message box appeared telling me that CD no. 3 has error in dll. files or something like that.

All this time my daughter was expecting that she could play the game.

The disappointment on her face every time the messages appeared on the screen is what kept me to return, again and again, to the mall and to the stall to ask for the CDs replacements.

When I returned this time I told the sales lady that I gave up. I want to shout and pull out a grenade and terrorize the people in the mall because I’ve spent the whole day going back there for the replacement of the CDs, and I’m already smoking with anger (of course its nobody’s fault but I can’t help but feel mad) but reason prevailed. I calmly told the saleslady that I gave up. I asked her to give me another game, any other game as long as it will run. She was understanding enough and told me to choose any four CDs on her display rack. I chose Harry Potter, Sim City (2 CD) and Cars. When I was installing the games, the computer asked for a code. I was looking for it in the CD’s sleeves but there was none. I realized that I have no choice but to return to the mall and the CD stall again to ask for the codes but it was already evening, and already very I’m tired.

The next day I returned to the stall and kindly asked the saleslady for the code and she obliged. When I installed the games, guess what? Errors again! I gave up. I told my daughter that I’ll buy her another CD if I have spare money.

My gulay, I want to kill somebody or something that day. I mean the cost of the jeepney fares alone is enough to buy an original CD. (Naahhh, I’m exaggerating.)

Rivers

Summers here and its already hot. I miss the provinces and their rivers.

Daraitan River, Tanay, Rizal
Daraitan River, Tanay, Rizal

Unknown river in Quezon Province. My daughter with her cousins.Quezon Province. MY in laws.

Does God have buttocks?

This is one of those days, idling; I’m tired of reading. Does God have buttocks? A profound question that bothered me today.

I remember something I saw on TV about a year ago. I was channel surfing our ten year old 14 inch Sony TV when I saw this guy from channel 37 debating with a young preacher about whether God has buttocks or none. The young preacher was passionately telling the guy from channel 37 that God cannot have buttocks since God is a spirit, which is logically and theologically true. But the guy from channel 37 known for his sophistry and theological gymnastics quoted verses:

Act 7:49 'Heaven is my throne, says the Lord, and the earth is my footstool. What kind of house would you build for me? Where is the place for me to live in?

Col 3:1 You have been raised to life with Christ, so set your hearts on the things that are in heaven, where Christ sits on his throne at the right side of God.

“Since God has a throne then he must have buttocks for what will God use in sitting on his throne?” The incredible guy from channel 37 who has been suspended several times by the Philippine Motion Picture and Television Review Board for cussing on live television proudly declared complete with the cheering of his equally incredible sycophants.

And this, this is incredible but true. Does God have buttocks?

To add to this theological stupendous inanity is the question whether Christ will sit at God’s lap or at God’s right side? It’s funny how the guy from channel 37 who was suspended several for cussing on live television conducted a running debate against the men in white from the equally interesting group from channel 25 (may I say that these people have class). “No, Christ will not sit on God’s right side because it would be a gross disrespect for the Father if Christ sat on the Father’s lap” The Guy from channel 37 averred. “Yes, Christ will sit on the Father’s lap just like a father will allow his child to sit on his lap,” The guys from channel 25 countered. (And all the apostles and disciples and the early church fathers and the apologists and the reformers and the liberal, neo orthodox and all the theologians of the world shook their heads at the profundity of these people’s debates.)

The issue is anthropomorphism:

Anthropomorphism (Greek anthropos, “human being”; morphe, “shape”) is the depiction of God in human image because it is impossible to think of God without attributing to him some human traits.

The problem with anthropomorphism (the spelling is killing me!) is when it is taken literally and not metaphorically.

I am a firm believer in eternal security (although some of my posts in this blog seem to indicate that I’m an agnostic with pantheistic, panentheistic, deistic and atheistic (and walastic) tendencies , in reality, however, I’m a true blooded Southern Baptist) and the following verse are the favorite verses that we Baptists use to affirm the doctrine of eternal security.

Joh 10:28 And I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.

Joh 10:29 My Father, which gave them me, is greater than all; and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father's hand.

Unfortunately, when we think of Father’s hand the image of a human hand is the first thing that comes into our mind. I was young when I heard Pastor Saulon (one of our church’s pastors) telling how an Arminian (those who believe that salvation can be lost) illustrated that since those who are saved are in God’s hand then the saved can jump out of God’s hands (those who chose to lose their salvation) to which Pastor Saulon replied that what God will do is He will catch those who jump out of His hands. I cannot forget this story because eternal security is embedded in my head ever since I am a child, and I’m a firm believer of it. But the story also shows the limitation anthropomorphism creates in our mind--the image of man in God.

Put simply, the human attribute that the scripture writers used in describing God and his attributes is metaphorical. They are literary devices used to make God and his attributes graspable by human intellect—making the conceptual concrete. It boils down to language.

This is where I will tell what’s really on my mind. Sometimes it is advisable (from my experience) to try to understand people who try to grasp God beyond anthropomorphism like the Greeks, Spinoza and his pantheism, the Deist; I’m not saying that these people should be believed what I’m trying to say is that there are people and may I say good people who sees the limitations of anthro blah, blah, blah. Paul Tillich said it very well when he said that we must try to separate God from our conception (or apprehension) of him from the God who is the ground of our being.

It’s erroneous to limit our apprehension of God to human likeness because in the process the limitation of human attributes to God cannot be helped but be included.

But it is also not good to picture God without human likeness for then what will be apprehended (if it’s possible at all) are ideas.

It still boils down to language. I am thinking of Christ and God incarnated and the more I think of it the more logical Christ is becoming for me and the more God is becoming clearer to me.

I’ve still a long way to go!

Patroni et pastrani

Why do I make faces every time my churchmates call me pastor? Its not that I hate pastors or the pastorate, I make faces whenever I am called pastors because I believe that people who should be called pastors should be pastors. It’s that simple. I make faces because I don’t think of myself as a pastor. I am a deacon; my job description is pastoral but I’m not a pastor. The title pastor is reserved for pastors although it does not mean that the work of the pastor is limited to the pastor.

Why I am against the indiscriminate use of the term “pastor”?

One reason is linguistics. The reason why words die is because they lose their sense. The death of a word starts with wrong usage. Naturally, wrong usage will result to the word’s vagueness and ambiguity. Vagueness and ambiguity takes away word’s specificity thus its power to recall images is gone.

What will happen if we start calling everyone pastors?

I remember a friend of mine who is a graduate of engineering. I call him engineer thinking that it would flatter him, but instead he was offended. He calmly told me that he is not an engineer until he passed the licensure exam. Now, I’m not saying that pastors should have a board exam (although I’m in favor of it especially for pastors who studied in theological seminary, but for layman pastors, their practical experiences more than suffices) what I’m trying to say is that attached to the word pastor is a heavy, heavy responsibility and to make fun of it by its indiscriminate use is simply wrong.

This may hurt, but I don’t think that unemployment should be taken and mistaken as a calling for the ministry. Unemployment should be taken for what it is. I mean, with the rate of unemployment in my church, and if we start calling all our church's unemployed pastors, we'll have a problem. This kind of thinking is not only wrong it also has no theological foundation. I say be realistic; the ministry is not for the unemployed it is for people who has the calling to lead.

Eph 4:11 It was he who "gave gifts to people"; he appointed some to be apostles, others to be prophets, others to be evangelists, others to be pastors and teachers.


The other reason is practical and organizational. The pastor is not only the spiritual head of the church but he is also its administrative head. Anyway, there’s no such a thing as a pulpit pastor, it’s an oxymoron—a contradiction in terms. Pastors are shepherds not pulpit drivers.
Of course it does not mean that I’m closing my doors to the pastorate, it’s just that I believe that the pastorate is something that one should prepare for physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually. The times are changing. The challenges that today’s ministers will be facing is the same as that of ministers faced before but these challenges will have a different faces and unless ministers of today are equipped they will have a difficult time meeting this challenge.


Pastorate—I remember how one of my church mate--who married a man who was almost appointed the youth pastor in our church but unfortunately run away with another woman--pronounce the word, without the last “e”; nah, too nasty to print here.

Of course I’m flattered when I’m called a pastor but you know….I know my church mates mean well but I have high regards for the pastorate since my father was a pastor, my older brother is a pastor, my in laws are pastors…hmmm…the odds are against me.

But still call me a prude and rude I don’t think the title pastor should not be taken lightly; I’ll tell when it’s time to call me a pastor. I hope and pray…
Pastor, pastor, pastor, castor, castor oil….(purgative oil)

La Bamba

I was washing our clothes while tuned in to RJ 100 FM, a music station that plays music from the 50’s to the present, when I heard Trini Lopez singing “If I had a Hammer.” Booom! Nostalgia hit me so hard that I choked. I’m being dramatic here but I almost cried; well, not cry as cry with tears but it’s close to that, I almost cried because I remember my father. (Here we go again.)

I don’t think that Trini Lopez will ring any bell today. But many may not know it but before the Latin invasion of the 90’s led by Ricky Martin, Jennifer Lopez, Selena etc. he’s the Latin guy who made Filipinos dance to that percussion driven Latin music way back during the 60’s and the 70’s.

My father loved dancing the cha-cha. I remember him picking me up from our bed, hugging me while he was holding my right arm like he was dancing with a woman, while my free left hand clings to his neck tightly afraid lest my father’s turns threw me on the floor, and then off he went back and forth, back and forth and turn and back and forth back and forth and turn like a steam train trying to maneuver into its garage. It was fun.

My father isdead and Trini reminds me of him.

Atomic headache

There is the great spectacle of scientific relativism, observable not only in the preliminary character of every scientific statement but also in the model aspect of scientific constructs and in the fact that terms like "atoms," "molecules," "energy," and "movement" are on a boundary line between model and concept. This gives a relativistic character even to scientific thinking. If you ask which model or concept is closest to reality you may receive the answer: none is; what we have here is a "game."

Paul Tillich

Absolutes in Human Knowledge and the Idea of Truth

I am thinking of atom and Plato’s idealism.

There are many models of atom presented. There’s the Thomson atom (1899), Rutherford atom (1911), Bohr atom (1913) and the Schroedinger atom.

But the truth is no one has seen an actual atom. All these models of the atoms are nothing but mere representation of physicists’ theories based on the characteristics that they observed that the atoms manifest. Let me quote Einstein: " In our endeavor to understand reality we are somewhat like a man trying to understand the mechanism of a closed watch. He may see the face and the moving hands, even hear its ticking, but he has no way of opening the case. If he is ingenius he may form some picture of a mechanism....but he can never be sure that his only picture is the only one which could explain his observation...He will never be able to compare his picture with the real mechanism...he cannot even imagine the possibility of the meaning of such a comparison. "

"The atom is not only an idea, it is an idea that we cannot even picture." (Zukav)

The classical concept about atoms (at least in RP government schools) is that atoms are particles but what is confusing is that atoms are also behaved like waves i.e. they are like light. (I’m not a physicist and I’ll leave it at that.) What is more confusing is that there are “particles” (my idea of particles is like a grain of sand but in physics particles is different) smaller than atoms called leptons and quarks, and then there are fermions and bosons (the odd and even classification of elementary particles) and the more the physicist dig deeper into the subatomic world the more theoretical and the more conceptual and the more idealistic their language becomes. I will not be surprise (a non physicist) if our search for the basic building bloc of the universe and reality will lead us to the immaterial world of the world of ideas or forms that Plato spoke about a few thousand years ago.

In reality our picture of the atom and the subatomic world is just an imperfect reflection of our ideas about them; we believe (well, some of us don't) that the atom and the quarks and the leptons and what have you in the future, they’re ideas, really, is the unit of material reality!

Of course Plato’s theory on ideas and forms is difficult.

But the more I look at it, the more I read about what is fundamental element that makes up the universe and reality the more I realize that everything ends up to ideas.

“If you ask which model or concept is closest to reality you may receive the answer: none is; what we have here is a "game."” Tillich

Tillich is right. What we have here is a game and sooner or later we may find Plato laughing in our faces.

Dreams

I was thinking about sleep and dreams. I don’t think that I have a sleeping problem; it’s just that, I like nights, so peaceful and serene especially when you’re listening to James Taylor. (I got to have coffee. This is becoming a habit, whenever I feel I must continue with this thing I do, I got to have coffee--must be James Taylor’s guitar and voice that’s doing this to me.) I was thinking about dreams, not that dreams, but the kind of dreams where you have nightmares and fantasies. The kind of dreams that make you wet your bed, make you wake up tired, make you wake up feeling dehydrated; dreams that sometimes affects what you’re aura or mood would be the whole day. Dreams.

Maybe I do have a sleeping problem: I am a hyper-somniac insomniac. It runs in the family, we’re late sleepers…err…I mean we’re early sleepers…hmmm…

My daughter sleeps with me and my wife. And it’s really interesting to observe my daughter when she’s asleep. She talks, kicks, grinds her teeth, and sometimes she even throw punches at us, just kept hitting us with her fist as if she’s in a boxing match. So, I got into thinking about dreams. Childhood dreams are powerful. When I was a child, I remember my mother waking me up. And when I woke up I was crying; in fact I was weeping, because when she woke me up, I lost the toy car that I was playing with in my dream-- a toy truck that drives it self. I don’t know if it’s a remote controlled or a battery operated toy truck, I don’t know because I can’t even describe it to my mother. My mother was dumfounded because I was looking for a toy that she has never even seen and she can’t even afford if it existed at all. I was crying hard and I was throwing pillows at my mother and looking under the pillows and the blankets for the toy truck. I rolled the buli sleeping mat, crawled under the cot to search for it, but there was no toy truck that drives by it self there. I was so mad because I lost a magical toy.

Now I know better and looking at my daughter asleep, I know how powerful and how wonderful a child’s dream can be. No, I never wake her up even when she’s talking or fighting in her sleep; those dreams are precious. Who knows what adventures she’s maybe in?

I remember waking my daughter up for school. She stood up, as if magic, because ordinarily waking her up is struggle. She stood up and looked at me and smiled. She ate her breakfast without any pleadings and threats, took a bath and we walked to school and I can feel there’s something in her, something’s not right, or should I say there’s something wonderful that happened to her that morning. When I arrived home that day, I saw her watching High School Musical and she’s singing along with the movie. I know, yes, I know that that morning she dreamt High School Musical and I know that she played the lead role in her dream.

I remember my older brother telling a story of how he woke up in the middle of the night to urinate and how he looked at the bed and saw himself still lying on it. He told us that what he did was to lie down on the bed again to reunite himself with the thing that was lying on the bed. When my mother heard this story, she got into talking about how her family had stories of out of body travels and she also told of other stories that were meant to tell us that we have powers beyond any normal human being. Well, that’s my mother and whether that story was true or not is immaterial because my mother is my mother.

But let me tell you about a strange dream I had. This happened about two decades ago when I was still in my teens, I was staring at the ceiling trying to sleep. I was about to fall sleep when I felt that my bladder was full. So, I stood up. And here’s the strange part, when I stoop up, my head hit the ceiling. I was looking at the ceiling and wondering why it was in front of my eyes. I didn’t look down; I just closed my eyes and went to sleep. Out of body travel? Nah, indigestion is more like it. Or maybe…just maybe…too freaky even to consider. Mother’s stories…

Dream. I read one book written by a Filipino theosophist titled “Scientific Basis (or Proof) for the Existence of Soul” (I read the book a long time ago and I can’t even remember the author) and one of his argument as proof for the existence of the soul is dreams. Dreams prove that there’s someone in there; some one that never sleeps; some one that is constantly vigilant and wakes you up when its time to wake up, when your dreaming it’s that someone in there who’s active. I don’t know, but dogs dream too; maybe, dogs have souls too.

Nuno sa Punso (Fiction)

“Why do the people here avoid that anthill?” Charles, also known as the American tourist from Nebraska who likes to wear tight denim jeans, asked.
“People here are superstitious. They believed that there is an old man that lives inside that anthill, and it would be rude to look at the anthill’s direction. People here tell stories of how even just pointing at anthills can make your finger grow big.” Pepe from Bulacan said.

Now, Charles, also known as the American tourist from Nebraska who likes to wear tight denim jeans, had a problem. He is insecure because he thinks he’s not big enough. He was divorced five times and he always blames the size of his manhood as the cause of his divorces. When he heard the story of the anthill, of how merely pointing at them can make a finger grow big; he had an idea.

He searched for the largest anthill he can find. And when he found one, he pulled down his pants and pissed on it. “I know it’s just superstition but who knows? Saves money on plastic surgery, might as well try.” Charles, also known as the American tourist from Nebraska who likes to wear tight denim jeans, smiled.

After a few days:

“Why are you wearing pajamas?” Pepe from Bulacan asked Charles, also known as the American tourist from Nebraska who likes to wear tight denim jeans.

“I run out of jeans.” Charles, also known as the American tourist from Nebraska who likes to wear tight denim jeans, replied.

“Why are you walking like a duck?” Pepe from Bulacan asked Charles, also known as the American tourist from Nebraska who likes to wear tight denim jeans.

But Charles, also known as the American tourist from Nebraska who likes to wear tight denim jeans, like a penguin, rudely turned around and walked away trying to hide the two basketballs between his legs. And his manhood, small as ever, was dwarfed by the two humungous…you know what.

Now, Charles is known as the American tourist from Nebraska who likes to wear loose pajamas. He is also sometimes called the penguin.

Moral lesson: Don’t blame the size.

Manny Pacquiao

Manny Pacquaio will be running this election, and this time its final. He will be running for the congressional seat of the 1st district of Gen. San. Now, I always felt that he was just confused and still trying to make up his mind and that in the end reason will prevail. I have nothing against Pacquiao but we have to be realistic; he just passed his high school accreditation (if that's what its called) examination and with that education, what can his constituents expect from him?

However we look at it, education does make a difference.

I recieved an e-mail calling for the Filipino to be discerning this election but in the end it is still the voters who will decide. Unfortunately voters discernment is equatable with voters' education.

If Manny wins the election it would only mean that his constituents want him and there's nothing we can do about it--they get the leadership they deserve. We get the leadership we derserve. Cheat or no cheats by simply ommitting to act against electoral fraud we are, in a way, part of the conspiracy to elect nincoompoops.

That song, Again!

I can't really get Stevie Wonder's song "Used to be" out of my head. My older brother had already posted the lyrics of the song here so that I would not have to lose sleep trying to find the words but my memory is not how it used to be. I consider the song the best song ever written and the way it is sung is...hmmm...touching. It touches many things from family to church to human rights etc. but without the anger and the bitterness (well, in the way it is sung, I suppose) of folk singers. And the ending is so appropriate. Maybe this song should be sung in churches. I'm posting the lyrics here.

-

Used To Be

by Charlene and Stevie Wonder

--

Superman was killed in Dallas

There's no love left in the palace

Someone took the Beatles lead guitar

--

Have another Chivas Regal

You're twelve years oldAnd sex is legal

Your parents don't know where Or who you are

--

Used to be the hero

Of the ball game

Took the time to shake

The loser's hand

Used to be that failure

Only meant you didn't try

In a world where people Gave a damn

--

Great big wars in little places

Look at all those frightened faces

But don't come hereWe just don't have the room

--

Love thy neighbor's wife and daughter

Cleanse your life with holy water

We don't need to bathe

We've got perfume

--

Used to be a knight in shining armor

Didn't have to own a shiny car

Dignity and courage

Were the measure of a man

Not the drugs he needs

To hide the scar Whoa, oh, oh, oh....

--

Can your teacher read

Does your preacher pray

Does your president have soul

Have you heard a real good Ethnic joke today

Mama took her speed

Daddy ran away

But you musn't lose control

--

Let's cut a class

I got some grass

The kids are wild

We just can't tame em

Do we have the rightTo blame em

--

We fed em all our indecision

We raped their minds with television

But what the hellThey're too young to feel pain

--

I believe thatLove can save tomorrow

I believe the truthCan make us free

Someone tried to say it

And we nailed him to a cross

I guess it's still the wayIt used to be

Mothers

When my mother heard the news that I had a motorcycle accident, she called and did her duty as a caring mother--she gave me her trademark litany. I put the celphone on speaker phone. My wife, daughter and I listened while my mother gave her lectures on the dangers of motorcycling. When she found out that I my drivers license is two years expired, she also preached on the duties and responsibilities of good Christian living on this earth.

Reminds me of screamers in Harry Potter novels.

My wife was smiling because I'm already 35 years old and my mother is still acting like a mother. Well, that's what mother's do.

I remember when I was still a drinker. There were days when I would see my mother following me whenever I would go to my buddies' place to drink. My mother would be looking after me, and if she thinks that I'm in good company she'll leave; but, if she thinks I'm in bad company, she'll take a peek at me once in a while.

Mothers are true guardian angels.

My mother and my siblings and my churchmates 14 years of prayer finally paid off. I am now a church deacon.

Fil-Ams

I was reading today’s paper (Phil. Daily Inquirer, March 10) and my attention was grabbed by a letter sender lamenting the fact that half of the 12 men basketball team that the Philippines will be fielding in next year’s Beijing Olympics are “foreign-born and-bred imports who, after acquiring Filipino citizenship, have qualified to play in the Philippine Basketball Association and represent the Philippines in regional and international basketball competitions.”

Now, why is that? Why would a country do that? Isn’t it better not to send a team at all rather than to send a team composed of aliens representing the nation and the flag? The problem is that our sports policy makers still think it proper to invest money on a sport that we will never be competitive with. I’m not saying that we could never be good basketball players; we are indeed outstanding basketball players in our own class. But we should accept the fact that we could never compete with the taller and more powerful players from the west. Even if we import all their best bench warmers and mediocre NBA players, we will only be making a fool out of ourselves. Importing American basketball players who do play good here in the land of the dwarves but who in their own country will never attract even a fly in the ghetto is foolish. I mean if we could import the likes of Jordan and Shaq then that would be different.

Now, why do you think those Fil-Am basketball players suddenly got patriotic and started tracing their Filipino ancestry up to the time of Noah and the flood? Why do you think they suddenly felt that their motherland is calling them? Why? Because they are nobody in the States. Their credential may be impressive here but out there they may not have even reached the level of mediocrity. They’ll die there; they need to go to a small pond where they can be visible and impressive, where they can feel that they can fly.

We should admit it, we are not for basketball. That is, unless the Olympics organized a midget basketball league for countries like us but as long as this has not happened, why waste money?

There are many sports where we can be good and even be the best at, but basketball, unfortunately, is not it. Admit it.

And even if we did win, by the grace of Mazinger Z, gold in the basketball event in the Beijing Olympics, we did not win it at all. Give the damned trophy to the Americans; it’s theirs.

Walk Talk

Walk Talk

I was walking our Labrador Retriever Tamia at the unfinished subdivision (not ours) where I usually take my afternoon walks when a lady approached me and asked: “Is that yours?” It’s a stupid question, really. It was obvious that Tamia is mine (we’ll he belongs to my brother but at that time that the dog is with me, technically she’s mine). “Yes,” she’s mine; I smiled. “Oooohhh, I’m sorry. I thought that that was a goat.” She said. I didn’t know if I would be offended. But when I looked behind me, sure enough, there were a lot of black goats eating grasses, and they do look as big as Tamia. People here are still not used to seeing large dogs, especially big and shiny midnight black dogs. There’s that folk belief that nightcreepers called aswangs transform into big black dogs, hence, the common folk are scared of them.

Tamia scares a lot of people but Labrador Retrievers are the friendliest dogs in the world.

It is summer and the days are getting longer and the moon getting brighter. It’s getting breezy and in a few days there will sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, grandmothers and grandfathers flying kites. I don’t know if I can still remember how to make those big kites we call “gurion.” Since the squatters invaded and killed our “bukid”, my skill in kite making died with our “bukid” (rice paddies).

People are starting to plant vegetables on the vacant lots.

I missed my mountain bike. Nothing beats biking not even motorcycling.

I was looking at a kitten that found shelter in a concrete pipe. And the hymn “Rock of Ages cleft for me” kept playing in my head. Every time I passed by the kitten, it was in there safe and secure, looking at me.

Its summer and I hope I will be able to go to the Seminary in Baguio for the summer institute to study a little theology and take a long needed rest from the summer heat and asthma.

I’m planning to increase the dosage of my walking and then start implementing my long planned water therapy to cleanse my body of all that junk foods and antihistamines and decongestant residues and maybe even lose some weight. Of course, this will require not only will power but also exorcism.

Ouch it hurts

My younger brother went on a business trip, and he left his brand new Suzuki motorcycle with me (we’ll that’s what I assumed because he didn’t brought the key along with him, and knowing he knows that I’ll never be able to stop myself from riding; it’s a safe assumption. I used to ride my late father’s motorcycle and the sensation of speed and mobility is ingrained in me.) I can’t help it, really. The three days out of five days that my brother has been out, after coming home from school, what I do is ride that bike to the still unfinished highway (politically called: Highway 2000), smell the breeze and watched the herons and birds feeding on the rice fields.

I also pick my wife from work using that motorbike and together with my daughter we would ride along highway 2000 at night where the silence is so peaceful that we can have a conversation even while riding.

But last Wednesday I had the urge to go farther than highway 2000 and went to junction Cainta where I’m supposed to pay our bills. But as I was cruising, a lady crossed the street. It would have been fine had she not stopped in the middle of the road and hesitated. So there she was frozen, looking at me and me looking at her. I don’t know, but the rule is when you are crossing a road, you don’t stop in the middle and play with motorists. The rule is you walk or run to the other side where you’ll be safe. No, this lady hesitated and I had no choice but to break abruptly. The problem was the road was wet and slippery; the bike slipped. I crashed, and my left elbow and left knee was grazed. Funny thing was the lady just looked at me. I mean, I had to stop the urge to stand up to bash her head with the helmet and call her names that would kill her with shame. (You know, maybe those prayers did a lot to temper my temper.) She just looked at me, rode a jeepney as if nothing happened. Bless her; maybe she felt guilt too, deep in her heart—why not, she almost killed me!

I used to ride my father’s motocross bike when I was still a teenager and I never had an accident, yet this time I did. To top it all, my brother’s bike is a low rider unlike my father’s motocross bike where I had to stop and step on atop a gutter in order to ride onto it and to get off of it. Must be that my reflexes is not that good as it is during my teenage years.

I went home and looked at my elbow and knees. I was so tired because of the adrenaline rush that I didn’t even bother to wash my wounds. I was so sleepy that what I did was lie on the bed and took a nap. Now, when I woke up that’s when things got painful. My elbow and my knees were as stiff as a…err…frozen hotdog. They were swollen, they felt hot and they hurt like hell. I did what I do when I’m in pain: I slept, again. The second time I woke up the pain is already bearable but it still hurt.

Now, sitting on the toilet is a challenge. Bending my knees is so painful that I think I’d have a premature delivery. Now washing my er…hmmm…(I’m thinking of a politically correct term for my anus)…is another challenge that taxed my creativity. (I will not tell here.) Taking a bath is also painful. Why is it that skin injury, no matter how superficial, is so painful?

Anyways and anyhows, I don’t know what’s worse the pain of the guilt of damaging my brother’s new bike or the pain of my injuries.

It’s good thing that my mother is still with my sister in Baguio because if she’s here with me, I’ll have three things think about:

The pain of the guilt of damaging my brother’s new bike, the pain of my injuries, and the torture of my mother’s lashing. Y

You know how it is with mothers. But sometimes there’s something cleansing and sanctifying about mother’s lashings; it help cleanse the guilt. Maybe some sort of sado-masochist Freudian phenomenon…blah, blah, blah. But they do, mother’s lashings do remove some pain and guilt because she’s always right, well, not all the time; I suppose.

My Daughter

I remember the first I saw my infant daughter
I told my wife nothing looked weirder
Because my infant daughter
Looked like a bald dehydrated otter
Taken out of the water

My daughter was squirming
Looked like she’s swimming
Maybe she still thinks she’s inside her mother
Floating in liquid matter

My mother was elated
My siblings were excited
They said my daughter is a Xeroxed
A copy of her father

Now my daughter’s grown
She’s already a fawn
The only time I see her at home
Is when she thirst and drink like a gnome
For she’s out all day
Playing with other people’s daughters

Why am I being sentimental?
About my toothless daughter
Who now knows how to answer back
And can reason like a lawyer
And defy her father
Like an heretical preacher

Well, you see,
My daughter’s nearing
Her birthday
And in my financial state
I can’t give her a cake

So’ I’ll just write this poem
And when she grew up and read this
Maybe she’ll realize
How much her father loves her
And maybe she’ll realize too
How cheap her father really is

Stumped on textbooks

I am trying to write an essay that will be part of a commentary for our campus paper but I can’t think of where to start. I can’t organize my thought. The essay is supposed to be about the textbooks being used here in our public schools. But I can’t get anywhere, heck, I can’t even think of a title. So, I will do what writing textbook says when you can’t write-- write. Write anything about the subject I want to discuss in the commentary. (I buy used American textbooks about writing called “Readers”. They are cheaper and a lot, lot, lot better than the ones written by local authors whose books are really just a cut and pasted copy of the used readers I buy.)

What I will try to show in this essay is that our textbooks do not promote critical thinking; to tell the truth, they don’t promote anything except memorization. The way I see it and I supposed every one who read a book regularly sees it, books even textbooks can be an independent learning tool. A well written textbook is a programmed instruction by itself; it can do without teachers. In fact, sometimes, the students are better off without any teacher. It all depends on that special relationship that exists between books and their reader—a rapport that can only be developed through practice. Discussions and criticism occurs even in solitary reading. It’s like an intellectual masturbation (sorry about that. Of course…nah…no elaboration necessary).

Why do I say that our textbooks are bad? Aside from the complaints filed by parents and from results of studies made by non-governmental organizations most of our books, especially those of the elementary and high school, are bad because most writers are bad writers. These writers do not add anything to the cut and pasted material that they claim they wrote; truth to tell, these writers are mere compilers—shows what kind of research style our educational system inculcated in them: cut and paste.

Now in the tertiary level one expects eruditeness from textbook writers, but except for a few one will have to start with organization and lucidity. Let me cite some actual experiences that I encountered with badly written college textbooks:

During our foundation of education classes about the French contribution on the development of western education, the instructor kept mentioning “Charlemagne the Great”. Charlemagne the Great blah, blah… Charlemagne the Great blah, blah, blah. I told my seatmate and my friend Rommel, discreetly, that there’s no such a thing as Charlemagne the Great. Of course anyone who has read a decent opinion column in one of our decent newspaper would know that Charlemagne is Charles the Great and Charles the Great is Charlemagne. Anyway, the instructor is young and I don’t expect that she has read much history; she’s forgiven. But when I read the textbook, written by a doctor; “Charlemagne the Great” is there. The instructor didn’t detect the error because she can’t and because no one questions a textbook written by a doctor. Here’s what makes the error unforgivable: “Charlemagne the Great” was there not once but through out the article. Where are the editors of the book? The copyreaders? Did they check it? I didn’t read the entire book for it is nothing but an outline of an outline but if one took the time to read it carefully, who knows what other errors are in there. “Charlemagne the Great”, embarrassing.

We were discussing Filipino culture, I opened our textbooks and found in there lists of Filipino values enumerated by different authorities. No problemo. But on further reading I realized that what these authorities are saying are basically the same in essence the difference being merely in the arrangement of words. Dr. Blah, blah, lists the ff. Filipino values…Dr. Blah, blah, lists the ff. Filipino core values…Dr. Blah, blah, this….Dr. blah, blah, this…Instead of being authoritative, the book became saturated with redundant facts and diluted in content. To make it more embarrassing, the book was written by three authors. What a waste of paper.

Literature class: the Bible influenced the development of Confucianism. I asked the instructor to repeat, and it’s there in the book.

I was doing a report on Filipino literature, I was unprepared so what I did was read the textbook on the spot and improvised when I read…Tibag is a reenactment of King Constantine’s search for the cross…(I thought Constantine was an emperor).

History textbook: We are Christians and we believe in creation. Evolution is… (in a nutshell: evil) Charles Darwin is…( in a nutshell: evil). Now I am a creationist myself but the writers of this book clearly violated the rule on objectivity. I was doing a report on this and I emphatically told my classmates that Darwin is not the devil and that there are religious people and even catholic priests that see no conflict between creationism and evolution. The author is obviously Catholic and you can tell that the book is more than a book about history; it is a book about the author’s theology.

Another thing is the style these textbooks are written. They are nothing but reviewers—a review outline. Of course it is assumed that the teachers will do the explaining and the exposition but is that what these textbooks are supposed to be. Like I said before, textbooks are in reality programmed instruction. They must be able to teach even without a teacher but how is this possible when the textbook contains no exposition and explanation but are simply an outline. I mean, books are supposed to be books.

I bought a second hand introductory book on ethics written by an American author and compared it with one written by a Filipino. Except for vocabulary, which can be solved by a good dictionary, it is more difficult to read the one written by a Filipino; the damned local book is choppy because what the author has written are highlights thus the subjects discussed are disorganized and seemed disconnected.

I am thinking of a conclusion. Most Filipino textbooks in our library is bad textbook.

I am being mean today!

PolSci

Write a 1,500 word essay about Political Science. This is the final requirement for our Political Science subject. Writing a 1,500 essay about PolSci is difficult since PolSci is a broad subject to tackle. I mean, the political philosophy of Eddie Gil alone requires a serious PhD study on abnormal psychology add to that the phenomenon of actor-comedian-sportsman turned politician and what you have is a very broad subject that will exhaust my limited vocabulary. So, I will try to limit my exploration of Political Science to the Philippine setting with in the scope of these three guide questions: 1.What do I know about PolSci in the Philippines? 2. What do I care about PolSci in the Philippines? 3. What is the future of Pol Sci in the Philippines?

To make this essay more impressive, I will use “Husserl’s Transcendental-Phenomenological Reduction Method”; simply put, I will suspend thinking (As if…).

1. What do I know about political Science?

According to Microsoft Encarta 2006 edition, PolSci is the systematic study and reflection on politics. Politics is described as the process by which people and institution exercise and resist power blah, blah, blah. One of the subjects of studies of PolSci is people, for me this is its most important aspect.

Government and institutions are nothing more than a collection of people set on a conspiracy. In fact government is a conspiracy. The citizens elect people that they think could provide them with what they need and want. If the citizenry wants a lower tax, they will vote for a politician that espouses lower tax. If the citizenry wants national security, they will vote for a politician that can meet the challenge of national security. If the citizenry wants to have waiting sheds, they will vote for a politician that can provide them waiting sheds. If the citizenry wants to be entertained, they will vote for a comedian cum actor cum dancer cum politician. This is conspiracy: people grouping themselves together, choosing people who belong to their group, then placing them in the government, then cooperating with them; then when the people are not satisfied because the people they voted for went beyond their expectations, they will proceed to EDSA and call on the people to come together and form a big conspiracy and then calls it “People Power”. After people power, then the people who conducted “People’s Power” will then form a new coalition government with a new vision for the country—this is just another cycle of conspiracy, really.

What do I know about Pol Sci? Nothing! It’s a study of vacuum. Look at our political system and tell me if I am wrong. Conspiracy here, conspiracy there, I mean, our political system is good study of the principle of mathematical negation. (1+1=1-1=0+1-1=0x0=0+1-1=0/0=0+1-1= ad infinitum, ad nauseam.)

2. What do I care about Pol Sci?

As a school subject, yes I care for to fail it will mean to repeat it. But as a discipline, a science, a body of knowledge in the Philippine setting, WHO CARES? It does not mean I don’t read about it. It does not mean that I don’t think about it; simply put, Pol Sci is interesting but useless. It’s a subject one talks about when one is drunk or under the influence of too much inhalation of stale mosquito coil smoke. It is a subject discussed in barbershops, in funeral wakes, in the comfort of the comfort room. It’s just like show-business: it’s all about dirt, the dirtier the better.

It is election season. I was watching a TV documentary on the scientific method being used by politicians today like psychology, media exposure, eye contact, make up, perfume, dresses, give aways, etc. The slogans alone are very well thought and a good study on suggestion and mnemonics. For example, Prospero Pichay itanim sa Senado. Who’ll forget that line? Pichay is a play on Pechay (a leafy vegetable) so, translated it means: plant a (leafy) vegetable in the senate. Believe me, that’s what the people will get if this guy wins a seat in the senate—a leafy vegetable senator. Here’s another: Ralph Recto “KoRecto” sa senado; translated, Recto: Correct for the senate. Just keep playing the slogan in your head: Recto KoRecto, Recto KorRcto, Rectum Kolektor, Rectum Kolector…Rectum collector for the senate.

Of course compared to the science of changing sides or turn coatism (an inappropriate term if you ask me because our politicians does not change coat, they change the colors of their chitinous hides), these slogan are chicken feeds. I will not elaborate an example will suffice: Tito Sotto. A die hard Erap supporter but now a part of the Gloria camp. I’ve seen and heard the guy bashed Gloria like he is tanning leather, and now, wonder of all wonders, he’s in her camp. I wonder what he sold this time.

I forgot to mention the suspensions of mayors and governors critical to the present administration. Some of the cases filed against these local executives go as far back as the Japanese liberation era yet the suspension orders were just recently promulgated—coincidence?

This is the kind of Pol Sci we have here: A study on social, moral and spiritual entropy and atrophy. We’re going down south (sinking) and we love it.

3. What is the future of Pol Sci in the Philippines?

I don’t know. To tell the truth this is a stupid question. Our country once boasted of People Power without giving credit to Mahatma Gandhi and where has that brought us? I remember Cory Aquino giving a speech at the US congress about “People Power” and how our political scientist and analysts saw this as the acquiescence of the United States to Cory and her revolutionary government and the Reagan administration’s abandonment of Marcos blah, blah, blah. After a few days and months, the same people ousted from the government is back and the state of the country is not better if not worse than pre EDSA.

People power is the Filipinos contribution to the world. It is the political E=MC2 that we Filipinos bragged as our revolutionary contribution to the world of politics. There were even talks of the Nobel Peace Prize for one of some of the prominent participants in EDSA. In the euphoria of the event, the revolutionary government immediately changed the constitution and divided the state and the people (Art. 2 Sect. 3 states: The Armed Forces of the Philippines is the protector of the people and of the state) thus the armed forces duty bound is to defend the state and the people and this proved to be a disastrous mistake. This ambiguity was put there not because of lack of erudition, it is put there specifically as a device to make the armed forces indecisive in case of a revolt by the people. This is what happened during EDSA 2 when the armed forces withdrew support from the duly elected and legitimate government and instead chose to protect the “people”. The AFP became instrumental in the ouster of Erap. EDSA 3 came and the same thing almost happened except this time the military chose to side with state and protect the usurper government. The AFP became instrumental in affirming the legitimacy of the usurper government and the AFP is safe both ways. These events showed the genius of the provision in protecting the rights of the people and of the “state” of the elite. The people are those who have money and influence and the state are composed of the same people. The conflict is not between the state and the people, the conflict is the conflict of the classes and experiences have shown where the AFP takes sides. This is political science in the Philippines and its future goes along this line.

PolSci in the Philippines is a good study on the amalgamation of showbusiness, cultism and pseudo religion, family planning, EDSA People Power cycle and vote manipulation. As a source of erudition and exploration in the true study of politics, I’m afraid our political system is best suited for the trivia collector; with the advent of these religious leader anointments, it is more appropriate for theology; with its showbiz connection, it is more appropriate for the Oscars.

What did we the Filipinos contributed to political science? The stupidity of the EDSAs and the always violated inviolable separation of church and state.

Of course if Mr. Iligan, my Pol Sci instructor, expects a formal essay on the definition of Political Science I will gladly give him a print out of what Encarta 2006 says about it, but then again I knew him and what he expects is our take on Political Science.

Dog Tales

I love dogs. In fact there was a time that I had five of them at the same time. Of course this is not possible today because of the density of the people in the purok.

The gang was imitating the Hagibis, a local band, singing, “katawan ingatan ang katawan”, in the vacant lot when we heard Ka Huling shouting “My God! Enteeeeng!, Enteeeeng” Then there was a loud thud. We all ran towards Ka Huling and found her lying on the ground unconscious. Ka Enteng was there in a flash trying to revive her with White Flower magic ointment. She kept on opening and closing her mouth, which reminded me of a fish that jumped out of the water, but no sound came out from her. “Alas Huling suffered a stroke,” a neighbor shouted. “No that’s lockjaw,” another one butted in. But it was Ka Panyang’s word that caught everybody’s attention. “ Naku! Enteng your wife disturbed an old elf. Buy some tawas and incense and I will cure her.” Through out all these commotions, Ka Huling just kept on opening and closing her mouth but this time she was pointing at Ka Tibang’s windows. We all looked at where she was pointing and we were shocked at what we saw: a swaying towel-draped figure hanging from the wood roof beam.Tagpi was my all time favorite dog. He was called Tagpi because of the black spot on his left side, which in retrospect reminds me more of a gurami than the Japanese imperial army flag that Dude used to tell me. Tagpi was special not because of his breed (he was a native punggok) nor because was he trained; he was my all time favorite because of his loyalty. All my dogs are loyal but he beat them all because he was the only one who followed me everywhere I went. Most of the times I had to throw pebbles at him to discourage him from following me but I later always found him behind me tails wagging, and tongue lolling.

There was one incident with Tagpi that bothers me until today. I was in my first year high school when I participated in an overnight leade

Brownie was one of my early dogs. He was my elementary school days dog. She had an amazing talent for stealth for I never felt her when she climbed the stairs, got onto my bed, and slept beside me. Aside from her amazing talent for stealth she also had the amazing generosity for sharing her blood-sucking pets with me. There was a time when I thought I had grown kuntils under my arms, just like my father who has lots of them under his. “Nay me mga kuntil na ako tulad ng sa tata, o,” I really idolized my father and I felt “tatayish” because of the kuntils. My mother was shocked, “Mga kato ni Brownie iyan, blah, blah, blah.”

Ulol was the strangest dog I ever had. He was a stray. My childhood friends, the Saulon Brothers, were the ones who discovered him. We were playing softball in the rice field when a large foul smelling dog chased them. That was the first time I saw three people running, flailing their hands, shouting their families genealogy, glancing behind and crying, all at the same time without tripping. It was an amazing exhibition of speed, coordination, and balance. And up to now I still can’t forget the expressions of fear on their faces. Dude, my best friend, and I were laughing our hearts out with the spectacle. We called the stray Ulol because we couldn’t tell if he’s rabid or if he just hated the Saulon Brothers. But Ulol was kind to me. I was the only one who could approach and pat him; we became friends. He never lived in our house. He just came to me every now and then to play. It’s sad that I had to sell him to the alcoholics for two hundred pesos so that I can buy a new pair of “acid washed-USED” pants. I betrayed a friend for a stinking pair of jeans and that time I felt a fraction of guilt Judas Iscariot might have felt when he betrayed the Savior.

rship seminar in school. I couldn’t sleep in the school; I missed the smell of my saliva drenched pillows and the feel of my squeaky spring bed. So I left the school compound at one in the morning and went home. Other kids my age would not venture outside at that hour for fear of night creepers. But stories of ghosts and vampires didn’t bother me. Horror movies were not that gory then, and besides I read a lot and knew that they were myths.

I was walking home and when I was in front of Ka Tibang’s house when I suddenly remembered the young lady who a few years earlier hanged herself there. I was there when that happened:

I never felt goosebumps as strong as that night. Banana trees surrounded the “haunted house”. There was no streetlight and the houses were far apart. I was walking and fighting my fear when I heard faint footsteps following me. I stopped to make sure that it was not my imagination; the footsteps also stopped. I started again and the footsteps came again. I used all the available willpower that I had to fight the urge to shout and run, but I still managed to convince myself that there had to be a logical explanation for the footsteps. So I prayed to all the saints I knew and looked behind me to see if someone was just trying to scare me. There was no one there. I was near panic so I walked-ran-trotted till I got to the house but the faint footstep just kept following me keeping with the erratic rhythm of my steps.

I was breathless and exhausted from fear when I arrived at our house. I sat on the balconahe steps catching my breath when Tagpi jumped on my lap, nearly killing me with fright. It was then that I realized that the faint footsteps were just Tagpi following me. I laughed because it was my loyal dog who was following me all along, and of course I couldn’t see him when I looked back because he was below my eyes. Despite his almost killing me with heart attack, I hugged and kissed him.

The wooden “haunted house” is now gone and in its place now stood concrete apartments that look more haunting than the old one. The bananas that used to be abundant in the area can now only be found in Ka Panyang’s compound. The vast guava field that we used to fear at night because of the big tamarind tree in the middle, which people say was inhabited by malignos, is now a vast concrete toilet for the dogs and sometimes for the people too. I really missed the rural atmosphere of those good old days compared to today’s atmosphere of, never mind.

But there is something I still cannot explain about that night. Tagpi an attention-grabbing dog always greeted me with wagging tail, the scratching, and the barking and lolling tongue. But that night he jumped on my lap he was whimpering and shaking, he was afraid of something, I don’t know, but it’s like he had seen a ghost.

EYES

Mat 6:22 "The eyes are like a lamp for the body. If your eyes are sound, your whole body will be full of light;

Mat 6:23 but if your eyes are no good, your body will be in darkness. So if the light in you is darkness, how terribly dark it will be!

I am near sighted. Without my eyeglasses, I can see clearly for about a foot or two, and beyond that my vision is blurred. Not as blurred as those of a myopic; I can still see figures and shapes, it’s the definition that is lacking. If I look at a person’s face, I can still see the eyes, although they seem to merge; I can still make out the nose although they seem to melt; I can still distinguish the mouth although they seem to look splattered on the face. Without my eyeglasses, this is how things looked.

There was a time when the ear piece (I don’t know if this is what they call the thing that holds the eyeglasses on the ears) of my glasses broke. I had no spare. The new glasses took the whole day before it was done. I was without my glasses for the whole day, a long period.

I can still move around. I can still read; sometimes, it is better to read without glasses. But I had headaches because my eyes were straining. I had to continually focus; sometime I crane my neck to have a better look at things.

When my glasses were done, it was upgraded by the ophthalmologist, and when I wore them, it’s like magic; the upgrade made me realized how much I missed with all the years that I wore my old glasses. Magic.

The ophthalmologist told me that I must have my eyes checked regularly for upgrades.

I think I need a better upgrade. My spiritual vision needs upgrading.

Lord I pray for better vision, through the eyes that you have given us Lord so that I may see things the way it was meant to be, in the eyes of my heart, Lord, in the eyes of a continually crafted heart.

Lord, you’re my ophthalmologist and optometrist, help me with my upgrade.

Ka Pepe's dead

Our neighbor Ka Pepe died. This made me think about death again.

My daughter and her playmates were making fun of Ka Pepe’s death. This is how it is with children, death is fun; nights when they are allowed to play hide and seek and other nocturnal children’s game without fear of scolding. As a child, death is like that for me too—a time for having fun.

Now that I’m nearing my middle age, and it’s becoming clear that death is just around the corner (I abused my body with alcohol and cigarette for almost two decade, plus the fact that my family is genetically cancerous, the odds are not in my favor that I will live to be a hundred years old).

Ka Pepe owns a sari-sari store. He closes his store late because he’s a widow. He’s been a widow for almost five years, and I noticed this: when he became a widow he became a late sleeper. I used to buy coffee at his store at midnight when I’m into one of my insomnia attack (yes, I drink coffee to cure my insomnia). I mean, I bought coffee from the guy regularly and the next few days he’s already dead!

His wife died about five years ago and the neighborhood talk is that his wife came for him, took him so that they can be re-united. This is how it is here; sundo (fetch) is the word.
Peaceful. Ka Pepe looked peaceful in his coffin.

Lazy days

This is the typical days before the finals, everyone's idle. This is suppose to be my literature class again but my teacher's out.

I am glad that Manny Pacquiao backed out of his plan to run in the election. Maybe his wife knocked some sense into him. What can he bring to the politics here?

I was having my hair cut whyne a barber commented that Pacquiao is a good businessman and an oustanding sportsman but as a politician? The barber feared that if Manny went into politics he will lose everything. And, I guess he's right. He'll not only lose his chance to be a great Filipino but he may also lose his dignity.

Of course I could be wrong. I could be underestimating the man. But anyway, the possibilities and probabilities is against him.

Election is getting to be a very interestingshow here in the Philipines. The Jingles alone cn make one laugh to death.