Almost There, But Not Quite

Transalation is not an Alibi

2010-08-07T16:28:00.003+08:00

Sometimes I just wonder what Primary and Secondary Education is doing for kids nowadays. Their knowledge base as college entrants seem insufficient. And don't get me started with discipline, that will be a different blog post.

I mean, some students can really get so senseless with how they answer back simple questions.

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Me: Bakit ang pangit 'ata ng labas nitong project niyo?

Female Student: Kasi po, hindi maganda...

Me: (taken aback) Okay. Do it again.

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Me: Okay, can anyone define using their own words the term, "Health Education."

Class: (silent for almost 10 seconds)

Me: (snaps fingers) Come on. Just a try.

Male Student: (raises hand)

Me: Yes sir.

Male Student: (stands) Sir, it is educating about health.

Me: Galing. You want me to get a megaphone for you so you could repeat your sensible definition for the whole school to hear?

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Me: Ija, the exam started thirty minutes ago. Bakit ngayon ka lang?

Masscomm student: Ay sir... Kasi late po ako, eh...

Me: (my eyebrows crossed) Yeah. I get the point, pero bakit ka late?

Masscomm student: Nahuli po kasi akong umakyat sa room sir, eh.

Me: (my forehead crumpled) Okay. I'll stop interrogating. I'll save your neurons. You may need their scanty amount for your exam.

Masscomm student: (smiles as she gets the test. She seemingly didn't understand that I just insulted her.)

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wind_psycho: kala mo naman ang sensible na teacher....

A Teacher's Salivary Anecdote

2010-07-31T06:47:00.003+08:00

I guess not every academician in this world is brave enough to face this simple, yet disturbing issue that front row students face and fear every session.

Getting accidentaly (or purposively) spit on by a teacher.

And I have been both a victim and a culprit of that. I liked sitting in front row as a young student because I like to absorb the best learning possible, but at times I get jumpy when I feel something moist and wet hitting my arms from time to time.

Although the saliva of a person with respiratory tract infections, unless inhaled from a 3 feet marker, has no immediate contagious effect when they variably hit one's skin, the thought and the sight of that frotty liquid on one's skin will always be disgusting to the eyes.

So, now that I am the one talking while standing on the platform, I realize that inevitability of the spitting process. Sometimes, when you talk too much and too fast, your salivary glands work in overdrive and create more spit than necessary.

Sometimes I can just swallow.

And in lesser times, let's just say, I provide my front row students with their second early morning shower for the day.

Am I conscious about it? Oo naman. My paranoia wouldn't allow my students labeling me as the "lean mean spit splattering machine" behind my back.

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So, the solution.

"I'm sorry, especially for the people of the front row, kung minsan natalsik ang aking laway, huh? You can move elsewhere if you want..." I jokingly spoke in between my lecture, holding my hand over my mouth.

Everybody laughs.

"Sir, hindi naman tumatama, pero nakikita nga po namin, hahaha," one of the front-row notorious students kid.

Everybody laughs.

Good thing I'm immune to mortification.

I held my index finger out, "but mind you. My saliva has been coined by my college classmates as the, 'spit of wisdom.' All those who conversed with me before the quiz and got a shower of my saliva always passed our exams with me."

"Wow..." most said in chorus.

"Weh..." the others cried out.

"Aha, if you don't believe me, ask your previous batches," I retorted, " never was there a student in my front row class that failed and got kicked out from the college..."

"Woah..." now I got everybody going.

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The next thing I know, everyone started rushing and fighting to class just to be in the first row of my lecture.

Apir!

Girls Should be Like Chun Li

2010-04-01T09:22:00.003+08:00

Everyone who spent their childhood years in the 90’s would definitely know who Chun Li is. The double hair bunned Chinese girl who floats in an inverted fashion doing spinning kicks while on a split, and throwing fast lighting kicks. Ahhh, I miss those Street Fighter days.

So, why should girls be like Chun Li?

Through many centuries, feminist movements have risen and claimed that women should be dealt with equally like men. They continually desire to relinquish roles that were previously intended for males. And they slowly but surely succeeded in making the female gender an important contributor in the society.

Now, we see the rise of dual career families, and women in executive positions in their respective organizations. One good example is our president herself.

But still, I would like to emphasize on the word, “EQUAL.”

One day, I was lazily seated in LRT going home from a rigorous work-out from the gym, almost dozing off. When the train halted in UN Avenue station, three women probably in their late adolescence swooned inside. Realizing that there were no more seats available, they stood and held on the railings.

In the middle of my dozing-off-while-my-head-is-buried-in-my-bag session in the middle of the train ride, I suddenly heard a sarcastic female voice.

“Ano ba ‘yan, walang gentleman!”

“‘Di bale girl, mamaya may mag-o-offer ng seat niya…”

I looked up and saw the girls standing in front of me, looking at me funny.

I responded them with a quizzical stare. As far as I remember, I am in the male area of the LRT. Secondly, I came in the train first so I deserved my seated spot. And thirdly, I am very tired. My legs are sore from the leg curls I was doing prior to that ride.

One of them gave me an irap.

“What the…” I grumpily whispered to myself. I stood up, movements dragging and told them, “sige, upo na po kayo dito…” I made sure they feel discomfort in my voice as I gave up my seat.

“Thank you, ha…” one of them replied, with a tinamo-bibigay-ka-rin-pala tone in her voice.

In my mind, I was really irritated about how some girls, even in their prime healthy ages, demand special attention from boys. You have to give up your seat for them. You have to make them go first in line. Heck, most of the time, the women are the ones in the rush hour crowd who push the hardest when going inside train coaches.

I know this post may make me unpopular but I have nothing against women. I love my soulmate and bestfriend, and she happens to be a woman. My mother is a woman. Someday, I’ll get married and bear a child through a woman.

If we really are serious about gender equality, then there should not be any special treatment on either sex. No special train areas for women. No special laws on women violence. No special jobs for males or females alone.

And I wish we stop using the “women are essentially part of a vulnerable sector in the society” crap. Vulnerability is all in the mind. Another crap they should stop using as an excuse to be treated well is, “well you boys don’t get pregnant, don’t have menses…” We all have difficult biological functioning to endure.

No one deserves special treatment. But everyone is entitled for considerations. Privileges should be given due to one’s circumstance, not due to one’s gender.

I wish girls could be like Chun Li. She does not mind fighting Ryu, Ken, Sagat, Zangief and M. Bison despite their being males. She does not ask for mercy everytime she gets hit with hadouken or shoryuken. She stands up and fights back. When she loses, she goes for another round. And when she wins, it never mattered if she was a girl.

Balintawak Station

2010-03-29T10:41:00.001+08:00

I was walking at one side of Monumento circle at 10 o’clock that evening. I had two big bags of fish crackers with me, one bag wrapped on each arm. It was my share for the following day’s potluck with my colleagues.

I was tiresomely dragging my feet to the jeepney waiting shed when I heard a loud noise above me. I looked up and saw an LRT train taking the newly constructed tracks going to Balintawak.

I stared in awe. Finally, the MRT-LRT loop is open.

I looked at my watch and saw the date. March 25, 2010. Then I remembered. It was ten days past the supposed anniversary of me and my ex-flame.

When we were still together, we always took the north bound EDSA road going home a few months ago and saw the construction of the new train tracks for the said loop. We always talked in anticipation about when it would open and that we would try taking that route when it opens.

Towards the stormy later part of our relationship, I always asked myself, “Would Gerber and I see the finished loop together?”

Obviously, the answer was, NO.

Here I am, still alone not by choice, hugging on two huge bags of crackers, hoping those would comfort me enough to stop the tears welling up in my eyes from falling as the train faded from my sight.

It’s funny how a simple thing like a public utility mass vehicle is able to make me reminisce on my past unhappy relationship, and the many failed dating encounters that followed after the break-up.

I just graduated with a Master’s degree. I got an excellent teacher evaluation. I’ve got more things ahead of me.

Balintawak station is now finally open. So, why won’t I?

“I am so Embarrassment…” Sensei said.

2010-02-19T16:10:00.004+08:00

Some of my famous words that earn me that irrefutable nonchalant nature in class.

“It’s 4:40 in my timepiece. Twenty minutes so be back at 4:60… You may break yourselves…”

“Sino sa inyo ang puwedeng mahiraman ng USB na willing magka-virus?”

“Ahh, akala ko kasi lahat ng tao nakaka-experience ng almoranas… Sorry, baka sa family lang namin ‘yon… Teka, did I just say I always have hemmorrhoids?! Embarrassment.”

“Oh my, we have an international schudent? Ano ba ‘yan? Bakit 'di niyo sinabi agad? Sorry, I haven’t read the dictionary last night. I am already… Nauubusan ng English…”

“Okay, you go inject yourselves.”

“Wachamakol it? Wachamakoldat?”

“Bakit kayo nag-aayos ng gamit? Ang yayabang ninyong maglabas ng bag. Bakit? Did I dismiss you already? Porke ba Jansport ang mga bag niyo?!”

“Sorry class, I can’t attend to you right now, I’m thesising.”

“Get one half sheet of fafer. Yes, fafer. With a capital fee.”

“Ang hindi makasagot sa number one, pangit.”

“Ang manghula ng edad ko, ibabagsak ko! I said stop! ANO’NG FORTY KA DIYAN?!”

“Pengeng candy class. Hypoglycemic na ‘ko.”

“Haha, hindi naman ako mahilig sa brown. Mukha na ‘kong troso.”

“Class, ano na nga ‘yung tagalog ng English?”

“I hope you learn your lesson Ms. Pasaway. Your confiscated Blackberry touchscreen may be retrieved next week. Ano ba’ng features nito, nang magamit? Joke.” (I actually toyed with it before I surrendered to the Dean).

“There is really no distinct color of semen. It might not be as white contrary to popular belief. Ahmmm, boys ‘di ba sa underwear, if we--- if you mast--- I mean, when you get ahmmm… wet dreams… ‘di ba it turns into a yellow stain…? (looks at the CCTV camera in the classroom) That didn’t sound right, did it? Next time don’t ask me questions like that Mr. Preoccupied, you’re getting me fired.”

“Sa mata makikita ang clitoris… Este, I mean… Iris pala.”

“Excuse me. All my clothes are D & G. Divisoria and Greenhills.”

“Sorry class, puwedeng magkamali? Tao lang.”

“Class, you have to understand that spirituality doesn’t have to be about god alone. We talk about faith. We talk about values. It’s the belief that there is that transcending force that controls all things… It can be our God… It can be Allah… It can be the nature, the trees, the mountains… It can be stones… It can be money… It can be that buddha sculpture… It can be love… It can be fate…

It can be… ME.”

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wind_psycho: TATAG!

Thesis Print Preview

2010-02-04T15:38:00.002+08:00

This is just a tenth of what I have been writing for the past three months now.

And I’m not yet done.

Kaya bawas muna ng gym time (actually sa gym ako gumagawa ng thesis).

Bawas muna gimik.

Wala munang shopping. Mahal ang printing ng 300 pages. Binding pa.

Wala munang tulog.

Walang holiday.

Bawal magkasakit.

Kalimutan muna ang ibang pangarap.

At oo nga pala. Bawal muna ang love life. Flirt flirt lang muna. Nyahaha.

A Different Kind of Discipline

2010-01-17T06:19:00.002+08:00

Senseijery: Madaming bumagsak sa inyo sa major subject niyo! Ano ba’ng problema?! Paano kasi wala kayong ginawa kundi mag-facebook nang mag-facebook! Tanim kayo ng tanim ng mga virtual plants sa Farmville whatever ninyo instead of planting something in your minds.

Class: (quiet)

Senseijery: You should change your unnecessary habits! I have a new policy…

Class: (confused silence)

Senseijery: Kapag online ako sa Facebook, dapat lahat sa klaseng ‘to ay mag-offline within two minutes after I prompt you through the chat window!

Class: HUUUUHHHH?!

Senseijery: Oo, seryoso ‘to. At kapag may nahuli ako na hindi nag-offline agad, I will add the points to your demerits!

(Demerits add up to their quiz items.)

Class: HUUUUUHHHH?! (More loudly this time)

Student 1: Pa’no po kung idle?

Senseijery: ‘Wag niyo kong lokohin. Nagfa-farmville lang kayo no’n.

Student 2: Eh, sir pa’no po kung sabado o kaya linggo?

Senseijery: (Thinks deeply) Saturday lang at Sunday morning puwede. Kasi Sunday night ang gawaan ng homework.

Student 3: Sirrrrr… ‘Wag naman…

Senseijery: Then show me better quiz results and I’ll lift this rule.

Student 4: Magfe-Friendster na lang ako ulit!

Senseijery: Sana may kumausap sa’yo d’on!

Class: (Bursts with laughter.)

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It’ so cool to be a teacher! Nyahahahaha!

Break from Burdens

2009-12-24T08:33:00.005+08:00

LIFE = FRUIT SALAD

mixed
assorted
unpredictable
experimental
easily spoiled unless preserved well
gooey
shared
taken in moderation
energizing but fattening
colorful
molds in a container
carbs, proteins and fats
heavenly but fatal

but you just gotta have some.

happy christmas.

After a Week of Your Silence...

2009-11-28T09:47:00.003+08:00

I guess we won’t be able to found out how LRT 1 and MRT would look like when the construction is finished.

I guess we won’t get to Wensha like we planned--- or that overnight stay in Baguio.

I guess I’ll be watching 2012 on my own. I definitely won’t reach that year with you.

I guess we won’t have an anniversary.

I guess you won’t be receiving this gift I bought for your birthday.

I guess I won’t be going to groceries and appliance stores with you.

I guess I won’t get to taste the food you proudly say that you cook so well.

I guess you’ve moved on way ahead of me.

I guess you’re still unemployed--- and have an ample amount of time to meet other men.

I guess we’ll never really have sex, at all.

I guess, for an indefinite time, my heart will skip a beat everytime I smell the scent of your perfume worn by other people.

I guess I wouldn’t be able to cuddle with you in the dark corners of the movie house.

I guess I won’t be secretly hiding our holding hands in between our laps when we ride the bus.

I guess we won’t be living together and that I won’t be your husband anymore.

I guess you aren’t the one--- well, I guess I’ve realized that long ago.

I’m SINGLE again. That’s the best way to describe my relationship status after you not texting me for a week.

Thank God I’m apathetic.

Anyway, Gerber, wherever you are, uhmm… I don’t know what else to say to you.

Darn it for loving you.

Compulson in the Sauna

2009-10-29T21:21:00.002+08:00

I know exactly what some boys do in the sauna. The sad thing is they just let the juices of their hasty moments of glory anywhere they like. No one wants these secretions near anyone else’s body now that STD’s are going round and about. So I:

1. Alcoholize locker keys.

2. Choose shower cubicles proximate to the locker room because they are the least chosen ones by those who would want to do something prohibited in public.

3. Check the floors and the walls for any emitted secretions.

4. Use the free liquid soap to clean the shower lever, shower head and soap dispensers. You can never be sure what sticks on the hand of the one who last used it.

5. Leave my towel on the cubicle walls so as not to mess it up. You don’t want it catching anything that you would rub onto your body later. That means I walk to the sauna room in my boxers, which gets a few sets of eyes looking at me longer than necessary. I don’t mind. Those are ego points.

6. Cover open wounds (even healing and closed ones) with band aid. Most STD’s are blood borne including HIV.

7. Never touch handles. Open doors through their flaps.

8. Put soap in the hands before opening the sauna door. Just to be sure. This means that while I’m inside the sauna, my hands are bubbling with soap. Some people inside would shoot me perplexed looks while I continuously lather up my palms. If only they knew…

9. Never sit down or lean on to anything inside. You don’t know what people did inside before you came in.

10. Never wipe any part of my body, especially my face, with my hands.

11. Never accidentally drink water from the steam or the shower.

12. Run for dear life when I sense people around me doing IT. It’s easy to tell. It’s funny seeing people trying to hide their erections when they get caught by some clueless member.

Yes, I can get a little bit Obsessive Compulsive to a little bit Paranoid. But hey, like they say, it’s better to be safe, than sorry…

Conflict Reaction Web

2009-10-14T09:39:00.003+08:00

I am never confrontational. So, if I see something wrong or someone irritating, I disclose my hurts to a close friend.

That’s not backstabbing. It’s just a safer catharsis.

The semester is almost ending and the faculty burdened by checking test papers and making grades. We had to finish a particular requirement of almost two hundred (200) students, and results need to be rushed for the deliberation.

The original plan was to divide it among all members of the faculty in our level to hasten speedy checking. However, I wondered why only three from the supposed ten were checking. I went to the faculty room to check where the others are, and to my surprise I saw Gabert, a senior male faculty, doodling something on his Facebook account.

Since, I wasn’t confrontational I just went back to the checking room and shared it with my ‘friends.’ It was really insensitive and irresponsible for Gabert to be playing Farmville and DOTA while his colleagues are enslaving their asses with mountains of paperwork. And my ‘friends’ shared this sentiment with me.

The Monday after that, while I was talking to my immediate boss in the office, Gabert came to me. He glared at me and pointed a folder to my face, “Ikaw Senseijery, ha? May narinig akong nagrereklamo ka na hindi ako nagtatrabaho,” he said as if challenging, “bago mo tingnan ‘yung pag-check ko, tingnan niyo muna ang ginawa ko buong semester, ha?” Then he walked out of the office with all eyes following his fading image.

There I was silenced and dumbfounded. His voice was loud and strong for the secretaries, my coordinators, some other teachers and even visitors to hear his outburst.

We never talked after that, nor do I even want to. I was guilty but I was too soft to admit that. He was a senior--- a hard-headed, complain-laden, confrontational senior teacher who holds no bars with the juniors when dealing with them.

But here are three things that I’ve learned:

Most of us have complaints about our coworkers. We are free to say them. But sometimes, you know exactly what to keep to yourself to get out of trouble.

Secondly, I should start learning filtering out friends from ‘friends.’ You get the idea.

Lastly, I wondered. He never has done that to anyone else before. Maybe when he was planning to confront me, he already foresaw the flabbergasted state that I would be in after his speech. And since he knew I was the type of person who wouldn’t budge, he went out and did that embarrassing thing anyway.

And probably that is how the world works, and I call it the Conflict Reaction Web.

When you do your fights, (individual fights in particular), you take consideration of the enemy to determine what kind of fight you’re going to start. You evaluate their personality and political status before to react to the arising conflict.

Probably, if it weren’t Gabert, and it was someone of my junior or has a more allowing personality, then maybe I could have pointed it out blank straight to the person.

Probably, if it weren’t me, and it was some drug addict loitering along dark alleys, or the president of the institution, then maybe Gabert could have chosen to hold his piece to himself instead.

I therefore conclude that, “Pick Someone Your Own Size,” is bullshit.

The problem is, I am always at the bottom of the web, eaten by decomposers and ravaged by scavengers.

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Mali ba talaga ako? Haha. Ano ba dapat gawin?

-wind_psycho

Wake Me Up When September Ends

2009-09-30T08:40:00.001+08:00

We chose not to live this relationship in drama and I abided. We never spoke about serious things about us, because maybe we were too afraid of the consequences.

Someone told me this: in a couple, one party will always be in deeper love for the other. The sad thing is, I am the one who fell on that end.

For so many times, I pondered to free you. But what good would that do and what change would it make, when we obviously do things as if we weren’t really committed?

And then I remembered how you loosened my chains indirectly. I was the only one who reattached them to you. Maybe I’m the only one who’s stubborn here.

I dare not be loved for a week.

So, I’ve decided, to start falling out of love for you. I don’t know how, but it sure is complicated and as hurtful as I started to accept that you aren’t the forever I am looking for. Nor the person I would see myself with when human race goes extinct in 2012

Tomorrow, is October 2009. I’ll be looking for a new “job”. And I’ll resign when I get one that appreciates who I am better.

I am a Box Named 'Fragile'

2009-09-25T12:06:00.003+08:00

Fragile is written all over me
Shy and breakable
Outwardly vulnerable

I said I’m a fragile box
But the more I say how weak I am
The more that the carriers hold me
Carelessly

The glasses inside me
Broken as they shake me
Bring me closer to their ears
Just to check if my pieces
Will create a sound

Fragile is written all over me
Yet they don’t take it seriously
They drop me off high
And I land on concrete

When you take me
And open me
You’ll find I’m broken
And that’s the only time
When you realize

I’m fragile as the box told you

Four Fast Forward

2009-09-11T21:05:00.002+08:00

By 2012, I’ll be twenty six.

By 2012, I’ll probably look better than now.

By 2012, I’m not sure if I’m still going to be a Sensei.

By 2012, I’ll be in a better job.

By 2012, I’ll earn more.

By 2012, I should have had a written a song sung by some celebrity singer.

By 2012, I don’t know if I’m still going to be in the Eastern hemisphere.

By 2012, I should have had a son, named Rundell.

By 2012, I still would be depressed, stressed and slightly bipolar.

By 2012, I’m short from finishing my PhD.

By 2012, I am writing a secret sex-related blog because I’ve shut down this blog by 2010.

By 2012, that blog will have tons of followers.

By 2012, I will actually be read.

By 2012, I will have published a book.

By 2012, that book should have been a bestseller.

By 2012, I would have appeared on TV.

By 2012, I will be a mentalist.

By 2012, my students now would have only just graduated.

By 2012, I don’t have a clear vision of my muse.

By 2012, my family will still have the same peculiar problems.

By 2012, my friends will be physically distant yet closely kept.

By 2012, I will still be psychosexually dysfunctional.

By 2012, time will still be a limited commodity for me.

By 2012, I still would not have a definition of the world around me.

By 2012, I don’t have any plans of saving myself from any havoc.

By 2012, solar flares will be destroying the earth and I’ll be in the gym, working out.

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The 11th to 13th lines are only half meant. But who knows really?

-wind-psycho

December 21, 2012

2009-09-05T11:05:00.005+08:00

…is the end of the world.

This past week I’ve had this obsessive compulsion to look at youtube videos and web articles about this freakish date. Everything I read about (historical, astronomical, scientific, meteorological, biblical, mythical) this date ALL MAKES SENSE TO ME.

I’m so darn scared yet I’m still hooked. It all started when I watched the trailers for the movies “2012,” and “Seeking Closure.” Then related videos regarding Planet X and Polar Changes started springing up.

During the first night I could sleep. I remember Incubus’ music video, “Warning,” and the clock in that kept stopping at the digits of that date.

Well, the first theory of doomsday is that Planet X, or Nibiru, will come closer to the solar system on that said year and will cause the sun to have a disrupted activity like coronal radiations and solar flares (like the one in “Knowing”).

The second theory was that during that time, the sun, the earth and the black hole in the middle of Milky Way will be aligned and may cause a polar shift on earth that may bring about sudden change of tides, earthquakes and loss of continents. It may also cause weather and climate changes (which excited me a bit. Winter in the Philippines?)

But both theories suggest that during this time of global catalycism, there will be mass extinction of species. Humans very much included.

The Mayan Calendar and Chinese and Biblical prophets have warned us about this day of apocalypse, or winter solstice.

And the governments do know about this impending catastrophe, and is working on black projects in order to conserve some (not all) of our species. Actually they use these movies like “deep Impact,” “Armageddon,” “Starwars,” “E.T.,” and “2012,” to desentisize us from these impending disastrous events. Other details regarding their plans that came to me are way too specific to be false.

Or hopefully this is just another hoax. Or a scam that people use for financial gains.

If not, then I am preparing. But what to do first?

(Thinking… Thinking… Dozes off…)

A Post Mortem Story

2009-08-31T20:22:00.002+08:00

Cold mist blew against Juan’s ears and filled his senses. He looked around him and saw a seemingly endless hallway, surrounded with white walls, with open doors a meter apart from each other. The tiled floor felt cold against his bare feet.

He started walking a few inches from where he started and then he heard it: the resounding voices of his parents crying from the door beside him. He decided to enter.

There he saw his mother and father, crying over a body lying lifeless on a hospital bed. With them is a female nurse silently praying beside them. Her dress sleek white, hair placed under a cap.

Juan looked at his parents and figured that they looked much older than he last saw them. Then he tried peering at the body, but could not recognize who it was. He wanted to step closer to embrace his grieving parents, but his body remained flinched and contented watching from afar.

After praying, he saw the nurse took a pillow and placed it under the corpse’s head. Then he remembered all the times he used his head to think of evil things: greed, jealousy, revenge, pain, sadness, lust, prejudice, hate.

The nurse leaned over to close the dead man’s eyes. Juan instinctively touched his own eyes and thought of the moments when he used his sense of sight in bad light: cheating in his exam, looking perversely at attractive women, seeing criminals doing evil in front of him yet he did nothing.

Then nurse started taking out the watch and jewelries worn by the deceased and handed it to the sobbing parents. Juan recognized the ring that the nurse took out last: it was his college ring. Juan then remembered how much time he spent on material things, how he preferred to work for more money than spend time with his family or go to church.

The tube placed inside the body’s mouth was carefully pulled out by the nurse, and later on was discarded in a yellow bag. Juan looked closely at the tube that was once connected to the body, and reminisced all the connections he had lost in his lifetime. How his uncaring attitude scared off the people who loved him dearly.

He then saw the nurse got a small towel from the bedside and placed it under the corpse’s chin to close its mouth. Juan recalled the times when he used his own mouth to hurt people with the words he would tell them; and the times where gluttony got the best of him not realizing that a lot of people in this world is hungry for food.

The nurse then took another towel and tenderly gave a quick bed bath, eyeing carefully on the soiled areas of the body. Juan remembered all the vices he had: alcohol, cigarettes, drugs and sexual promiscuousness. He knew these practices would take a toll on his body that he considered God’s temple, yet he let the bad habits take over him.

Using cotton balls, the nurse gently covered the dead body’s ears. Juan remembered how he always failed to listen to people--- how he would close his mind to his friends and relatives’ advices for his betterment. All he heard was the voice of pleasure and earthly desires that continually flickered and defeated the remaining spark of his good light.

She then used disposable pads to take off the feces from the corpse’s buttocks, which reminded Juan how poorly he dealt with reconciling his sins. He left the people around him with so much emotional mess that he always failed to clean up by asking for forgiveness.

Aside from the identification bracelet worn at the wrist of the dead man, the nurse placed another name tag on the right ankle. From where he was, Juan was able to read what was written on it: “Juan dela Cruz.” It made him ask himself, “How will my name be remembered by the people I shared my life with?” He wondered how his memory will be celebrated--- or loathed.

The nurse then made the bed occupied by the deceased by changing linens and gave a chance for his parents to view the body. Both of them were crying hardly as the nurse cared for the body.

Even Juan was surprised for he never saw his father shed tears in his lifetime. His Dad used to be an unbreakable, strict man which Juan rebelled against because he wanted freedom from his persevering guidance. The father was repeatedly saying, “Sorry, Anak…” as he held the deceased’s arm tightly.

And it was not the first time for Juan to see his mother crying. She cried when he went home with bruises because of school gang riots. She cried when she found out that he had to repeat his second year in high school--- twice. She cried every time his father would hit him for every shortcoming he did as a child. He thought his death will free her from the stress he gave her. He felt his parent’s pain--- far deeper than he ever felt before.

His mother was holding a rosary against the body. Juan tried to count the times when he prayed and just remained silent to hear God talking to him. He realized the time he spent for prayer was too far less from being enough.

A tear escaped from Juan’s eye. He wiped it with his hand and saw it glistening in his fingers. He saw hope.

After a few minutes, the nurse came back. She wrapped the corpse with the linens. Then Juan realized what he needed in life. He needed a sense of security, like the sense of comfort he received everytime he would tuck himself in the blankets in his bedroom when he felt alone. And he knew now where to find it.

Suddenly, the scene blurred and faded in complete sheer darkness.

Juan opened his eyes and found out he was still very alive. He was sitting on a chair while in front of a computer. Blood was splattered all over the keyboard in front of him. The light from the desktop monitor was glaring at his newly awoken state. A knife felt cold against his feet. It was a dream.

He took two pillow cases from his bed beside him and tied it tightly on his bleeding wrists.

He sat up straight, took the mouse and clicked on Microsoft Word and started typing on the keyboard:

“A Post Mortem Story”

---------------------------------------------------------------------

PS.

wind_psycho: I am NOT suicidal--- and definitely NOT emo.

Kwekquation 5: Am I Text Clingy?

2009-08-27T11:03:00.002+08:00

Successful and lasting romantic relationships are honed by a balance of communication and distance. Through time we have heard break ups because one person in the relationship demands more time than necessary. Even love psychologists say that some space apart between lovers is healthy so that each individual in that bond would grow singly and doubly. Being too clingy to your partner might actually cause you to fall apart because of the thing we call, “romantic asphyxiation.”

Kwek-Kwek Kwekquation #5
AM I TEXT-CLINGY?

In this contemporary era, clinginess is a behavior we may assess through the way we utilize the common cellphone text messaging medium in connecting with our partners. I realized this a few months ago, because I’ve had text-clingy tendencies with my muse before. Now, I guess I’ve controlled that habit that makes me doubly frustrated.

Well… How about you?

Here’s the solution:

Where:

N: NATURE OF TEXT MESSAGES
In a scale of 1 to 10, how emergent and necessary are the majority of your text messages? (1 being, “nku bhe, tgal mgrply, 2 mins n q pnghhntay, anu na lab mu b q?” and 10 being, “love, sori ngabmbala kta. Nkidnap ako ng abu sayaf!”

for N1, rate yourself;
for N2, rate your partner.

F1: FREQUENCY OF YOUR TEXT MESSAGE
In your approximation, what is the average number of text messages you send to your partner in a day?

F2: FREQUENCY OF YOUR PARTNER’S TEXT MESSAGE
In your approximation, what is the average number of text messages you partner sends to you in a day?

B: AMOUNT OF TIME BUSY
In a scale of 1 to 10, how busy are you in a normal day? (1 being, “Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….” and 10 being, “I work 25 hours a day, and too busy to even answer this simple equation.”)

for B1, rate yourself;
for B2, rate your partner.

SCORES:
The median value is 1. So, if you scored proximate to this value then you balance your time well with your partner, and not in any way asphyxiates nor leave him/her dangling freely.

If your scored way higher, then may be you are text-clingy as evidenced by too many unnecessary messages sent when you know for a fact that both of you might be very busy with your usual lives. Be content with the time your partner gives you though it is still not ample enough for you, as long as it is spent with significance.

If you scored way lower, it can only mean two things: (1) your partner is the one who is text clingy as evidenced by a deficit in your number of text messages compared to him/her, and you’re the victim of the asphyxiation, or; (2) you only send messages to your partner during dire need. You know, sometimes sweet nothings sent in moderation can really help brighten a day in your sweetheart’s life.

.

Tangentiality of Thoughts

2009-08-08T22:04:00.003+08:00

One. During these days, money matter. When I borrowed a pen from a student and accidentally broke it, I promised to replace it. When I asked another student how a G-TEC costs, I was surprised to know that it was priced over sixty pesos.If I was a student with extremely rich parents which this pupil obviously had, would I really spend that much for a lousy ballpen?

Why can’t all goods be like fishballs that has remained fifty centavos since my birth?

Two. I’m pissed at people doubting my abilities just because I’m: (1) young; (2) inexperienced; (3) seemingly way too happy with my life. Just today, I heard feedbacks on these people questioning the Dean gave me a chance to teach advanced subjects for the course. Well, that’s another case of seniority complex and age related ethnocentrism.

The Dean defended me in the faculty meeting by saying she’d rather give tasks to those who can deliver--- really deliver.

Three. The weather lately has been so erratic. I just wonder how preschool teachers nowadays teach their students about weather--- the simple sunny, cloudy, rainy and windy day. I could hear the teacher saying,”Hey kids, today is a sunny day!” Then a pupil would raise his hand and retort, “Hallur, rainy day kaya kanina sa’min!”

As early as post-toddlerhood, adults should be able to instill to them the concept of global warming.

Four. Love’s path and career path in our lives do not coincide, nor do they have the same loops, humps, zigzags and dead ends. The transition phase of love is not similar to job hunting, that before you terminate your current job, you should make sure that you have found a secure employment to get into after resigning.

Closure of an old love is needed for a new one to begin.

Five. I realize that my only kababatas are my cousins. It’s how funny how we argued from toys to school work, talked about from video games to our work status. Some of us are married, had kids. I finished fifth in our batch in college and became an instructor. One works for an international company. Others are team leaders in call centers. Others just grew vertically and shrunk horizontally. All of us are aging with grace.

I’m happy with my generation. We made our elders proud.

Six. My young age is usually kept from the class’ knowledge for security. A student, who professed she had a slight fondness over me went to me and told me, “I’ve searched you in google sir. You’re twenty two.

Just how do you free yourself from cyberstalking?

Seven. I just realized that sixty percent of what we say about us is not true. Seventy percent of the faults we see in other people are the same unacceptable traits that we have.

At least I know, at the end of the day, I can readily admit I’m wrong if I feel I am. And I may just be wrong with the figures I've given.

Eight. I...

Nine. Am...

Ten. Tired....

Better than My Betters

2009-07-11T22:16:00.002+08:00

“I’ve never seen a faculty here quite like you…”

I sat there dumbfounded in front of the internationally acclaimed full professor in front of me, two days after she observed my class two days earlier. I knew I did great, but I didn’t expect her to be THIS impressed.

“You were so funny…! You’re confident and you knew your stuff… He promote higher reasoning and critical thinking from your students… They are at ease with you… I was SO impressed…! Oh my, you’ve only been teaching for two years and you’re all this? My, this is in born!”

There I was, showered with compliments by a US based scholar who barely knew me as the guy who always got books from her office. She was just a visiting consultant for our university observing the faculty and the school in general on how it was managed.

All I could do was smile and say, “Thank you po.”

Probably, the thing that made me feel flabbergasted was that this was the very first positive reinforcement I received since this semester started.

“SenseiJery, you’re late again! What did I tell you about being punctual for the students?!”

“SenseiJery, stop joking around in class!”

“You’re noisier than your students!”

“You should have requested your materials days before!”

“Why do you need an LCD? I’m too busy to look for it!”

“Hinahayaan niyo ‘yang estudyanteng maging bastos! Hindi niyo dinidisiplina!”

“SenseiJery, your necktie doesn’t suit your dress!”

“PAY ATTENTION!”

“Sensei! Mali ‘yung naituro mo!”

“SenseiJery, GET A HAIRCUT!”

I was bombarded with lines like that since I got back in school this June by my seniors and my morale is in an all time low, until this professor who’s a total stranger to me actually saw me beyond my bundy clock and what I wore.

And before I left that room, the scholar told her final words to me, “You have potential, and your future is so bright. Sabihin mo sa mga ka-faculty mo na gayahin ka nila.”

Sometimes, because of all these people trying to pull me down with their uneventful comments, I sometimes forget why I’m a teacher in the first place.

I finished 5th in a big batch of 2,700 students in my university, graduating with Latin honors.

I am a licensure exam reviewer.

I am a well versed researcher.

I’m an active student leader and choir conductor.

I won a national competition.

Recently, I aced my comprehensive exam for my Master’s degree with a “high passed” score on all subjects--- a feat that only I was able to make.

I should remember that I am, and will always be, a CHILD PRODIGY.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Naks… Yabang. Pagbigyan niyo na ako. Wasak na wasak ang ego ko.

Gara Gara Go! (Whatever that means…)

–wind_psycho

Kwekquation 4: Should I Say "Hi" to My High School Batchmate?

2009-07-10T23:45:00.003+08:00

Years have passed since you graduated. You are now an adult who faces the world without guidance from teachers and allowance from parents. In the real world, you have finally realized what it means to be living and making your own decisions. You’ve learned bigger lessons from bigger mistakes. Experience now is your ultimate educator.

But sometimes, coincidence may lead you to cross paths with people from your student life. And like you they may look a bit older and act a bit wiser now. Yet still, the habit of comparing each others notes may linger as it did during your days as pupils. This time, however, the notes you may be comparing are the achievements you’ve made since you parted that commencement day.

Kwek-kwek Kwekquation # 4
SHOULD I SAY “HI” TO MY HIGH SCHOOL BATCHMATE?

So that random moment comes when you come across a familiar face from the school you used to go to. It’s a good thing you saw him and he didn’t see you. Now, should you show yourself and share a short conversation with this guy without placing yourself in an awkward stance, or should you continue hiding?

Here’s the solution:

Where:

Va = APPROPRIATENESS OF VENUE
Score 2 if the place favors a good reputation to you. Example: you’re in church and you’re a lector, or in the multimillion dollar building of your company.
Score 1.5 if the place is neutral. Example: Malls, in the middle of the street
Score 1 if the place is of ill-reputation. Example: you’re in prison and you’re a prisoner, or you’re currently giving a lap dance in your g-string to a costumer in a bar.

A = AFFINITY TO THE PERSON
In a scale of 1 to 10, how well were you acquainted with this person when you were still students? (1 being, “What’s his name again?” and 10 being, “We’re like practically seated next to each other for the whole four years of high school.)

Sr = SHARED RELATIONSHIP
In a scale of 1 to 10, what is the nature of the relationship that you had with this person back in high school? (1 being, “He’s the big bad bully and I’m his prey,” and 10 being, “he’s my bestest best friend.”)

Pc1 = CHANGE IN YOUR PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
In a scale of 1 to 10, how did maturity affect your physical prowess? (1 being, “I used to be a swan now I’m an ugly duck,” and 10 being, “I lost thirty pounds, 7 inches off my waist and I would like to thank facial care center for my clear face.”)

DW = ELEGANCE OF DRESS WORN
In a scale of 1 to 10, how elegant is the dress you’re currently wearing? (1 being, “I’m in a clown suit,” and 10 being, “I’m on my way to an international awards night.”)

Ss1 = YOUR SUCCESS STORY
In a scale of 1 to 10, how successful have you been since high school? (1 being, “I’m a very successful bum,” and 10 being, “I’ve got PhD and I manage all Starbucks chains now.”

Pc2 = CHANGE IN THE BATCHMATE’S PHYSICAL APPEARANCE
In a scale of 1 to 10, how does your batchmate look like compared to before in relation to your current aesthetic value? (1 being, “OMG, Joe! Is that you? I can’t believe how you managed to double your acne!” and 10 being, “OMG, weren’t you the one I saw in TV who won that international pageant something?”)

Ss2 = BATCHMATE’S SUCCESS STORY
In a scale of 1 to 10, how successful has your batchmate have been since graduation compared to you? (1 being, “Oh my, Joe! Just look at you now! You’re finally a street sweeper!” and 10 being, “I heard you own this mall we’re in.”)

SCORES:
The median score is 0.75. If your score is proximate to this value, a simple hello and short talk would be allowable.

If the score is lower, it is best to not move a muscle. A conversation may be awkward and may take a toll on your esteem due to your lack of achievement or his over achievement. Maybe your previous unharmonious relationship may spark heat. Or maybe you just don’t look as good and aren’t in a place where showing off is a good idea.

If your score is higher, you may bravely come up and actually chat with this batchmate of yours for a long time without putting your ego at stake. Well, probably because you’re a successful, refined handsome young man. If his current state may not be as lavish as yours, be nice. Or it an be that you just really want to catch up with that long lost friend of yours. Probably talking about the past and present may not be such a bad idea.

CheatErratica

2009-06-24T21:07:00.003+08:00

I found out you’re cheating on me.

And I know you know I’m cheating on you as well.

I also know that you know that I found out that you’re cheating on me.

And this can go on.

Yet, you still kiss me and tell me you love me.

And I still ask you to embrace me, and still say I love you too.

You know you’re not that happy anymore.

I know I’m just wasting my energy on you.

Yet, we both don’t care.

Still we go on like nothing happens.

Because we know that each other is the only best we can have.

This is just BULLSHIT.

And I can’t stop it.

Elixir of Apathy

2009-06-20T14:22:00.003+08:00

COFFEE.

It’s your ready dose of consciousness when you feel somnolent--- well that is for most people. A hot cup of coffee contains caffeine--- a stimulant that improves awareness and alertness, so that people with type A personalities can get by through the day.

It’s not that I’m addicted to coffee. I never had any subconscious craving for it. However, I do take it when it’s available.

During lunch time, me and my co-faculty members eat at a canteen near the school, where we usually order the usual pinoy ‘silog foods’ with bottomless coffee on the side. Due to my frugal nature, I make sure I make most of the money by asking for at least two more refills in my cup.

Then, just for this academic year, a coffee maker became available in the office, and so I take advantage of it. The problem is, we don’t have a usual supply cream and sugar, so I drink it in its plain black coffee nature.

The weird thing is that this ingestible form of liquid has an unusual effect on me. Aside from the quick, uncomfortable palpitations that occur a few minutes after drinking it, I suddenly feel apathetic.

Although my cognition is still intact, it seems that I don’t have any emotional reaction to anything that happens in my life, how minor or major they may be. Coffee has made me become a full headed, empty hearted person.

My mom is coming from the states and I’m not even excited.

My students greet me along the corridors but I remain unnerved.

My conflict with a colleague making rumors about me has been resolved. Pero ako pa rin ang lumabas na may kasalanan. I just accepted it.

My boss is slave driving me to do jobs outside my capacity yet I never complained a bit.

Everyone around me is either getting good news like advanced degrees and pregnancy, while I get the same old mediocre life yet I don’t whine.

I was not included to become the delegates to be sent abroad for a seminar. Yet there were attendees who were younger and far more incompetent than I am who were considered but I don’t feel any insecurity like I always do.

My teaching load got reduced. Ultimately my monthly salary will be reduced as well, because some other faculty just can’t be contented with their own loads. But still here I am, I’m not yet pissed off.

Some of my colleagues continue making nasty comments about my being “ambisyoso,” because of my aspiration to hold a management position someday. Nagpaparinig na parang mga bading na high school students. But still I have never felt grudgeful.

I somnambulate to the gym and do my work-out with drooping eyes.

I became anhedonic to things and people that were previously sexually appealing to me.

As I write this, I think my muse is cheating on me and I don’t fucking give a damn.

KEEP THE COFFEE COMING!

Kwekquation 3: Can I Cut Class?

2009-06-13T22:14:00.005+08:00

In an academic year, an average student comes to school for more than two hundred weekdays in a calendar year. Ninety percent of those days would be spent in the classroom, and the other ten percent would be for extra curricular activities. And unless the mode of instruction varies, dreary moments can be expected and the students may consequently experience lack of excitement for the routine activities halfway through that year. And sometimes, he may do even stupid things just to break this monotony.

Kwek-kwek Kwekquation # 3:
CAN I CUT CLASS?

Skipping school--- I strongly believe that at least 4 out of 5 students have done this already. Aside from the fact that it is an impossible fate, living the whole of your educative-formative life without any mark on your slate is a sin in popular culture. And take note, I am a teacher. I hope that adds weight to my words.

If the cool kids can do it, why can’t you?

Of course you can. It’s just all about timing--- and a little math. Here’s the solution:

Where:

Rt = RISK TAKING BEHAVIOR
In a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate yourself as a risk taker? (1 being, “I faked my medical exam to be excused from Swimming classes,” and 10 being, “I go sky diving without a parachute.”)

B = PERCEIVED BORINGNESS OF CLASS
In a scale of 1 to 10, how boring do you expect would be the class that you plan not to attend to? (1 being, “Boring? Are you kidding? This is Senseijery’s class!” and 10 being, “Zzzzzzz…”)

L = LENIENCE OF THE TEACHER
In a scale of 1 to 10, how lenient is the teacher of the class you plan to miss out? (1 being, “Our teacher wears a dominatrix uniform and holds a thick rubber whip on her hand,” and 10 being, “I tried to copy from my classmate, but I couldn’t manage. So, the teacher just whispered the answer to me.”)

Fp = PERCEIVED FUN
In a scale of 1 to 10, how fun would the activity you plan to go be? (1 being, “I’m going to a senior citizen’s party, and 10 being, “Celebrate good times, come on! It's a celebration!’)

Ar = ACADEMIC REPUTATION
In a range of 1 to 10, how would you describe your standing as a student in your school? (1 being, “Good as a drop-out,” and 10 being, “I’m running for Valedictorian, Best in Values Education and I'm a candidate for Perfect Attendance Awardee”)

Re = EXPECTED REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DAY
In a range of 1 to 10, how crucial are the requirements that are expected in the class you are planning to miss out? (1 being, “None,” and 10 being, “I have my finals exams of 4 subjects today.”)

Sd = NATURE OF SCHOOL DISCIPLINE
In a range of 1 to 10, how would you describe how discipline is maintained in your school? (1 being, “Just say sorry and I’ll forget you cheated,” and 10 being, “I’m studying in a military school.”)

Pd = NATURE OF PARENTAL DISCIPLINE
In a range of 1 to 10, how would your parent’s react if you got caught? (1 being, “Don’t worry son, all teenagers do that. I still love you,” and 10 being, “You’re going to spend the remaining nights of the month with Brownie in the dog house!”)

Da = DISCREETNESS OF THE ACTIVITY
In a range of 1 to 10, what is the nature of the activity that you are planning to do? (1 being, “My school is in Malabon, so I’ll go to a mall in Alabang,” and 10 being, “I’m just going to smoke a pack of cigarettes in front of the school gate, beside the bulky security guard.”)

Nf = NUMBER OF CLASSMATES WHO ARE COMING WITH YOU

SCORES:

The median score is 0.5. So, if you scored that much, you may go, but be very careful and be ready for the consequences.

If the score is way lower, then it is recommended that you don’t go. This may be due to expected harsh consequences, poor planning of out-of-class activity and lack of innate impulses actually want to skip class. Or maybe you plan to bring a lot of friends with you. Surely, a single escape would be more forgivable than a boycott, right? Or maybe because I’m your teacher. Haha, you can’t afford to miss my class!

If the score is way higher, then go and be merry! Maybe your teacher or the school won’t mind anyway. Maybe you meticulously organized your sneak-out strategy that your absence will successfully happen without getting noticed.

Enjoy normal studenthood!

Senseijery's Faculty Evaluation

2009-06-10T22:36:00.003+08:00

When I was a student, I took most of the things in my academic life quite seriously, especially during college. But don’t get me wrong, I had a social life, but not as much as a normal adolescent would. Probably, I could consider myself half a geek.

One of the activities that I seriously engaged myself in was the evaluation of my teachers. An average student would usually treat this as a time-waster so they would just blindly make patterns out of the score sheets. Or maybe a student may use this opportunity to put grave untrue fault on the teachers they dislike.

But not me. I wouldn’t care if I’d walk out last from the evaluation room, just as long as I gave what is due to whoever taught me. And I made sure I wrote something in the essay part where verbal comments are to be written.

I never imagined how surreal it would be to finally hold the paper and see the faculty evaluation--- of me, being the teacher as filled out by my students. It was very nerve-wrecking to have none other than my boss read and recommend on the compiled verbal comments given to me.

I think I faired well. In totality, the positive comments weighed a lot heavier than the negative ones. Here are some of the downsides my pupils have noticed of me:

“…his jokes are sometimes confusing the class…” Yes, guilty. Sometimes, in my struggle to marry my comedy with the usual classroom pedagogy, my comic side seems to overpower even my train of thought. In my wanting to keep attention to me, I intentionally mispronounce words and go wrong with simple grammar.

“…he has favoritism…” Woah…. I didn’t see that coming. The moment I read that line, an ultra-speed rewind went inside my mind. Although I never consciously showed that I like any student more than the others, I did show how I despised some of them because of disrespect. What gave this particular student the idea that I favored someone in class? And if I did, who did I seem to favor? Maybe I should be more careful with how I relate with particularly special students in class.

“…his quiz is so hard… less toxic requirements…” Guilty. But I’m not to be charged of any liability for this. I rarely give mediocre exams. I refuse to pull out case studies from my requirements. Lose the point, learn a lot--- that is how I work. And my boss agrees that I should continue complicating the lives of my students for them to develop to the best of their mental abilities.

And I do have to remember that I should not take these things too personally. I just have to regard them as points for improvement. (Yep, that’s easy to say but I’m still half-troubled right now. Heck, how could she say I’m nepotistic?)

But I’m glad to say that the good comments outnumbered the bad ones. Here are just some of them:

“…has a sense of humor…”

“…very helpful and supportive…”

“…cool magturo at mabait…” (Finally, somebody said I’m cool! That’s not a very common adjective to describe me.)

“…galing!!”

“…he is very patient and considerate… he motivates the students in making good research…”

“…he is very open in learning and discovering new things about research… he shares his opinion and knowledge…”

“…I like the strategy of Senseijery to discipline students and his technique of teaching students because he inculcates it with fun…” (This is the same person who told me I had favoritism. Bumawi naman pala…)

“…When he gives quizzes, he gives ample time to think per question…” (Haha! Take that whoever you are who says I’m not considerate in quizzes!)

“…100% energy… never saw him with a frowning face… motivates students… full of patience… clear and full of explanations…”

“…hindi bored ang klase ‘pag kayo nagtuturo…”

And as for my descriptive quantitative analysis, my over-all mean is 4.48 out of 5 with a verbal interpretation of Very Satisfactory--- not bad for a teacher who just graduated from college.

I still have issues with a lot of things for the past year: work; my colleagues; my students and myself.

But I’m proud to say that my first academic year was well worth it.

Kwequation 2: Should I Care to Share?

2009-06-09T12:25:00.007+08:00

A big problem can suddenly hit you like a bomb. It may be a huge break-up from a platonic relationship, a lay-off from work, getting multiple failing grades, contracting swine flu, finding out yours is a now-broken perfect family, impotence, bankruptcy of a previously stable business venture, teen pregnancy or a death of a loved one.

Dealing with these problems may cause a whirlpool of emotional stress, and probably going to a bar might help. Some gulps of alcohol might not contribute to the solution of the problem, but it may just give an urgent ease from the pain. Who wouldn’t want a quick escape from reality?

So, there you were, sitting alone in your table in the middle of the venue, drowning your worries with wine. Suddenly, someone familiar walks up to you to say “hello”. Courtesy suggests that you offer him the empty seat beside you, and you did so.

Your friend notices the misery in your stature, and asks you, “Got a problem?”

You weakly nod in affirmation.

“Care to share?” your friend asks.

Kwek-Kwek Kwekquation 2:
SHOULD I CARE TO SHARE?

You realize that this may be a good time to ventilate your feelings. However, just before you become too eager to spill the beans out, you suddenly become worried that your problems may suddenly become a news headline for tomorrow’s rumor tabloids in your neighborhood or work place. You try to think if it’s safe to tell this person your problem, which may be equivalent to a deep dark secret you would want to carry untouched down to your grave. And who wants to be put in bad light?

Here’s the solution:

Where:

E = EXTENT OF EMOTIONAL BURDERN
In a scale of 1 to 10, how emotionally burdensome is this problem for you? (1 being “My heart is still beating as it was before,” and 10 being, “I’m an emotional wreck.”)

Pie = PERCEIVED INTROVERSION / EXTROVERSION OF PERSONALITY
Score 0.5: If you perceive yourself as an introvert (someone who works better alone than in a social group).
Score 1.5: If you perceive yourself as an extrovert (someone who works better in a social group).
Score 1: If you think you’re in the middle, (someone who works well both alone and in a social group).

V = EXTENT OF NEED TO VENTILATE
In a scale of 1 to 10, how much will it ease you to have someone hear you out right now? (1 being, “No, leave me alone, I’d rather not share this!” and 10 being, Magsusumbong na parang nasa kindergarten, “Teacher! Teacher! He gave me a wedgie!”)

Nb = NUMBER OF BOTTLES OF WINE INGESTED

Pnb = AVERAGE NUMBER OF WINE BOTTLES TO GET YOU DRUNK

Dw = PERCEIVED DRUNKNESS OF THE WITNESS
In a scale of 1 to 10, how drunk is your friend? (1 being, “Sober as an eagle,” and 10 being, “Holy shit, he just puked a gallon on me!”)

Rr = RUMOR REPUTATION
In a scale of 1 to 10, how good of a rumor starter/maker is your friend? (1 being, “Equate him as a deaf-mute,” and 10 being, “He makes rumors even up to the love affairs between cockroaches.”)

A = AFFINITY
In a scale of 1 to 10, how are you related to the guy? (1 being, “I just known him in this bar I went in,” and 10 being, “he’s my twin brother.”)

Np = NATURE OF THE PROBLEM
In a scale of 1 to 10, in terms of its biopsychosociocultural-spiritual-moral aspects, how grave is this problem that you are having? (1 being, “I just tripped a step in the stairs and got a small bruise in my tummy,” and 10 being, “I am HIV positive and I’m afraid to tell my colleagues at work, because I’ve had unprotected orgy with all of them.”)

SCORES:

Median score is 2.1. So, if your score is proximate to this value, then maybe you could share, but with reservations.

If your score is way below this value, hush and just say, “I’d rather just keep it to myself.” It maybe because emotional release is not necessary for you to cope up, or the person may not be trustworthy enough to keep his mouth shut, or the problem may just be too big to be disclosed.

If you got a high score, then go share. The higher your score, the more details you can reveal. Anyway who doesn’t want to express his sad feelings to a true friend?

Or probably you’re just way too drunk. Don't worry, both of you might just forget everything tomorrow morning.

Kwekquation 1: Am I Addicted to Something for No Reason at All?

2009-06-07T10:23:00.008+08:00

Welcome to Kwek-Kwek Kwequations!

Kwek-kwek Kwequations, or simply called “kwequations” and abbreviated as KKQ, is a series of blog posts that aims to present simple arithmetic formulas that may help you figure out things in your life, make the silly decisions and probably know yourself better.

Question 1: Why Kwek-kwek?
I do not necessarily find kwek-kwek as the street food of choice, basically for the reason that I think my blood pressure shoots up the moment I ingest these cholesterol-laden balls. Aside from its catchy rhythmical homonymous sound with “equation,” kwek-kwek represents simplicity and novelty. And certain kind of lipids is found in quail eggs that constitute the myelin sheaths of nerve fibers, making impulses faster.

Question 2: Why equations?
This is not an original idea. I happened to pass by Powerbooks and stumble upon a book entitled, “Geek Logik: 50 Foolproofs Equations for Everyday Life.” It presented answers to stupid questions like, “Should I report to work tomorrow?” and “Can I still wear a speedo (without frightening the children)?” Then an equation is presented. You have to fill in the variables and solve them. A range of values would have the answer for the question. I liked the idea and just wanted to apply it in this country and age’s context.

DISCLAIMER:
I am no statistician. So, expect flaws, and questionably simple equations. There will be no square roots, logarithms nor advanced integrals--- just simple MDAS arithmetic. Looking for variables in the common world is the challenge for this series.

Kwek-kwek Kwekquation #1:
AM I ADDICTED TO SOMETHING FOR NO REASON AT ALL?

It may be alcohol, smoking or drugs. It may be sex or pornographic videos and stories. It may be night-outs or parties. Probably, it may just be an arcade game, or a gourmet salad, or over an artist you heard over the radio, or a TV series you can’t help watching over and over again.

So, it’s eating your time and space resources like hell, but you can’t help giving in. The question now is, “Is this really an addiction?”

And if this has been an addiction, can you be forgiven for it?

Here’s the solution:

where:
(Please score according to the facts of the last month).

t = TIME SPENT
In a range of 1 to 10, how much time do you spend over this alleged addiction of yours? (1 being, “I barely remember doing it in a day,” and 10 being, “I barely remember doing anything else in a day except this.”)

Du = DUES UNMET
In a range of 1 to 10, in general, how many roles and responsibilities expected of you have you unmet? This may include homework, work deadlines or just regular household chores. (1 being, “I’ve done my papers earlier than necessary,” and 10 being, “Is my boss around? I’m sure he’ll kill me now.”)

P = PERCEIVED ADDICTABILITY
How addicted are you to this alleged addiction? Measure your denial in a range of 1 to 10 with 1 being, “yeah, I think I need help before this gets worse,” and 10 being, “I am--- hik--- not an addict, tagay pare, hik!”

De = DEPRESSION / EMOTIONAL LABILITY
In a range of 1 to 10, how physically and emotionally stressed have you been for the past month? (1 being, “I’m happy as Barney,” and 10 being, “I’m listening to My Chemical Romance right now and I’ve got a blade slicing my radial artery.”)

SCORES:
Median score is 3. If your scored proximate to this value, then you’re just practically enjoying your life.

If you got below 3, it can only mean two things: (1) You are not actually addicted to something, or; (2) You are forgiven for being an addict, for there is so much emotional ruckus happening in your life. But then again, if in the next passing month, your score remains, better find someone trustworthy to talk to.

If you got above 3, you may be already addicted to something as evidenced by increased time spent over it and the activities of daily living that you tend to forget to do, with or without negative psychological drives. Yeah, I know what you’re going to say. “NO, I’M NOT AN ADDICT!” Huh, predictable.

Kwek-Kwek Kwekquations the Series

2009-06-06T21:32:00.003+08:00

Coming soon.

(Ugh, I can't belive I'm actually planning to do something like this.)

The Tiring Summer that Was

2009-06-05T22:37:00.002+08:00

My friend Mak, who also happened to be a blogger, told me that an indefinite halt of creating posts for your blog could actually mean a good thing for you. It probably has something to do with your social life being more jam packed than usual.

I’ve been away for almost a month, and I dearly have to say that I’ve missed pouring my thoughts in this public webpage. Although, I did spent those idle times browsing the blogs I’m following and hopping on to one new/interesting blog to another, I just never had the time of sitting down and arranging my thoughts.

Although hurricanes would probably be one of the most overused metaphors to describe a disorganized life, still I would like to assert that this summer had been a whirlwind for me--- A lot of things happened too fast that I could not even recount them. But I will try:

1. My staple work as a teacher is starting to eat me alive, physiologically and psychologically. Because of my wanting to earn more money, I have to work more hours. For instance, for the last week of April and the first week of May I worked from 7:00am to 1:00pm in school and 2:00pm to 10:00pm supervising interns in the hospital (12 hours). And I go to bed at 12 midnight and wake up at 5 in the morning for five consecutive days. You can just imagine how physically and emotionally drained I am.

2. Although I do like teaching slightly younger people in general, some of the students are turning into little demons of disrespect, and nearing the end of the summer semester, I cracked up and gave the biggest sermon of my life. And I finally realize that my previous mentors were right, it is not good to yell at students. But also I learned the lesson of maintaining that line of indifference between a mentor and a mentee.

3. Never ever ever ever ever ever ever ever trust anyone at work: I learned this lesson the hard way. Lies. Dishonesty. Conspiracy. Discrimination. Slave driving. These are only some of the themes that plagued me. I have shared one instance in my previous post. And I’ve never been this unmotivated to return to my job this opening of classes.

4. I just finished my comprehensive exam for my masters. I think I’d do well, even if I went out of the room after the last test with my skull feeling totally empty.

5. I’ve been accepting extra jobs. Rackets, as what we’d call them. And I realize, it’s been a long time since I’ve had an introverted time for myself, except going to the gym. Because of my wanting to earn and gain credentials, I impulsively accepted teaching engagements and research consultancies without realizing I was depriving myself of rest, sleep and recreation.

6. My mom is not in the country right now, so I’m in charge of my brother’s tuition, my niece’s school supplies and my father’s banquet for his birthday party. And everyday, I have this fear that anyone of them can get H1N1 virus because of its erratic spread throughout the country. Although I can control their health activities at home, I’m afraid of the people they stumble upon when they go to school and work. I just hope that this pandemic ends already and its tracks won’t leave a trace in my family.

7. This summer also brought rocks to my relationship with the one I love. But now, although both of us have committed shortcomings against each other, I think were getting better. We’ve learned to accept some of our differences and the demands of our respective jobs. I love you, my muse.

8. I’m just friggin’ tired. Really. This weekend before class opening is going to be just about relaxation at home, by myself.

Regrets of a Whistle Blower

2009-05-14T21:23:00.003+08:00

ANALYZE THIS:

I said something to D about something that A said regarding how D gave extra credits for J to become an academic awardee in our masters. A said that it was a deceitful form of cheating.

My major motive: Because D was the head of the master’s degree program, I thought D deserved to know about the rumors--- thinking that D would handle it properly.

My minor motive: I just plainly hated A’s antics of being such a lazy big bag of fart.

Later that day, D talked to A about it. A vehemently denied it.

And A retorted that the rumor actually came from me.

D talked to J and revealed the rumor. Worse, D said that the rumor came from A and me.

A and J were both colleagues of mine. J used to be a close friend (see “The Climbing of Sensei and Yanyan").

A week later was the only time I found out about the whole mess up.

How?

A few faculty members asked me how I was doing at master’s class. I casually replied, “I’m doing well.”

Then with smirks on their faces, they asked if I’m with A in class.

I just shrugged and denied the knowledge of A’s whereabouts.

Just recently, I checked my mail and saw a 5-day old message from A, saying, “I have to talk to you.”

I replied, “ok, just tell me when.”

But we haven’t met until now.

I texted J, asking if we could talk. I wanted J to know that the rumor wasn’t from me. I was just a whistle-blower, for god’s sakes.

Then I did a missed call.

No response.

So, yeah. Now, nothing but regrets.

------------------------------------------------------------

[161]

Never blow the whistle, unless you’re sure that it’s a whistle--- and not a horn--- that you're gonna blow.

That will unnecessarily wake up even your uncaring, grumpiest neighbors.

-wind_psycho

When She Met Meant-to-Be: An Excerpt from an Unpublished Novel

2009-04-30T23:59:00.000+08:00

This is an excerpt from a taglish novel that I passed to a certain publishing house during my times of unemployment--- which, obviously as the title implies, got rejected.

Particularly, the editor didn't like how the heroine got acquainted with her love interest.

She said, it was way too crazy and unreal. Hahaha.

But I wouldn't mind having a meeting-up scene like this with my lover. Hahaha.

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MAG-ISANG KUMAKAIN si Michelle sa isang cafeteria na malapit sa eskuwelahan isang linggo na ang nakalipas. Gabi na noon at kakalabas lang niya galing sa eskuwelahan. Kakakuha lang kasi niya ng suweldo noon, kaya naisip niya na i-treat ang sarili niya. Medyo nagsasawa na rin kasi siya sa sardinas.

Ang tanging kasama lang niya noon ay ang bag na puno ng mga test papers na nakapatong sa upuan sa tabi niya. Sinisipsip niya ang iced mocca at kinain ang fetuccini at egg pie na order niya.

Medyo nakakalungkot ang puwesto niya roon. Paano ba naman kasi, pinalibutan siya ng mga couples na magkasamang kumakain. Sa harapan niya ay isang magnobyong mga gurong katrabaho niya. Nag-uusap ang dalawa, magkalapit at magkahawak kamay.

Sa gilid naman niya ay dalawang estudyante na magkasintahan. Kahit mga bata pa ay masaya ang dalawa na tila ba parang sigurado na ang mga ito sa isa’t-isa. Nagpupunasan pa nga ang mga ito ng tissue sa labi at nagsusubuan ng spaghetti.

Hiniling tuloy niya na sana ay mayroon siyang kasamang lalaki noong mga panahong iyon. Kung sa bagay, hindi pa naman siya nagkakaroon ng kasintahan sa buong buhay.

Umiling-iling siya. Ano ba naman ‘tong naiisip ko, protesta ng utak niya, sa ngayon hindi ko pa kailangan ng lalaki.

Naalala niya kasi ang kanyang ama. Ayaw niyang matulad sa kanyang ina na nasira ang buhay dahil sa isang lalaki. Kaya rin tila takot na takot sa mga lalaki si Michelle, at hindi tumanggap ng mga manliligaw noong nag-aaral pa siya. Ayaw niyang magawa ang kaparehong pagkakamaling nakamit ng kanyang ina.

Kaya imbis na mainggit ay binilisan na lang niya ang pagkain upang makaalis na siya sa tila nilalanggam na lugar iyon.

Pagkalabas ng kainan ay tumungo na siya sa sakayan ng jeep. Habang naglalakad siya ay nakatungo siya, iniisip pa rin kung kailan at papaano siya magkakaroon ng love life.

Nang bigla siyang nakabangga ng isang tao. Napatigil siya at napatingala sa nabangga niya.

Buti na lamang ay napigilan niya ang paghinga nang pigil at mabilis sa lalaking nakita niya.

Ang lalaking iyon na yata ang pinakaguwapong lalaki na nakita niya; matang nangungusap, mahahabang pilikmata, matangos na ilong, mamulamulang labi at maputing kutis na lumiliwanag sa ilaw ng mga poste. Nagpadagdag pa sa kakisigan nito ang semi-kalbong buhok, matikas na tindig, malinis na asul na polo shirt at cream pants.

Wow. To think she was just thinking about her lovelife.

Mga ilang segundo rin niya itong tahimik na tinitigan. At base sa pagkakakita niya rito, ay tila ba para bang nakatitig din ito sa kanya. Nakapagtataka nga lang ang tingin ng lalaki dahil tila ba nakakita ito ng tao na matagal na nitong hinahanap.

“S-Sorry…” sabay pa nilang sambit. At pareho pa silang nautal. Pakiramdam ni Michelle na namumula na siya.

Nagngitian muna silang dalawa ng panandalian bago nila tuluyang iniwasan ang isa’t isa at nagpatuloy na sa nilalakaran nila at naghiwalay.

Napabuntong-hininga si Michelle. Akala pa naman niya magpapakilala ang lalaki o magsasabi ng pick-up line na maganda, tulad ng mga magagandang love story na nababasa sa libro at napapanood niya sa pelikula.

Ngunit pagkalipas ng ilang sandali ay nakarinig siya ng mga yabag na tumatakbong papalapit mula sa likuran niya. Laking gulat niya nang biglang nakitang tumatakbo ang lalaki nakabangga sa gilid niya. Naunahan siya nito at tumigil sa harapan niya.

Tuwa naman siya. Napatigil rin siya. “B-bakit?”

Ngumiti nang nakakaloko ang lalaki. Inilahad nito ang kanang kamay na tila ba gustong makipagkamay. “Siyanga pala, miss… Ako nga pala si Meant-to-Be…”

Nagulat naman siya sa bati nito, “huh? Ano kamo?”

“Sabi ko, ako si Meant-to-Be,” ulit ng lalaki.

Nagsalubong ang mga kilay niya, “paano’ng meant-to-be?”

“Ako si meant-to-be mo, at ikaw si meant-to-be ko,” nakangising paliwanag nito sa kanya.

Okey, kung pick-up line ‘yon, grabe, ang lame, naisip ni Michelle. Sobra tuloy na turn-off siya sa lalaki.

“Sorry, wala akong time makipagbiruan,” medyo pikon niyang sabi rito habang naglalakad paiwas rito.

Ngunit muli siyang hinarangan nito, “hindi ako nagbibiro. Seryoso ako, nakatadhana tayo para sa isa’t-isa.” Ngunit hindi naman ito mukhang seryoso, nakakaloko pa nga itong tingnan.

Pinanlisikan niya ito ng tingin, “alam mo ba ‘yang mga sinasabi mo? Nasisiraan ka ba ng ulo?”

“Hindi ako sira-ulo,” natatwang giit ng lalaki.

“Wow mali ba ‘to?” paghihinala ni Michelle.

“Hindi. Masmali kung palalampasin lang kita,” sagot nito.

Hindi alam ni Michelle kung matatawa siya o mabubuwisit sa tila nababaliw na lalaking nasa harapan niya. Tama ba namang bigla na lang itong sumulpot at sinabing ito ang nakalaan para sa kanya gayong ilang segundo pa lang naman silang nagsasama?

“Alam mo mister, mabuti pa maghanap ka ng ibang taong mapagti-tripan mo, wala akong panahon para sa’yo,” inis na sambit niya rito habang tuluyan nang lumalakad nang paiwas rito. Mabilis na siyang naglakad papalayo upang hindi na siya mahabol ng lalaki

“Huwag kang mag-alala,” pahabol na sigaw nito nang makalayo na siya, “hindi ito ang huli nating pagkikita, Meant-to-Be.”

Sira-ulo, galit na bulyaw ni Michelle sa kanyang isipan.

Simula noon ay halos araw-araw nang sumusulpot kung saan-saan ang lalaking iyon, nangungulit at sinusundan siya, habang siya naman ay patuloy lang sa pag-iwas sa loob ng isang linggo.

Stretch Marks of a Duck

2009-04-19T21:40:00.005+08:00

“Our friendship is like this scar. Ugly, but permanent…” –Grace Adler.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

I enjoy looking at profiles of various people in an online social networking site that I belong to. I am fond of how people try to spill out their self-image just by posting pictures, filling out stats and writing few words to describe themselves. I don’t engage with people, nor communicate with them at some sort. I just join sites for the fun of knowing how people make use of their internet powers.

At times, I’d yawn at the plain, boring ones, saying that they’re simple, humble, kind, friendly and other adjectives that elementary students use to describe themselves in the first day of classes.

Then I’d laugh at the faulty descriptions, pretending that English is their native language yet grammatical errors like, “I like to experiencing a romantic someone… serious,” flourish in their every statement

At times, I’d smirk at the blatant ones, saying things like, “Just message me if you’re interested,” or, “No fakers, posers.”

Then I read stuff like this: “No ugly allowed, no body odor, no chubby and no stretchmarks.”

Okay, I’d understand why anyone won’t prefer someone with a body odor. Buy hey, even if you’re the most good-looking person in the planet, you don’t have the inherent right to forbid poorly-endowed people from interacting with you. I guess I’m not the first one to say that.

And what’s up with the dislike for stretchmarks? Even the best skinned models have them (a few camera tricks can mend them). Although they may be dermatological concerns, they aren’t infectious.

Actually, I really don’t understand why people give a big fuss about their stretchmarks. First and foremost, people won’t really get to see them often, unless you walk the streets without clothes. If you think they’re ugly, then hide them.

Second, they’re not going to disappear--- ever. Creams and mechanical skin treatments for striae (stretchmarks) are available but they would still leave a trace. And they’re not going to revert even if you tell them how much you hate their existence on your supposed-to-be perfect skin.

Third, they are marks of things--- great things that happen in your life, like getting pregnant for women, or gaining muscle built body for men. These experiences are painstaking and long, but one can never deny the beauty of child-bearing or a hunk-worthy physique.

Probably, almost fifty percent of my body skin surface is lined with stretchmarks--- around my arms, shoulders, chest, upper and lower back, waist, hips and legs. If they were tattoo, then I would least likely be found in this profession of teaching. The school director won’t think I’m clean enough for the job.

Do I irk them? At times.

But instead of these stretchmarks, I’d rather hate the kids who bullied me for being disgustingly fat when I was still a 220 pound crybaby who unintentionally narrows the school corridors when I strut the hallway.

Or maybe hate the times when the driver of the jeepney I ride in would demand that I pay the price of two passengers.

Or the times when I hated shopping because the clothes on sale did not fit me at all--- the times when I hated taking group pictures with batchmates because I’d look like their plump father.

Or the times when I lie in bed and think of erratic ways to get rid of all these adipose tissues inside me, just to get the ideal body--- the form that I have now.

Or the times that I’d starve myself--- do countless of jumping jacks and sit-ups not knowing the ill-effects they would do to my joints and posture later on.

Or the times I’d look silly in the gym while clumsily lifting weights just to get the muscle mass I wasted when my own body weight dropped and got sickly thin.

Or the times I once befriended the Nervosa sisters of death: Anorexia and Bulimia.

Now, I go to the beach without a top on, and not feel a bit embarrassed of the crooked lines that run around my torso. Sometimes, I would even like it if people would notice the striae--- and ask questions of how I got them, so I could narrate the story of how I, the ugly duckling, turned into, well not yet a swan. Maybe a duck. Hahaha.

Ten Awkward Questions from Students

2009-04-04T07:33:00.005+08:00

1. Sir, do you have a girlfriend? How many?

Why should I tell you? And what’s up asking how many?

2. Sir, how old are you? Let me guess, 28!

Haha, great! You managed to add 6 points to my original age! That’ll be the same amount of deduction you’ll get in your recitation.

3. Sir, you want to come to my debut? Libre food do’n.

Man does not live by bread alone. Hmmm. May Rellenong Bangus ba do’n?

4. Sir, tuloy ba ‘yung quiz today? Hindi na ‘di ba?

Sure thing, you all get zero.

5. Sir, nakita mo na ‘yung video mo sa youtube? In-upload ko na!

Huh? Bakit? Alin? (Later on I found out that nothing was actually uploaded).

6. Sir, my parents are here at school… Pakilala kita?

Nope. They usually don’t believe that I’m a teacher.

7. Sir, isn’t that the shirt you wore last Thursday? Tucked-in pa rin?

Nope. This one is ironed. Last week wasn’t. And what’s your issue with me tucking my shirt? I love showing my long lanky legs!

8. Sir, ganda ng braso mo. Pa-flex naman?

Dunggulin kita d’yan, eh.

9. Sir, sabi po daw ni (-name of the female pupil who allegedly has a crush on me-) mami-miss niya daw kayo this vacation. Kayo din daw po ba?

Ahaha, mami-miss ko naman kayo lahat! Enjoy your vacation!

10. Sir, do you watch porn?

Yes. That is all what my sexlife can offer. Want to see my list of titles?

Age-Related Ethnocentrism

2009-04-02T20:35:00.006+08:00

At times, I find it psychosocially challenging to be in an academic environment, where the under-aged instructors--- me included--- are under direct observation of the “wiser” people around us. It’s funny how our older colleagues mistake our innocent intentions of bringing new flavor to the usual classroom pedagogy. It took a while before they tried inculcating my colorful, animated powerpoint slides and my sly impromptu punchlines that I use to spice up my lectures.

It’s a wonder how the products of the earlier generation despise technological advances, yet they want to halt the advancement of their ages. They hate the thought that they have to shift their paradigms just to understand the youth who came after them.

Well, I would accept the fact that I will always be in the preying eyes of, what wind_psycho would call, “Whispering People” (inspired by the movie, Knowing, which wasn’t so good by the way); those who would try to give me inputs on how their great style of teaching has been tried-and-tested through the years, and how mine suck. Yeah fine, I could take that. I’m a novice.

However, most of the time, their judgments are quite off key--- to the point they attack your personality and socializing skills. Try that.

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During our deliberation at the end of semester, my boss would call out the name of each student and we interrupt with comments if we feel the need for it.

“Any comments for Ms. Cook?” he asked about a student.

“Oh, that girl’s good. She’s hard working,” Mrs. Que, a lab instructor, replied firmly.

“Yeah, she’s good.” I echoed, nodding. Then added, “medyo isip-bata nga lang.”

Then the three older members of the deliberation panel, including the boss, who were in the panel, looked at me sternly; but no one gave a comment on what I said.

My eyebrows met, “what?”

“Nagrereklamo ka na isip-bata,” Ms. Que responded sternly, “Eh, ikaw, ano ka ba?”

Silence continued as they all stared at me weirdly.

“Isip-bata?” I replied, believing that was the right answer for the question--- or probably the answer they wanted to hear.

“Eh, ayun naman pala eh,” Ms. Que dismissed, “hindi naman siya childish sa’kin. Baka nasa ‘yo ang problema.”

What a jerk, goddamit.

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Look, I really love Ms. Que. It’s good to hang out with her, because you can swear all the bad words you know and no one will care even if you have Catholic-Educator-Ethical-Responsibilities in school. And you’ll enjoy her company if you’re a smoker. She’s a chimney.

But her throwing of comments, even with clueless audiences around is really uncalled for--- and hurting at times. And the other unfair thing is, she calls me taklesa (tactless). I could only whisper, “Right back at you, Big Mama. TEN EXPONENTIAL TIMES!”

Here’s another strange thing she proudly speaks to people, “you know what? Alam kong maldita ako, pero wala pa akong nakaaway sa office kahit kalian.”

Ah, yeah. Maybe not in front of you, Big Mama.

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[150]

The fact that no one has ever picked a fight on you doesn’t automatically account that you have a kind personality that everybody loves.

It may either probably mean that you’re a senselessly, difficult person to deal with already in your non-fight state that they don’t want to how much worse you can get;

Or maybe because you’re just plain barbaric that no one wants to swoop down at your level.

-wind_psycho

…you guessed it right. Big Mama, is both!

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And I tell you, there are more Mrs. Que’s that I deal with in my workplace every single damn day. Yes, most of the time I do get hurt when I am criticized for having fresh (their adjective is inappropriate) ideas. But just like any problem in the world, this bout of “Seniority Complex” and “Age-Related Ethnocentrism” is just something I have learned to pass out each day.

It’s like me saying, “hey, if you guys don’t want to look old, then so do I.”

But after a semester full of bickering, I deserve a break from all these academic hurdles.

Thank God for Holy Week vacation!

Big Bang with the Nerds

2009-04-01T13:48:00.007+08:00

While waiting for my Gerber to text me of getting home after a very late night work, I decided to kill time. (Gerber texted at 12 midnight and arrived home at 1:40 am. Yes, I waited. Come on, spare me. This is after all my very first shot at a committed relationship. Chuckle.)

It was finally a time for me to fulfill a lifelong dream. Do a TV series marathon without work interruptions. The semester has just ended and aside from the lack of academic load that I will be receiving this May (Good Lord give me a job), no other school stuff was troubling me.

I scanned the whole space surrounding the DVD player in our receiving area and through random reasoning, got the first thing that my hands caught.

BIG BANG THEORY.
A CBS TV Series

And I seriously felt belongingness with what I watched.

It was a story of four nerds (three doctorate degree holders in quantum physics and one having a masters degree), who often had their gathering over an apartment, either talking about achieving a Nobel Prize or just blowing each other’s ego off. And a hot blonde woman who never even got to a community college degree, serves as their next door neighbor, who interacts with them on a regular basis. She had no choice, didn’t she?

The great thing here is that it doesn’t use much of the pop culture that usual comic series use (not that I don’t like them, it just leaves me confused when I hear people laughing in the background when the actors say a pop-culture-based punch line and I’m left clueless in my seat). What it does however, is use scientific jargons and theories gained from higher education and use them as the comic throws.

And I’m seriously laughing. Oh, no. You don’t want to hear me laugh seriously.

No, this isn’t a TV series critic.

But what really got me hooked to the show was that I am a geek myself. I swear, if the fashion police have warrants, I’m either already in prison or a fugitive. I wear overly baggy clothes. I want my hair very distortedly bushy. I walk like I have kiphosis (kuba). And I used to love video games.

I use interdisciplinary, highly scientific words when I crack up. Colleagues hate it when I start talking about various research methodologies over lunch. I’m banking on a trip to higher learning. In less than a year’s time, I’ll be having a Master’s degree. Then I’d get a Ph. D. on Clinical Psychology. Oh by the way, I’m planning to make a grounded theory on a psychiatric nursing concept.

Even people around me mistake me to be weirdly intellectual when I share stock knowledge. I lack etiquette and courtesy that usual humanoids have. Again, I don’t know much about pop-culture, nor would I want to know the latest who’s-who in whatsoever magazine. I’m not even personally motivated watch a movie, unless it’s with Gerber.

As portrayed by Sheldon, the most annoying but amusing character in the story, geeks are usually obsessive compulsive; especially if you’re knowledgeable on how communicable diseases can be unconsciously transmitted. Did I say we both don’t know how to drive--- even an arcade machine?

And I’m constantly looking for an eyeglass would fit me. I think they're cool.

I’m a brainiac, and I’m proud of it. Because I’m sure there is a nerd in all of us.

Nerdiness, if there is such a term, is not only based on IQ points.

I’d like to propose that in our system nerd genes lie--- the gene which pushes us to be weird at some sort or point, to act out of social norms once in a while, to try to read and learn something farfetched and out of this colossal universe--- and not give a damn about how other people would think of it, because we just plainly enjoy practicing our smarts.

Oh, I’m so full of those genes.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PGT71Zv2tGU&feature=player_embedded

Okay. Finally.

2009-03-17T22:21:00.005+08:00

You and I were watching, "Race to Witch Mountain." It was the scene when Seth and Sarah were battling out the alien villain in the secret garden spot inside that weird house.

Our hands were entwined and our shoulders touching.

“I like you,” you whispered.

Surprised, I responded, “Ako din...”

A few seconds of silence.

“Love you,” you muttered, a little nervously.

I was more surprised. I turned to you, “Talaga?”

You looked at me, more intently and nodded, “uh-hum.”

A few seconds of silence again.

“I love you too,” I replied.

Now, it was your turn to be surprised, “Talaga?”

I chuckled, “Oo.”

You then hugged me more tightly.

Was I thinking? I sure wasn’t.

But usually, I make wrong decisions when I think too much or too little.

But hey, I’m not regretting it a bit.

Twenty two years of singlehood, inclusive of three months of senseless searching...

...is OVER.

-------------------

...You can't deny chemistry -Makmak

Hey... Just a Bit

2009-03-13T05:49:00.002+08:00

I'm still alive... only not in this lifetime.

One week and these friggin' papers will be over and I can start publishing online again.

One thing though, my bank of ideas is incredibly full of posting aspirants. Arrggh, frustrating as hell!

A Sentimental Song

2009-03-04T11:38:00.008+08:00

I am quite bitter about the fate of this song. I submitted this as an entry to a songwriting contest, without realizing that my status disqualified me to be a finalist. I had sleepless nights recording this (although the quality is low and there were mouse clicks that can be heard). But I did hear that I supposed to make it if only I was qualified.

The protagonist (or should I say antihero) of the story is singing about just getting dumped by the love of his life and how this other girl who was so into him is trying to console him. He feels guilty that he had to make a rebound on this current girl.

No, I’m not the protagonist. I do not write songs that way. I usually detach from myself, when I compose words. I usually look at myself from the outside.

In this story, I am more of the current girl.

(but uh, no. I’m not a girl, hahaha. It’s just hard to make this gender neutral)

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

SENTIMENTAL SONGS.wav

I really didn’t mean to put you here
I just needed someone by my side
‘Cause now I’m just feeling so alone
‘Cause she fin’lly walked out my life

I didn’t mean for you to see me cry
But somehow a part of me wants you to see, what a mess I am
‘Cause since you came after she left me
I feel much better than I’ve ever been

But I’m sorry, this is just about me, not you
This is just about her, and me, and our story
But you tell me, that it don’t matter to you
That for now maybe all that I need
Are some sentimental songs
And a sentimental you here with me

And I don’t wanna take advantage of
The sweetest friendship that I have with you
But you reassure me that it’ll be okay
Then you hold me like a lover would

But I’m sorry, this is just about me, not you
This is just about her, and me, and our story
But then you tell me, that it don’t matter to you
That for now maybe all that I need
Are some sentimental songs
And a sentimental you here with me

And you try to fill the spaces that she left me with
And you tray to take the footsteps that she’s been walking in
Though she’s gone, I still love her more
But you’re the next best thing that I can settle for

I really didn’t mean to put you here
But for the mean time
I just want you here with me

Choco-Flavored Senselessness

2009-02-25T13:12:00.004+08:00

And if you turned around to see me and I was gone, you should have looked outside your window, ‘cause the sun was coming up – Michelle Branch, “Tuesday Morning.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

P and Me on a date.

Me: Oh, I remember. There’s something I have to give you.
(I pick up something in my bag.)

P: What is it?
(Curiously leans towards me.)

Me: Here, I brought you some chocolates.
(Hands P 3 chocolate lollipops. 1 chocolate lollipop = 5pesos.)

P: Gee, thanks. I’m not gonna eat these. And look! They’re heart-shaped. I’m just going to look at them everyday.
(Smiles dreamily.)

Me: Sira-ulo.
(Chuckling.)

P: Hey, you gave me three? Does that mean you---
(Looks at me, amused.)

Me: ---That means I can count up to three.
(Sarcastically.)

P: Okay, I thought it meant---
(Looking confused.)

Me: ---No, it doesn’t mean anything, P. Now, eat it up before I do.
(A little more sarcastic.)

Gorilyang Epal

2009-02-18T17:15:00.006+08:00

Putragis talaga. Ayokong ma-rape. Hindi sa isang pampublikong lugar, tulad ng gym na pinupuntahan ko.

Alam kong usisero ako sa mga kamunduhang nangyayari do’n, pero putsa naman! Ayokong makisali!

Nananahimik ako sa steamroom. Tapos may mukhang gorilya na tumabi sakin. Akala ko nu’ng una, ‘yung susi niya sa locker ‘yung sumasabit-sabit sa hita ko, pero bigla akong napa-iktad nung halos pisil-pisilin niya ‘ko. Pu****-*na talaga.

Hindi pa siya makuha sa sama ng tingin ko at talaga namang umulit pa. Wala akong magawa kung hindi tapusin ang pagre-relax ko sa wet sauna at maligo na.

At talaga namang tumayo siya sa tapat ng cubicle na pinuntahan ko. Hanggang paglabas ko, nando’n pa rin siya. Ang sarap taasan ng hinlalato, “PAKYU KA, GAGO!.”

Ta**-*na talaga. Asar ‘tong mga manyakis na epal na ‘to!

------------------------------------------------------------

wind_psycho: “Sorry for all the bad words and swearing.”

An Incomparable Valentine Feeling

2009-02-17T13:35:00.005+08:00

[116]

Don’t mind people telling how stupid it is for you to be fine with just ‘okay’ things in your life.

Yes, it’s unhealthy to always settle with the lesser best.

But it is only through the eyes of contentment that you will be able to see the most beautiful things in the world.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Last Valentine’s day, I was with someone. And finally, after wasting a sweet adolescence of spending the heart season alone, my theme this year has quite a romantic undertone.

The date was simple. I came to the mall from my last class that ended in the night.

Our celebration of the day of love was definitely incomparable than the dream-like ones you can watch in chick flicks.

We just played arcade (I won--- I always do).

Then we dined (and would you believe we contented ourselves with just a simple value meal at a food court).

Then we watched a movie (“PUSH,” is not even a romantic movie--- although the guy and the girl there had a few moments of getting it on!).

While in the dimly lit cinema, we took advantage of the darkness and started smooching at each other.

Although it was our fourth date, still I’m never really sure.

I just don’t know why it’s hard for me to tell if I’m in love or not.

Being single since birth and never really experiencing a romantic relationship with someone in my recent or remote past, makes it hard to know if the present feeling I have is love…

…Because there’s nothing else that I can compare it to.

Anyway, valentines this year was still nice.

wind_psycho: “Whatever.”

The Adjacent Cubicle

2009-02-16T08:10:00.000+08:00

After twenty minutes of sweating in the steam room after a two hour workout in the gym, I came out and found myself a cubicle where I can take a shower.

The usual cubicle I took, which was placed farthest from the entrance of that shower room was taken--- I knew that due to the running water I could hear from that spot. So, I decided to take the one next to it.

However, I noticed something peculiar about my usual cubicle. The semi-translucent door was entirely covered by an orange towel and two jersey shorts were hanging at the bottom.

I was going to let it pass, when suddenly I saw a hand grabbed the edge of the two parallel walls. The urgency of the hand movements was as if the walls were used to hang on for dear life.

And I immediately thought that something fishy was going on inside.

I have been in the gym for more than a year and have often heard from different people that gyms nowadays have been a place for hook-ups--- whether for a friendly or an x-rated purpose. And I was sort of thrilled because finally I was going to witness something first hand.

Even though wind_psycho was disapproving my sudden bout of curiosity about the situation, I decided to still take the adjacent stall. As I entered, I could hear a pair of deep moans bellowing out in a minimal whisper tone.

Upon opening my shower, I noticed that the moans became more muffled. Probably they realized that they had company. Still I proceeded with my usual bathing--- as I was investigating a forbidden case.

I also noted that the shower in the “magic cubicle” has not stopped since I went out of the steam room. A normal gym-goer’s bath would usually entail an intermittent opening-and-closing of the showerhead since there has to be time to apply soap. I mean, who soaps up his body while the running water flows on it at the same time? Duh!

Then hands suddenly grabbed the wall edges again. And I again noticed that it was a different set of hands that I saw earlier. The skin color of this one was darker. That brought me to a definite conclusion that there were really two people sharing that small space--- and probably each other.

I tried tiptoeing to see. But to no avail. I guess I really have to utilize my auditory sense to its fullest extent.

Just as I was drying up, I heard a deeper, louder groaning. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of someone spitting out contents from the mouth.

And I’m pretty sure that it was neither saliva nor phlegm that was being spit out.

I went out--- not because the show was over but because I’m done fixing. I guess wind_psycho finally cracked me up not to further fish on what happened or who were involved.

Well, at least now I know about the rumors…

Game Ka Na Gurl!

2009-02-15T10:34:00.005+08:00

February 13, 2009, Friday, a day before valentines--- a perfect day to end the pre-hearts-day week of Game KNB by featuring an episode with the pop icons who will be having concerts all over the country the whole of this love month.

The said group is comprised of Sam Milby, Piolo Pascual, Erik Santos, Christian Bautista and Mark Bautista--- five of the better looking male singers in the country.

As a marketing plot, they started the show by plugging their shows and giving a sample chorus from one of the songs they would feature in those concerts: a harmonized version of El Bimbo. I give the rendition 6 out of 10. The bass was off, and I was not at all surprised since it was Milby who was assigned for that part.

It was actually fun to watch the guys play in the game. Their candid remarks and comic antics in the middle of the question-and-answer is a display of their comfort of being seen in the boob tube in a regular basis.

However, after a few minutes or so in the first round, this question popped out:

“Sino ang boksingero na nakatalo kay Mayweather bago ito magretiro noong 2008?”
“a. (Some Mexican boxer); b. David Diaz; c. Ricky Hatton.”

The five men were flinched and silenced--- until the time buzzer sounded.

My eyebrows met and recalled the many emerging issues that the majority of these guys are not so straight.

I don’t want to be stereotypical, but any Filipino hetero-male who watches local TV would inculcate two main sports in their systems: basketball and boxing (all thanks to Manny). Even I would know that Ricky Hatton would be the answer.

“Mga bading,” I spoke to myself.

After a few questions this came up, “Ano ang title ng kanta ni Britney Spears na may lyrics na, ‘Superstar, where you from? How’s it going? / I know you got a clue what you’re doing…”

All five boys started waving their hands over their sensors hurriedly. All of them seemed to know the answer and wanted to get the ‘Britney’ point.

Luckily for Mark Bautista, the spotlight shone on him. And he bellowed condfidently:

“WOMANIZER!”

“That’s correct!” Edu Manzano responded.

The other four boys’ expression painted regret.

“MGA BADIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIING!” I exclaimed ridiculously.

Even my father laughed at my outburst.

Kidding an Adult

2009-02-08T09:02:00.003+08:00

I cry like an infant.

I have temper tantrums like a toddler.

I have magical thoughts of a kid.

I have the gullible mind of an elementary student.

And I have the libido of a male adolescent.

But I’m already twenty-two years old. I am a professional and have somehow achieved better than what my peers have.

I demand that you treat me like an adult.

Yes, I act unbecomingly at times. But it is my right to regress.

Worker Imperfections

2009-02-07T10:17:00.002+08:00

Getting reprimanded by your boss is one indispensable thing any worker would most likely experience in any setting. After all, “nobody’s perfect” is a cliché that people commonly use for messing up. And besides, who doesn’t need points of improvement.

However, getting your boss irritated by your mere presence is another thing.

And boy did I mess up--- big time.

So how irritated was he?

Well, at the moment I did that very unlikely bout of “human imperfection,” he told me (in a calm and nice way) that he’d rather not be with me in the classroom because he might belt out his irritation towards the students--- so he asked me to stay in the faculty room.

Yesterday (two very awkward days after the incident), he did personally talk to me about it. And here were my “points of worker imperfection.”

1. I’m always friggin’ late. Especially for the last 3 months, I have been tardy 80% of the time. I really have to blame it to LRT and their lousy transportation schemes and managements. Skip trains would forever be something I hate. And of course, being punctual is still always the best sign of professionalism.

2. I am tactless. And my being “taklesa” has become an issue for many. But I always clear to them that my intentions are not really to be brutally frank--- I just aim to be funny. But it just so happens that the words, motives, comic undertones, intonation and delivery of my antics have a little mismatch that seems to raise people’s eyebrows. Students love my jokes, but my colleagues will always decipher my intent behind their laughter

(And yes, they talk about my being tactless behind my back. Haha, I just let them.)

3. I’m too curious. Okay, so that’s a fault when I suddenly barge into people’s conversations just to fish information. My apologies--- I just like getting stories, after all I also write prose.

4. I sniff over the microphone. My apologies again. I’m really just sick.

As any good manager would, he told me that the things he pointed out were not really meant to demoralize me, but only for my improvement.

I know. But tell that to my self-esteem.

A Letter to a Troublesome Student

2009-01-29T20:57:00.005+08:00

Dear Troublemaker,

Hello there. This is your teacher in Normal Neurology. I only handled your class for roughly four days, for I was just a borrowed faculty, substituting for Mrs. Maggie, who was sick at that time.

I know I’m not even a teacher in your grade level. But I know you remember me.

Do not worry. This isn’t a letter addressed to your parents, a grade notification nor an incident report for a medication error or an unacceptable behavior.

I just want you to know the troubles you caused me--- psychologically.

We first met even before my concept started in your class. In a corridor, our paths crossed and you blurted out excitedly, “Sir, ikaw teacher namin sa Neuro!”

And there it was--- that conceited stance and sly smile that seems to subconsciously seduce an unprepared prey.

But I remained unimpressed. “Oo, ako nga. See you,” I responded dully as I passed you.

However, I secretly anticipated for that day to come.

The next thing I knew, I found myself in front of your class doing my usual comical lecture. I understand that I am not an educator who’s difficult to like. I am young and enthusiastic with what I do, and so that is why like my regular classes, I was liked by your substitute class.

And there you were, in the front row, actively listening and bellowing out uncalled-for comments every time I cracked out a tease. And I was there at the platform, mesmerized by your one-word catchers and your subtle laughter.

And the next few days, I would find you in front of the office a few minutes before our class.

“Sir, hatid na kita,” you would offer.

“Sus, nag-abala ka pa. Malaki na ‘ko ‘no!”

Then I would let you lead me while you walk in front of me. I marvel behind you. Your brown hair, your milky white skin and a height complementary to mine.

From time to time, you would wheel back to me and smile.

And then I would melt--- at the attractive mix of your angelic face and that rugged expression, and at your deep set eyes.

This is wrong, I firmly thought to myself, that’s my student.

And then I remember how Jesus fought the devil’s temptation.

And later on I realize. I am no Christ.

So, I told myself, “This is just a crush… Just a crush…”

Four days of my semi-ordeal of having you in my class have finished as abruptly as I remember. And I thought it was over.

Still, I would see you hanging around the corridor.

“Sir, kalian ka babalik? Miss ka na namin…” Then you would give a slight tug on my shoulder, or a huge high five.

And I still would not understand why you have to be so cheerful and touchy when I’m around.

I was thinking--- maybe you were testing me. Maybe you were gauging my ability to inhibit myself from you--- or my capacity to remain true to policies over with what my libido dictates.

And I would tell you. Your schemes were almost working on me.

At night, I would sleep with the image of your face and the lullaby of your voice.

During the day, I would see you waving far from me, or talking close to me as the lyrics, “Why do birds suddenly appear everytime you are near?” kept ringing in my head.

But one moment that almost made me give in was when I was walking alone in the corridor and then suddenly I felt someone nudged me from behind.

I looked back and saw your face an inch away from me.

I gulped as my heart shot to 150 beats per minute.

Then your arms wrapped around my shoulders.

“Kumusta ka na, sir?”

“Ah… O-okey n-naman…”

“Sana ikaw nalang teacher namin, sir…”

I looked at you smiling at me again--- that same seductive smile that always almost defeats me. In my mind I wished the same thing. That you would be my student again… Or maybe something more.

I frowned and bowed my head, “eh, hindi ako, eh…”

Then we parted at the school gates.

Sadly for me, however, days after that, I no longer saw you that often.

And even if you did, it seemed that you’d ignore me.

I was alarmed at first. Why the sudden change of moods?

Maybe you saw how weak I am. So, you did what you had to do. You stood away to lessen the chance of breaking me.

But can you blame me if I said, I missed you? Especially now that I have to be content of my dreams of you and looking at you from afar?

But finally, I realized that probably, it’s all for the best.

Thank you.

Very Truly Yours,

Senseijery…

PS. However, if you change your mind, just find me. I'm always in the office. =)

The Climbing of Sensei and Yanyan

2009-01-23T21:54:00.006+08:00

Look beyond, you said.
Do not settle for an easy way.
For that way you save yourself from tiredness.
But drown yourself in regret.
Of leaving the ripest of all fruits.
On the higher, less safe branches of the tree.

Move on, you said.
Do not irk that I’ve been left behind.
For you said you’d take a step behind.
From time to time.
So, you climb the tree.
While I start sculpting its trunk.

And as you take the ripe apple.
You said nothing more.
Nor even bowed down to see my work.
Nor checked as you promised.
You look at the higher branches.
And then dream of the sweeter fruits.

Now, I’ve carved the tree
To beautiful patterned walls of holes.
The trunk is sturdy no more.
To advance myself to higher branches.
Nor am I fueled as I was.
When you used to urge me on.

I’ll no longer follow you.

Convalescence

2009-01-20T23:15:00.008+08:00

According to the Dictionary of Cell and Molecular Biology (as cited by Online Medical Dictionary, 2009), Convalescence is “the stage of recovery following an attack of disease, a surgical operation or an injury.”

It’s the time when you consider yourself free from the illness, but still not that healthy to function well. Huh, talk about being almost there but not quite.

Convalescence is also a time of humble realizations.

Do you remember the times when you woke up and then suddenly realizing you’re skin is cool and moist after a whole night of battling with fever?

Or the time when you feel that your skull has mass inside it again after a day of feeling light-headed?

Or the time when you gradually lose the aching pain of your muscles, without anymore using topical menthol solutions?

Or the time when you started craving for food again after a while of getting nauseated by its mere presence and aroma? And that you can actually swallow solid edible chunks without difficulty?

Or the time when you can finally watch your favorite TV shows and surf the internet without getting your eyes red and burning painful?

Or the time when you try to sit up on bed and no longer feel dizzy after being bedridden for a long time?

Or the time when you told yourself, “It’s time to go back to work--- in a better shape!”

During these times, you also realize that you are strong to win over your ailment--- yet too weak to immediately return to your normal daily activities.

You realize that you are still alive--- but not yet at the fullest extent.

You realize that you are still the master of you--- yet continue to be a slave of circumstances.

You realize how true the wheel of life is. And you realize how humanly imperfect you are.

Yet, you feel happy--- a joy springing from gratefulness that is incomparable to any event that previously happened in your life.

Because when you are clinically healthy, you tend to forget the feeling of being sick. You forget the feeling of suffering physically. You forget the feeling of needing and being treated.

And when you are sick, nothing else in this world matters but the pain and the heat that you are bearing that you tend to forget the feeling of being well.

When you are healthy, you pray for flimsy things--- or at times, nothing at all. But when you are ill, all your prayers are selfishly directed to you, and your recovery.

However, when you’re convalescing, you pray more meekly. You do not ask for anything more--- for now you believe that you’ve needed was given back to you. And all you have to say, is how grateful you are.

I could just imagine God smiling at recovering patient’s prayers and how they exclaim their, “Thank you’s” to Him. I suppose that’s His favorite.

I am convalescing right now--- from a disease I thought was my second case of Dengue Fever following my first one which was six months ago. And still the “thank you” notes are coming out to heaven because it won’t be long until I’m healthy again. I might forget the suffering I just went through.

Convalescence is like being out in the garden, where an episode of hard rains has just ceased.

Don’t you just love the after-smell of raindrops resting on the leaves?

An Eyeball with a Girl in Gray

2009-01-16T08:00:00.003+08:00

I hope you understand the meaning of the song… But for a background, this is about a faulty eyeball date of a geeky boy and a pretty girl who used to be text mates and phone pals… They both thought they fell for each other with the words they exchanged over the line. But upon meeting up, a petty disaster happens.

The tone of the song is slightly punk rock under Vanessa-Carlton-like piano accompaniment. Maybe, I’ll let you hear it one of these days. Sorry, this is not poetry. This is a song which needs only flimsy, plain, non-epistaxis-inducing words to fit into the melody, so be nice. =)

This is a semi true story. Some of the details in the song (like the time, place, color of clothes, the words of the girl and the sad feeling of the song) are lifted from real events that transpired.

– For K. Sleek. Don’t worry, no bitterness attached.

………………………………………………………………………………………

An Eyeball with the Girl in Gray

I dress to impress
And I hope for the best
‘Cause I’ll be seeing you for the first time

We used to just talk on the phone
When we’re both alone at home
But now you want to see the face behind my lines

So finally we decided to meet
In a fast food chain across the street
Where I’ll be wearing stripes, and she’ll be wearing gray

So I went to the place at eleven o’clock
Then I sat on a chair and wished for some luck
When this pretty girl went in…
But when she caught my gaze…

The sparkle faded in her eyes
I see that something in her died
The first time that she saw my face

The girl in gray just passed me by
So now I know I’m not her kind
‘Cause now she left me in disgrace

So much for this leap of faith

For the third time in a row
I call her today at home
But she says she ain’t too well to talk to me

And now I realize
I’m not the kind of guy she likes
I have to throw the dreams that we’d ever be

But what about the words you said
And what about the plans we made
What about the promises you gave
I think you threw them all away

You said you felt something different in me
That you didn’t care if I looked like a geek
You said you liked me
You said you loved me
But now I know that words don’t amount to anything

Now, the guy in stripes is walking away
He’s looking for a place to stay
He’s crying ‘cause he lost his hope that love will come his way

But he’s taking all the love he gave
Forgetting all the words she’d say
He’s moving on tomorrow if not today

The Misplaced Waistline

2009-01-15T07:30:00.005+08:00

(AN EDITED TRUE STORY LAST SEMESTER)

“Sensei, ‘asan ba talaga waistline mo?” a male co-faculty of mine suddenly blurted out while both of us were waiting for others for lunch.

I was taken aback by his question. My forehead crumpled as I caught him looking at the top of my pants.

“Uhmm… Nasa waist?” I replied stupidly.

“Alam ko,” he replied sarcastically, “pero hello. Ang taas kaya ng baywang mo. Sobrang tangkad mo, tapos naka-tuck-in ka pa. Halatang-halata tuloy.”

I bowed and looked at the line where my one-size-larger old blue collared shirt was overlapped by my slacks.

“Pero Melo, mataas talaga waistline ko,” I said in defense as I was tapping the edge of my wider-than-normal android hips. My hip bone is quite prominent and hard that its iliac crest can cause abrasion to any person who gets contact with it.

He put his fingers under his chin while still examining my tucked area, “kung sa bagay. Long legged ka. I-low-waist mo kaya?”

“Masyadong mahaba, eh.”

“Oo nga tapos ang luwag kaya ng pantalon mo.”

I looked down and saw my baggy pants. It wasn’t mine. It was my father’s hand-me-downs.

“Eh, sa tatay ko ‘to eh.”

“Eh, bakit mo sinusuot?” he asked as if challenging.

I just sighed. Here goes Melo again, acting all fashion-police on me.

Well, he had all the right to criticize how I look. He had the looks of some Koreanovela matinee idols. And the way he brings his clothes and struts his stuff would make you think that he’s making the school corridors a fashion runway.

That time he was wearing a fitted light blue collared shirt, which magically accentuated his upper body despite his small beer belly. Over it was also a tight dark blue vest and he had a royal blue necktie on. His black khaki pants were tailored and his shoes were pointy-toed and mirror-like shiny.

Beside him, I seemed like a houseboy.

“Dapat ang slacks mo tailored,” he suggested without letting me answer, “‘yung fitted pababa. And bakit ba lahat ng pants mo ay kulay itim?”

I can hear wind_psycho shutting the cash register inside my brain, as if activating my hormones of frugality.

New slacks would cost me to a minimum of four-hundred pesos. That’s enough for my one week commuting allowance--- and my fish cracker fund. Using my father's old stuff can save me from buying new ones. Black slacks decrease laundry efforts for being reusable for another day.

I just kept quiet, but at the back of my mind, I was trashing his ideas.

“…At ‘yang sapatos mo, dapat pointed,” he continued.

I looked further down and saw my four-year-old shoe. I used it since I was college. And its age is manifested by its wrinkles on the middle-dorsal area and the seemingly non-shined skin.

Kaching-kaching! New shoes would cost me at least two-thousand pesos. That’s enough for my two-month food allowance at work. Nope!

“And puwede ba, mag-fitted ka naman ng damit,” he added while pointing at my collared shirt, “sayang tuloy ‘yang pinag-gy-gym mo!”

Okay, so I have a lean body. And it’s not like I’m scared to show it through some fitted clothes that I often buy and use for special occasions.

It’s just that as a teacher, I prefer to look as simple adult--- not a whore--- or worse, a kargador.

It’s true that looking good and very professional makes a first impression to whoever you meet. You may get smiles from strangers, comments from acquaintances and even indecent proposals from old geezers.

But I choose to maintain a low profile.

I take challenge of earning the respect of people not because I am handsome or well-dressed, but because I do my job well and produce results, even in the lamest clothing possible.

And besides, if I always bring the best of my wardrobe out in every day of the week, where’s the fun in that? There are always occasions where you can put an extra effort and your best foot forward to surprise people.

I impress people not by with what I put on, but with what I put out.

Judge me with how I look and I won’t mind it.

Judge me with how I work and I’ll hear it out.

“Wala akong budget,” I dismissed.

Other faculty members all went out of the office and joined us.

“Ang taas ng waistline ni Sensei ‘no?” Melo asked one of them, pointing at my current waistline.

One lady faculty assessed me briefly and shook her head, “hindi naman, ah… Tama lang ‘yan, matangkad kasi siya.”

“Hindi! Mataas nga,” agreed one male teacher, “halata pa kasi ang nipis ng belt niya, wala pang buckle.”

And then they exchanged suggestions regarding my allegedly misplaced waistline as if having a debate.

“Alam ko na kung bakit nawawala ang waist ko,” I cried out in the middle of their discussion, silencing them, “gutom na kasi ako. Kain na tayo… Sa mura lang, huh…?”

Defenses and Reflections (Semi Tragic Research Title Defense Part 2)

2009-01-14T02:11:00.006+08:00

For any college student, probably one of the highlights of his higher academic life would be his thesis. Any graduate would never forget the big chunk of paper that cost him countless number of hours in the library, sleepless nights and mornings in front of the desktop, big dark circles under eyes, endless word wars and tears between group mates, bouts with cranky advisers and their unrelenting revisions, heated debates with panel members during the climactic defense and thousands of pesos for printing, food and travel expenses.

But the euphoria that comes with the acknowledgment and acceptance is one academic high that you would not exchange for the worth of your publishing expenses. A thesis is truly a scholastic milestone that a student would either resent or treasure--- and either ways, it is never put out of the memory vault.

Just like going to farfetched places to gather data, sorting tables of endless statistical data and facing the defense panel, conceptualizing a research problem is considered to be a process entailing physical and mental demands. Looking for something out of the million concepts you have learned in your lectures out of thin air is a painstaking job. Making ideas and statements interesting and disposing bad ones poses as a starting challenge for the proponent.

I remember one college day wherein my research professor asked us to jot down our proposed titles in a paper for him to approve. Being the overly excited guy that I am, I stretched the limits and rolled out in front of him a yellow pad paper filled with ten proposals for him to scrutinize. After looking at my work briefly, he encircled one title and handed it back to me.

To my horrors, he chose the title I feared he would.

I immediately went back to the teacher’s table and showed him the paper again, “Sir, pero okey naman ‘yung ibang topic?” I asked in slight desperation. I was sure that the items, other the chosen one, are easier to do.

“Oo,” he responded nodding, with a smirk on his face. He then pointed the title he encircled recently, “pero ito ang gusto ko.”

My forehead crumpled as I reread the content of the circle.

“Self-Image of Male Leprosy Patients with Long Term Complications in one Leprosarium in NCR”

First and foremost, I hated myself for coming up with such a title to fill the paper just to impress my teacher about me being able to formulate bankable topics. Yes, talking about marginalized people in the society deeply interested me, but I’m not ready for this.

Second, what kind of research methodology will I use for this kind of phenomenon? I was totally clueless of how the study is going to be done.

And lastly, is my professor just nuts or what? People across generations would nod yes when asked if leprosy is an infectious disease--- not to mention it is a debilitating skin disease that has brought oppression among its many victims.

Is he actually considering that I be exposed to this dreaded communicable disease? Is he even thinking that his license might get revoked if I contract leprosy?

A year after however, I, together with my group, did finish one of the few commendable phenomenological research studies in my university--- and remained negative from the mycobacterium laprae strain.

Six months after my successful defense as the research proponent, I once again found myself in research defense sessions--- but as a panel member. Also, I have assisted, advised and gave consultations to undergraduate (Baccalaureate), graduate (Masteral) and postgraduate (Doctorate) research studies.

After my first semester of teaching research in a small college, I was absorbed by a pontifical university, teaching this subject that I’ve learned to love. Even senior colleagues approach me for enlightenment for their respective theses.

To encapsulate this epilogue, I learned--- a lot.

And it is because an educator saw my hunger and curiosity to learn. And he was willing to make a gamble to make me get what I want.

Someone believed that I am better than who I thought I was. And day after day I marveled at the things I achieve to prove him right.

Thank you, sir, for making me your vessel.

Wait when I grow up. I’ll make things right.

I’m almost there, but not quite…

Semi Tragic Research Title Defense (Part 1)

2009-01-13T01:42:00.007+08:00

I looked at Sensei Jery’s face after our Research Topic Defense was over. His expression was a mix of frustration and regret that ruled--- though he seemed to hide it with a sly smile.

He wasn’t happy with how our title turned out. I could tell.

Neither was I.

I remember how he smiled when he read my proposed title, one semester ago. It was about the life experiences of diabetic patients. I think I got his interests flying.

He eyed me, “Dagdagan natin. Sabihin natin, ‘diabetic patients with complications.’” Then he chuckled, “Para masaya!”

But I knew he meant to add that because it would make the study more unique and relevant.

True enough, I pursued that topic and read a lot about diabetes. For a sophomore student that I am, I haven’t had any serious major subjects yet. Still, with all of this Medical-Surgical books around me, I found it hard to understand the dreaded disease.

Maybe, I will know what I need. When I do this research.

However, just recently the panel members started asking as lewd questions like, “What is the difference between Type 1 and 2 diabetes mellitus? How does it happen? What is the pathophysiology? What are its complications? Do you really know something about your topic?”

I tried to answer, but only superficially based on what the texts told me. My classmates all tried too, but in vain.

Then one member of the panel said, “I don’t think you can do this research because you don’t know anything about it.”

I know I am a neophyte. But she didn’t have to rub it in my face. I have two years more to do this research. I will get to the junior years where I will be study the concepts of the different diseases. I will use the long time that I will have to know about this.

It seemed she crushed the spirit of curiosity that ruled within me when I formulated the question.

Isn’t it the purpose of research to discover things that I do not know?

I looked at Sensei Jery when she said that. He was just standing and looking meekly at us. He was still cracking jokes just to kill the boredom--- just like he always does in class. But he sure did look disappointed.

When his colleague said what she just said to ridicule us, it felt to me that Sensei Jery was insulted. We were after all his students.

But what baffled me more was the next statement.

“I think that for your level, you should choose this other title you proposed. ‘Survey of the Learning Styles of XOXO University Students’.”

Sensei Jery’s voice echoed in my head. I remembered his words when we asked him about the learning styles topic, “this topic is lame. This can be done by a high school student. But since, wala na kayong maisip, sige na, okey na.”

And he was right. I did a similar one during my high school days. But since my groupmates got desperate from all the questioning, the majority just took the idea readily.

But I can’t accept that this easy and seemingly unoriginal and non-contributory research topic is better than knowing how debilitated diabetes patients with rare complications battled their disease as they went on with their lives. I don’t know how I’ll be able to put up with this title--- and the thought that I was belittled--- until I graduate.

He was trying to talk it out with the panel members but they asserted themselves. I understood why he kept his hands down. He was a new faculty and they were seniors already.

Just as soon as we were done, and the final words of advice are locked in, Sensei Jery turned around and walked out silently.

And with him, he brought the chances for me to be able to answer the question I posed.

--- Sensei Jery’s Student, after the Research Title Defense

It's Love: from Senseijery's Musical Archives

2009-01-11T12:05:00.008+08:00

When I was still a choir leader in our college, I encouraged the members to share with me their composed songs. I was just so ecstatic about arranging their songs. It's cute how to see their faces light up when the notes of the piano embrace the lyrics they have penned.

"Its Love," is a song that was written by Mary Blanche, an Alto singer in the said choir. She already had the melody ready. She sought my help so that her song can have an accompaniment.

Being the overly-musically-excited guy that I am, I immediately agreed on the task. We rushed to the school owned organ and while she sang her song, it seemed like the notes came out as I played them.

Using Finale 2003, a musical score writer software, I made a MIDI file of my complete band arrangement for the song. The instruments that I used were Vibraphone, Electric Bass, Tremolo Strings, Flute, Drums, Echoes and Celeste.

Then I gave her the minus one CD, and she proceeded to a recording studio and performed it. It was a gift that she gave during her boyfriend's anniversary. How sweet.

In return, her beau made this video using their pics and the song. How sweet again.

Basically, it's a feel good song--- very poppy and catchy. Usually, my song arrangements are straight and rhythmical unlike this. But of course, I had to make an exception for this song, since the artist's voice has pop inclinations.

But then again, there are people who do not like this kind of music (even I admit that it's not my cup of tea). Some might comment on the mushiness of the lyrics. I suggest that we just applaud her for creating a song. It’s not easy to write one, I should know.

Hope you like her song and my arrangement.

It's Love

Lyrics and Melody by Mary Blanche
Arranged by Senseijery

I don't know where it started
Neither certain when it grew
I just knew there's something
Something strange i feel for you
Now what's on could this be true

CHORUS
Could this be love or just infatuation
I'm so scared of things
Of these things that im not used to
Could this be love or just an admiratio
May just be confused
Just confused of this feelin for you

I dont know what will i do
Will i move or stay the same
I just knew there is something
Something true, thats meant for you
Now whats on, could these be true

CHORUS
Baby it's love
Baby I'm sure, oh I'm sure of this feeling for you

Funny, but Not Sexy

2009-01-05T18:32:00.005+08:00

[91]

It’s hard to be overfriendly at times because people may think you’re way too familiar to be dealt with romantically.

-wind_psycho

------------------------------------------------

Sometimes, I really don’t get it.

Previously, I thought that being a guy with a bubbly sense of humor and spontaneity was going to make me attractive.

I thought it was cool to be a comic. Dolphy had been with a countless number girls in his lifetime that ordinary people dream about with jaws dropped and saliva spilling out.

But oh, I remember now, Dolphy is nearing a century old. Comedians are so last Tuesday.

It’s frustrating to find out, that the “in” people nowadays are the rebels and the mysterious ones--- the People with mystical aura hovering around them.

The personalities masked by translucent clouds of dark surprises waiting to be unraveled; the quiet types who pose a challenge for the curious go-getter; and the people with that “I-think-there’s-something-hidden-inside-this-guy-that-makes-him-sexy-in-my-eyes” characteristic are the ones that are fantasized at this popular genre--- no wonder Edward (from Twilight) is such a heartthrob.

Samantalang ako…

“You know, Sensei Jery, you’re so funny talaga… Sana I had a brother like you!”

“I’m so glad that I have a friend to cheer me up like you do…”

“Weh… Ang corny na Sensei Jery…”

ARGH! WHEN WILL I EVER BE A HOT ITEM?!

Open-Mindedness Begets Honesty

2009-01-04T20:58:00.004+08:00

The last day of my long Christmas vacation was greeted by a pile of homework papers and requirements waiting to be checked. I know I planned to deal with this take-home job earlier during the season, but again, I procrastinated.

On a positive note, maybe today is the best day for me to check these stacks of papers. The long holiday had an immunizing effect on me. Two weeks of sleeping and waking up late, doodling the computer for non-sense things, going out more than necessary and just chilling to kill time, somewhat made me forget that there is a career that I shall return to by tomorrow.

At least by checking papers at this last day, can prepare me and make me recall that I am, a “Sensei.”

Particularly, the last bunk of bonds thrilled me. It was a special homework I gave to my students.

Earlier, this semester, we discussed about Erik Erikson’s Psychosocial Development Theory (Sorry, I don’t plan to discuss that here. Just google it if you’re interested). And my requirement was to briefly narrate their respective past life experiences where they can relate the concepts discussed.

It was like a mini-autobiography with a twist of analyzing the events of your life.

I told them that they can present it as creative as they want it. And true enough, their artistic juices flowed all over the different types of parchment that was handed to me. They went from a simple border to pop-ups and scrap book thingies. To my dismay, there were even papers that were glittered to the maximum. How I just hate these shining particles getting stuck to my skin.

The best ones were those filled with their pictures. They were presented as if these photographs alone can already capture their life stories. Actually, my real motive for this project is just to know my students better.

Aside from the grammatical errors that offered me a quick dose of comic relief, I was more taken aback by the utmost transparency that some of them have exemplified in their writings.

The said theory talks about normal maturation, and some of these developmental milestones include what we consider as no-no’s in a morally bound country. For example, masturbation, having imaginary friends, premarital sexual activity, suicidal ideations, temper tantrums, etc. were considered to be normal behavior in certain developmental stages.

And some of my students revealed to me a few of what we may consider as “awkward facts” similar to what was given in the previous paragraph--- secrets that we may only tell to people closest to us, or probably to no one at all.

Then I asked myself, “What did I do to deserve this honesty from them?”

I want to protect my student’s interest so I won’t be telling what they’ve shared in detail. If I have to, I’ll give them at random, paraphrased and nameless.

If you had been a student yourself, I’m sure most of us had teachers telling us, “I’m not just your teacher; I am also your friend. You can share with me all your problems and secrets.”

But how many of us, if I may ask, have actually approached them and sought their help?

Not many, I suppose.

And if we did so, to whom did we share our bad and lonely experiences?

Would it be to the teacher who makes you stay standing, facing the east wall if you were not able to answer her question? Who brought you to the prefect’s office for wetting your pants? Who shouts at pupils who brought mongol #1 instead of #2 for their exams? Who called you, “bingi or tanga,” just because you asked her to repeat the instructions? Who criticized every mark and line of your inappropriate facial expression? Who tends to verbally or even physically abuse and demean just to instill what they would call, “discipline”?

Apparently not.

But then again, if you do find an amicable and friendly teacher you suppose you can entrust your feelings to, would you be able to share that you lied to or stole from your parents? Or tell her how you bullied your classmate and cut classes? Or disclose that you are starving yourself too much, and think you have an eating disorder? Or worse, reveal that you are frequently watching porn at home? Or even worse, say you are a drunkard and had been trying drugs before?

Still, I guess not.

I’ve avoided becoming that teacher I exemplified three paragraphs ago. I promised to become more like an older brother who cared for my students. And remarkably, I think I succeeded. Because definitely, those things that they have shared in their passed written works (similar to the examples I gave in the previous long paragraph, but not exact, again to protect their trust) are not some petty things that can be just told to anyone.

I don’t know exactly what made these students think that I could be trusted with these dark secrets.

Probably, it’s because I’m not the teacher who thinks that all students are brats that needed spanking; or the teacher who immediately reprimands when a mistake has been done and bases policies and punishments on a handbook without hearing the other side of the story.

Good thing I learned to listen--- at a level wherein I am not someone of authority over them, but as a friendly stranger, who knows that sins happen and are forgiven--- and that errors are not subject for human criticism.

Touched? Heck, I am.

And boy, am I ready to go back to class tomorrow.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

[104]

Open-mindedness begets honesty.

And honesty, as we all know, begets trust and love.

-wind_psycho

Dermatological Agony

2009-01-03T21:57:00.007+08:00

“You will be my project,” my colleague, who also happens to be a licensed dermatologist, told me during one of our workdays (we were even in the classroom with students, if I remember it well).

And there was this utmost sincerity and conviction in her voice that actually thrilled me. Here is an expert in making people beautiful pledging to make me more pleasing.

Well, it’s not that I look unpleasing. Some people even think that I have physical qualities of a fine, young gentleman (yeah, right). It’s just that there are imperfections in my body and the way I carry it that prevents me to be called “handsome,” or “hot" (tsk, tsk).

True enough, Doctora texted me and asked when I could visit her in her clinic and discuss options on how I could improve my skin’s well-being.

I was reluctant at first, since I’ve heard how much time and money dermatological services takes, and then I asked my Mom what she thought. And she was ecstatic about it.

When I was still the young ugly duckling, with an acne-covered-rough-as-a-rubber face, she would do anything with her power to drown me to oblivious skin care regimens. Sure, she introduced me to sane pharmacologic topical like facial wash and eskinol, but she did also submerge my face into natural elements like fruits and veggies (kalamansi, papaya, mango, cucumber), and even egg whites.

Well, I do have to thank my mother for that because I look better now. And so does she, for she definitely looks young for her age.

She did also suggest that I consult facial care centers for my skin problems before. But I always reasoned that I’ve got no time, or that it’s too costly (even though she promised to pay for the expenses) and my most favorite reason of all, “there are much more important things than vanity.”

But when you’re twenty-two and still single, maybe being a little vain won’t hurt. Besides, my job requires us to stand in front of people. So, it would help to catch the viewer’s attention by looking good. Plus, my Mom thought I could be a good marketing hand for Doctora’s services (Huh, I could just imagine bringing my before-and-after pictures).

So, at five o’clock pm today, I found myself at the derma clinic.

Doctora approached me and asked, “So, Sensei Jery, ano’ng gusto mo? Facial?”

I was dumfounded at first. Dermatology was a medical science I never really study. What services could I actually know of aside from a facial--- and the ever popular glutathione?

Then I managed to speak, meekly, “huh? Ikaw, ano ba’ng mai-sa-suggest mo, according your assessment of me?”

“Well, for starters, you can have a facial,” she replied, “then a diamond peel.”

“Diamond peel…” I repeated. Yeah, I’ve heard that somewhere before. But my dumb imagination of that was making the face shine like a diamond.

“What we do there is that we scrape off dead skin--- usually the first and most superficial layer of the face,” she explained.

“Oh,” I moaned in understanding.

I immediately thought how hard it would be for them to do that for me. I mean, I could swear that my face can be equated to a cemetery of deceased epithelial cells. Not that I don’t do anything about it. I do use the usual trio--- facial wash, toner and cream. But my skin was genetically rubberized.

“So, uhmm… Magkano kaya ‘yon,” I blurted out. My frugality is at it again. If it’s going to reach four digits, I’m walking.

“Two hundred for the facial, one thousand ‘pag may diamond peel.”

“Sige, facial na lang,” I immediately answered. Huh, I’m so kuripot.

While waiting for a vacant service bed, I asked about intravenous glutathione. The price was heavy, but when she told me how fast it really was in whitening dark people, I was quite convinced to take it. But then again, I was painstakingly battling out the discounted prices.

My skin falls darker than the usual Moreno. And being picked on for my skin color for the whole of my childhood has heightened my wanting to get a fairer complexion. Talk about racism.

But today, I’m sticking with the facial--- though I’m not sure what it does. I just don’t want to put this visit to waste.

Finally, when I got a spot, I positioned myself on the bed (we had to adjust because I was taller than the usual customers).

Then this lady started pouring this lubricant-like liquid on my face and spread it, while massaging the whole area. It was ticklish at first.

After that there was this steam machine that was placed over my face. There started my first agony. The fine, hot mist was impairing my breathing.

“Relax ka lang,” the lady said. Then she left me alone, under the steam for ten minutes or so. The whole time I was hyperventilating and thinking of the most ill-sounding words to describe this literally breathtaking experience in this blog. But to no avail--- my brain wasn’t receiving enough oxygen.

In the middle of my pain, Doctora whispered to me, “mag-Diamond Peel ka na. I-offer sa’yo ni Ma’am ng five hundred lahat.”

I just nodded. What else was I to say?

I gasped for air when the steam machine was put away and the mask was put on my face. But my relief didn’t last long. The diamond peel was next.

I saw a male customer who just received the treatment beside me. His face was red as a tomato--- and slightly distorted due to a peculiar facial expression, as if stretching his pain threshold.

“Mamumula ba mukha ko?” I curiously asked.

“Oo, papupulahin natin ‘yan,” Doctora replied in a sing-song voice.

“Kasi hindi ako namumula, eh. Nangingitim siguro,” I joked, “kaya nga ang sarap mag-blush. Hindi nahahalata.”

Then everyone burst into laughter.

Later on I wished I did not crack that joke.

The manager was the one who gave me the diamond peel treatment. I was told that at the end of the pen-like device connected to a machine were made of small diamonds that would abrade the skin and remove the outermost layer.

“Sabihin mo kung masakit, huh?” she advised.

When the end of the pen made contact to my skin, I felt a sharp sucking sensation that was far from pleasant. It was painful. The pen went down on me for countless of times--- and for each time, it felt like my face was torn and shredded into pieces.

And I wasn’t planning on whining. That would be a sign of ingratitude for the discount I received.

The face-wrecking experience lasted for ten minutes. In the middle of it, the manager even changed the end of the pen to a more piercing one, to my dismay.

“Ano, masakit?” she inquired.

I managed to smile, “okay lang ma’am. Masokista naman ako, eh.” It was a wonder how I kept my face straight throughout the procedure.

They gave me a mirror so I could look at my face while the diamond peel was going on--- and to my surprise, my whole face was red. There were whitish substances spread about. I decided that they were the “dead cells.”

The after-feel of the painful strikes of the pen is still with me as I write this entry now.

After the treatment, I gave the payment. I chatted with the Manager and Doctora for a while about their regimen plans for me. It seemed that I posed a challenge for them. Then I waved goodbye.

As I was heading home, I thought how wrong I was for belittling the jobs of vanity. I always thought that models, unless I knew them personally, are empty-headed brats who only cared about how they looked and always thought that they are superior and classier than everyone else.

I presumed that getting into the ramp and photo shoot world was easy as long as you were blessed with good genes. I disapprove myself now.

If they take these treatments in a regular basis, then I would say that just like any profession, these people are bearing physical sacrifices as well.

And when I got home, all they said was, “naging pula lang mukha mo.”

[103]

Any pursuit entails pain, and any pain deserves recognition. –wind_psycho

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Speaking of wind_psycho, I think I’ve made him happy today. I just got a haircut earlier before going to the aforementioned clinic.

The barber’s service was twenty-five pesos only. I gave a five peso tip.

Haha, talk about frugality.

Experiences of a Dumb Pianist

2009-01-02T21:18:00.010+08:00

I finished my tiresome workout at past five o’clock today. It was tiresome not because I lifted heavier weights than necessary, but because of the internal effort I exerted not to blow up due to the never-ending irritating antics of some gym goers (Tell you all about it later).

As I came out of the gym, I was greeted by the sound of a live piano. Finally, after two hours of only hearing myself mumbling curses as I did some sweat work, I get to hear something more melodious.

I followed the trail laid by the music and at the end found myself at the atrium of the mall where I was. Surrounded by approximately forty heads in the audience was a black Yamaha piano, mounted on a comma-shaped platform.

And of course there was a pianist.

Being the tall man that I am, I could already see the act even with all the people in front of me; but now, there’s just no way for me to let this new opportunity of learning to pass. So, I swung my way the most proximate location I could, pretending to be clueless that my humungous back is already blocking the view of other people. I curiously watched as a periodically checked my cellphone and wallet in my back pockets.

Yes, I am a struggling and frustrated piano enthusiast, and I have been since I was two, when my parents bought me a small battery operated piano (whatever happened to that piano) and played my first right-handed piece, “Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.”

Since then my fascination of the ebony and ivory colored keys turned into a passion. By sixth grade, I demanded that I be given a better organ to start learning. And as years progressed, I grew out of the level that this organ was for. So, my cousin donated her much better synthesizer when I got to junior high.

And now that I am working, I finally bought myself a decent digital piano--- just this November 2008. Ah… What a way to waste the savings for all that I have earned from the first semester of teaching.

Until now, I refuse to call myself a good pianist, because of the following reasons: (1) I suck at reading notes. I only got to read better because I had a choir organization during the latter years of college; (2) I never had a performance that was flawless from mistakes, and the said mistakes ranges from playing the wrong keys to losing the synthesizer’s power supply in the middle of the act, and; (3) I never really had formal lessons. I was supposed to for so many times, but something comes up like changing the schedule, or the teacher going abroad. It seems I was jinxed.

I was one of the people who played by ear. At the start I only used one hand for playing. But when I started learning chords through a jingle magazine, I was also able to put my left hand to good use.

Now, back to the atrium. There I was, standing with the pianist’s back in front of me and the keys facing my direction. This is another way that I learn best. Widow musicians like me call this technique as, “NAKAW.” We steal the notes, the chords and the style of a better performer. So, I could say that I am a blender, mixing all the performances that I have seen and heard, and applying them in unison when I play.

But the whole time, I was just dumbfounded. I cringed every time he did adlibs (And the people around me looked at me every time I did that… Take about acting sane in public). Some of his techniques were already familiar to me. But still most of what he did was new to me, so I tried it immediately when I got home (but to no avail, yet).

And he was really gifted, I must say. It seemed like he knew everything that was requested of him. A few of what was played were the “Theme from the Godfather,” “The Gift,” “Ikaw,” and “Knocks Me Off My Feet.” The others were erratically hard jazz pieces (I believe that Jazz is the toughest genre to follow).

The pianist was wearing this semi-formal, semi-rugged look. He was wearing a black coat over a blue checkered polo, jeans and chucks. There were times that he would look back at us in between performances to hear requests.

I decided that he looks like a vampire. But definitely not like those from “Twilight.” He looked like the usual mythical “Bampira,” that we fear (sorry, just keeping it real).. Someone even requested for “Bella’s Lullaby.” But he didn’t know that.

One of my dreams is to play piano in front of people and not make a fool out of myself, and I still haven’t achieved that. Some of the most embarrassing moments in my life happened with me behind black and white keys.

For instance, I was supposed to play and sing the graduation song I wrote for our batch in the auditorium in front of the student body. After the intro in the piano, the adaptor sparked--- a spark heard by all. And the silent buzzing began.

For a second there I was awestruck, then I regained myself and the power supply, “ah, okay… One more time…” I mumbled over the microphone. To my relief, they still cried over the song after I did it.

Another funnier instance… This happened when I was playing organ in a Eucharistic celebration. I was planning to redeem myself from the wrong keys I played in the previous mass songs by this last recessional song.

The commentator was thanking the mass celebrant after the communion, “In behalf of our community, we would like to extend our gratitude to Fr. So and so…”

And then everybody claps for Father.

And the dumb pianist (me) suddenly starts hitting the notes for the intro of “I Will Sing Forever.” I did it lively thinking, I have to make this recessional song an unforgettable one!

To my surprise, almost everyone in the chapel shot disapproving looks at me. And the mass-goers nearest to me were mouthing to me.

“WALA PANG FINAL BLESSING NG PARI!”

Talk about unforgettable--- seeing all those faces fighting laughter. I had to stop in the middle of the song and repeat after everyone responded, “Thanks be to God.”

The most mortifying part was when the Ministry people spoke into the microphone after the mass. “We would like to thank Ms. So and so for being the commentator… And Mr. Sensei Jery for playing the organ!”

And everyone burst into loud applause and hooting. I could melt in my spot right then and there. I think I even screamed, “NO!”

To end this long story, I would just share this:

Kris Aquino, in her morning program, cited a book saying that the secret to success in any profession is 10,000 hours of practice.

And probably, I'm almost there, but not quite...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

PS.

Despite the pianist looking like a non-Twighlight-type of vampire, it was a surprise that after the act, a beautiful lady, who may actually pass being a “Twilight Vampire,” was waiting for him as he alighted from the platform. I assumed she was his girlfriend when she whispered to him, “ano, uwi na tayo?”

Makes me think... Talented people really attract the cute ones…

TIME TO FINISH THOSE 10,000 HOURS! HAHAHAH!

Strategic Planning for 2009

2009-01-01T19:00:00.002+08:00

Company Name: SENSEI JERY

Vision: In 2010, Sensei Jery envisions himself as an improved entity of physical health, psychological intactness, emotional maturity, intellectual greatness, sexual potency (yeah, I just wish), social relevance, cultural competence, financial stability, educational-pedagogical prowess, artistic inspiration, musical ingenuity and spiritual motivation.

(wait a minute... I have to blow all these blood coming out of my nares...)

Mission: Sensei Jery, with the cooperation of his alter ego, wind_psycho, aims to provide:

Quality nursing care for the sick (but only in times of deemed necessity);

Fruitful educational experiences for students (yeah... and I have a huge bunk of papers beside me waiting to be checked);

Assitance and consultation for research studies of nursing and social sciences (so if you know anyone, kindly refer them to me...);

Amateur musical services (hopefully not for free anymore. But I do accept non-cash goods like food, water--- or heck, just thank me, okay?);

Amateur prose and creative works (which I intend to just post in this blog anyway);

Love for all (in different levels. I just hope that I'd be able to dole out the romantic level for someone this year).

Goal: By the end of the year 2009, Sensei Jery will achieve an improved holistic well-being.

Objectives:

Maintain physical health and fitness by engaging in healthy lifestyle, regular exercises at home and at the gym. This includes avoiding BreadPan green variant, Krowpek, Tempura, Chicken skin and other foods with nutritional densities equating to saltwater and cooking oil. This has to be manifested by a leaner body (more defined chest and tummy, bulkier arms and legs) and lesser than the usual trips to medical institutions.

Improve physical appearance. My buddy wind_psycho is requesting that I do get a new haircut. Change my wardrobe from the usual non-fitting collared shirts and baggy black slacks to--- well, something that won't get me hunted by the fashion police. Find where my waistline really is. Visit an expert (i.e., a dermatologist, like my co-faculty) to consult about skin enhancement (ugh, scary)...

Be more sane. Prevent talking to wind_psycho when there are people around. Stop acting out prose ideas in the middle of the bus ride. Only talk about things that exists in reality. Never consider suicidal ideations. Never separate wind_psycho as a different entity; that might be considered as a sign of multiple personality.

Work on my superpowers. Now that's contradictory to the previous one. But what the heck? There's nothing wrong about believing you're larger than life. Practice making mini-whirlwinds and hurricanes and reading peoples minds--- and oh, telekinesis.

Use emotions appropriate for the situation. Avoid cracking jokes in the middle of a meeting. Stop laughing when discussing gorey topics like research. Prevent making comic reliefs out of petty tragedies, like tripping or farting. Remember that humor is not the only way to make one interesting to others. In summary, act serious in a serious scene so that I can be taken seriously.

Add more exciting traits in my personality, like patience, perseverance, fortitude, autonomy, zeal, temperance. AND WATCH MY MOUTH so I don't become controversial.

Cry. It's been a while since I last cried due to an acceptable reason.

Act Mature--- or at least pretend to be. When you are a teacher and your students' ages are just a few steps behind you, it sometimes is hard to impose authority. And having colleagues who are mountains ahead of you in terms of experience, you always get picked on. Enjoy youth, but do not overdo, especially in the workplace.

Finish my master's studies. Take the comprehensive exam during the summer classes, and then immediately start thesis writing after. Have the proposal defense on July and stage the final defense before October sets in. I hope I'll be able to do it.

Read, study and comprehend. This goes for textbooks. It's a big no-no to come to class with your students knowing ahead of you. Also reading fiction books is a must if I want to get back to prose writing.

Manage time and never be late. Wake up with the alarm clock and avoid using the snooze button. That way making up lies about being late can be avoided as well. Be aware that the LRT will forever be malfunctioning. Don't always reason out that you are busy because of work. No play makes Sensei Jery a dull boy, and wind_psycho a bored alter ego.

Be more sexually attractive. Period.

Be more interesting to potential seekers--- and actually respond to them when they make a move. Expose self to opportunities of love. Smile when they stare at you. Approach when asked. And never, ever freak out when they come closer. Scratch this objective when I achieve the next one.

Find someone.

Stay away from dirty websites. And avoid activities I usually engage in during and after I visit them (I don't think I need to elaborate any further).

Be aware that it's pay back time for family. Stop whining when parents ask money for sibbling's tuition, the house caretaker, the broken tire, the food for the week, the abuloy for the funeral, the electric bills, the water bills, the monthly payment for appliances, medical bills--- okay stop. I'm whining already. Spend more time with them than of work and put God in the center of our lives.

Never forget friends. Hang out with them. And actually spend money for them.

Cherish true friends and still keep, but keep distance from the non-true and insensitive ones. Do not make more of the second type of friends.

Give up on the government. Wait, scratch that. I already did that three years ago.

Be more patient in waiting for world peace. It's hard to be persistent, when we're standing at a distance... So, we keep on waiting, waiting on the world to change.

Care for the environment. Avoid farting in public places (not that often fart anywhere, I just have to avoid it if I can). Be less of a slob that I am now. Start my environmental campaign in my own room.

Learn how to blend in a crowd having a culture of "gorey seriousness." I have no problems with hanging out with fun people, as long as they don't overpower my humor that much. It's just that I should also I should learn how to mingle well with serious people.

Earn more money without losing time for myself. It's okay to take sidejobs, but at times these rackets eat most of my time. Learn to choose what to accept and learn to say no.

Avoid frugality. I'm not the kind of person who spends his money on himself. In a year, I only buy myself three shirts and a pair of pants. And I hate treating anyone for lunch or dinner. I don't know, I think I'm just too overprotective of money. Probably, I should change that. The more you give, (the less you save) the more you receive.

Improve teaching strategies and relationships with students. Treat teaching as a lifetime noble career. Enhance teaching styles. Maintain friendly relationships with students but avoid overfamiliarity with them. They tend to feed on the teacher's kind nature by abusing it for their benefit.

Stay away from troubled students especially the one who always seems to tease/seduce me in a way (tell you about that student later).

Finish a novel. I'm working on one right now. I hope I could finish it despite my busy schedule.

Fill up this blog and have people actually read it. As a starter, I feel excited on the things I would write (obvious ba?). Make it an avenue for my thoughts and previously unpublished works.

Make music that would matter. Write more materials and pass them to recording companies. Be more aggressive in pursuing a career in composition and arrangement as a sideline. Or maybe use this blog to publish my music.

Find more connections to make any technical or artistic work that I have be known to many and hopefully touch their lives--- and be touched back by these connections.

Be closer to GOD. Pray more frequently for guide, both in the presence and absence of trial. Put HIM in the center of my life. Regularly attend mass. Offer musical talents for eucharistic celebrations.

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According to a report in TV patrol, if you put your 2009 wishlist in a yellow paper and then burn it come 12:00 midnight of January 01, 2009, the items in the list will come true. So, I put all the items in this strategic planning guide in the wishlist and did what was told.

Making a strategic plan is one of the things I learned during our Master's class in Basic Management. I can't believe it's helping me now to arrange things for this year. =)

Fireworks Display

2008-12-31T09:57:00.011+08:00

[2]

Sometimes, I wish my life was just like full-length fireworks display.

I want to make you stop and look up when you hear the sudden crackling noise that I make when I start.

It's a joy to see how lovely your face lights up as you see my colors bursting out through the sheer black sky of the night.

It would be nice that in a span of thirty minutes or so, I would get something that I don't usually receive from you...

...YOUR ATTENTION.

-wind_psycho

PS. Happy New Year!

wind_psycho, My Alter Ego

2008-12-30T09:14:00.001+08:00

According to the concept of growth and development, toddlerhood and preschool-age is a crucial time of psychosocial development.

Also, it has been said that the children of this age might tend to have what we call, "imaginary friends."

"Hey mom, why are there only three plates in our table?" the curious child would ask.

Mother smiles and replies, "honey, it's for you, me and Daddy..."

Then the kid points at mid-air, "how about my best friend, Kimberly? She says she would like to eat here with us!"

Mommy's eyebrows crossed, as if focusing on something invisible beside her daughter, "I don't see her, sweetie..."

The child chuckles, "mommy... Why can't you see her...? You're such a LOSER!"

Okay, so the last line was an ill attempt of comic relief.

But developmental psychologists say that for that time, it's pretty normal. It just depends on how the parents handle this kind of situation.

However, when you're already twenty-two years old and undeniably an educated adult like me, having imaginary friends, like Kimberly in the sample situation, would be--- well, a symptom of early psychosis, if not schizophrenia.

So, I don't call my wind_psycho an imaginary friend. He's my alter ego. That is to save me a straight ride to the mental institution.

And besides, he's not someone I see in thin air that other people don't. He only exists in my mind. It's just that when I'm confused, and have no one to talk to, I converse with him. It's just like you people doing your self-talk.

The picture in the header, and in my profile is obviously not me (even when people say I look so animated and cartoony because my expressions are so exaggeratedly transparent). That's the way I perceive wind_psycho looks like.

wind_psycho was conceived when I was a third year high school student, and a struggling teen sci-fi novelist, who dreamed of making it in the anime industry as a writer (not a comic artist). He is the main protagonist of the story, whose attributes I closely related to mine. Basically, his powers was to control wind and have extraordinary senses. I was so attached to his entity, because all the good characteristics I had, including those I wish I had, was possessed by him.

That is why, in times of confusion, I imagine myself as him. The unbreakable and purely kind-hearted man that I created in my imagination and has stayed with me for a while. Now, I picture him as an office boy, who works inside my mind.

In my novel, he was poetic and deep--- in contrast to me, who always uses gibberish words to express myself. So, when I find myself suddenly talking sense, I would suppose that he is the one typing the words in a small computer in my brain (so, if you read good things in this blog, maybe he's the one talking, not me).

My college friends, especially those who are part of the group SMS list in my phone, are acquainted with him. When a certain situation happens in my life and I learn something from it, he turms it into a paradoxical moral lesson type of quote, which I do send to my friends through text, and I acknowledge him by citing his name under the message.

But don't get me wrong, I do not separate him from me. He is still me--- the good and smart side of me, who suddenly takes charge when the situation calls.

So, does that make me psychotic...? Almost there, but not quite... Hahaha...

Almost There, But Not Quite

2008-12-29T13:15:00.001+08:00

So, why the title?

Basically, "almost there, but not quite," is an expression I often use--- especially, when I comment on students when they answer a question I raise in a recitation, but seem not to nail the juicy answer. Or when I tell someone when he misses something or loses a game.

I'm not sure how often this expression is used by other people, and even I am amused that I even came up of the idea of making that as a usual narrative or even a blog title.

Probably, I can attribute this short phrase to the mediocrity of my achievements in life.

I don't consider myself as the kid who stood in the middle or at the back if we had to fall in line, with the brightest pupils in front. I also don't consider myself as a smart aleck as well (although some people think I am). However, it's just that I always fell short of my ambitions and self expectations.

Ever since A Walk to Remember, I had always kept a TO-DO LIST at the back of my mind--- things that I would wish to achieve before I die. And everyday I ask myself if I had fulfilled any item in this list of mine. And my answer would be, "oh, I'm almost there, but not quite..."

THE LIST

1. Graduate with honors, and do a valedictory speech--- or any kind of speech for that matter--- to the graduating crowd.

I did graduate college with honors, but I fell short of Magna Cum Laude by .0005 in the GWA--- and I'm not exaggerating on the figures. And now, I'm still irkful about it. And still no speeches. That's the reason why I'm still at school, taking masters. Maybe I'd get a distinction or something.

2. Write a fiction novel that gets to be published, and actually read by people. And heck, I'm hoping to create a best-seller in the international milleu.

Well, so far, I'm not doing any better. Last year, I passed three novels for a Taglish romance publication firm. And the editors kind of ditched all three--- quite harshly. And now, aside from making lectures and quizzes for students, and technical research papers, I'm totally unproductive in the writing aspect.

3. Be a theorist--- help humankind through a practical, social theory.

In one subject in our Masters' class, we were asked to formulate a theory. And then after we passed it, the world is still as disastrous as it has always been.

4. Compose and produce a song for a well-known artist in the pop scene. Or probably write a full-length broadway musical, and actually have it staged.

I had previous musical careers (or should I call vocation, because I never got compensated anyway) in a choir, a band and actually got to win songwriting competitions. But not one of them has been played on the radio--- or even on youtube.

5. Fall in love and be loved in return. Then raise a family of my own.
I don't want to explain why I haven't achieved this. Not even half of this. It's way too complex. But I could say that I haven't gotten to any intimate relationship since, well---- since I was born. Thank you very much.

However, it is important that I note that the "almost there" part of the expression is of bigger weight. To me being, "almost there" is seing the doors of heaven but not really coming in yet; or getting to school after chasing time and then find out you're a split second late after swiping your ID; or finding the person of your dreams in an eyeball date, then losing your phone the next day, and not being able to contact him or her.

Being "almost there" is the good part of everything we do and reminds us that we are exerting efforts and doing our best in this lifetime. It's just that we have to accept that effort is not the only ingredient to success, but also time and people.

So, as I make this blog, and actually place my thoughts in it, this may be one way I could update myself if I'm doing better in achieving this to-do list of mine.

But for now, all I can say is...

"Almost there, but not quite..."

The Parasitic One

2008-12-29T13:10:00.001+08:00

"So, how did you guys meet?" I asked curiously about how my college friend and the man he was hanging out with--- well started to hang out.

"Through a blog," Ryan, the college friend, replied.

And Mak, the man he was hanging out with that time, was just nodding.

My eyelids contracted, half amused. In the back of my mind I was thinking, oh, that happens now?

And there I was, listening to how people can get connected through a blogspot. But really, that wasn't the first time I ever heard about blogspots

I'm quite a cybersurfer, and believe me, I've sifted through literally hundreds of blogspots, and had put some of them into good use. Like for example, a certain blogspot saved me a huge amount of money because instead of buying Stephenie Meyer's, "Twighlight Series," it was able to provide me the four E-books of the vampire saga. And as a struggling prose writer, I know Ms. Meyer would not agree that her bloody efforts were just to be sucked out like that (the metaphor was in the point of view of a vampire, obviously).

Other blogspots, which I subconsciously memorized, are also storage forms of movies--- both the good and the dirty ones (i really didn't have to tell that, do I?). That goes with other forms of media, like mp3's and photographs--- again both the good and dirty ones (and I really had that repeated). Some blogs also keep you informed, and inspired to write. For instance, I just read Mak's blog a few minutes before I started jotting down this chunk. And his prolific writings kind of fueled me to just drown my mind in the cofee. Same goes for, Ryan, the lazy John.

Maybe it's time to stop being a parasite, and at least contribute something to cyberspace--- good or dirty, I still don't know now. But I do have plans for the good ones.

I officially cut the yellow ribbon of self-restriction that held me back from sharing something to the crowd that I never connected myself to, except for the phone cable in the DSL modem.

Ugh, I've got chills now...