a PISO for your thoughts

At 22 hours of wakefulness

2009-04-13T20:16:00.000-07:00

If you've ever doubted yourself, then this is for you.

If you are a knight, all gallant and valor, doubt creeps, unexpectedly, through cracks on your armor you never knew existed. If you're a chambermaid, tame and pliant, doubt nags at you, a child wayward and strangely familiar. If you are a king or queen, burdened everyday by magnanimous decisions, doubt is a fallen angel ready to take your feet to the grave. If you are a layman, plying your trade or tilling the fields, doubt is the uncertainty of tomorrow dinner plate.

Steel as your will maybe, there will be a time when scornful looks and distasteful sneers break you down and you ask yourself whether you're good enough. Used to doubt as you maybe it's cold, sudden touch still startles you. Aware of it and afraid you may be, but when it comes, it breaks all preparations and renders you dumb.

Doubt is something that cannot be helped, even the most learned statesman drops a cold sweat once in a while.

But if you let it entangle you, it is the end of you.

Never has doubt ensnared this writer so. Looking at this flashing cursor I see me. The looks and disdain I got today I would've shrugged off it if were only from other persons. Learned in social barrages, I have weathered many onslaughts.

But not came at a more precocious time than this.

If someone whom your someone cared for cared none for you and it hurt, then this is for you.

If you've felt the stabs on your back as they weaved lies and deceit behind you, then this is for you.

Doubt, it seems, does not need to come from within to be so potent. It can come from someone who holds a special place in your loved one's heart and hurt all the more. Hurt, it seems, is all the more painful when one knows that those who dislikes one does this out of the love they feel for who one loves dearly.

So feel the way I do and cast that doubt aside. Know, nay, accept that you are good enough, if not better. Breathe deep, ever so deep and know...that you are adequate.

My overdue annual look-over

2009-01-20T00:23:00.000-08:00

Ok, so there. I'm 26. And no, I don't and will not start this with a "I look into the mirror and ask myself, 'Where am I now'", shit.

I still haven't held a job for more than six months, I still can't say that I'm with the one I truly love and I still will not claim that I'm in total control of my life. Finally, I am yet to get an inkling of stability.

But, life rocks. As it did and as it will, my life is what I have chosen it to be.

I still haven't held a job for more than six months because I've chosen to take risks that my parents never took, I've decided to stand up and try to create something that I could truly call my own. I've risked hard-earned money on my passions, I have been distracted from the drone-like routine of 9 hour shifts and 15 minute breaks quite easily by even the slightest hint of a job as a Off-set printer, a cook, a small businessman, a writer on any medium.

I'm in a rush to get out of clocking in and out and get to the gold carts and long lunches. If I fail now, I know that I will pick up the bits and pieces of wisdom that'll prepare me for bigger ventures. If I fail now, as I have before, I know I am still competitive enough to get a decent paying job, as I have, and to excel in it. I know what I want and I'm sure as hell ready to take even bigger risks.

I wasn't born with a trust fund. I grew up eating sardines out of a can shared with buddies and heaps upon heaps of rice after a nice long game of basketball without shoes on.

I still can't say that I'm with the one I truly love because she's in another country and I am finding a way to go to her. So if anyone can help me get to Canada, I'm telling you, I will do the dirtiest job on the planet and be best at it. But the distance has shown me that at some plateau, I can be a mature person. That, even under the stress of a long distance relationship I have kept my word of being true to her, that, even if the success of the relationship entails that I turn over a new leaf socially, that I do love her so and that the once-great sacrifices become merely crumbs to dust off. But one day, and one day soon, I will be with her.

I still will not claim that I'm in total control of my life, and I'm proud of it. I love the uncertainty, the fact that I still can avoid routines, that the paths I take form a semblance of a productive life without being drained of the bullish intensity I am proud to bear. I have no total control of my life because I don't want it. I am serious when I need to be, but I don't constantly strain for normalcy. I am not pulled like a guitar string ready to snap at extreme changes in pressure. 2008 was bad for me, it hit me like I was the aged Dela Hoya and Manny Pacquiao was on steroids. But hey, here I still am, a bully, I still have "Don't fuck with me" tattooed on my forehead and I still abide my my self-taught sense of decency and justice. The fact that I've kept myself intact assures me that the waves haven't worn this jagged edge smooth just yet.

Finally, I am yet to get an inkling of stability. This, i am truly sorry for. And this, is my goal. I want to be man enough. I want to write the general plot of my future and be secure in it, so that I only have to do the adlibs for the sudden twists and turns.

Of yesterday's ink.

2009-01-03T00:01:00.000-08:00

SO there, I got an email from a former writer of mine from our college newspaper, a questionnaire for a special they were writing about the history of our organization. The organ that I was Literary, Features, News, Managing editor and Editor-in-Chief for. It was a flashback, a welcome albeit bitter reminder of six years I spent in college bordering on obsessively focused on one thing: making the Advocate the best damn university paper out there.

We all have different opinions on what "best" means, but for me, back then -- an overly enthusiastic I-know-I'm-good greenhorn -- it was about writing about things people needed to know. Generally, school newsletters bathe heavy praises on sporting teams, academic athletes and school milestones. Well and good, yes, people should be given a pat of approval and we did mention the triumphs of the school as well, but after everything, the biggest letters on the front page should be about an issue the students of an institution should know. If their faculty members were squabbling over a memorandum of agreement, if a student was stabbed twice in a shady alley outside the campus, if half of the professors don't have the approval of students, that's what I wanted to print.

I wanted teeth. I wanted a paper that was independent, well written and incisive. I got that. Exactly that. During those years, we sauntered into school with everyone knowing what we were all about: we wanted the truth. Because of our tenacity, we weren't barred with the same evasive red tape that other school organs had to endure. We were respected and listened to. We finished 15,000 copies in two days only because we wanted everyone to have a copy, and not give away all our copies in one day.

I miss those days. I miss the purity of academic writing, well, at least our version of it. We were edited purely for our grammar, nothing else. We had control of our funds and planned the entire school year. We weren't threatened or pressured into canceling or printing a story. We received feedback from students, professors, alumni and organizations -- good or bad. We were proud of what we came up with because it was entirely ours.

I miss those days. I would like to say sorry to every writer whose article I crumpled right in front of them, to the staff I shouted and glared at. I would like to thank everyone who told me I would never succeed with the Advocate, to every single person or entity who TRIED to get in my way. I remember my team, those who taught me how and allowed me to lead.

---

Questions for Arvin Dauz

What made your term different from others?
We were the most unsupervised iteration of the organization. We handled all finances with almost absent supervision. For the first time too, the Advocate was fully independent. We did our own layouts, printed our own proofs and found our own printing presses. It was like a real newspaper, composed of hard nosed writers, photographers and really talented and funny artists.

What are the things that you and your term achieved?

There were no barometers for the ”success” I felt we achieved. Let’s just say this, back then, the Advocate had teeth. We went where we wanted, we interviewed people on the fly, our photographers had complete access to any and all events. Back then, it was normal to have people come in and out of the office with either complaints, fuming mad reactions and queries on the release date of the new issues. Oh, we do have a record, fully distributing 5,000 copies in less than an hour.

How did you deal with the hard times faced by the Advocate?

We were a team. Sure, I was the EIC, but no decision was mine alone. Our editorial board was one of the most close knit. Ever. Up to now, we see each other frequently. So every challenge, every hardship, every threat to the Advocate was handled by everyone. The board protected the interests of the organization, which was fully geared to protecting the interests of the stud entry.

What are the seminars, activities, number of published issues, etc in your term?

We published six or seven issues, if I’m not mistaken. We went to most of the seminars, even those not connected to journalism. We went to team building seminars, student leadership seminars and shone most brightly during the biggest gathering of schools: The YMCA program in Baguio, where we took the lead in producing the seminar newsletter.

How your term did improve the Advocate in releasing quality newspaper?

We created internal processes that expedited the various activities need to produce the paper. Before anything else, story board conferences were held, wherein most of the board, together with the writers, discussed possible stories. Editors were all very opinionated, so the stories were really important.

We discussed a lot during those days, making sure that we wrote only what we know the students needed, and no filler, nonsensical articles on vague and irrelevant topics…like love. Also, as each article was edited and approved, these were directly laid out.

How did you managed to implement office policies?

Respect. The Advocate knew how to get and give respect, especially internally. Though the office had the feel of a family or a group of friends, everyone knew the boundaries. I had kept things pretty simple then, if we weren’t working, we could horse around and treat each other like real friends, but when we got serious, we really were. We really did fire people when they broke our rules, we were severe with deadlines and was very strict with the quality of the articles. Basically, we did what we said we’d do.

Overall, how did you and your Managing Editor manage to budget the Advocate’s fund properly?

We even took money out of our own pockets. See, the Advocate fee back then was not substantial enough to fully support an organizational structure that was as independent as we were. The main budget we got from the Institute Councils was devoted entirely to printing and other pertinent costs like developing and office supplies. But, in reality, we wouldn’t have been able to keep the morale or the solidarity of the group without extra activities. We ate together a lot. After a long and tiring lay outing night we normally ate out, with money from own allowances, in seminars and other off-campus activities, the board contributed money for pocket money. This made it ok for writers to shoulder travel expenses for assignments themselves. We had parties and get together - cum - seminars that we paid for ourselves. You remember those, right, Pia?

During your term, what are the assigned tasks of the Editorial Board?

Governing body, final arbitration entity. Whatever conflict, decision or move the Advocate had to resolve or do, it passed through the board, with fierce discussions.

What motivated you to stay in the org despite of all the hardships during your term?

I lived for the Advocate. My entire college life circled around making it as true-to-the-profession as I can. I was pretty hands-on, pretty fierce. I guess, if anything, I did it because I loved it. Back then, there was no threshold for me, no limits. I would do anything. I would write without thinking “Would this get me kicked out?”, I would protect my staff from anything. The hardships, they were all challenges that made us stronger, not once in my entire stay did I ever think of quitting. I held the organization in such a pedestal that there could be no other reason but a real sense of kinship with the organization and its members.

Who are the people that helped the Advocate? What did they do?

We respected and were respected by all the other student organizations. Professors literally came to see us when they wanted an event covered or an issue made public, the security department gave us elbow room and secretaries knew our writers. I can’t really mention sources but let me tell you, professors knew our personal numbers, our inboxes were full with student feedback. The student organizations, even the unrecognized ones, knew our names and were very cooperative. We got tips about faculty issues, plans that weren’t supposed to be made public yet and got the information we needed without having to go through red-tape.

The transition for Academic Year 07-08 was late and you supervised the election of new EB, why or how do you think it happened?

I was still with the Advocate, then as a writer. There were a bunch of people who didn’t know what to do next so I simply facilitated the transition. The main reason behind that delay were scheduling conflicts.

How much effort did the student councils exert in funding the org? How well did you deal with them and to FEUCSO?

As I’ve said, they know us, we knew them. There really was no need to remind or pressure them. Everything was pretty smooth -- fund transfer wise.

Can you say that 05-06 term was successful in its role as the student mouthpiece of FEU? Why?

Is that how you define the role of the Advocate, a mouthpiece? Please. It was very successful as the Vanguard of the Studentry. Because we had the cooperation of the faculty, staff and the students, we had a lot of input regarding the stories that needed to be published, administrative decisions and information that needed to be disseminated. We didn’t write just to fill pages, we wrote, drew and shot pictures to give the studentry an empowered and informed place in the university.

What are the improvements did your term implement?

I was already a cog in the former Editorial Board led by Richmond Quiambao, what I merely did was follow through with the plans we made then, like the computer, internet access and layout capabilities.

What are the downfalls of 05-06 term?

That we could only do it for a year.

What was your priority during your term, the paper, the office, or both? Why?

The paper. Always. Everything stemmed from that, anyway. There would be no paper without a properly trained staff, a calibrated editing team, a good office, and even better working environment, so the focus was always on producing the best paper we could.

Can you say that the EB was successful in doing their tasks? Why?

A group of people with strong convictions, above-par mental faculties that were hell bent on publishing only what was needed by the studentry could not fail, even if we tried. The editorial board of our term was not a tyrannical holier-than-thou system, it was highly attuned to the staff and even competed for excellence. There were no useless squabbles or power struggles. Everything was out in the open and the staff didn’t see us as bosses, but friends and older siblings. We knew what we wanted and exhausted every avenue to get it.

How was the working environment back then?

You should know. Hahaha. The office was friendly, but revered. Sure, there were goof-off periods and what not, but hummed with activity whenever there was work to be done. We weren’t strict with rules, because we didn’t need to be. It was where discussions made a lot of sense, where you could go to chill out, work beyond healthy restrictions, have a great time, learn a lot of new things and go out proud to be a member of the organization. I learned digital design from our artists, I learned basic photography from our photographers and we all shared what we knew and were fiercely proud of the paper, the staff and the name of the organization.

Did all staff consistently report in the office? Why?

Oh yes. The Advo office was never empty. Sometimes, people even slept over. Because it was a fun place to be in. Because we all knew we could be ourselves and could give our talents to a worthwhile cause.

For you, what is the most controversial/ unforgettable issue in your term? Why?

Every issue.

What is the best thing about being an Advocate in 05-06 term? And what is the worst?

The best was being able to do what I loved in a time where independence was a reality and growth was consistent. There was no worst time, not even a bad instance. The experience, in its entirety, was one I would look back to with gratitude and fondness.

How do you see the current Advocate and its succeeding years?

I hope it stays true to the name Advocate.

This year sucks

2008-12-26T23:08:00.000-08:00

I'm so glad this year is almost over. These past few weeks have been the epitome of the wretchedness that was 2008. My fingers can barely move over the keyboard.

I just feel so down.

December, instead of being a month of blessings, has been a month that more and more represents an end to the things I started. My confidence is waning. I'm the guy who you never see flinch. Many have told me that they wish they had my calm confidence. But this year, wow.

I am starting to question myself again. Something I thought I left in High School, when I was a loser kid with ink marks on the tip of his nose due to excessive reading.

I don't know man. If you read me for my blogs and writing style, stop reading this. This is one of those pieces that are rendered incoherent because my faculties are just shutting down. My mind tells me I need to write lest I implode. I thank the fates that I have an outlet like this. That I've been writing for most of my life and this skill proves most useful when one is down and out, believe me. If you're prone to depression or can't handle anguish or tribulations, write. Don't think about grammar or form or all that crap. Just write. Like what I'm doing now.

I am losing so many things. I am.

See, for someone who has been practically alone since 18 in a country where it is normal to see wedded couples still living with one set of parents, one has to be tough. In a country where the government can tax 30% of your income, where the ratio of food prices and wages is extremely unfair, there's a need to develop a certain sense of calm. Most Filipinos panic at adversity. Sure, we smile and laugh about it, but it haunts our sleep. I've seen that in my mom, in my bosses, in colleagues.

So there I was, Mr. Can Do.

But now, can I still can?

My girlfriend and I just had a fight. She's out at a friends birthday party. It's 4:50 AM there. Normally, I'd just shrug it off, confident in her. But dude, there are like five or six men there. I haven't gone out with any lady friend, heck, I doubt if they still know me, since what, January? I am so paranoid I can't handle it. Should I just call it quits and put an end to her suffering? she's young, with a future so bright I hate it that I'm weighing her down. Yes, I'm cracking.

I don't know if it's right that I publish this here, because this is just too personal, but fuck I can't think straight. I am one hour away from drinking myself shit-faced. I long for the numbness. The haze that envelops me when I drink. That escape that let's me, for a horridly disillusioned span of time, feel like there are no worries.

Yes, damn it. I have a drinking problem. I admit it. I calm myself by drinking. In the hangover, I think of what I can do to solve my problems. In the alcohol-sweat tinged morning I hate myself for drinking again. Red-eyed and woozy, I just think.

So there. I'm almost calm now. Though I still feel the almost-electric anger in my veins. coursing especially strong through my extremities. So let's write, damn it. I mean, really write.

Good on ya'

Pour me a drink barkeep,
make it strong.
Tell me stories of old,
like woven fabrics of lies and deceit.

Pour another stiff one for that lad yonder,
on the side of the bar
face slumped in unknown woes.

Pull up your prepared stories, barkeep,
those that you keep for disinterested,
never-somber regulars you keep here.
Make it fantastic, make it riddled with life's wisdom.

Give me the whole damn bottle, barkeep.
Ignore the drunken melee,
they'll feel it tomorrow.

But I won't barkeep, I won't.
'Cause by the morn, I'll hug my whiskey tight.
And when the pain creeps in,
I lift that paper covered bottle and chug one down,
as I remember your stories, barkeep
Your lies and my truths,
your acid concoctions that
makes it all go away.
Goodnight barkeep, goodnight.

-Hellbound

I hate Twilight.

2008-12-20T01:41:00.000-08:00

OK, here's the thing, I've been reading the Stephanie Meyer ebook and I just managed to finish it before I saw the movie.

Now, I wasn't a big fan of the book, not at all... but the movie sucked. Big time.

Now, a colleague asked me, "Why don't you like Twilight?"

Here's what I said:

Arvin: "Did you read the Harry Potter series?"

Colleague: "Uh, no."

A: "How 'bout Paulo Coelho"

C: "Oh yeah...the Alchemist! Nice"

A: "I thought that book was suited for teenagers. Well, see, even the Harry Potter series has more literary integrity than this book. I mean, it's OK...if you're 16. It's fun and I love that books are getting more interest from the young, but at least move up after reading this. I mean, sheesh, I like her imagery and all, I like the way she paces the story, but I just don't see much to it.

C: "So, you don't like it?"

A: "It really isn't that simple, I mean it's like saying that because a kid can't dig a good Bicol Express or Dinengdeng, the dish is rubbish. It's more as to what suits you.

C: "Sheesh, what books do you read?"

A: "I am not gonna tell you that I read the heavy stuff alone. I mean, I enjoyed Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged and am looking forward to Fountainhead, but I still enjoy my Angels and Demons and the occasional Paulo Coelho. Wait, here it is, if I am to name a writer that entertains me and yet I hold in the highest esteem, it would have to be Neil Gaiman: a fantasy writer.Getting back the book, props to Meyer for being able to twist the whole Vampire idea into an interesting One Tree Hill or Gossip Girl twist, props to her for getting kids to read again, but it doesn't whet my appetite.

C: "Uh, ok..."

A: "And the movie, damn the movie. I even waited for it to end, so that the torment stops!"

C: "Didn't you enjoy it? Are you one of those people who complain that the movie didn't stick to the book entirely?"

A: "Oh, no, I am not a purist. But see,the real outstanding point of the book was that it clearly painted a picture of the chapters. I loved how Meyer projected Edward and his family as almost godlike. I appreciated the 'almost-human-but-too-good-to-be-one' aspect of the Cullens. But that got lost ENTIRELY in the movie. That piece of Hollywood hype turned a completely respectable book into a freakin' teenage screenplay. I mean talk about cheese man. Seriously. Even my mom and my cousin didn't like it."

C: "Uh, you watched it with your mom?

A: "Shut up. Now, the book was OK, it was palatable, but the movie? If it was a pasta dish, it would be a gag-inducing mac and cheese."

C: "What's with the allusions to food?"

A: "I'm watching Top Chef so shut up. That movie sucked. Seriously."

C: "OK, but I liked it.

A: "How old are you again?"

C: "20"

A: "That figures."

Now, of course the conversation didn't last that long and wasn't really like that, but that was the gist. Man, that movie was a total letdown. Seriously. Edward Cullen was giggling like a school girl, far from his regal, smoldering character in the book. And the Jasper and Alice characters, the ones who gave a whole new dimension to the book, were totally disregarded.

Twilight's lines, the ones between Edward and Bella were poignant in the book because so many things led up to it. There was so much back story and build-up that when things were said, especially with the descriptive silent musings of Bella, readers get the full image of the moment.

The movie didn't use that to its full effect.

Sheesh, why am I talking about a book and a movie that were unmemorable and unpalatable, respectably?

Because I was let down. Seriously.

Please, Angels and Demons starring Tom Hanks, don't do that to me again.

Frustration

2008-05-28T04:48:00.000-07:00

I like art.

In fact, my greatest frustration is that I can't draw to save my life. That's why I turned to computer graphics and became a decent vector-art maker. Decent because though I was the one who taught my artist friends to do vector images through Photoshop, they've advanced way farther than I can hope for. Because they can actually draw. I can't. My imaginative artistry is limited to what I can see. I can't just see something in my head and create it on paper or any other medium.

I hate it.

Marvin, one of my closest buddies even said : " Galing ng Photoshop 'no? Nagiging artist kahit 'yung taong 'di marunong mag-drawing" (Photoshop's great, huh? It makes artists out of people who can't even draw)

That's why, when I was head honcho of our college paper, my favorite section was the arts section. The guys from Fine Arts and Nursing (it is painful how really good artists are forced to take up Nursing in this country) got all the pampering they needed from the editorial board. I gave them freedom to express their views through silly or incisive cartoons. I even allowed one of them, Nemo Aguila (featured in the exhibit above) to hide -- he never did hide it well -- genitalia in his artworks. I hung out with them, fed them, chugged back alcohol and joked with them. Because I wanted so bad to be one of them. They taught me Photoshop, Image Ready and how to appreciate art. They made me see lines, curves and color combinations. They told me about style and how Bugsy Garcia has none, but can copy any. Gio Guiao taught me about computer graphics and what can be doe with tedious effort. Dande Mirambel made me appreciate Marvel Comics again. Kyo showed me just how emo anime can be. Obald Castillon shared his love of symmetrical lines, Aldrin Vasquez showed me what obsessive-compulsiveness can do to an artist and Erich Rafer and Danny showed me what fanaticism is.

I love art.

Though I am no connoisseur, I know what I like.

It's the maiden that eludes my every woo.

The beast that foils my every trap.

The dish that, with every bite, makes me wonder how it was cooked.

Go to Nemo Aguila's exhibit. I'll be there. Catch Gio and Bugsy on their Multiply and Friendster pages. You'll read my comments there.

Hate Mail

2008-05-12T04:05:00.000-07:00

I absolutely hate jologs hip-hop. The Philippines has been festering with nasty-a*s posers for years. Lately, they've gone extremely cheap and irritating. I mean, dude, I love rap, hip-hop and R&B. I understand the culture behind the music that encompasses break dancing, clothing and deejaying.

But these young 'uns are pissing me off. To them, "keeping it gangsta" means gang banging with all the hype and none of the bite. I'm just thankful gats and pieces aren't as proliferated here as it it in the 'hoods of the US. They dress like crazy cheap. fake FUBUs, JNCOs, Marc Eckos, Sean Johns and Phat Farms without even knowing that P. Diddy owns Sean John and FUBU means "For Us, By Us". They think the coasts wars are still going down and that they can get in on the action. Lately, they are diggin' the Chicano hip hop with all the vatos and hombres mixed will ill-spelled ghetto speak with all the Zs and the OEs which just kill their vocabs. Dang, if you can't spell right, you ain't going nowhere. They rave on about being the toughest gang and holding down their turf, it's crazy.

What pains me is that my younger cousins are into it, even one of the girls man. What the effin' eff. They're all hooded up with fake blings, crappy market-bought bandannas, over sized fake shirts screaming audacious logos, listening to crap like Gagong Rapper (Stupid Rapper) and all that nasty, senseless jabber about keeping it flip-style. Sheesh man. Anyone who listens to somebody openly calling himself stupid is stupid himself. I borrowed one cousin's mp3 player once to find out what he was listening to. I didn't know the subculture of Pinoy Hip Hop was as inundated with sex-related, empty-machismo and false pretenses rappers as I saw in his playlist.

Filipino Hip Hop is such a dynamic community. It's quest for respect has long been sidetracked by forgettable fakers like Salbakuta and Dice and K9. Hear the real stuff being churned out by people like Gloc-9 and Francis M and hear the true angst of Pinoy Hip Hop. For the young and lost jologs to desecrate the culture doesn't only negate the sense of respect the community is trying to bring, but also is a sorry sorry reflection of how uneducated and uncritical these kids are. I mean, I once listened to insanely stupid stuff like Grin Department and Siakol but I really grew up with Alanis, Yano, Eraserheads and Rivermaya. My hip hop idols aren't the Snoop Dogs or the Ice Cubes, I revered Bone Thugs and Harmony, Outkast and Run DMC in their heydays.

Stop dicking around with all this ghetto crap.

Happy Mother's Day

2008-05-10T07:39:00.000-07:00

Mom,

I aint a kid anymore. You have to understand that. You have to know that the moment I didn't need your hand to hold on to when I cross the street was the moment the world opened up it's big mouth and invited me to go in.

I'm all grown up. If I can smoke a cigarette, what's keeping me from hanging out with my friends? Mom, understand the 10PM isn't bed time anymore, it's party time.

Please, please, please stay out of my room to check out my drawers and the contents of my pod, and never EVER fiddle with my phone, those things are too private.

I get embarrassed when you show my friends my baby pictures and tell them how I was when I was a kid. I don't appreciate the attention to my health when we hang around the house, I can take care of myself, mom.

I'm stronger now, I can take on so much, if you only knew the stuff I'm into, you;d be surprised just how much I can take. high school isn't the way is use to be when you attended it. I don't want to tell you about it because you'll never understand.

Mom, I have a special someone now and she's the woman in my life. The faster you dig that, the better we can get along.

I love you mom, but please, don't get on my case too much, sometimes, just sometimes, understand that we are very very different, and so are the worlds we live in.

Happy mother's day.

Your Son

----

My dearest son,

I know that you can do so much and that you're so talented and I'm proud of you. The world you're talking about didn't open it's mouth, it spread its arms to embrace you. All that we're doing is for that moment when that embrace becomes too tight for comfort. I'm glad you're honest enough to admit you smoke now, all I'm asking is: how much to you really enjoy it? I trust that you can take care of yourself and I have watched enough television that today, the parties aren't "rad" anymore and that you feel comfortable with them, but please remember we'll always be looking out for you and for us to be there when you need us, we need to know where you are. Just know who you're with and where you are will give me the peace of mind I need as a mom, because I know I've raised an excellent young man who's responsible and with a good head on his shoulders.

I clean your room son, when I do come across stuff you don't want me to see, is it my fault if you don't clean your stuff yourself? Just kidding son, but all I'm doing is trying to know what you're into, as you're too busy to chat with and update me about your hectic life.

Son, I am so proud of you that I want your friends to know who you really are, aside from the posters on your wall of the shirt on your back. I take it that soon, you'll know that it's important for the people around you to know you completely. I know that school is difficult for you and I don't want to be another burden, but please, know that when you come in after school with a frown on your face, I wish you'd let me know how I can help.

Your girlfriend is very special to me as well and I commend you for finding a person that cares for you as much as she does. I know that she's the woman in your life, just let me be the woman making sure you have a beautiful life.

I love you too son, in ways you right now don't, but will understand. If I bug you too often, it's just because I want to know who you're becoming, because I already know who you are. Our worlds really are different son, but please, know that I'm doing this because though the road you're in right now is filled with bright new lights, I've gone through them too, and know that at times, they can blind us.

I love and trust you so much son. That's something no one can take away from me. All I'm asking you is to let me be a mother and see my son grow, be two steps away to see the footsteps you leave behind and be there when the road gets too tough.

Love,

Mom

Inner monologue

2008-05-10T07:10:00.000-07:00

Today, left alone practically the whole day, I kept myself busy. I first lifted weights again after a while and my body is kinda hurting. Pumped by testosterone, I felt like putting up (finally!) the blinds at at my apartment and doing some spot cleaning. In a bit, I'll be tinkering with the two PCs here at home, just to keep busy.

I don't want to think.

At 25, there's this thing creeping around the corners and showing up in the most major and minuscule parts of my life: permanence. I don't know man, at this age, things that I do seem to carry a lot more weight, and be more irreversible when I was 18. I don't know if I'm taking myself way too seriously again or it's true.

The friends I keep close all seem to feel it. One, we don't go out for drinks and fun at all anymore. I mean c'mon, it's a Saturday night and I'm cleaning my bathroom? Unheard of in recent years. Now, there are no nightly text messages from the usual suspects inviting for a drive around town or a couple of beers or hanging out at the usual spots. Now, it's "I have work tomorrow," or "I can't, meeting set for brunch tomorrow, pare". I have a couple of married and/or with child that instead of chiming "We need to party," say "Diapers are the new gold!" or something in the same thread. My high school buddies now talk about marriage and settling down, I don't feel the need to pop my shoulders as much now.

Now, my biggest indulgence is food: cooking and eating it. I'm still strapped for cash these days, but instead of impulse-buying a pair of jeans or sneakers, I bought a turbo-broiler and began experimenting with it. I found out I can pretty much treat it like an oven and I am. The NBA post-season is in full swing but I'd give up watching AK47 or King James for the sake of ogling at Nigella or picking up practical tips from Jaime Oliver. But when my main man KG is on, I still only see green and white.

I don't know man, I know most of my age-group are going "What the eff man, you SHOULD be feeling those things now, so get a grip and grow some b*lls!"

I know man, believe me, I know. It's just that I can't focus. Lately, I've been day dreaming about the past. Like, what if I didn't get kicked out of San Beda? Or if I finished my college in the recommended four years? Or if I didn't get stuck in the Business Process Outsourcing industry which just killed most of my writing prospects.

At this age, the last thing I need is regret. But the permanence just taps me at the shoulder and I can't help but scream: "What the hell man, I know, I know, but why can't I?"

Why can't I really grow up, like REALLY grow up. Something inside me has grown so comfy in the juvenile cradle of knowing that my family's got my back and that I still can get back up from a fall. It's different when you're dealing with self-introspection and logically completing and agreeing with correct thought patterns. But in face of actual tests to my much-ballyhooed sensibility, I fail. I feel and know that I do.

What is fundamentally wrong about believing in yourself and not wanting to stay mediocre? For example, I was pretty comfortable in this last Communication Skills trainer position I was in, I mean, I wasn't taking in any calls and was actually helping prospective agents communicate better. For the first time, I wasn't a notorious absentee or late-comer, but one f*cked up mishap caused me to call it quits and leave the company. I felt insulted when they paid me a half-a-month's salary that was lower than the people I was training got. I felt so undervalued man.

I know I can do a lot of stuff well. But I can't seem to get into a groove that'll let me rev to my max. Maybe that groove will never come, but I'll keep risking man. That teenage rebel inside me is slowly getting beaten by the man I want to become.

These coming months, I'm risking it all.

I've already lost a total of 80,000 pesos on failed investments, but I ain't afraid to go at it again. Hell, I'm still young right? And still pretty sharp. What I need to get now, is work that will appropriately make full use of my skills and compensate. I don;t need big, I need to feel like work actually improves me. Because that's my fuel: constant improvement.

This post is so disjointed I know you'll have a hard time understanding this especially if you don't know me. So forgive me, my writing skills have never been Spartan but flowed freely like the gay-a** Athenians.

Let's Talk Pinoy : Streetfood

2008-05-09T09:49:00.000-07:00

I lived in a pardox of sorts when I spent my formative years (seven years of grade school, three of high school) in San Beda College from 7Am-3PM and Sta. Cruz, Manila the other odd hours. The weird thing, which I will most probably expound on in a different piece, was that I went to school that charged 20,000 pesos a year while my friends took five pesos to school with them for their daily sustenance. That meant that after school, around the sons of lawyers, businessmen and other affluent families, I went home to a street where my friends and I brought out any leftover lunch; read: Black, burnt rice at the bottom of the pan and half a piece of salted fish, for a communal dinner capped by an eight-peso 800ml bottle of local cola.

So, in San Beda, I learned just how the good life tasted -- though those rich kids NEVER acted like the snotty airheaded morphlings of today's pricey schools -- and in Vision Street, Sta. Cruz a couple of blocks away from the then San Lazaro horse racetrack (yes, I knew that place before it had airconditioned department stores and Starbucks) showed me how the good life... is over-rated.

Okay, okay...

I know you like your hors d' oeuvres and your bite-sized pieces of pastries and cured meats, hell, I know what you're talking about when you say amous bouche and pancetta, but do you know the simple...rustic...so-bad-for-you-it's-damn-good delight of monosodium glutamate showered dirty oil deep-fried cow fat? Sebo, my dear cabron. Street food, for the average, subdivision-bred insolent means rubbery calamares or the classic 50 centavo fishball now relegated to second-stringer status due to rise of pretentious chicken, squid and shrimp balls. Some people recall banana-que and kamote-que. I even hear stories of "south" (Parañaque ain't no St. Luis or ATL mah boys... the real south is Cebu) grown girls in elitist schools who have not tasted balut. Seriouly, I understand the paranoia surrounding the gloriously germ infested fishball, but an egg is a perfectly clean life-support system designed by nature to protect the continuance of a species-- the point is, it won't make you sick and it's such a sin to carry a Filipino passport and not know how it tastes like. Dang.

Living in a steet filled with horse-racing fanatics, a dash of addicts, a sprinkling of street ballers and computer addicts, my life at home was classically urban Pinoy. Fishball vendors were friends I even drank with one after they sold out the day's wares, always saving a fourth of a pack of fishballs and three one-day-old ducks for our pulutan. When I was a kid the most famous lady in the community was the Yakult vendor followed closely by the Magnolia Chocolait-in-a-bottle milkmaid.

I know street food. My circle of friends are street food connoissuers.

Do not, at any time, claim Pinoy urbanite status without tasting at least five of the items below.

1. Fishballs : Not the flat discs dipped in grossly sweet soy-based sauce. I'm talking about those that were scattered along Mendiola, more specifically, La Consolacion College: those were slightly more puffy, with a dense almost-real fish taste to them. These fishballs had body, more like miniature fishcakes in their slightly more yellow tinge, but the crowning glory of fishballs is the master saucer: there was this one, balding beer-bellied manong I ran to after every school day who made the best sauce. It was golden, not blackish-brown, with a sweetness countered by the rich folding of what I now realise was margarine, with a few sauteed then boiled chunks of garlic. That was the fishball that cost me 40 pesos per afternoon. I drank that sauce like it was Jollibee gravy,man.

2. Squidballs : before the prodigious rise of the chicken ball, the squidball was the heir-apparent. The squidballs were large, well, balls - back then with a real kick of squid. Today's versions are watered down clones. They were perfect when they reached their maximum size, then one skewers them with a bamboo stick to dip in vinegar first then the sweet-spicy sauce. Now, the best squidballs I know are those that really taste like squid and with a vinegar dip red with onions, chillies and kalamansi (Philipine lime).

3. One-day-old : These are called such because that's what they are. Orange, almost dry day-old chickens. I know they're chickens because at times, one-day-olds are actually two or three days more mature with the palong (crown) starting to grow out. There are two variations, one with the bitter gall bladder (?) left on for that weird and inviting bitter bomb or the one where the bladder is removed. Both are a study in contrast: the head,neck and legs are crunchy bites, while the abdomen offers soft innards with a rubbery thing I do not even know anatomically. But, the best thing about one-day olds is to crisp them, leaving it intact, dip them in the community vinegar dip and gobble them up whole. You might not hear this very common food phrase for this food item much but, it is a symphony of textures and tastes. Life.Is.Good.

4. Quekiam or Kikiam : Normally swimming in hot oil together with the first three, I'd rather not talk about that elongated blob of excreted-looking tube because I really don't understand it. Let's just talk about this quekiam I really am looking for these days but can't get a hold of. When I was in grade four ages ago, I had this P.E teacher who sold us a stick of Chinese quekiam, those thin, long, greasy and is-this-cooked? things for 10 pesos a pop. Every purchase gained three merits for that day's activity or a plus .5 to the final examination.Yes, Juans and Marias, smile as you remember your version of my teacher. So we bought them, because it was a way to get a free pass through boring P.E. The surprising thing was, they were so effin' delicious. Now, I forgot most of elementary days because I was a library book-club primero nerd, but I clearly remember how that red and brown stick looked and tasted like. It was speckled with dehydrated pork fat, those pearly globules just melted when you bit into them. It had this chorizo-like texture of dried sausage but with a hint of sweetness. It came with a peanut sauce that just crowned the whole thing king. I tried looking for it in Ongpin, I got some sauges that resembled it, but nothing that tasted like it.

5. Dirty Mami : A bike connected to two stainless steel drums with a makeshift stainless counter top. Stopping at intersections and waiting for very eager customers. Now, when that manong grabs a red plastic bowl and proceeds to take a handful of noodles, put it in a small cup-like sieve and bobs it in beef broth, please,please, hold your claps as he ain't done. He'll put those noodle in the bowl, sprinkle toasted garlic, spring onions and boiled odd beef cuts to them. This is the time you interrupt - ask him to put boiled beef fat when he drowns the whole thing in broth. When he's done, grab the bottle of soy and hot sauce, flavor to your liking. Puto (rice cakes) optional, claps and admiration compulsary.

6. The Pinoy barbecue de rigeur edition : Normal stuff you see on any street barbecue stall. Pork barbecue, pork ears, chicken and pork interstines or isaw, the occasional hotdog, chicken gizzard and pork liver. Not much to say, just this - ever wondered why most pork barbecues taste the same? I bought some in a wet market once and bought another in an entirely different city market. Both had the same cuts with skewered pork meat with fat at the bottom and both tasted the same: sweet and salty. the marinade was a caramel-hued black and wow was it good. Is there like, a factory of this marinade or a congregation of meat dealers who came up with this? Hmmm.

7. The Pinoy barbecue Indiana Jones edition : For the more adventurous set (naks, napasok talaga 'yung Indiana Jones eh no?) there are the more acquired array of barbecues. Betamax is coagulated pig blood blocks with salt and vinegar, very tart and the right preparation makes the texture like firm gelatin. Puwit, are chicken bottoms, an explosion of fat encased in crispy chicken skin. Period. Pork skin and fat,'nuff said. Chicharon bulaklak - I don't know the exact name of the part, but it's definitely pork intestine. When it's grilled, it becomes crisp with a very oily,heavy and musky taste. Adobo chicken feet which require some level of skill to eat. It's mostly tendons and the fingers are bony so the way to eat this right is to bite of the fingers one at a time, just take the skin 'til you're left with the palm. Put the whole thing into your mouth and bite at the ankle and work your way up. you're left with a bone and a smile on your face. My favorite is helmet: chicken heads that appear in two ways - either as three whole chicken heads without the beak or just one head with the neck attached. I prefer the one with the neck. Eating the head is tricky, but I've mastered it to the point I do it without even touching it. Bite off the jaw, spit out the bones. Nit pick the eye with your teeth as these are inedible and leave the socket alone, do it with both eyes. Take the top skin off, the one covering the cranium and take the two big skull bones first. you'll see the brain, but don't chomp on it just yet. Bite the front of the head almost 'til the brain, it's gonna be juicy. Take the two smaller skull bones on the base of the neck off and suck the brains out. Chomp on the base of the neck to get the entire skull off. Wipe your oily lips.

8. Cherryball : If you're over 20 and you don't know this, you probably had cable and aircondioning when you were a kid. Even a generator, at most, in the Cory Aquino era. They're small, screaming red gum balls for 10cents a piece. Normally inside a large glass jar in fornt of the store where you buy Wonderboy, Sweetcorn, Snacku, Nachos, Chiz Curls, Butterball, Litson Baka, Tira Tira, Kiamoy, The salty spicy dried dilis and squid, Pog and Teks (uy, ngumiti, matanda na. Hahaha).

9. The kariton Cheese curls : A kariton or wood cart is pushed by an old man. The cart contains a large plastic bag of cheese curls, the source of which remains a mystery to this day, which you buy for 25 cents per serving. He makes a large cone out of a page of an old phone directory and scoops the cheese curls with a tabo or water dipper and fills the cone with it. Enjoy.

10. Sorbetes or Dirty Ice Cream : Still exists today as a Pinoy trademark as iconic as the jeepney. Sold out of colorful pushcarts which open up to three tubs of ice cream kept cold by ice and salt. The flavors range from the classical ube (taro), mango, cheese chocolate to the updated langka (jackfuit), buko (coconut), peanut butter and cookies and cream. Served in either tasteless or sweet cones, small plastic cups or, my fave, monay or round bread. Not as creamy as commercial ice cream, but suited to the tastes, and pockets, of the Juan.

11. Mani and Cornick : Peanuts and Cornick are exported these days, the peanuts are either skin on or off cooked adobo-style and fried. The cornick are crunchy pieces or corn. The one thing I love about street mani is that you can add chilli-salt to it. Plus the extra crisp garlic wedges.

12. Grilled dried squid : The man carries a small makeshift grill and plants his store anywhere the customers are. He only has one product : dried and salted squid which he proceeds to grill in front of you. This gives it the smoky flavor that makes the crisp squid that one hella of a crack.

13.Popcorn, cotton candy, scramble and taho : All served in bike and cart contraptions except taho, these are the kids' favorites.Popped corn kernels in different flavors like cheese, barbecue and cotton candy. Seriously. Seen in glass and aluminum partitions with an incandescent bulb to light the whole thing up. Cotton Candy made in front of you with various colored sugar put in the middle of a cyclotron looking device, it's topped with a healthy sprinkling of powdered milk. Scramble is shaved ice with milk and flavoring served in a plastic cup topped with powdered milk and Hershey's Chocolate syrup (kuno). Taho is a soy drink. Soft and jelly like, it's served in plastic cups with sago (taioca pearls) at the bottom and arnibal or dark simple syrup on top. The choice? To mix or not to mix.

14. Dirty Salad : Another bike and cart contraption features about six bowls of different salads on a bed of ice and salt. Macaroni, Buko, Fruit...etc. Haven't really tried these as I'm not a big white salad person.

15. The Qs : Saba and kamote (sweet potato) are fried in a bath of oil and brown sugar and skewered. Also features the tasty turon - banana halves embraced by white sugar, optional langka, then rolled in lumpia wrappers to be fried. The sweetness of the banana is heightend by the sugar and the wrapper crisps to texture defining glory.

16. Pinoy burger : Featuring a very thin and flour-y patty, the Pinoy burger is quintessianly Pinoy - a bastardization of a foreign food item given color and variety. The cool thing about this street burger is the add-ons you can pile on top of it. Though bacon and mushroom aren't on the choices, the variations are still very worthwhile. Tomatoes, coleslaw (mayonnaise and cabbage), ham, egg and cheese make for a pretty filling burger.

17. Pinagtabasan : This just takes the cake for weird factor. Literally. There was this one lady that always appears early evening along my street screaming "Pinagtabasan, pinagtabasan ng cake!" She sold sponge cake shavings. For real. I don;t know how she got them, I am baffled up to now, but when one was early and lucky, one got the parts with icing on it. Dang.

18. The two peso Lumpia : An absolute favorite of mine I just don't see around anymore. A man carries two stainless steel boxes. These are attached to a bamboo stick that runs across his shoulders. When you buy from him, he opens the box to reveal four compartments and a small working space. He takes a small lumpia wrapper and puts it in the middle of the work space. He lathers it with a brown peanut sauce and sugar then puts in the filling of sauteed carrots, string beans and monggo sprouts. He then asks you if you want it sweet or spicy. Say sweet and he lathers it with more sugar and peanut sauce, say spicy and a white mixture of chillies and other stuff is added. Say both and you get the trio. He wraps it up with a banana leaf and you jump for joy and screm to high heavens. Then put a comment on this piece with your location as I definitely want to taste that again.

19. Sebo (sub-genre: Fried Baga and Litid) : Directly translated, sebo means fat.Specifically, cold and solidified animal oil. Here's what happens, a man has a small wok-like pan on one end of his bike-cart thing and a pot on the other. After frying chunks of beef fat in the pan, he drains and puts them into the pot. He proceeds to shower it with monosodium glutamate (banned in first world countries) and salt, then he covers the pan and shakes it with gusto. Most of the time, I actually waited for it to cook a whole batch was gone right after frying. I once consumed 50 pesos worth of this stuff. At that time, it was 5 pesos for a small sorbetes cup. He measured with the cup, dumped it into a small plastic bag as I wailed for additional pieces and put more salt into the bag. I "hanged" for more than two hours after consuming that much fat. I was dazed and unable to function or do anyting but stare at nothing while sitting in front of the sari-sari (variety) store. The only entry deserving a subgenre, there's also the fried lung and tendons. Both on minute sticks and pre-fried, the lungs are black while the tendons are bright orage. You pick your sticks and throw them into the oil to reheat them. The vendor sometimes saves you of this hassle and pours hot oil over his fare. The thing about this pair is the dip. Sweet, vinegar and so based with finely chopped chillies. I have long tried to imitate the dip but I think I'm missing the core ingridient: jeepney exhaust.

20. Balut : The effin' King of Pinoy street food is steamed unhatched duck eggs.Many foreigners and pompous socialites squeam at the site of the veined yellow yoke and almost black bird. There is nothing to improve on for this thing, cabron. Salt, spicy vinegar and a healthy blood pressure and you'll taste the creamy yolk, the innard-like texture of the bird and for some, the hard, crumbly white I-don't-know what-it's-called-in-english bato. The greatest thing about balut is the juices. you crack open the wider part of the egg to make a small hole from where you suck the juice out. It's like stewed duck, but a bit more diferent as the juice is embryonic fluid that is, well, so good I can't find a western food-applicable adjective for it.

There you go amigos, The food of the streets that define the Filipino palate: eclectic, adventurous, anything but wasteful and full of flavor and unapologetic cholesterol. Street food offers the in-your-face truth of showing you how it's created but with some mysteries that are as engaging as gypsies. The Filipino is not defined by Kamayan or Cabalen, the Juan who still takes home pansit is a Juan who knows that food should not be presumptuous or rentious. Chow, kain, lafang, banat. Call it whatever you like, but eat.

Dyip ni Juan

2008-03-23T02:30:00.000-07:00

Merong mga bagay na ‘di ko maintindihan, tulad bakit “Para” and sinasabi sa dyip, e salita nama’y wala namang pinaggalingan. O bakit mga dyipni drayber eh halos lahat may kiling pa-kanan, para ba madaling makahipo sa tsiks na maganda, o sanayan lang?

Pero, nasa dyip na rin naman tayo, ‘di ba ang byaheng ito’y napaka-Pinoy? Sapo bawat alikabok, usok at ingay ng maalingasaw na kamaynilaan…

Dama bawat hapo ng puro trabahong magdamag, amoy putok, baktol at anghit ng mga taong pawis na pawis sa trabahong tanging mahahatid sa hapag kainan eh itlog na pula, kamatis at tuyo, ‘di alintana na bawat hapagkainan, mapa-tanghalian o hapunan…nakahain eh pang-almusal (tuyo, sardinas, itlog, itlog na pula) pa rin lamang.

May makikita kang natutulog, halatang dalawa ang trabaho. Umiindayog ang ulo, sabay sa bawat arangkada’t preno ng Japan-surplus na makina. May nagdarasal ng rosaryo (umoonti na sila, oo), pikit mata’t kibit balikat na nananalangin na sana’y maayos ang anak o asaw nila sa Saudi (o Dubai, Hong Kong, Vietnam, Korea, TNT sa Amerika, Canada at Britanya). Nanginging ang labi, nagpupumiglas ang mga salita ng bawat Ama Namin o Aba Ginoong Maria, tapos, mai-istorbo ng lasing na katabi, ngunguyain namang salita’y mga mura’t parinig. Hahaha.

‘Yung lasing, lima ang anak, isang taon ang agwat ng mga gulang, pahinante sa pier at 200 lang ang kita sa araw. Sa lumo at salimuot, pipiliing i-ambag na lamang ang singkwenta ng kita sa isang araw para sa Gin, kalamansi. Pulutan? Sipol at hinagpis. May estudyanteng naka-uniporme nga, sa mall naman ang punta, makikipag-deyt ‘ata kay Bheybs. Buhok na kala mo adik ‘yung gumupit, ‘di pantay pantay ang tabas, kala mo’y dinilaan ng kalabaw sa lagkit at tigas. At ang uniporme: and bantayog ng hustisya at pagkakapantay-pantay sa eskwela. Kaya nagu-uniporme and kabataan eh para hindi malaman ang estado mo sa buhay, para hindi ka maiba sa mas may kaya mong kaeskwela. Pero si boy, may kulay itim na pangloob, may nakatatak pang Sex Pistols eh baka nga hindi pa nagkakakilala mga magulang n’ya nuong sikat ang bandang ‘yon. Mga itim na purselas na puro bungo, may swastika pa, kilala n’ya kaya si Hitler? Sapatos na Converse, 300 sa Cartimar, tatlong buwang pinag-ipunan, dalawang buwang gamitan.

Byahe sa dyip. Ma-alog, masikip, mainit. Huntahan ng magkaklase’y dinig na dinig. Nanliligaw ka’y inday, ‘di magkaumayaw sa kate-teks.

Siyete singkwenta lang, may tatlumpung minuto ka nang teleserye. May magkasintahan naga-away. May batang pinapagalitan na “Huwag mong ilabas ang kama’y mo’t baka maputol ‘yan!”. May Biglang sasampang nagbebenta ng kendi at Stork, saba’y kanta o hirit ala Mike Enriquez.

Pero ‘di naman laging bad trip mga ma-uulanigan mo sa dyip. Minsan, may nakakatuwa rin at nakakaganang tagpo na sisiguraduhing nakangiti ka ‘pag sabi no ng “Para”. May drayber na panay ang sulyap sa salamin n’ya, dahil duon, nakadikit ang litrato ng asawa’t anak n’ya. Alam mong daig ng ngiti ng maybahay at ni dyunyor ang tindi ng Cobra, Extra Joss o Lipovitan. Puting puti ang Good Morning towel na nakasampay sa balikat n’ya. Kahit manipis at luma na, dahil sa alaga ni kumander e pwede pa.

May estudyante’ng subsob sa kababasa ng Nursing Fundamentals, hindi para lumipad tungong Europa, pero para magmedisina at ma-assign sa Marinduque. May binata’ng naka-iPod, padala ni Papa, pinapanuod ang daily Podcast: bidyo ng bati’t paalala ng ama galing Singapore. May batang sobrang bibo at talino, matanong sa inang hindi na magka-umayaw sa pagsagot sa makulit na anak, pero tuwang tuwa dahil alam n’ya, kandong kandong n’ya ang pagasa ng bansa. May tindero ng taho na tapos na ang araw, uuwi na, ang pera’y hiwa-hiwalay na: 100 para kay misis, pambili ng hapunan. 30 para sa panganay, baon kinabukasan. 20 kay bunso, na top one sa klase n’ya sa elemntarya. at kinse pambili ng pansit, para salubong ng mga bata’y puno ng ngiti at sabik.

May lalaking hinahatid and gelpren pauwi, kahit sy’ay taga-Valenzuela at sinisita’y taga-Cavite, hindi padupuan kahit sa lamok ang sintang mala-sanggol ang tulog dahil pagod sa duty sa pampublikong ospital. ‘Yung binata; naka-uniporme pa ng Jollibee, pero may dalang T-Square at mga libro sa Geometry. Saludo ako sa mga ganito: Pinoy magmahal, Pinoy ang t’yaga. Parang dyip, oo reject man ang makina sa Japan, pinagi-ige pa rin para pagkakitaan.

Habang tindi ng kapit mo sa estribo, habang kabado ka sa mukhang holdaper sa tabi mo, ‘di mo alam, puwede ka nang ipinta ng mga maestro o iguhit ng mga kartunista dahil nasa eksena kang perpektong simbolo ng kung ano ang Pilipino.

Four poems I wrote while at work.

2008-03-23T02:24:00.000-07:00

Waking sleep

If Piper lead the children away
and the Boy who cried “Wolf!” got eaten…
Then why do we still trust li’l boys?
If Humpty Dumpty got shattered
and Jack broke his crown and Jill came tubling after….
Then why do we still play dangerous games with dangerous toys?
If ringing around the rosies causes everything to fall down
and the London bridge is jumping right in…
Then why can’t we fall on our ass with even just a bit of poise?
If Puss in boots went to see the queen
and Li’l Miss Muffet got scared by a spider…
Then why don’t animal deaths cause a lot of noise?
**I hope this is taken in a political light….

Techie

19in. blinks made by Mr. Hewlett-Packard
turn me on to his bright, slim face.
The bastard does know how to make me look.
a4Tech’s cherry-lighted undulations make my palms sweaty,
as her smooth skin obeys my every whim,
following my hand with her smoldering eyes.
Her big sister shows me her wares: more than a hundred characters
to choose from, from Vixen to Fox, Gypsy to Schoolgirl or, on good days, 063447.
She even has Home and lets me Insert, she’s okay with me taking a Pause
as long I don’t put an End. She Deletes my mistakes and shows her emotions…
This morning, she was but tonight, she’s even better with a ;p
Ms. Lenovo ThinkCentre’s humming with pleasure,
her hot breath comes in gusts and her green and red eyes
tell me if she’s busy.
Her sleek black dress purrs with my touch,
she accepts every silver-disc I feed her,
every Kinston I insert.
She, sold by Mr. Packard,
perfected by a4Tech…
spoken for by Altec Lansing,
My computer… my love.
The object of my desire.
(please, do NOT believe I actually feel this way, it was more of a writing-challenge)

Emo

I see your black hair glimmer in the the pools of tears in my eyes.
I see your smile spell my imminent demise.
The songs we sang are pounding on my head,
hopelessly reminding me of the life together we lead.
The scars on my wrists have yet to fade…

Guitar rifts spell the hate I have inside,
the drumbeats hum the regrets that in my heart reside.
Your face I wish to tear and ravage,
but to your lips I still pay homage.
My love for you’s still something I can’t evade.

The chains I wear are mere tokens,
of the bondage to you that with each day ripens.
My black mascara fades in tear-drenched smudges,
as everyday I walk in emotional crutches.
Free me from the cage that you made.

Colors painted by words

And if red is red,
the shifting hue of dark, old hardwood,
the emotion that overcomes one in moments of rage.

If green is green,
the smooth roughness of leaves,
deep oceans with the fresh breeze.
The envy that wrenches and gouges.

And black is black.
An encompassing void of silence,
the cool dusk giving way to night.
Deep sorrow of a broken mind.

Rose is rose,
an infant eager to learn the world,
the acid sweet taste of lemonade.
Young, passionate, blind love.

If yellow is yellow,
sweet honey dribbled on a pancake,
creamy butter lathered on steaming toast.
The quesy fear that snatches you from sanity.

Then a rainbow is not color at all,
but feelings for eyes,
the scents made seen…
tastes translated to vision.
Beauty that is seen, but is better felt.

*** I know, I know. I suck. Hahahaha

Sappylicious

2008-01-14T01:31:00.000-08:00

(The author is washed up college writer who thinks he’s all that. Basing from his alleged extensive conversations with his alleged multitude of friends, he has the gall to write something so encompassing and generalizing. He proclaims he’s heard more than his fair share of romance problems, has dealt with a wide myriad of heartaches, heartbreaks and successful relationships that he is presumptuous enough to hope you read the following article and actually learn something by it. He is such a prick he even wrote this introduction, imagine, the haughtiness! And he’s single! The horror!)
After a long absence, we Filipinos greet each other with three de rigueur remarks:
“O, kamusta ka na, long time no see ah,”(Hey, how are you?)
“Tumaba/Pumayat ka ‘ata,”(Have you gained/lost weight?)
“Kamusta love life?” (How’s your love life?)
The third remark just how romance has permeated our way of life. Our fondness for love has always been known, a Filipino trait that is made clear and unquestionable by mass media. Love drives advertising, sales, marketing and economies, even, with its promise of happily ever after and all that jazz. It is the single most successful emotion to seep into every facet of our lives, so much so that it becomes our priority, to find love and keep it is a major issue in our lives.
If we were to degrade this much patronized emotion called love into simple chemical impulses in the brain, then we’d be missing the point. Love, for us, is THE goal. THE completion of life itself. THE one thing that will supersede any and all aspirations.
We love love so much that we buy senseless pocketbooks with telenovela-esque plots and sordid dialogues. We endure formula flicks with stories we are very familiar with: love between socially unequal partners, love between members of family enemies, romantic comedies which are all but funny, teenage love in the most awkward situations, love with sage and paprika, and a dash of pepper. We create demigods of young stars with nothing to offer but wide smiles and fake affection. Our talk shows are filled with relationship updates and new romances. The content of our text messages, the once we call “quotes”, an obvious misnomer, are witty or sappy witticisms about romance.
Love, a subject tackled, talked about, analyzed and pored upon in every way possible is a funny thing. It’s a study in contradiction. It cannot be broken down to simple, tangible pieces. No mathematical formula, no certain chemical reactions.
The following the author’s contributions to this age-old discussion:
LOVE’S IRONIES
A. Women are immensely attracted to Mr. Dark and Mysterious, but want their man to keep no secrets and communicate well.
- Apart from the boy next door standard looker, women gravitate with more intensity to smoldering eyes that speak a thousand languages, when the mouth doesn’t open at all. A well-placed stubble of 5 o’clock beard and barely kempt locks, coupled with an impenetrable air of mystery will work better than any clean-cut image will. But, once in a relationship, women require that all communication lines be open and that no secrets be kept between partners, I mean, are you kidding me? Ladies, when you want to be with an in-tune-with-my-inner-child-and-in-touch-with-my-emotions Hugh Grant, please don’t hope for a James Bond.
B. A man is the perfect model of a Prince while wooing a lady, but turns into a Dungeon Warden once he gets her.
- I’ve written about this before, how, when courting a woman, a man is Mr. Perfect. An eclectic smorgasbord of King Arthur’s chivalry, Sir Lancelot’s charm, Aragorn’s care and Legolas’ valor. We open doors, pull chairs, inquire of your whereabouts, who you’re with, if you’ve eaten even though it’s a basic human need, of your health, of every single facet of your life. We care about everything and would give you the world and all the stars that pepper its sky. But once you become our girl, your life gets rationed to you. No, you can’t dress like that, no you can’t go out with your friends without my permission, no you can’t breathe without me knowing.
C. We all say we don’t look at the physical attributes anymore, but still fall for the most drool-worthy pricks or b*tches.
- One cannot claim to walk down the street and take a second glance at someone because of their “personality”. One doesn’t walk up to someone in a bar because they found their “attitude” appealing. We all have to admit that everything starts with at least a respectable amount of physical attraction. The trick is to be with someone who looks good enough, but tastes, uhrm, acts even better.
D. Men equate strength with the ability to shut out their emotions.
- The typical Filipino male is conditioned to treat emotions as a shame. “O, ‘wag kang iiyak, lalaki ka.” Our emotional growth is greatly stunted by the culture we grew up to, which requires that we become numb in face of emotional stress and show indignation towards any form of sensitivity, burying what we feel beneath layers upon layers of righteous indignation. We call any actor who shows more than the prescribed amount of finesse and sensitivity as gay (Some of them undeniably are, not matter how they adamantly they deny it). This, from a society who flocks to see good-morning-toweled action stars kill 200 goons in a derelict warehouse with a magical shotgun with a 500-yard range.
E. Women expect men to be more emotional and sensitive, but remain as strong as brick walls.
- A direct negation of point D., women expect us to shun a whole life’s worth of machismo culture; to become a poster boy for Anne Rice or Sydney Sheldon novels: unabashedly emotional, aware of the acute sensibilities that surround the female psyche and thoroughly transparent. All this time retaining that one macho trait that seems to be essential in becoming “the man of the house”: strong in times of hardships, sturdy enough to weather storms without batting an eyelash. Of course I am speaking in extremes, but we all have to admit that we desire very clashing things in our partner. Which brings us to…
F. Men expect men to be into boy stuff, but remain lady like to their peers.
- Mirroring point E., we expect women to be able to spend the whole day just sitting on the couch downing beer and pizza while watching our favorite sweaty behemoths put an orange ball into a small hoop. We kind of expect her to like our drab and barely-clean apartment, to chomp on the “meals” we cook, which are nothing but pulutan (bar chow) in a plate coupled with rice. I mean, seriously, both sexes predetermine needs from their partners which are, frankly, nonsensical. Yes, there are times when both can be achieved at a certain degree, but when one is resolute in demanding that the partner become one person when they’re together and another person in public, it puts a heavy charge on the partner, possibly alienating his or her true nature. Basic point: please understand that when we require something from our partner that belongs in our nature, like a woman liking pro-wrestling and a man actually enjoying shopping, we have to be ready to give something up as well.
G. The stronger the man, the higher the possibility of the right woman to shatter him to a million pieces.
- It doesn’t matter how you are the bastion of strength for your peers and family. The fact that they run to in trying times and emotional stress amounts to nothing. You being the guy with all the answers and wisdom doesn’t mean squat when you meet that one lady who, with a simple smile, can turn you into a quivering, shivering love-struck puddle of goop. The more character a man has, the more it is likely that he will lose all sense of confidence, all shades of composure, when that lady walks into the room and shakes the very foundation of his being, just by giving him a glance. And when this happens, people will see a breakdown; that which we all see in lesser men, a shattering of his image and his being that renders him inutile, defenseless and oh-so-happily miserable. The sad truth is… they probably wouldn’t be together, because women don’t seem to understand that they have these effects on that kind of man.
H. The stronger the woman, the more unattractive she is.
- The prevalent idea in gender equality is that women are provided, not afforded, the same opportunities as men. Our country has long lagged behind in the field of liberal ideas to sexuality, I mean, in general, our women have just recently moved out of the housewife era and are just beginning to be taken seriously professionally. But whilst more and more women are donning power suits and making rational, important decisions that hold bearing in national issues, it is as though we retain that backwater idea, nay, fear of women who are proactive, skilled, strong and assertive. The truth remains that the Filipino male, when faced with a woman who is as, if not more, competent than he is, thinks she’s either: a.) a bitch b.) a threat c.) way out of his league.
I. The more you think you’re head over heels in love, the more likely that it’s a farce.
- The next statements should be taken as to pertain to the first few weeks of a relationship/courtship. Seriously, the more time you spend daydreaming, waiting for his call/texts, planning your future with him, her. Thinking of the day you’re going to introduce your parent to him or her. The more it is likely that your feelings are based on mere physical attraction. When you can’t stop thinking about his/her eyes, scent, lips or any other body part prone to become objects of fixation rather than the actual, practical things that could make your relationship work, like his/her status in life, her goals, his maturity, her stability, his wit, etcetera…then you are most definitely caught in the illusion called infatuation. Please, beyond any dreams of a happily ever after, remember that love and passion are fleeting, but trust and compromise keeps a relationship afloat.
J. Love takes up most of the space in our brains, just never the right areas.
- Right? ;-p

Personal prognosis

2007-12-30T01:01:00.000-08:00

I am emotion driven. I have been since I started to form complex thought-structures. For most of my life, I have been impulsive and fueled by either rage, elation or inebiration. Hahaha.

But since 2007 started, I have tried to tone down, keep all my raging demons in check. I think this has shown in my writing too. Well, most of the time these days I try to keep a level-headed, process-ruled decision-making process. I still am trying to make sense of this new thing I'm trying, detaching my normally pervasive emotions from my actions.

But sometimes, I just break down.

There are still triggers that make me froth in the mouth and re-live my adrenaline motor days. Last Saturday was my worst ever. I got so damn angry I made an utter fool of myself, just because of what some candy-ass said about me. I absolutely lost it. Good thing that backstabbing bastard wasn't there that day, for I erupted.

Guess that just goes to show I still have so much work to do to be emotionally and practically stable. In lieu of this, there is no day that passes that I don't take a few minutes to self-assess. General questions that guide me to learn from everything I go through each day. Break down even the most simpe experiences and try to learn from them. Recently, I've been seeing so clearly, having rid myself of emotional goggles, I think I have a much clearer picture of myself and the people around me.

Seeing that you've wasted your time to read this, let me share them with you:

a. I am not that good a writer.
- Having just finished a research article for the Communication journal of Far Eastern University, a very respected professor returned my edited work and I barely recognize my own article. Guess I just don't have the knack for research writing. I am still not that good, but I am prepared to better my craft and finally choose a field. Once I get my schedule and budget thing wired, I will pursue this writing thing with a passion bordering on insanity.

b. I cannot just start something and then let go
- I thought that I wasn't keen on leaving things half-baked before. Guess I was wrong at that assumption. I've dipped my toes in some very varied fields, i.e photography, digital design, layouting, cooking, technical writing, creative writing, debate, public speaking, motivational conversations, technology,advertising,video editing. I undertook these interests to a point I am comfortable of conversing about them or showing them to friends. But none of these things I feel confident enough to charge people for. Guess I need to dive into the ocean and see if I'll float in these fields.

c. Friends, even the most trusted ones, will always have their quirks
- Being as "root-less" as I am, I have found that the brick wall I lean on in my direst times have been more often than not,my group of friends. Guess the family thing just doesn't work out too well for me. When I get down to my last few pesos with no prospect of income for another week, ('cause I suck at budgeting) it's my friends I turn to, they are the ones feed me and provide financial assitance and confidence boosters to lift me up a bit. But still, even though these friends are the backbone that make me who I am, I still feel that there are things that I have to handle myself, for telling them just strains the friendship. Maybe because they have assumptions about me, or have known me too long that they expect the same BS I used to spew, that recently, friends have shown that they see me, generally, as a f*ck-up; and that the way we used to strengthen ourselves: bitter tirades and unbarred criticisms, just don't work anymore. When I write, or tell stories, sometimes, I just expect to be read and listend to, if ever anyone chooses to do so. I am in no CONSTANT NEED OF ADVISE or wisdom. I just want to express and help.

d. I have given too much attention to the big things
- There are things I've neglected in my tunnel-visioned chase for "stability". Other people's emotions and sense of self, my damn health, the way I learn, the way I see stuff, my motormouth. Little things I have failed to improve on that have the knack to bite me on the posterior when push comes to shove.

e. The only person you can truly have any effect on is yourself
- People who have known me for a considerable amount of time can say that I have always been someone who wants to help and improve people around me. I have tried a myriad of approaches in doing so: the badboy shut-your-mouth approach, the I'm-smart-and-world-wizened thing, the I'm-a-friend-you-can-always-count-on way. But seriously, try as I may, the only person I can really improve and help is myself. Though I have derived unfathombale amounts of pleasure from helping people, in the end, I have to help myself first.

f. Never say you know anyone thoroughly
- Connected to c., I've learned that even though I am ready to throw myself in front of a bullet for a number friends, they evolve and change too, and sometimes, they develop nuances that are not necessarily as inviting as their former characteristics. These things keep the relationship exciting and eventful, but though I know I am the poster boy for failure and instability, I hate to realize that my most stable friends are desperately trying to hide the cracks spreading on their vaunted armors.

There. 2008, I am so ready for you. I will do this and come out a better man. Even if it kills me.

I want

2007-12-24T21:15:00.000-08:00

I want to be a man my future wife will be proud of.

I want to be someone in this country, someone to actually move it.

I want to turn society's cog, even just by a little.

I want to wake people's minds and stimulate them mentally.

I want to continue to be able to continue putting out the bad boy aura, only to choose who I mingle with.

I want to make everyone around me better, like Jason Kidd.

I want a life that's hard and full of tribulations, as they make me stronger.

I want to be able to REALLY say I'm stable.

I want to give back to all those people who've helped me, and even those who never cared.

I want to tell those emo boys to stop whining, and the rappers to stop frontin'.

---

I want to be successful with women I really am serious with, and seriously fall in love.

I want to be unafraid of making a fool of myself, in any scope of humanity.

I want to be the jester, the king, the pauper and the general.

I want Christmas stockings to be filled.

I want home-brewed coffee and hand-squeezed coconut milk.

I want warm mornings and chilly evenings, in an embrace that'll hold me tight.

I want to be REALLY confident, and not assume all the time.

I want people, but I don't want them too much.

I want peace, but I thrive in chaos.

---

I want frugal means and extravagant passion.

I want a simple bowl of rice porridge, while the rain tears the land.

I want simple words, that express the most complex emotions.

I want to write with the fervor of insanity, drawn in line of austere brevity.

I want to cook to fill hearts, and warm empty stomachs.

I want to create beauty, if only to expose that it really hides beneath.

I want to learn everything from everything I do and see and hear, if only to err more humanly.

I want the world to understand that I;d give my life for a moment of its clarity.

---

AND IN RETURN

---

I'd give blood, sweat, tears and soul...

I'd give all my talents and skills...

I'd give every second of my time...

I'd give every waking moment and every dreamy scene...

I'd give justice to the just...

I'd give my lust for knowledge...

I'd give an award-worthy performance to my role...

I'd give my friends all the help they need...

I'd give humanity the sacrifices they deem fit...

I'd give everything and nothing, I'd give all that I am, but none of who I am.

Again, another decision.

2007-12-17T22:30:00.000-08:00

Currently employed in an advantageous wave of an account that'll ramp to gargantuan proportions (to non-call center peeps, it mean's I'm in the the third batch of a department that'll furiously hire thousands in the next few months, opening very real opportunities to move up in the rungs), my first love calls me back.

I got a text message from my old editor from the school organ, asking if I'd like to join him as an online content writer in Makati. I've done this line of work before, but it was home-based. He tells me the good stuff: i don't have to make any call to anyone, much less sell. The hours are normal, not zombie-inducing. The pay's good, at par with call centers (think it's also an outsourced process). Plus, every hot dang minute of your time is not monitored by at least three depatments, or counted by a digital clocks that glare at you from your desktop, phone and every hot dang wall.

So, do I write and finally do something I absatively like? Or do I continue with this call center thing, which has proven to be quite advantageous both cahs and title-wise for me?

I know nothing of online content writing-culture, whilst I can break down the whole amalgamated spectrum of personalities and quirks in a call center.

One thing's for sure though, I write better than I speak.

Court Jesters

2007-12-10T21:59:00.000-08:00

first electronically published on http://h3llbound.multiply.com/ last August 25, '07 2:47 AM

The Philippine political system is the biggest soap opera of the country.

The characters are as stereotypical, bland and prone to sensationalism as the biggest names on the boob tube. The “actors” quarrel on the most trivial of things, state the obvious and emote with such uninhibited insincerity for the masses to see.

For a television show, there is a climactic ending, from which a new show springs forth. Broadcasting companies hype these endings and inundate their advertising slots with teasers and cast interviews regarding the very eventful ending of their “groundbreaking” show.

For politics, it’s the election. The senatorial elections in this country is much akin to the congressional and senatorial elections in the United States in the sense that it ushers in the legislative body of the country, and the number of administration and opposition seats dictates the tempo of the subsequent presidential election. It has the biggest cast, all supporting actors jostling for attention before the people elect the superstar. In this year’s election, the main players were the congressional and senatorial candidates, their sheer number assuring the public of a dramatic, action-packed and scandal-ridden season ender.

This year’s election is a pristine example of just how life imitates art. Let us not talk about statistics, surveys and the technicalities of election law. Let us, for a moment, shun the questions surrounding the Mindanao votes and the issues on the eligibility of indicted candidates. Let us focus on the people who made this year’s election as “enthralling” as it was.

The cast:

Gregorio Honasan as Gringo: former guerilla with a penchant for staging coup d’etats; extremely soft-spoken in public. A recently captured fugitive.

Panfilo Lacson as Panfi: ex-super cop, allegedly responsible for a number of assassinations and rub outs, fierce and outspoken, speaks in hard, formal, straight-to-the-point English. Frustrated presidential candidate.

Antonio Trillanes as Tuning: Currently on trial for subversive actions connected to the Oakwood Mutiny. Eerily reminiscent of Gringo, walking the same path.

Prospero Pichay as VeggieBoy: Come from nowhere aspirant with a penchant for image-wrecking, shameless spending and over-the-top self promotion. Signature pechay fan will never be forgotten.

Richard Gomez as Goma: Former matinee idol who was formerly held some amount of respect as a dramatic actor. Formerly in a sane state of mind before being shunned by both administration and opposition parties.

Vicente Sotto as Tito: Washed-out comedy actor who reached his political ceiling. Enough said.

Cesar Montano as Buboy: Should have learned to read circumstances and the meaning of panakip-butas. Should have at least consulted long-time leading lady Maricel Soriano; she could have shrieked him to sanity.

Victor Wood as Huwaaat?: Old crooner who listens too much to drunk advice.

Luis Singson as Chavit: whistleblower Ilocos bigwig that moves like he wants another movie about his life produced. Can opt to be a stuntman or carnival ringmaster.

With these characters, what could have gone wrong? Everything. Because the road to a peaceful and organized election is a messy one, there is a need to reorganize the whole structure of the elections. From its candidates to the voting public, we all need to dig deep, think deeper and act faster. During the polls that preceded the elections, everyone was clairvoyant: the usual suspects were there that it seemed only the 10th-12th positions were contestable. The campaign period was a more telling tale: the song and dance number, coupled with celebrity performances were still there, silly campaign jingles, self-gratifying print ads and insipid television plugs that told of everything but the candidate’s political mettle and stand.

For a supposedly empowered nation, we simply fell for old tricks in shinier packages.

The challenge is to reconstruct, overhaul and think over the country’s attitude on elections. In a country with more soap operas than news programs, our doe-eyed fanaticism of public figures spills over to important decisions like the elections. Our proclivity for gossip means that we focus more on the scandals and issues surrounding the candidate rather than their accomplishments. How we are enamored by excellent speakers make us more prone to vote for sugar-tongued pretty-boys than those who are in the trenches, working hard and unnoticed.

We need to think.

Foundations. We have to shake them. Rattle the backward thinking and media-hypnotism of image and popularity-based assessment. Processes. We have to change them. Be more incisive so our political parties do not simply pick actors off TV screens and turn them into law-making puppets. Leniency. We have to rid them of it. Make the traditional politicians that their guns, goons and gold formula will no longer hold sway in the rural areas.

Foundations. It was a good sign that number one campaign spender Prospero Pichay did not win. It was indicative that somehow, we don’t fall as easily to blatant media blitzes, that we are not blinded by shiny vegetable-shaped fans and glossy poster. It was inspiring to see that the various, tasteless tactics of Chavit Singson did not work: finally we are done with electing regime cronies.

But…

It was disheartening to see that a leader of a mutinous group of junior officers won a seat. It is depressing that a fugitive of the law for a couple of months again became senator.

Processes. The roster of candidates mostly reflected a new breed of politicians: young, articulate and knowledgeable. The actors and old dynasties were no longer as evident as they were before; the credentials of the candidates go beyond Urian or FAMAS awards or number of times they were elected as Mayor-Senator-Presidential Candidate-Mayor.

But…

The administration clearly wanted to better their Mindanao ties with the Jamalul Kiram candidacy. It left a bad taste in the mouth that former staunch Joseph Estrada supporters Tito Sotto and Tessie Aquino Oreta joined the administration ticket, that Richard Gomez thought he was a viable candidate for the two parties, while the parties thought otherwise.

Leniency. Here, there is no but. While the media focused on national candidates, covering interviews, debates and campaign sorties. The rural communities of the country are still plagued by political families who buy votes, scare voters and spit at the progress the urban centers have made. Though there were fleeting reports on provincial election-related violence, the lumbering giant of town politics: where Mayor is saint and Governor is god, still remains.

The 2007 elections was a study in transition. While we take steps towards a peaceful and effective election process, we still carry with us some of the malignant tumors we have carried for so long. While the young strive to ignite change, with the aide of the old and the wise, the rotting inbred members of the old political guard linger and drag us down.

Unless we reevaluate ourselves and give more attention to the uneducated and more numerous, members of our society, then the political violence will not stop, the cheating and discord will continue, and we will continue to be stuck in the political quagmire we call the Republic of the Philippines.

Let us take the first few steps, and break into a sprint.

(this is my entry to the ACP3 Essay Writing Contest in FEU. It will not win...why? Because they want romanticism,not aggression.Hehehe)

Beer and Bellies

2007-12-09T01:38:00.000-08:00

I've gone so far in this "self-prhibition" thing. I don't drink as often as I did before, even turning down friends' invitations to free drinks. Guess that old "need" for alcohol I had three years ago has finally subsided, I reason with myself before I drink these days. If the session is merely to get drunk, I will beg off. But, if the reasons are there: a celebration, a real ragin' party/event, friends I rarely see...stuff like that. It has worked pretty well the past few weeks.

Last night just reminded me why I continue trying to do so.

I shared drinks with Marvin, Bojji and Jayson, old high school friends, some of the closest I have. Now, being with them is one good reason to drink. So we drank. We started at around 8.30PM and by the time we returned to CiG, my homecourt, we went through two bars and one videoke joint. I was so smashed I even dared Jayson to a sing-off. It was loads of fun, with old buggers just getting sloshed for the heck of it. We didn;t girl-hunt or do anything that would authorize the drinking session, we just drank as we Filipinos drink: for the sheer pleasure of being smashed together.

But...

The morning after is a grim reminder of what that night really did, in the practical sense of things: I was so gnarled that I think I made an utter fool of myself. I spent most of my week's budget: when you're drunk, money is eerily an easy commodity to let go of. The morning after isn't really what I woke up to, more like the later afternoon after, which meant I wasted half a day and rendered semi-functional by a hangover. My head spun and my stomach rebelled, it too me roughly three hours to get back to a normal state.

So, I guess this prohibition thing will continue. Once a week, I'll still drink, but only for the right reasons.

Nosebleed

2007-11-28T22:14:00.000-08:00

The country we live in is peculiar. Note the obvious aversion to the word unique, as the term is local to all countries. Peculiar, though, connotes a certain funny aspect, a quirk or the multiple thereof of qualities that are either positive or negative, just, heck, weird.

If this article was done to list and expound on all of these quirks, this would be a three-part series in TIME. So let’s list three, which are contemporary and ingrained in our systems.

The first is that we are still sexist. Though not in the women-cannot-vote version, our sexist nature exists in more positive things: we call it chivalry. We open doors, pull chairs, pay bills, pine, and act like complete knights in shining armor for our women. The male populace’s perception of the fairer sex is still locked in the highest castle tower, waiting for Prince Charming or Pedro Penduko. This is good, if only women still held the same social roles they had in the time of Padre Damaso. We neglect the fact that times have changed and women are more proactive, career-oriented and strong willed. To the Filipino macho, she is still Maria Clara, feeble and fragile, a creature of whims and pleasures that a man has to provide for, take care of and parade. We respect them when they are our bosses, we follow their orders, but, in the back of our minds, we still don’t trust women, just look at how our reckless macho drivers regard women drivers: weak and lacking in aggression, and, may I add, traffic violations. No matter how far she has come, how she has conquered fields and professions traditionally gender-biased, even if we elected, eherm, her president of the country, the fact of the matter is: we still consider women the weaker sex.

Secondly, we take pride in the funniest things. We are proud of being the text capital of the world, daily and dutifully exchanging messages that are either jokes, inspirational or downright nonsensical, making, with each peso-worth text message or in the surge of text-based contests and promotions, communication conglomerates richer. We even develop text fads, strings of jokes that everyone can participate in, contributing various scenarios within a general concept, all in ideally 160 characters. We hold in high esteem a boxer with no world championship belt, in the largest malls that cover up the reality that most of the populace have no expendable income to spend in these gargantuan establishments. We boast of our indigenous materials, most of which are processed in foreign countries and resold to us at costs many times over what these countries bought it for, take the Nata de Coco for example, now one of the biggest exports of Japan. We glorify the newly lucrative Business Process Outsourcing, creating foreign-owned call centers in various business areas, with workers who are scared of the sun, overworked, butchering the English language our parents have masterfully wielded and paid about 20 percent of what their foreign counterparts make. Finally, and painfully, we seem to have mastered the art of manpower exportation. We revere our overseas workers. Treated badly in first world countries, like peons in the second, the dollars they remit will never make up for the utter decimation brain drain has wreaked on our local professions. Our countrymen, who have one doctor to 200, watch merrily as doctors become nurses; teachers, domestic helpers; architects, draftsmen; lawyers, paralegals in other countries, we couldn’t care less… as long as they bring home the Snickers candy bars.

Finally, and his one stands out as the most positive, as a people, we are able to laugh at ourselves. Take things that are normally hurtful and turn them into comical tirades that lunge at ego’s jugular, yet tickle the funny bone as well. We are naturally easily amused; just look at the noontime shows we watch. Our humor is rooted in self depreciation or insulting others. Those who oppose should take refuge in the laugh-a-minute comedy bars, where you pay gay men to insult you. Or you could always read the published jokes about our former-actor, presidential wristband toting deposed chief executive.

Which brings us to the suddenly serious, come-out-of-nowhere gist of this whole piece: Inday jokes. The recent reverberation of these Short Messaging Service (SMS) messages have outlived other similar joke strings: gone are chain texts, ERAPtions, Ederlyn (though she sometimes has cameo appearances), quoting inanimate objects and, my personal favorite, Boy Bastos. Making most Nokia cellular phones alert are the enigmatic Inday, Dodong, Junior, Mam and Amo. All representations of certain social classes flipped and mixed in an alternate universe where the maid outsmarts the employer. It has its own web log now, www.blogniinday.com, a collection of jokes from and outside the country; it serves as the home for all Inday discussions, getting 7000 visits per day. “At one point, the blog -- which has the tag, "Ang sosyal na katulong" -- placed sixth among the daily top 10 English blogs hosted by the California-based free blog provider WordPress.com.” (http://www.asianjournal.com/?c=187&a=24319)

In comparison, Inday shares some traits with Pol Medina Jr.’s Pugad Baboy’s Brosia; the maid of the Sungcal family, Brosia is quick witted and gifted with an acid tongue. Medina’s maid almost always wins in her tirade and tease battles with her employer, Mang Dagul. She is also courageous and breaks the mold of traditional house help, at times answering back and even ordering her employer, but most of the time simply being the biggest indispensable thorn in Mang Dagul’s side. The commonality ends there, though, as Brosia is effectively on the weak side in terms of intellect.

The humor of Inday jokes lies not in the command and highfalutin use of the English language, but in how she is knowledgeable and expository, able to show her intellect and befuddle people of seemingly higher social status. To imagine the stereotypical house maid showing as much pizzazz and suave as Inday in her exploits, conditions the readers and sets the stage for the pun of Inday’s intellectual affluence. Her staying power and relevance, though, lies much in contention. “These jokes are reflective of the long-standing low regard for our domestic workers,” said Visayas Forum Foundation deputy executive director Rolando Pacis. “While humor is appreciated once in a while, we must realize that it can also be an insidious medium for normalizing certain negative stereotypes…Is it really unusual and amusing when domestic workers are [portrayed as] smart in the jokes? Is there a presupposition that they are ignorant? Are maids that inconsequential and incapable of any intelligent discussion?”, (‘Inday’ jokes in English, smarter than ‘Eraptions’ Philippine Daily Inquirer 10/10/2007) while the self styled Inday manager, the blogger who put up http://www.blogniinday.com/ says “"I'm just a fan of Inday who thinks that she can be a Filipino icon portraying the modern Juan dela Cruz in the urban world". (http://www.asianjournal.com/?c=187&a=24319)

The question of social relevance, either negative or positive, is secondary to Inday jokes’ impact. For a text string to be publicized and debated in national dailies and even featured in Probe, the country’s leading investigative journalism show, bares the fact that the string has caused social discourse. Their meanings and effects are given serious thought: implications to the image of the Filipino domestic helper, of the Visayan people in general, of Filipinas. Not since ERAPtion has SMS messages been deliberately and seriously dissected. It is a folly to presume that Inday jokes remain to be such: jokes. They are to be enjoyed, yes, but their subtleties, albeit unintentionally, have touched a cord that we are very sensitive about: our prejudices as a people.

While the common concept of the classic Filipino house help is dim-witted, subservient, and uneducated, Inday is all of the flipside: confident and intelligent. Nenita “Ka Nitz” Gonzaga, Kilusang Mayo Uno vice president for women’s affairs puts it quite nicely when she said “We think it’s funny because we believe a maid like Inday is impossible. But then, is there such a real person as Inday’s employer, who can tolerate her ways? In bourgeois households, any maid who is -- or tries to be -- more intelligent than the employer is sure to get fired.”

The Filipino maid: a female, commonly from rural communities and regarded as a lesser member of society depicts perfectly Cheris Kramarae’s Muted Group Theory. “The language of particular culture does not serve all its speakers equally, for not all speakers contribute in an equal fashion to its formulation. Women (and members of other subordinate groups) are not as free or as able as men are to say what they wish, when and where they wish, because the words and the norms for their use have been formulated by the dominant group, men” (Kramarae in Griffin, 2000: 459)

Women, especially those from subordinate groups, are not taken seriously. They are patronized, but not generally truly heard. Corazon Aquino would never have been president had Ninoy Aquino not perish. Gloria Macapagal Arroyo replaced Joseph Estrada when he was ousted. The Muted Group Theory suggests that in order to gain acceptance of their messages, they “re-encode their thoughts to make them understood in the public domain” (Griffin, 2000). Mainstream communication has practically become Kramarae’s “malestream expression” in terms that though the majority of the buying public is composed of women, we still see the shameful proliferation of scantily-clad women in semi-vulgar, semi-accepted advertisements. Power in this society is in the form of heavy, highfalutin words, delivered with aggression and panache, much like Inday’s remarks and witticisms. Had Inday spoken in simpler and gentler, albeit no less poignant language, her jokes would have not become as popular as they are today.

Below are some of these jokes and the author’s digestion of their messages:

“A change in the weather patterns might have occurred, wreaking havoc to the surroundings. The way the debris are scattered indicates that the gust of wind was going northeast causing damage to the path it was heading for.”
- Sagot ni Inday sa amo nung tinanong kung bakit nagkalat and basura sa likod ng bahay.

One of the earlier Inday jokes; it creates an image of calm and able knowledge. Faced with a normally irate question, Inday’s response is methodical, giving mind to causal factors, indicating a well-structured thought patterns, instead of a shy bowing to chastisement.

It’s absurd! It was never a fact that he will figure in a fight. I can handle schizophrenic kids in this educational institution. Revise your policies because it sucks”
-Inday kasama si Junior sa principal’s office… ang principal natulala!

Representing junior in school affairs in the absence of parents, here, Inday is the master of one-upmanship, berating even the principal, the highest official and revered persona in the institution. It is an uncommon, if not a refreshing twist, since the social norms are bastardized, ending in the befuddlement of the ultimate symbol of education: the school master. Subtly, it suggests of Inday’s affection for Junior, a mirror of how compassionate and attached the house help are of their employers, treating them as second families, fiercely defending them when in trouble.

“Much as I want to indulge in the proliferation of such indecent and malicious information, I want to lift the stigma and alleviate society’s perception of our profession…”
- Inday, tumatangging makipagtsismisan sa katulong sa kabilang bahay…

Breaking stereotypes, Inday shows her class by not participating in a favorite afternoon among house help: gossip mongering. The stigma is there, perpetuated by television nannies and movie sidekicks. It reflects a degenerate image: the maid neglecting her duties, choosing to spend her time on the pointless activity that promotes social dissonance. Here, a negative trait is bluntly negated, making excellent point with intricate exposition.

Ma’am: Inday, bakit ang daming rashes ni Junjun?
Inday: Because the allergens triggered the immune response. Eosinophillic migration occurs at the reaction site & there’s a sudden release of chemo taxis & anaphylotoxin including histamine & prostaglandins. These substances result to increased circulation at the site, thus, promoting redness…
As usual! Duguan na naman ilong ng ma’am ni Inday!
Amo: Bakit mo binenta ‘yung sirang silya?
Inday: I have computed the chair’s fair value less cost to sell and the value in use using projections for five years and a pretax discount rate. Accordingly, the value in use is lower, so I decided to sell the chair. This is in accordance with PAS18 on Revenue, PAS 16 on PPE, and PAS 36 on impairment of Assets.
Amo, hinimatay. Si Inday, accountant din pala!
Sumali si Junior sa isang Science Fair sa school nila at ‘di naiwasang tulungan s’ya ni Inday sa kanyang project. Pagdating ng araw, sinamahan s’ya ni Inday sa fair.
Teacher: Junior, please explain your work.
Nanahimik si Junior habang kinakalabit ang manggas ng blouse ni Inday
Inday: This is a newly researched contraption in which the mechanical energy exuded upon the camshaft by a series of centrifugal circles with weights that cause inertia and differentials that make the contraption tend to move perpetually with a touch of a fingertip. the force produced then overcomes the magnetic resistance of the alternating electric motor which I used as a dynamo. Once the pinion shaft of this dynamo starts its curvilinear motion that brings about torque and momentum, an alternating Current or more popularly termed as ‘AC’ is formed. This current then passes through the Forward-biased diode, then thus, light energy is formed from mechanical energy…
Teacher: *Laglag panga* (http://www.blogniinday.com/)
Nagpaplanong magtatag ng bagong business ang amo ni Inday…
Realty Agent: Sir, ito na po ‘yung 20sq.m na warehouse na ibebenta ko sa inyo at a reasonable price… 2.6 M lang po sir...
Amo: Hmm, it seems like a good deal… Wait lang ha, tanong ko lang sa maid namin. What can you say Ms. Binayubay?
Inday: Enough with the senseless blabbering you unscrupulous scoundrel. I have findings that you have not provided us with a 20 sq.m warehouse, rather a smaller one, at only 18.4 sq.m. I have surveyed by pacing the lot and the use of this theodolite and that stadia rod erected by my Rodman.
Napatunganga na lang ang amo pati ang agent.
Inday: Moreover, the truss patterns are pretty conspicuous. As the principles and theories of steel design states, the most stable and suitable shape for a truss is a triangle, yet I have seen this topsy-turvy pattern of squares littered in-between these trusses. I even witnessed several cantilever type booms that don’t even have guy wires to hold them in place. In addition to this, you have not used an anti-rust agent, or even an activated carbon wash to prevent and remove rust from the vertical truss members.
Tuluyang nang dumugo ang ilong ng realty agent. Pero ‘di pa tapos si Inday…
Inday: Also, as the building code suggests in the article on sloping ground, it is required that only a 10% slope or less be used for the flooring level, but to my knowledge, this is not a 10% slope, rather a 30% slope, that may bring about accidents to workers that will be coming and working in this area. To top it all off, the steel has sheered through, have you not calculated the wind load upon the roof aside from the dead and live loads that grace the area? as you can see…
Inilabas na ni Inday ang kanyang Macbook.
Inday: In this Program called STAAD, we can see how your structure will react to certain events. We can see here that even just a mild 30kph wind with the area load of 1KiloNewton may knock down this warehouse.
But wait, there’s more…
Inday: In addition, the 2.6 M price range is outrageous. As I have heard from the municipal engineer of this area, the lot this structure is sitting on cost just about 15,000 pesos per sq.m only, bringing in a property tag of 300,000 pesos. With the realty tax of 50% for industrial-oriented lots, we reach a net price of 450,000 pesos. Now, as you can see, other than that, the appraisal of the engineers aside from me that I consulted only bring the value a little higher than one million pesos. At exactly P1,240,000.50, isn’t it unfair to ask 2.6M from us when at most, you’ll most probably fetch around 1.3 million for this property. Your scam is ridiculous, tormented weasel. Be gone, or I will have to charge you with lawsuit of estafa, malpractice, and numerous offenses against the building code of the Philippines as provisioned by the P.D. 220 and enacted by R.A. 6541 under the title “The National Building Code of the Philippines”….
Biglang nawala ang Realty Agent
Amo: Whoa… *laglag panga*
Inday: And from here, I rest my case… (http://www.blogniinday.com/)
… A fundamental question of longstanding theoretical interest is to prove lower bounds on the complexity and exact operation counts of Fast Fourier transforms, and many open problems remain. It is not even rigorously proved whether DFTs truly require Ω(NlogN) (i.e., order NlogN or greater) operations, even for the simple case of power of two sizes, although no algorithms with lower complexity are known….
- tinu-tutor ni Inday sa digital signal processing ang kapatid ng kanyang amo na si Mark na nagma-masters sa LaSalle. (www.blogniinday.com)
Ano ang sinabi ni DR. J.P Rizal kay Inday?
Rizal: Inday, ang hindi magmahal sa sariling wika ay mas masahol pa sa malansang isda.
Inday: Thank you for your wonderful words of wisdom, but don’t you know that I already read all your writings, unfortunately, I was really disappointed, because majority of your novels were written in Spanish and Latin. So, therefore, you are the ultimate violator of your own aphorism…
-Si Inday! Pati si Rizal kinalaban! Ü

Wielding her superior knowledge, Inday shows her many areas of expertise. This illustrates a common plot in these jokes: a simple answer is met by a meticulously precise response, followed by the inability of the recipient to comprehend or respond to Inday. The above jokes emphasize Inday’s exaggeratedly impressive grasp of accounting, engineering and architectural, historical, technological, mathematical and scientific principles and complexities. She is able to site provisions, formulas and restrictions on the merest provocation and deliver them in a manner astute academicians would be envious of. These jokes are beyond oratorical flattery, we are not simply seeing an excessively smart maid, but a prodigious one. The humor would have been diluted in all the jargon, but what keeps these jokes going is the essence of Inday jokes: she surpasses professionals; graduate students, realtors and teachers, even the national hero. An underdog mentality wholly accepted to be a part of the Filipino psyche.

Inday & Ederlyn nuong grade 2.
Ederlyn: Oi anong ulam mo?
Inday: Fillet ala el Niño
Ederlyn: Wow, sosyal. Mukhang masarap, ano ‘yun?
Inday: Stupid (expletive deleted)! Tuyo!

Ederlyn, another SMS-borne character, is assimilated into the Inday lore as a secondary character, whose wits are a paltry compared to Inday’s. Symbolically, it’s the affirmation that the Inday string has surpassed this Ederlyn’s weak chain, but most importantly, Ederlyn provides a foil, a comparison to Inday’s superiority. Ederlyn is a common woman, without any cultural markers, nothing to identify her to any group or class. This also returns Inday to her realities: she is underprivileged yet proud.

Consul: Why do you want to go to the US?
Amo: To travel, visit friends and ride the airplane
Consul: Denied! And you?
Inday: For life is a never ending pursuit of material and social satisfaction that will tender my great intent of actualizing a transpacific journey the land of milk and honey. An affable sanctuary where dreams become reality and a perfect habitat where souls like mine can reach the pedestal of freedom.
Consul: Lifetime multiple entry visa granted!

Inday holds her own, and impresses first-language speakers of her chosen language. Interpreted further, this may be taken as esteem from powerful nations, as Inday vies for respect, we can reflect on the plight for international recognition millions of our overseas country men themselves strive for.

Korean: Anyong haseo, korean konsamida!
Translator: Siya daw po ay isang Korean..
Amo: Aah ok. Inday, pakitimpla nga kami ng juice
Nagtimpla si Inday ng juice at bumalik sa kanyang amo…
Inday: Sir here’s your juice. (Iniabot din ang isa sa Korean) Hi, it’s my pleasure to bestow you this juice..
Amo: O Inday ‘wag mo na siyang inglesin, mukhang ‘di nakakaintindi.
Inday: Anyong haseo! Inday konsamida, oppa gum nobo yi gawa Philippines? Ah ampoko.. yabuseo.
Amo: (expletive deleted) ka Inday lahat na alam mo!

She is dynamic, able to adapt to situations and cultures, much like the whole country.

“She thinks that she’s the only homosapien that can utter such euphonic statements? She might want to think again!”
-Rosing, katulong sa kabilang bahay na galit kay Inday

Proving the string’s longevity, the plot evolves and brings in new characters. There are spin-offs, like Manang’s Spanish quotations. Inday develops an adversary, another fluent maid, ridding the string of Inday’s singularity, delving on the idea that many of the house help she represents are not the illiterates society paints them to be. More than the rising of an anti-hero, it is the break from the prejudices that pushes the strings forward.

“Ang sarap mag-Nescafe kapag umuulan no?”
-Kim Chiu
“But I prefer Starbucks.”
-Inday
“Junior, why do you keep watching that show with the hydrocephalic burn victim? Oh, that poor kid…”
-Inday, nadatnan si Junior nanunuod ng Kokey.

Inday is commercial, she is now. Hinting of how she represents the modern discriminated sector; she is cool and aware of the trends.

Y’all chill if ya don’t want me to call the cops! Ya see (snaps), it’s our turf y’all are kicking it on, so mess with me and I’ll kick yo hairy behinds home! Y’all dig that? Now get the heck outta my face bra! (slams the gate)
- Banat ni Inday n’ung sinugod ng Crips ang alaga niyang si Junior na member ng Bloods

Forgive me, this one’s just hella funny.

“It’s 4 AM and I need to get off from bed. If I have to change the world and make it a better place, what perfect moment than to do it now. When you just sense the need to do things you love, it won’t make you feel enslaved.”
- Inday, alas-kwatro ng umaga, kinakausap ang sarili bago bumangon sa kama. (http://www.blogniinday.com/)

Treating Inday as a character: more a symbol with a distinct personality yet malleable traits shows Sherry Turkle’s Subject theory, which explains that the “avatar” or “fictive identity” and its relationship to the “real” person is not that very important. Inday departs from any “real” house help, but becomes an icon for them. To discuss Inday as one would discuss a living, breathing maid would mix up the underlying concepts essential to giving meaning to this string, much like how treating them as innocent jokes would undermine any real understanding to their relevance. She transcends, in various different ways, reality. Her fabricated accomplishments, really a collection of knowledge from different sources, are simply too far fetched to actually take to academic consideration.

“From the point of view of the medium itself, to seek to understand the avatar’s behavior by establishing a link between that avatar and (a real) identity will tell us very little compared to understanding the way identity is formed within the medium itself” (Turkle in Homes, 2005:142). SMS is a faceless, voiceless medium ruled by words. This removes any aesthetic need to fit into a mould, giving Inday a free range of nuances, essential to any good icon. She is everything and anything, but contained in a semi-specific persona. Her relationship to real house help, nay, her commonalities to them, need not be delved on. Since the real subject of discussion is how she was created in such an anonymous and interactive medium.

SMS messaging is short of all-encompassing for Filipinos, every social class has access to the service as proven by lower and lower charges telecommunications companies charge for the service. It is the prevalent mode of communication because it’s cheap, efficient and fast. Beyond practical economics, text messaging has created a communication culture. Anonymous users can create whatever image they want, devoid of visual or even auditory markers, they can be anyone. “Clans” have been formed due to the unlimited texting services; members are from the same cellular service provider, exchanging messages and widening their social circles via the service. From the telephone party lines and internet chat rooms, virtual socialization has moved on and expanded to the SMS realm. As technology progressed, the “real” identities of participants have become more and more a vague notion, creating a construct that trades purely in images and avatars. This symbolic nature of text messaging has become the communication strength of the Inday symbol. Faceless and voiceless, she is every marginalized sector the voice that takes on and improves on male dominated communication channels. A viable example of Medium theory which “typically looks at how the position of the communicants and the information communicated is determined by different media. But it also suggests something quite radical and different from transmission accounts—the possibility that individuality itself is (at least partially) an effect of a medium. In this view there are no pre-given subjects with an experience of the real. There are no transcendental contexts which pre-exist other contexts and determine how they are experienced” (pp. 140-141). Holmes, D. (2005). Communication theory: Media, technology, and society. London: SAGE.

Inday’s messages, fresh and attention-hungry, are channeled through a medium that fits it perfectly. Text messaging is a foundry for reshaping ideas, innovative symbols and icons. The medium is unbound by standards; it is purely subjective and personal. Anyone can partake in its revision and progress. It has even spawned its own vocabulary; dictated by the length of messages, consonants have been dropped and numbers have replaced syllables. The technology is changing as fast as its users are adapting to it, offering more varied means of communicating through the cellular phone. Multimedia Messaging Service, or MMS, has brought image and sound exchanges, widening the field even more. No communication channel since the cheapening of landline telephone services have has as much wide a reach and as dynamic a culture as SMS messaging.

The Inday text string does not offer any new ideas; it simply opens them to discussion. More than righteous indignation at current suppositions towards marginalized sectors, the relevance of the string is founded upon the fact that is has sparked national attention to a neglected and denied truth that is gender and class bias. The assumptions toward maids and women in general are not being replaced, merely contested and changed. “For contemporary Marxist perspectives on the media, the culture industry is an ‘industry’ in itself… it is a site of the reproduction of existing social relations—particularly class divisions, but also the divisions of gender, ethnicity and race. The Marxist approach is therefore interested in the meanings that are negotiated within the media, and its influence in the reproduction of forms of consciousness that accord with the reproduction of capitalist social relations” Holmes, D. (2005). Communication theory: Media, technology, and society. London: SAGE. (25-26). Communication is predominantly the art of exchange of messages, and the Inday string opens formerly hard-set ideas for change.

The fact that the jokes have continued and are even evolving into specific stories, with loose plots and characters is not only a confirmation of Inday’s social impact, but also of how the stereotype is deeply rooted in our psyches, thus its continuing humor. As long as we Filipinos are proud of the queerest things, such as our masticated form of chivalry, as long as we laugh hardest when we’re laughing at ourselves, Inday will embarrass us with her expository brilliance.

Nilabas ni Inday ang bulletin na ito para sagutin ang mga nagrereklamo sa kanyang pagiging sikat:
TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN:
I would like to take exception to the unwanted and unsolicited opinions that my popularity is not good to the name and standing of all Pinay maids, in particular, and the whole Filipino people, in general. To my detractors, I say stop your derogatory, if not envious, bent. I’m proud of being a maid. The work may be menial but it is honorable. I urge my idol and manay Miriam to call for a bicameral investigation in aid of legislation regarding this matter.
Sincerely,Inday(taray talaga!) (http://www.blogniinday.com/)