GroundReport.com

A film that grabs and strangles your Emotions

Tue, 22 Sep 2009 21:36:36 -0500

by Marciano Paroy Jr.

Recently, I got hold of a DVD copy of the modern classic “Schindler’s List” – that masterpiece directed by Stephen Spielberg which hit theaters in 1993, and ran away with most of the awards in almost all major award-giving bodies in film the following year, especially the Academy Awards or Oscars in the USA.

When I watched it inside the movie theater back in 1993, while a college student in UE, I remember feeling that it was a painful film to watch – and I found out when I watched it all over again that the film has not lost its ability to disturb a viewer. The film grabs you by the throat so that any feeling of being aghast is contained – and you hold on to that feeling up to the very last scene.

Indeed, sitting through the long feature film is an agonizing experience. One has to be ready for the influx of mixed emotions, chief of which – if one values human life – is one’s loathing of anyone who takes it upon himself to degrade other human beings, to relegate them to lower forms of creations, to snuff out their lives with just a trivial pull at the trigger.

“Schindler’s List,” though most would consider it as Spielberg’s almost vengeful take on the Nazi’s experimentation with what they call “The Final Solution” regarding “the Jew problem,” is also a plain recounting of what the surviving Jews went through during World War II. In plain black and white – thus giving the viewer the sense of honesty and purity of intent on the part of the film-makers – “Schindler’s List never lets us forget that something as horrible as mass extermination of a nation can really be possible, and that a well-carried-out plan can attain its objectives, even in such large-scale terms. Then through it all, one never lets go of the question “How can such a thing happen?” and so the movie never lets us forget the horrors inflicted upon the Jewish people.

Sitting through the film anew, I felt glad that I never lost the ability to care, to value human life, to love humanity – and, conversely, to detest those who play God. So I cried my heart out. Again.

*****

“Schindler’s List” is not your normal choice of a weekend movie to insert through your DVD player slot. First, as I have noted earlier, it was shot in black and white (with only that interesting fleeting scene of a Jewish girl trying to escape – wearing a red coat). Second, it is very long. Third, if your chief intent in watching a film is to laugh, then “Schindler’s List” is not at all for you.

A Weird artist Named Michael

Fri, 31 Jul 2009 18:31:09 -0500

by Marciano A. Paroy Jr.

Writing about Michael Jackson would immediately reveal that one grew up in the 1980’s – and thus reveal one’s age. That pegs die-hard MJ fans to be at their 30’s now. But then, he started out in the show business as a young kid, so his multitude of fans include my generation’s parents – those who knew the songs “I’ll Be There,” “Ben,” “Music and Me,” in their original Jackson 5 versions.

To set the parameters clearly, my generation would be described thus: die hard MJ fans who grew up in the 1980’s, loving and memorizing each single song from his two definitive 80’s albums “Thriller” and “Bad.” This generation went with him as he donned his hat, moonwalked, hiccupped his way into his songs (much like another 80’s icon, Cyndi Lauper), and became lighter and lighter in complexion – add to that the fact that the nose became thinner and thinner.

The two aforementioned albums contributed a lot in shaping how my generation perceived the world then. I would not dwell on a review of said albums, though, as I lack the experience in attempting to evaluate them. I would just like to especially single out “Man in the Mirror” from the album “Bad” – which influenced a lot of people from my age group. The song speaks about changing the world in very sense of the word “change.” Michael throws the challenge “If you want to make the world a better place, start looking at your self, and then make a change.”

A simple sermon really. And an easy one to accomplish at that. The moment I consumed the theme of the song, I cemented Michael Jackson’s ability to influence other people.

With his penchant of using a choir for backup vocals, Michael established himself as one of the few composers who wrote advice-giving songs that became hits. Of course, first on the list is another song which he co-wrote: “We are the World,” also from the 1980’s.

It would be several years before he released his next album – “Dangerous” in 1991. By then, my generation were first year college students and were caught up with the many influences that college life brings. Given the many options that were sort of presented on a tray before us city freshmen, I still maintained my admiration and high regard for Michael Jackson. By then, “Heal the World” was being played non-stop in radio stations all over the world – further adding to his repertoire of songs that speak about the imperative need for us to change the world.

Alternative music was the “in” thing in the early 1990’s – with bands such as Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Radiohead, U2, REM, and their contemporaries, plus hard-rocking bands like Bon Jovi , Guns N’ Roses and Aerosmith. Oh yes, I went along with the crowd and digested songs from these bands – but I never once forgot that Michael Jackson was still around, and that no matter what type of music may be “in” at any particular time, his brand of music remains high above the rest – a genre of its own kind, so to speak.

“Dangerous” topped the charts, of course – and the series of hit singles came one after another. There was the pulsating “Black or White” on which he asked the “in” guitarist of the time to play: Slash of the band Guns N’ Roses. Slash lent his chords in another song from that album: “Give in to Me,” which remains to be one of my favorites up to this day.

But one particular song stood out from his “Dangerous,” at least for me. I would like to mention “Will You Be There?” The song simply presents the situation where a person is in need of support – with failure knocking at the door. MJ then inserts the query “will you be there?” When the song was used as the theme song for the movie “Free Willy,” which was about a young boy’s determination to grant a dolphin’s wish for freedom by being sent back into the open ocean, I tagged the song for life.

By then, Michael Jackson was busy with his Heal the World Foundation. The charity organization brought underprivileged children to Jackson's ranch, to go on theme park rides that Jackson had built on the property after he purchased it. The foundation also sent millions of dollars around the globe to help children threatened by war and disease. All profits from the “Dangerous World Tour” went to the "Heal the World Foundation," raising millions of dollars in relief.

This pre-occupation with children then started the rumors that eventually turned into scandals – causing wide dents into his well-managed empire. From then on, the world started to look at MJ as a freak. Those in my generation were starting our careers already, and we lost interest – or we were simply busy finding employments that a simple cursory glance on a Michael Jackson article would suffice.

Other artists rose and fell in the mid 1990’s, and in recent years. Musical taste changed, and there was a shift towards R & B. Alternative music still held sway among its followers. New names dominated the charts. Not one single name held on for a long time, as he or she would soon be toppled by another talented artist.

Then Michael Jackson died.

And the music world stood still. For it lost not only an icon, but a true shaper of pop music as we know it today. Never mind the weirdness attached to all famous people anyway. Never mind the allegations of sexual abuse. The artist must be isolated from the man – in order to truly appreciate his contribution to the arts.

Quite easy to do. Anyone reading a newspaper with a negatively toned article about Michael Jackson, but who would listen to his songs afterwards, would find himself creating a line between what he has read – and what he has heard from the CD player speakers.

Forever a Michael Jackson fan. That’s me… and I know that, here in Tabuk – as one Michael Jackson hit declares – other creatures stuck in the 1980’s and 1990’s would tell me “You Are Not Alone.”

Diay wa-ig ayanda Balakang, and other Summer reminiscence

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 18:18:35 -0500

Plus: memories stored inside the mobile phone

by Marciano A. Paroy, Jr.

When I recently lost the mobile phone where my Smart number was housed, I initially thought only about how much it cost me way back in 2005. As I made my calculations, I simply told myself (in a self-conciliating manner) that the gadget had somehow outlived its usefulness with me: the nodes seem not to be aligned with the keypad any longer, the sim slot rejects the sim now and then, etc., etc. Anything really to sort of give me the justification that losing the mobile phone was just as well.
Until I began to think of the messages that I went through a lot of trouble storing inside my Saved Folder. Inside that folder were messages sent out to people who mattered most in my life; messages that I felt worth-looking back to. So I stored them in separate folders – accessible only via a password.
Back in 2006, there was an event that truly rendered me weak. That chapter in my life made me waver. I thought I was strong, but I realized then that I was not. I was human, with an acceptable propensity to show my frailties. I was on the verge of breakdown… and not knowing what to do, or where to turn to, I typed messages into my mobile phone and sent them out to people who, I believe, would somehow empathize and understand.
Those messages were all stored somewhere in my mobile phone, and at times when I felt nostalgic, or when I felt I needed to draw strength, I would open that folder in my cellular and re-read the stored messages.
Unfortunately, I can no longer access that folder. The culprit who stole my mobile surely deleted everything I have ever stored in it. If he only knew the real value of what he was holding in his hands; if he only knew, before he pressed YES when the cellular asked ARE YOU SURE? as a response to his command DELETE ALL.
Several hours after its loss, when I still could not make it ring, I began to accept the reality that it was gone, and no amount of wishing would make it turn up in my pocket. I told my friend Joon Ascano that I would trade my newly acquired gadget for that unit – all for its contents.
That mobile phone had history written in its annals – electronic annals, that is. It was then that I realized that nothing could ever replace the value of a handwritten note with a personal touch. At least I could have stored it, and later review for nostalgia purposes. The worth of a hard copy of notes jotted down – say, a simply scribbled I Miss You on the back of a chocolate wrapper or the back of a Phillip Morris pack – far outweighs the value of a digitally stored message which anyone can simply send by way of pressing the keys I MIZ U – and then selecting SEND TO MANY.
No one can refute the value of personally handwritten thoughts. Unfortunately, no one seems to give a damn anymore about putting our un-guarded thoughts and feelings on paper. Why bother, when you can easily go to WRITE MESSAGE and key in the letters WHAZUP? Which, of course, will be answered by the idiotic ME FYN HR, U?
Look at all the lengths I went through just to store and later protect those messages. In the blink of an aye, some wise ass ran away with my mobile phone and simply discarded the sim card away. And when he saw that there were a lot of dramatic messages stored in the phone memory – messages that had nothing to do with his life – he simply deleted them. Memories that took me four years to protect were gone in less than a minute.
*****
Summer always brings in a different kind of heat. I remember my friend Daniel Boclongan who once said to another friend, Sammy Anniban: “Haan nak nga ang-angawen ta napudot ti panawen tatta!”
*****
In the past, we would hit the river whenever summer became unbearable. One day when I was in my third grade, classes were suddenly suspended, so Wilner Dunan and Mark Padalla (the leaders of the pack then) came up with this good idea of hitting the stream passing through the Balakang farm somewhere in the boundary of Casigayan, Magsaysay and Nasgueban. Loyda Duclan, Raquel Batay-an, Rachelle Dalingay and I blindly followed our leaders. Danilo Marzan was around, but he was also a follower just like us.
We hit the waters with glee, screaming as we dove into the rapids. That would never be possible now, surely, as the Balakang stream has long been demoted to its current status as a passageway of run-off chemicals from the fields, like pesticides, herbicides, fertilizers, golden kuhol-combatants, etc. Kids would not go there these days, of course. We have four resorts in Tabuk where they could safely be sheltered from the harmful ultra-violet rays of the sun whenever they get out of the pool – or, in the case of “Boracay,” nu tumakdang da manipud ijay wa-ig.
Those good old days. What wouldn’t one give to rewind the calendar and be young again. With a carefree spirit. Ready to defy some rules.
When we were in the fourth grade, we went to the “Third River” (it’s no longer the third, since the first and second streams had long ago vanished) when our adviser Mrs. Gatbonton got sick and no one could stand-in for her (that wouldn’t happen now, since there is always a ready substitute willing to take home the day’s full wage). Being a hot Friday, my group decided to hit the waters at the Third River – Cheryl Barcellano, Catherine Calizar, Engelbert Dayag and somebody else whose name is just at the tip of my tongue (who, the hell, was that fellow at the back row?). Yes, I switched grouping in the fourth grade – since I no longer wanted to be a follower behind Wilner and Mark (actually, Wilner got into Mrs. Mejia’s class and Mark was transferred to Bulanao).
And so to the Third River we dashed, splashed and frolicked. The next Monday, however, some smart-ass had the initiative to endear herself with Mrs. Gatbonton and told her about our weekend fun. After her thunderous sermon about her being responsible over our lives, she shoved empty gallons to us and told us to water the plants surrounding the whole fourth-grade building, totally ignoring that fact that it rained the previous night.
*****
Those were the days. One looks back at it all now with fondness. To be silly again, to chase dragonflies, to climb guava trees, to be pinched by a teacher with eyeglasses, to squat at the back of the classroom. These are memories stored at the back of the mind, which one can easily retrieve at any moment.
These days, we try to remember the memorable things that we did last year, and we get hard-up – unless, by some miracle, we still have the messages stored in our Inbox, or had the idea of saving them in a separate Folder in our mobile phones. Or if we had keyed in the events in our mobile phone calendar.
*****
As for the smart-ass who took all the trouble of waiting for Monday so she could squeal on us for going to the Third River (we went Friday, yet she never wavered in her plan during Saturday and Sunday. I guess she was so full of energy when she went to school that following Monday)… my group made a plan as we watered that one last santan at the side of Mrs. Banggolay’s classroom.
The plan was perfect: tambangan mi isuna ijay gate nga pag-exitan na at the Sakai-Ramirez side of Tabuk Central School.
(To be continued)

To sink or swim: a realization in Sison, Pangasinan

Tue, 26 May 2009 04:51:21 -0500

There are events and people that – like lightning and thunder cracking through a still and cloudless day – leave us with the realization that we do not own all the troubles in the world. No matter how much we exaggerate and over-amplify all of our sorrows, somebody else’s woes would simply render our anguish a needle prick in the arm compared to a real hard blow dealt on the other person. We make mountains out of molehills, so to speak, when another person has a volcano to grapple with.

When such realization dawns upon us, we suddenly realize that, indeed, life is still worth-living. Especially so when the people – on whom a great deal of difficulty was poured – turn out to be living testimonies of such insight. They leave a harrowing experience and evolve to be stronger persons than they originally were. They move on and never look back with anger at the chapter that they have just closed. They do look back, but they do so with pride, for the wisdom that they were able to hoard from such bitter experiences.

We all have met people who fit into the descriptions I have outlined above. We do, from time to time. And I have – again, recently, when I attended the Annaguey-Artizuela Clan Reunion in Labayug, Sison, Pangasinan; that eastern part of Pangasinan which the Bago tribe has cornered – at least for those who chose not to settle in Casigayan, Tabuk.

Manang Elsie Artizuela Sambaoa Pal-iwen, a cousin, touched a nerve in all of us as we listened to what she had to endure when she was diagnosed with breast cancer – at the very crucial Stage 4. She gave a run-through of the days that she spent knowing she had entrusted everything in the Lord. But even so, she prayed real hard for God to bless the powers of medical science on which her physical being began to depend. She underwent chemotherapy and every sting attached to it. She lived from one day to the next wondering what God has in store for her and her own home which is still on its build-up period. She braved it all – along with her mother Cresencia, her brother Melvin, her husband Alejandro, and children Aldrin, Keni Eloisa and Andrei (her father, Bonifacio Sambaoa, had long ago left this earthly existence).

As she went on with her story, one can see through her words and perceive a strong person who was not only prepared to meet her Maker but also hopeful that God will turn things around and change the course of her fate. Her strength – especially its spiritual aspect – made her progress day-to-day, yet aware that any moment God shall call her in for judgment.

But so far He has not. And what a blessing that is – for her, her family, her clan, and the people who knew what she was going through.

Her doctors have concurred that should a relapse fail to be diagnosed within five years, then the cancer cells may have continuously went on remission. A miracle, considering the stage in which the malady was spotted.

As her recollection misted every eye in the hall, I had another glimpse of our Creator who would afflict us so that people may sit up, take notice, listen and acknowledge His presence. Manang Elsie, of course, has always lived her life devoted to Christian teachings. She has always been a dutiful follower. Given her training in the Bible School of the Wesleyan Church in Rosales, Pangasinan, she has taken a path that can only be described to be exemplary. With a husband schooled in Vet Med (Dr. Pal-iwen is actually a fellow of Dr. Juanito Eyadan of my school, KASC), Manang Elsie should sail through life smiling, laughing, singing, expressing prayers of thankfulness for all such bliss. Everyday. But she would not. She is instead used by God as an instrument so that others may look at their own frailties and come to terms with Him. When God sends a message, He does not choose a messenger who shall be rendered weak by the package in which the message was wrapped – in Manang Elsie’s case, the cancer cells.

Well – since no one can peek into even an infinitesimal dot of God’s wisdom – perhaps, God may choose a person who is not as strong as the likes of Manang Elsie. But then God is a loving God. Perhaps He afflicts us, then leaves matters to us: to give-in or to grow from the experience; to succumb or to be strong; to collapse or to climb; to abandon or to ascend. to fall or to fight, with faith.

Looking at how healthy Manang Elsie is now, one concludes that she picked the right option.

*****

In my literature class, there is this classic short story written by the great Russian writer Leo Tolstoy, God Sees the Truth, But Waits. The story tells of Ivam Aksenov who was wrongly convicted for a crime which he did not commit. He was incarcerated. Near the end of his term, a newcomer, Makar Semonovich, who was caught for another crime – but who was also the original culprit of the crime for which Ivan was jailed – saw the life he had somehow ruined in Ivan. He confessed to the crime as well and asked the prison to release Ivan. But by then, Ivan was already too old, and all his years in prison has somehow made him an even better person, ministering to the people inside, thus endearing himself to everyone in there – guard or criminal. Instead of becoming vindictive, Ivan forgave the real criminal.

In today’s standards, such thing may not happen. One may like to rewrite the ending so that when the real criminal confesses, Ivan would simply burst out, lunge for the nearest guard’s gun and aim it at the goal of his anger.

It is surprising to note that a relative underwent almost the same experience. When insan Freddie (Artizuela) shared his testimony about finding God in prison from which he was released for a crime that was wrongly blamed on him, I felt that God really works in strange places. Well, considering that there is not much to do in prison, one has no choice but face the visiting folks from all sorts of denominations. So that when one goes out, life gets back to normal. Back to the old ways.

But not so for insan Freddie. He lived up to the vows he has made in prison, and is now seeking training to be a full fledged instrument in the delivery of God’s Word – with a current training at evangelical Bible School in Baguio City.

Freddie is from Magaogao, Pinukpuk and I have a strong feeling that he might be able to minister to the rural folks there – should he choose to practice his brand-new calling there.

*****

Pastor Rey Annaguey (a cousin at the reunion) of the Assembly of God Chruch in Galimuyod, Ilocos Sur, wove all these testimonies into one and made us look at the intent behind each event in our lives – thus making it easier for us to comprehend the ways of God.

*****

When I parted ways with the Tabuk party at the National Highway (they would be taking the opposite direction while I would be taking a bus headed further north in Batac), I mulled over the thoughts that stirred me at the reunion, as I sat at the waiting shed. I purposefully did not flag down any incoming bus yet as I collected my thoughts and decided I should write about the affair.

After awhile, I noticed that the only other person who was also occupying the shed – a lady vendor of late-night street offerings like ballot, peanuts, cigarettes, etc. – was joined by someone who obviously was partner, as he had his head on her lap, resting. I then positioned myself closer to the highway and set about getting a bus ride. As it turned out, all the buses were wheezing past by me – flying, actually. I realized I was at that part of the route where drivers never bother to check road sides for prospective passengers. Their speed was constant – no shifting to a decelerated velocity. Still, I tried my luck. RCJ Liner, Partas, Florida – the three biggest companies servicing the Laoag-Manila route – flew past by me, one after the other.

One hour later, I gave up and resigned to the fact that my fortune would only change if a passenger got off the bus at the very portion of the earth on which I stood. Noticing my agitation (who wouldn’t be? It was close to midnight and my class at MMSU-Batac would be at 8 AM the following morning), the male partner of the lady vendor got up and put into words what I have already grasped minutes before: “Narigat ti agpara ti lugan ditoy ading ti kastoy nga oras, ta bumanesbes amin nga bus,” he said.

I then faced the couple and made conversation. Upon learning that I was heading to Batac, the man said “Aguray ta agbike nak nga mapan mangkita dita Balao nu adda agsarsardeng dita nga bus mapan Laoag.”

I countered, saying I was sure that all buses making a stopover in Balao are headed to Baguio City – to save him the trouble of really going over there. Still, he said he will try, and that if his query would get a negative response, he said I should hire a tricycle that would bring me to the Partas terminal, “Ngem adayu bassit adding. Arkila nu kua ti ibaga ti driver.”

Of course, all the buses parked at Balao at that time were headed to Baguio. So I did hire a tricycle going to the Partas terminal. For seventy pesos. Dagupan to Appas siguro ti distansya na.

As I expressed my gratitude to the man for all the trouble he went to (just so he could get rid of me from that waiting shed, perhaps?), I was again struck by the thought that not everything in the world is as bad as we all surmise it to be. There is always something good in everybody. The man did not know who I was, yet he made the first move to reach out and see what he could do – he actually accompanied me for awhile in desperately flagging down a bus ride (it was always dark inside whatever bus that passed, that I nervously hoped only the passengers were sleeping).

I said my “thank you” in the most sincere manner I could. He just waved me off, as if it was a normal occurrence in his nightly job of heating the corn and packing the quail eggs by five. As the tricycle driver carefully took the un-cemented shoulder off the highway, I wondered what the vendor’s reaction may be if he had asked what province I happened to hail from (considering the issues between Kalinga and Pangasinan). Maybe the exchange would have run this way:

VENDOR: Apay taga ano ka kadi ading?

ME: Tabuk manong.

VENDOR: Tabuk, Kalinga?

ME: Wen.

VENDOR (suddenly turning vicious): Idtam! Agpara ka ti lugan mo! Agalibtak ka, nu haan mu kayat ti ma-obor.

Me: Ay… Tuguegarao gayam manong.

*****

Really, may God watch over the man – and continue to be as accommodating as he was.

(NOTE: as for the continuation of the story contained in this column last issue, the plan to retaliate against our 4^th Grade classmate simply died down as the day wore on. That squealer is now working at a Cooperative here in Tabuk, and we are still friends.)

IN DIFFICULT TIMES LIKE THIS

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 16:32:51 -0600

IN DIFFICULT TIMES LIKE THIS, a polio-stricken young man has the self-assurance to smile – reflecting our brighter prospects for 2009. Little does he know that he forms part of the young population on whom Dr. Jose Rizal pinned his hopes before his execution 112 years ago – a sacrifice commemorated last December 30. The polio-stricken youth attended the occasion, hoping to acquire clients for his shoe-shining venture (made possible by the DSWD). /photo by m16

IN DIFFICULT TIMES LIKE THIS

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 16:32:43 -0600

SOMETHING INSPIRING… FOR A CHANGE

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 16:22:56 -0600

Okay, we’re supposed to write something inspiring here.

2009 came in minus the usual thunderous welcome we traditionally prepare for the new year. Well, there was some noise alright, but compared to past new year celebrations, this one sort of fizzled – a mere headphone, instead of the familiar loud speakers.

And this is good. Perhaps, we’re learning.

*****

According to the SWS survey, 92% of Filipinos shall face 2009 with high hopes. Now, a negative attitude which one puts on as the calendar changes is not healthy at all. Why brood, why worry, why lose belief – when we can do so much? There is just one thing that worries me, though: who, the hell, comprise the negative-minded 8%?

*****

In the Chinese calendar, 2009 is the year of the ox – but the Chinese new year will still make its entry on January 26, thus all the preparations we insist on copying from the Chinese must be applied on that date.

The Chinese method of identifying every year with animals has greatly influenced most people, even those living in western-influenced countries. So much is its influence that people’s personality and character are often regarded in relation to their Chinese horoscope more than that of its western counterparts.

The Ox years near our time are 1901, 1913, 1925, 1937, 1949, 1961, 1973, 1985, 1997 and of course 2009 – meaning, Ox people can expect 2009 to be very good for them.

The basic traits of an Ox is being methodical and calm, hardworking, dependable and patient, and topped with an ambitious character. They are said to be great in organizing and they are so logical, that is why people go to them for advice.

Unfortunately, balancing these positive characteristics of the Ox are some negative traits associated with them. People born in this year are also said to be stubborn, narrow minded, and with low public relations skills.

Interesting combinations, I must say. Rather contradictory, if one goes further. For how can one be patient and yet be stubborn at the same time? These are the things that make one conclude: “horoscopes are pure nonsense” – but most of us love horoscopes. Especially when we get to read positive traits that the horoscopes claim we possess. In a confirmatory stance, we say “Wen man nga agpayso, kasta-ak.” But when we get to the unpleasant descriptions, we simply say “That’s not true.” So we turn to the western signs for vindication. We hunt down for the shimmering descriptions embodied in Aquarius, Libra, Pisces, etc.

Ahh, life.

By the way, considering the low public relation skills of Ox-born people, they must shy away from employment in the media and communications industry – including posts in politics. Especially politics.

*****

Mimosa. It is a shade of yellow.

Pantone Company (the color authority) picks Mimosa as the Color of the Year for 2009. In a time of economic uncertainty and political change, the color authority suggests that this warm yellow represents optimism, hope and reassurance.

Yellow is actually one bright color that is appealing to both genders – as opposed to pink and dainty shades of green. Thus the world of fashion may benefit from similar attention given to yellow by both genders.

*****

Every year for the last nine years, Beliefnet – an organization in the USA – has recognized 10 people whose outstanding humanitarian actions inspire and encourage people to live better lives. On the last day of voting, three champions stood out. The three finalists were Steven Curtis Chapman, the heroic Boy Scouts, and Prof. Randy Pausch.

Steven Curtis Chapman, a Christian music star (original singer of I Will Be Here), had long been a passionate advocate of adoption, inspiring thousands of families to provide homes for children from China. He underwent a tremendous tragedy this year when his adopted daughter Maria Sue was accidentally run over by his teenage son. Chapman held his family together through faith and faced the inevitable media attention with courage, serving as a model for suffering parents everywhere.

The heroic Boy Scouts of the Midwest withstood a killer tornado that struck their encampment in Iowa while they were at a leadership training. The young teens, who called on the skills they had learned in scouting, saved many of their fellow scouts, forming mini-triage centers and refusing to panic. Tragically, four of the boys died. These youngsters were recognized for their courage and steadfastness under the most challenging conditions.

But in the end, the editors selected Dr. Randy Pausch, the professor who, facing imminent death from pancreatic cancer, delivered a “last lecture” that inspired millions of people to live every day more consciously and achieve their dreams.

Pausch was selected because of his huge, far-reaching impact and because even after his death he continues to inspire legions of viewers. Pausch's lecture, delivered for a small audience at Carnegie Mellon University where he was a professor of computer science, became an internet phenomenon. He reached more people than he ever dreamed of. People uploaded his words of wisdom and inspiring tips for life and forwarded them to friends. By 2008, his inspiration had reached millions of people. His message was simple and powerful: "We cannot change the cards we are dealt, just how we play the hand."

He showed the importance of living each day well, even if one is dying, and to never give up on your dreams.

I hope the 8% Filipinos surveyed by SWS who are pessimistic about 2009 can learn a lot from that simple message.

*****

As for my most amusing media incident for 2008, I would have to point out Muntadhar al-Zaidi, an Iraqi journalist with Egypt-based al-Baghdadia television network. He was the reporter who threw his shoes – flung one at a time – at outgoing US President George W. Bush when he visited Baghdad, Iraq last December.

When a reporter later questioned him about the incident, Bush said "So what if the guy threw his shoes at me? It's one way to gain attention.”

Here’s the stinger: Lebanese television channel NTV, known for its opposition to Washington, went as far as offering a job to the journalist al-Zaidi. In its evening news bulletin shortly after the incident, the TV network said that if al-Zaidi takes the job, he will be paid “from the moment the first shoe was thrown.”

Now, can you imagine Maki Pulido of GMA-7 throwing her stiletto heels at our very own president?

IS THERE HOPE FOR US PEOPLE OF TABUK?

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 16:21:27 -0600

It has not been a good year. By anyone’s standards, 2008 has been a year of suffering which threatened not only our belief in our capacity to do something meaningful – but which also threatened our belief in life itself.

We cried. We lost people that mean a lot to us.

For instance, the gays lost a friend. Well, some gays may not exactly consider Gillian to be a real friend – considering his character that exasperated us in the gay community – but he was a human person all the same. Capable of loving, thus with as much right as us to be loved in return. Knowing his penchant to make noisy entrances, I feel sad that he had to make a very un-grand departure by way of a bullet that failed to make an exit from his head.

We brooded. We were filled with regrets for things that we have not done – that could have turned out right.

This happens all the time. I know a lot of people who, by now, must be saying “Sayang, kasjay la kuman ti inaramid ko.” Late realizations for different people like a woman who should have accepted a suitor’s proposal, an employer who should have stuck to his original plans instead of taking another alternative, a bettor who should have placed her bets on 2-9 instead of 12-13.

Whatever course of action we may have chosen – when there had been other options – we look back at them now and we can only sigh as we squirm in our seats, filled with pangs of regrets, as the un-chosen option looks very much desirable now. Sayang, indeed.

We were disappointed. We have set our eyes on something which we strongly believe to be good for the many, yet we watched it pulled, like a plug, away from us.

The cityhood of Tabuk is now a matter for the highest court – the workings of which, we who had been unschooled on matters of law, can only grasp at a face-value level. Still, many of our aspirations were dampened and we can only look back and say “How disappointing.”

We were betrayed. We fought back. We lost. We stumbled. We fell. We rose up. Only to fall again. We shed tears. We cursed other people. We cursed life. We questioned God and His master plan. We turned back from our faith. We shuddered with fear. We became hardened with hatred. We were darkened by evil intentions. We wavered on our sanity. We wanted to take the easy way out, and end these miserable realities.

These are the sad facts of life. And they nay night have happened to most of the people around us – if not to us. But we must realize that life dose not always turn out to be one hell of a party where we laugh from sunrise to sunset. I have read at an old literature book in Tabuk National High School that “into each life, some days must be dark and dreary.” I have since embraced such principle.

And so interspersed in our happy days are those days that require our tear ducts to open up so we may shed those crystal-like secretions.

But take note: We looked for comfort. We found it.

I strongly believe that all of us can always find solace from all sort of pain. It is just a matter of knowing where to look for it. For those who have ready wellspring of family, friends and church fellows, this is not difficult. But even for those who consider themselves to be “alone in this world” – they can find this much-needed breathing space and relief if only they open up their world so that other people may peek in, come in and make changes.

And, as one thing I have learned in my younger days, “If there is no way out, look up.”

I hope we all had a blessed Christmas. Have a cheerful entry into the new year!

When Non-Tabuk Residents Stand by your Door and say “Christmas…”

Wed, 07 Jan 2009 16:16:22 -0600

The spirit of giving. We all have been imbued with this Christmas concept early on in our lives. And so during the Christmas season – but within our ability to give – we open up our wallets, purses, bank books, and shell out a little (sometimes a little too much) to those outstretched palms that greet us as we approach our doors to respond to that persistent and impatient knocking.

Now, there is nothing wrong with giving. The only problem is that the person whose outstretched palms eagerly await your generosity is not from Tabuk (or Kalinga) at all! I cannot figure out these people who went through all the trouble of taking a bus ride just so they could reach our locality and move from one door to the next.

We had one such visitor at GURU lately. After having received what I could only afford to give, the caroler (who sang the very same short carol I heard her sing at the nearby establishment) moved her attention to my companions in the office – meaning, nu mano ti adda ijay place nga napanan na, isu met la ti rumbeng nga agited.

What an efficient collection system that rivals that of our tax collectors! Worse, they have this nerve to mutter something negative under their breath when your generosity failed to meet their expectations. Of course, if only you could perfectly understand what he muttered, I’m sure you would say “Amin na nga yan!” and snatch your money back.

*****

I remember our dear friend Gillian (God bless his soul). A lady acquaintance entered his beauty shop one morning and gave him an envelope in which to place his monetary support to the lady’s daughter who was running as a candidate in her school’s fund-raising contest. Since Gillian had not yet groomed a single customer, he placed a P10.00 bill (the paper bill for P10.00 was still in circulation then) inside the envelope.

The lady acquaintance had not seen the actual amount which Gillian inserted because she was busy retouching her face by the shop’s mirror. But, once outside the shop, she peeked into the envelope and saw the amount. Haan na nga ma-aklon diay gatad. Believe this: she rushed back inside the parlor and returned the P10.00 bill to Gillian!

*****

Have you seen San Juan by night? It’s all lit up. The alignment of the road lights are a fest to the nocturnal eye, that one may even have this desire to have a relaxing walk under those bright lights. But what if, as you stroll under the lights, a hooded figure steps out from a bush and say, in a gruff voice, “Merry Christmas!” but with a gun or a knife pointed at you. When such occurrence takes place, simply hand him your wallet or bag or mobile phone and greet back “Merry Christmas, too!”

*****

SOMETHING GOOD, to ponder on…

The human potential to do something good has not been drained though. We are all capable of loving our fellow human beings, of treating them with utmost respect, and helping them out when they no longer have anyone to turn to.

WHEN A BEAUTY CONTEST RESULT IS QUESTIONED – Oh no, not again!

Sat, 04 Oct 2008 23:08:56 -0500

Criteria are put in place to govern competitions. They are created to ensure that the highest set of standards will serve as the yardstick in the selection process of any form of competition – to isolate the “excellent” from the “mediocre,” to come up with a ranking from the best to the worst.

This hurts, but then that’s how competitions go – otherwise we shall never come up with an “ideal” that everyone has to aspire for. Whether the competition is in the area of sports, academics, or the performing arts, there shall always be a standard that has to be met. There shall always be score cards. And there shall always be someone who has to put down some numbers on the score cards.

When “experts” are called to render judgment, we have to assume that the judge was selected because the field in which he/she is judging is well within his/her scope of knowledge.

Where is this line of thinking driving at?

Well, a certain department in a tertiary school recently held its beauty pageant. One contender won hands down (she got the unanimous nod from the judges), and this columnist has no doubts as to her ability to figure prominently in future competitions, even outside the school.

The judges, after the judging duty, soon forgot all about the contest. Until word reached them that a faculty supporter for one losing candidate raised questions regarding the judgment rendered. One would normally treat things like this with a simple shrug, but when eyebrows are raised on one’s ability to choose “the best” – well, a line is crossed, and a territory is breached.

The faculty member questioned why her candidate who was wearing the full attire for motorcycle riding failed to get the award for Best in Sportswear – as opposed to the winning candidate who wore badminton attire.

The contested attire is sportswear. Between a fully covered candidate and a candidate who was showing her healthy skin, muscle tone, and impressive proportions – which one should win? Sportswear brings to mind someone who is athletic and yet manage to look sexy.

That’s why the faculty member’s questions irritated this columnist. Motorbike riding is not even officially recognized as an athletic event – it’s just a dangerous hobby. I reminded the organizer of the contest that in big beauty pageants, there is only ONE sportswear that is competed for: SWIMWEAR. The swimwear is perfect in showing off the natural endowments of the candidates – proportions, muscle tones, glowing skin and all. Well, during the search, the sexy badminton attire was the closest thing that we had to a swimwear. Throw in the candidate’s ability to show off the wear and project herself convincingly, and we have a winner. No questions should be asked.

But the faculty member later announced that her candidate should have won that particular award. Which is bad. It contributes to the development of a lower self esteem on the part of the candidate. Of course, when the teacher told her “sika kuma ti nangabak,” the candidate would only feel sorry for herself – instead of accepting defeat and being encouraged to do better in the future. And to treat the whole experience as a lesson on sportsmanship. As it was, I am sure that the losing candidate would even feel contempt for the judges whenever she sees them.

Judges are invited to give appropriate scores, according to the criteria – otherwise, judges should not even be invited in the first place.

I advise the faculty member to simply print a sash with the words “Best in Sportswear” and pin it on her candidate.