Friday, December 30, 2011
year-ender II
The Funny Thing About Human (lifted from Paolo Coelho's Like the Flowing River)
"A man asked my friend Jamie Cohen: What is the human being's funniest characteristic?"
Cohen said: 'Our contradictoriness. We are in such a hurry to grow up, and then we long for our lost childhood. We make ourselves ill earning money, and then spend all our money on getting well again. We think so much about the future that we neglect the present, and thus experience neither the present nor the future. We live as if we were never going to die, and die as if we had never lived.'
*photo not mine
#trending
Rundown of the year that was:
(Some of the memorable events in no particular order)
#DragonBoaTeam
#MideoCruz
#HeidiMendoza
#BinLaden
#HosniMubarak
#Gaddaffi
#UST@400
#Azkals
#RamGen
#MariAragon
#NuclearDisasterinJapan
#RoyalWedding
#ShamceySupsup
#ItlogNiTopacio
#Fliptop
#Sendong
#KcPioloBreakup
#Petring
#AngryBirds
#CDO
#GMA
#AngeloReyeSuicide
#Lolong
for a more in-depth rundown of 2011, check out Pilipinas 2011.
Personal:
#USTQuadricentennialCelebration
#OJT
#SeniorYear
#Flame
#Retreat
#Graduation
(Some of the memorable events in no particular order)
#DragonBoaTeam
#MideoCruz
#HeidiMendoza
#BinLaden
#HosniMubarak
#Gaddaffi
#UST@400
#Azkals
#RamGen
#MariAragon
#NuclearDisasterinJapan
#RoyalWedding
#ShamceySupsup
#ItlogNiTopacio
#Fliptop
#Sendong
#KcPioloBreakup
#Petring
#AngryBirds
#CDO
#GMA
#AngeloReyeSuicide
#Lolong
for a more in-depth rundown of 2011, check out Pilipinas 2011.
Personal:
#USTQuadricentennialCelebration
#OJT
#SeniorYear
#Flame
#Retreat
#Graduation
Shoo!
Matagal-tagal na ring natulog ang blog ko't wala akong matinong masabi, ito na lang:
I wanted to Gusto ko sanang isulat ang 'book review' na Lumayo Ka Nga Sa Akin ni Bob Ong upang bigyan naman ng parangal ang isa sa pinaka-tanyag na manunulat ng Filipino, ngunit ako'y, ako'y, ako'y ... ito na nga:
The book is a lampoon on Pinoy movies, how it has become clichéd, generic and passé but more than that, it is an insult on the shallowness of the Filipinos in general.
“Ang dami nating maipagmamalaki. Tuwing kailangan natin ng source of pride, gumawa lang tayo ng pinaka mahaba, pinaka malaki at pinaka pinaka na maisasali natin sa Guiness World Record.” (Sorry, Largest Human Cross, I don’t mean anything.)
The book ends with a witty conclusion, the readers will just laugh on the skits of the book without doing anything: “Mapapa-iling naman ang mga mambabasa sa buong kwento na kanilang nasaksihan, pero wala silang gagawin o babaguhin. Tatawa lang sila. Tatawa lang sila at sisisihin ang sistema.”
The cover may turn you off because it is pink but it’s a spoof on, what’s the name of the series again? Ah yes, Precious Heart’s Romances.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Five things Thomasians must do before graduation:
In no particular order:
Okay, excited lang, nagka-countdown na agad ng list.
Explore the campus: UST has ‘hidden’ places such as botanical garden, prayer rooms in TYK, museum (I haven’t been here).
Get drunk and be merry. There are lots of ‘drinking stations’ around the campus and Tapsi tops my list. I’ve entered Tapsi but didn’t drink, I just explored the famed venue for inuman sessions. So the next time I’ll step foot there, I’ll get drunk and be merry.
Walk under the Arch of the Century. Tradition says that walking under the Arch will delay one’s graduation, but NOW that your graduation is set and final, walk and own it girl!
Get wet and wild in the fountain. Students have walked in and out of it, fighting the urge to walk across the fountain and get wet. Professors say that the water coming from the fountain is recycled but who cares? Now is the time to play around the fountain.
Brave a flood. UST has been famous for its flood and braving the waters will truly baptize you as a full pledged Thomasian. However, I haven’t had the time and moment to walk around flood. Boo! Loser.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
bitter, better
Books have been part of my wish list for the last years because: they’re easy to avail and for the reason that I am a very choosy and picky gift-receiver.
I am hard to please. So I always end up buying things for myself, for the reason that I may disappoint the giver if (and that is most of the case) I didn’t like the gift.
We had our class party and Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka was my lone wish. But lo and behold, when I touched the gift I received last night, and perceived that it wasn’t shaped and didn’t feel like a book, I lost the ardor to open it.
Ay, malambot, hindi book. *sad face*
It was a white shirt. K. Bye.
HAHA. Yeah, I am that maarte! Sorry na.
Pampalubag-loob: At least, my friends have been texting and tweeting me that they appreciate my gift. Since it was our last party, I decided to go all out and hopefully, grant their personal wishes. Merry Christmas!
Friday, December 16, 2011
last (?) christmas hoorah!
sheer tops (oh no! not again...)
currently reading:
Middlesex, Women in Love, Plato and a Platypus Walk into a Bar, Heidegger and a Hippo Walk Through Those Pearly Gates
Sunday, December 11, 2011
'retreatants'
Retreatants, retreaters, reatreation, retreatjhiyuj, whatever you call those people who take days off the buzzes of the metro to reflect and have some quiet me-time . Senior Journalism retreat in Caleruega, Batangas. Photo credit from : CJ
"An unexamined life is not worth living," Socrates.
"An unexamined life is not worth living," Socrates.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
touched
Saturday, December 3, 2011
wishes and pegs
Christmas parties demand mandatory wishlist. So, here you go:
Books that cost less than P400:
Synopsis: "It is the story of a young man who, transformed overnight into a giant beetle-like insect, becomes an object of disgrace to his family, an outsider in his own home, a quintessentially alienated man. A harrowing -- though absurdly comic -- meditation on human feelings of inadequacy, guilt, and isolation." from goodreads.com
Synopsis: "I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day of January 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of l974. . . My birth certificate lists my name as Calliope Helen Stephanides. My most recent driver’s license...records my first name simply as Cal." from goodreads
Books that cost less than P400:
Metamorphosis by Kafka |
Synopsis: "It is the story of a young man who, transformed overnight into a giant beetle-like insect, becomes an object of disgrace to his family, an outsider in his own home, a quintessentially alienated man. A harrowing -- though absurdly comic -- meditation on human feelings of inadequacy, guilt, and isolation." from goodreads.com
Pegs: loose tops, boots, sheer polos
back to december
Twenty four days before Christmas and I can hear and feel the Holiday cheer and spirit. Before anything else, here's a rundown of the weeks that passed and my future agenda: Demi's birthday party last Friday and we had our Carbonara day! Then we will have our three-day retreat in Caleruega, Batangas, with the senior Journalism class.
photo from Bianca |
retreat with 4JRN1 and other three sections |
Thursday, November 24, 2011
Sunday, November 20, 2011
I'm still young
2025 – 2012 = 13 + 20 = 33
What the hell are these numbers? Basically, that is a computation on what the Earth would be like when I reached 33 years old. It’s because according to science experts, by the year 2025 there would have worldwide scarcity on water and even bald forestation.
Moreover, by the time my contemporaries and I reached 2030 (which means we’re 38 years old by then) there is a high possibility of low supply of fossil fuels, a kind of energy used by the country for electricity demands. We recently experienced a one-day Metro Manila blackout because of a typhoon and it totally freaked the people out: no laptop, no internet connection, no television, no air condition. Nothing. What more after 18 years?
These are facts according to a six-month research of GMA 7’s documentary, ‘Oras Na’ hosted by Richard Gutierrez.
I have a wide imagination that the docu scared the heck out of me, I am still relatively young (33 years old) by the time the Earth has reached its limit. Thirty three years of existence? I could still imagine myself having a career and building my own family. Oh my God! By the time I have my own children, they would not see the beauty of the world anymore.
Everyone has deadlines to beat and meet that people overlook the Earth’s own cut-off date. I hope it’s not too late to beat the world’s ‘deadtime’.
P.S. Documentaries like Oras Na are so illuminating and scary-in-a-good-way that it ought to be televised earlier so that more can watch!!!
Everything shall perish under the sun…
*photo grabbed from google
Friday, November 18, 2011
"i am a responsible girl"
"Keep thyself chaste." - 1 Tim 5:22
+ My kisses are worth more than a party or a movie.
+ My body is the temple of God - not a plaything.
+ The "first" NO may be difficult - after that it's easy.
+ Virginity is still a virtue; lust is still a capital sin.
+ The way I dress, act and speak may be a temptation to my boyfriend. I will observe modesty for his and my own protection.
+ My parents have done so much for me I wish alsways to be a credit to them.
+ My boyfriend will be a husband and father some day. He must be a hero in the eyes of his wife and children. I will do nothing to prevent that on my visits with him.
+ I want to be a wife and mother. I will reserve my purity and affection for my husband and children.
+ If through my weakness, I should get pregnant, I will not take "the easy way out" by killing my unborn child.
Thursday, November 17, 2011
don't want to graduate, yet
It’s the time of the year when professors keep on pressing the issue of what do we, senior and graduating students, want to pursue in life before our college days expired.
What do I want?
Right away, I would usually answer that I wanted to be a journalist. Now, I’m having doubts if I wanted to become a full-time newspaper woman.
Suddenly, different branches related to my course, have sprung up luring me away from my first love. We had our Broadcasting subject last semester that I really enjoyed, I didn’t know that I would like working in the production line. In fact, I missed working our asses off in producing our weekly news programs.
Furthermore, we also have Business and PR writing this semester that I thought I could give a shot after graduation. Why not do more lucrative jobs than writing in print media, right? Who wouldn’t want to earn money? HAHA.
Working in magazine (fashion and travel) is another option I’m thinking.
My goodness, if only I could land a job simultaneously on all of my options!
Saturday, November 12, 2011
fate
Call me loser or anything, but I just had finished watching 500 Days of Summer a while ago. I thought it was beautiful. Okay, ‘beautiful’ is such a blah word, but for the lack of better adjective let’s leave it that way.
My friends said that it wasn’t that good, that the movie was very indie-ish, but on the contrary if I were to rate it, I would give the storyline a perfect score.
500 Days of Summer is not a love story we’re all used to, rather it’s a coming-of-age anecdote on how one comes into perspective about a very profound subject-- love.
Tom, the protagonist, thought all along that Summer, his love interest, was her destiny that until they broke up he would not admit that they were really not just meant for each other.
I liked how the movie ended, when Tom somehow, has come full circle. He met a would-be lover, Autumn (yeah, what a cliché.)
It just goes to show that sometimes, we overlooked some things in front of us, those that are more important, because we keep on chasing on what we thought was that something we’re looking for. (Did I explain myself clearly? Whatever. LOL.)
Tom: “I’ve never seen you before.”
Autumn: “Maybe you weren’t looking.”
***
On the other news, it’s only less than 10 weeks before my graduation. Oh my goodness!
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
as usual
What's new? Nothing's new.
Today's the first day of my last semester in college. I do know that professors hardly show up during the first week heck i still wake up early to be on time for my only class. I don't actually care if they don't meet us, it's the last semester for my college days anyway so I might as well show up in class and catch up with friends.
***
Just in case you're interested, I bought two new sheer tops. Hihi.
origami-inspired peter pan collar |
prints are too small but they are holding-hand kids |
Sunday, November 6, 2011
students, read on:
Here's a must-read article from Inquirer. Students, read on:
THREE YEARS into the university, I have found myself slipping into that black hole of being a slave to my grades a couple of times. When your professor tells you to forget about the grade you’ll get, that is a breath of fresh air. It reminds me of the student I sometimes fail to be.
We were having a class discussion about whether the formal mode of instruction is outdated for the learning style of our generation—the kids who grew up with the power to do homework, research and learn something (although perhaps superficially) all at their fingertips. When the class was asked what kind of education we wanted to receive, I pointed out that I wanted an education operating the way it should: with students attending a class hungry to learn and acquire the skills needed to make them competent contributors to their own chosen fields, rather than entering a classroom every single day with the ultimate goal of pleasing the teacher and meeting the minimum requirements to pass the course. Our professor’s reply was:
“If I could use a time machine, I would go back to the time when the grading system was invented and I would destroy it. Because of its invention, teaching ceased to be a calling and became a profession. I can only imagine the amount of potential we kill every time teachers give a student a grade of 5. A grade is but a number. Never let anyone judge you by a number, much less yourself. The day you start caring about your grades is the day you stop learning. A card of excellence is just a piece of paper. It will rot. But the knowledge you get because you wanted to learn—that’s yours forever, or you could pass it on.”
It would be hypocritical of me to wash hands and say I did not fall for the system. Of course I did and I probably still do on certain occasions. And what is even sadder is that I am not the only one who does. Most of us are guilty of it. At the end of the day, we all emerge with passing marks but when we look back, we remember not even a tinge of enjoyment because we were all too preoccupied with trying to pass the course.
Before I went college, recognition day was to me among the most important in the academic calendar. I looked at it as a time for me to shine. It made me feel admired and important.
When I was new in college, I would patiently join the line of students outside every department waiting for a chance to claim our class cards at the end of every semester. Back then, it felt really good to tell your parents you had aced your subjects.
Several semesters later, however, I would hear my mom complaining about not seeing my class cards anymore. It started when I was getting my class card for a subject which I really liked. I was already third in line in front of the department assistant releasing the class cards when I felt like it did not matter to me anymore. I did not see the need to shine and feel important like before. I turned around and went back. The subject exceeded my expectations and I loved it not because it gave me a chance to get a grade of 1, I loved it because I loved it. I was satisfied, and like pearls to milk tea, grades are just an add-on.
I know some students who get better grades than me. Ironically, they sometimes sound more jaded than me and some complain about studying. When I hear them ranting, I almost always fall silent and brood over whether I am being just like everybody else, enslaved by a scale of 1 to 5. I sometimes do.
When times get really tough and I have to fulfill what I think people believe to be my role, I have this feeling to just get it over with. When I recall those times, I would regret depriving myself the feeling of being in that moment. I hate looking back and seeing my tired self, even if such a moment was a milestone because I did something new, something right or something different. If I throw my worries out of the box, there’s more space for excitement. So I have decided to keep it simple and to live learning.
Our professor explained it this way:
“It is not about whether our mode of teaching is outdated or not. It is about what learning means to this generation now. (For example,) many students do not enjoy mathematics because fear of failure preempts the experience. They fear math either because they are already afraid of the teacher giving them a 5 and/or because people say math is difficult. It is sad. Most students are defeated even before the first lesson.”
He was right. The reason I said it was the education I want to have is that I feel most students are falling for this system. Today, most students try to find out what a teacher is like, what the teacher’s class requirements are and what they need to do in order to get a passing mark, instead of trying to determine what is there to be learned and giving it all their effort. Students who fancy a little euphemism call it being pragmatic, but I think it defeats the essence of learning. Most children get tired of going to school because every single day is just another day of trying to avoid failing. They learn their lessons superficially—only just enough to get them to the next level—but they don’t know them well. It is like building a city of skyscrapers—made of wood.
My grade school or high school self would have been devastated not to see excellent marks on my report card. My college self, however, will look at the grades on my class card, whatever they may be, with contentment. They may not always be high, but I’m happy to say I learned and I enjoyed doing something at my own pace because that is where I am at my best. I do not want to learn at the expense of my own enjoyment, being too busy trying to achieve and to be something people think I should be.
A few years back, I thought that it was my grades that got me all the respect and affection I was getting, that it was my grades that became my ticket to the university and the basis for all the scholarship grants that I received. Now I say it was not my grades, but it was me. It was my effort. It was my liking for what I do. Grades gauge some things, but they are not everything. They cannot speak for what goes beyond them. There is so much more to learning than getting a grade of 1.
****
I would be a liar if I said I did not care at all with my grades. But true enough, learning stops when students get too grade-conscious. I found the professor's point of view true and plausible: destroy grading system because it degrades the intention of pure learning.
There were moments when I got grades that I felt I don't deserve yet what mattered most was that at the end of the day I learned something. Bow.
Grades are just numbers; they do not reflect our whole being.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
small step
'Cool' was the first word I uttered after discerning that my hometown and the whole Laguna have been implementing a plastic-free regulation.
We went in the supermarket and it was cool to actually carry paper bags, just like in the States.
Another thing, San Pablo City (my hometown) is implementing an organized waste-disposal scheme. At least in our village, the ‘garbage-men’ would not accept trashes unless they are segregated into biodegradable and non-biodegradable. Cool, yes?
How I wish that the nation would soon adopt the same environment-friendly plans. It’s not yet late to save Mother Earth.
In other news, the world has recently reached its 7th billion population mark. Studies say that the earth could suffice to hold the population just as long as its natural resources are not injured.
Ergo, this is a call for the human race. Hello world!
*photo from just jared*
Friday, October 28, 2011
emotions
Bliss: Had a one-time-big-time semestral break bonding with my high school friends in Tagaytay and Nuvali. 'Twas a blast, and I was glad our friendship has withstood the test of time. After almost a decade of camaraderie, despite taking different routes (in university and courses ), we still find time to meet and catch up on things.
Distress: Was about to go to Book Sale for some mag-back-issue hunting, only to find out that it was 'temporarily closed', urgh! Another option was to stop by in National Bookstore and Expressions, but changed my mind, they have more school supplies than books. Boo, change your names guys. :P
fail jump shot! |
Posing in Tagaytay (me doing a planking-sort-of-thing) |
Distress: Was about to go to Book Sale for some mag-back-issue hunting, only to find out that it was 'temporarily closed', urgh! Another option was to stop by in National Bookstore and Expressions, but changed my mind, they have more school supplies than books. Boo, change your names guys. :P
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Malady
Robbery, murder, rape has been part of the daily news programs that the audience becomes apathetic towards these stories. The news about a Chinese kid, who has been brain dead after run over twice, proves the indifference and callous minds of people.
Nakaka-inis at nakaka-lungkot lang, dahil wala ng pakialam ang tao sa kapwa nila! Urgh.
This brings me back to one of my favorite poems, "Man of My Time" by Italian poet Salvatore Quasimodo.
MAN OF MY TIME (SALVATORE QUASIMODO)
You are still made of stone and sling,
man of my time. You were the cock-pit
with the malign wings, the sundial of death,
-I have seen you- in the chariot of fire, at the gallows
at the wheels of torture. I have seen you: it was you
with your exact science persuaded to extermination
without love, without Christ. Again, as always, you
have killed, as did your father kill, as did
the animals that saw you for the first time, kill
and this blood smells as on the day
one brother told the other brother: "Let us
go into the fields." And that echo, chill, tenacious,
has reached down to you, within your day.
Forget, o sons, the clouds of blood
risen from the earth, forget the fathers:
their tombs sink down ashes black birds, the wind cover their heart.
oOo
Ever since we discussed this poem in our Literature class, "Man of My Time" has become one my favorite poems. The subject deals with man's efficiency in killing his neighbors as time goes by. 'Killing' may not be taken per se, it may allude to man's detachment and indifference in life; still Quasimodo's work transcends through time, and is most applicable today.
oOo
The following are pictures taken from the Daily Mail.
Nakaka-inis at nakaka-lungkot lang, dahil wala ng pakialam ang tao sa kapwa nila! Urgh.
This brings me back to one of my favorite poems, "Man of My Time" by Italian poet Salvatore Quasimodo.
MAN OF MY TIME (SALVATORE QUASIMODO)
You are still made of stone and sling,
man of my time. You were the cock-pit
with the malign wings, the sundial of death,
-I have seen you- in the chariot of fire, at the gallows
at the wheels of torture. I have seen you: it was you
with your exact science persuaded to extermination
without love, without Christ. Again, as always, you
have killed, as did your father kill, as did
the animals that saw you for the first time, kill
and this blood smells as on the day
one brother told the other brother: "Let us
go into the fields." And that echo, chill, tenacious,
has reached down to you, within your day.
Forget, o sons, the clouds of blood
risen from the earth, forget the fathers:
their tombs sink down ashes black birds, the wind cover their heart.
oOo
Ever since we discussed this poem in our Literature class, "Man of My Time" has become one my favorite poems. The subject deals with man's efficiency in killing his neighbors as time goes by. 'Killing' may not be taken per se, it may allude to man's detachment and indifference in life; still Quasimodo's work transcends through time, and is most applicable today.
oOo
The following are pictures taken from the Daily Mail.
Apathetic man walking past the poor child. |
Dead malice |
Finally, after 20 passers by, a compassionate lady! |
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
bring home the bacon
My very much awaited semestral break, has been, how will I explain it, a tad boring? I’ve been wanting to fast forward my first semester in order to take a time off, yet here I am, wishing to fast forward it again do something prolific.
I caught myself doing routine stuff for the past week: reading, surfing the net, sleeping, shopping, daydreaming, reading, surfing the net, sleeping, shopping, daydreaming. Yes you got the picture.
I’m looking forward to going back to my hometown after almost a year of absence. It’s just that my brother’s final exam week has been stopping us from going back home. Urgh!
Activities are waiting for me in Laguna: travelling and bonding with my high school friends, missed them so much!
But since we’re still in Manila, here’s the rundown of my activities, just in case you’re interested:
Reading my pending books
I am currently reading Nabokov’s Lolita. The book is divided into two parts. I am done with the first part that talks on Humbert and Lolita’s love affair. Humbert is a pedophile and has managed to marry Lolita’s mother in order to get close to Lolita. Fast forward to the death of Lolita’s mother, the two eventually entered into an erotic/pedophilic/incest-like relationship. I have stopped reading the first two chapters of the second book because it bores me. The chapters just tell the journey of the father and daughter around America. I so wanted to skip these chapters and read the climax, which obviously I still have no idea.
In case you’ve been reading my past entries, I am currently obsessed with classical reads so Aesop’s Fables, Jane Austen’s Emma and Niccolo Machiavelli’s The Prince are still waiting for me.
Shopping (teehee)
When not reading my pocketbooks, I do manage to visit malls and shop. My recent purchases are basic loose tops with lace details. I am in love with laces. <3
Tops from Landmark:
Lastly…
Blabbing in my blog.
Current mood state: wanting to go back home!
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Date a girl who writes, daw.
Thanks to blog-hopping, I happen to chance upon this "cute" article. Here.
Date a girl who writes. She's hard to find because she's the one who stands in the corner of the room watching other people from a distance. She's the one who searches their faces and watches their body language. She stands close enough that she can hear but far enough away so that she won't be seen. She's a master at invisibility, and all the smart girls know she's the best at eavesdropping. They go to her for the gossip. She knows who is in love with who just by watching them.
You'll be a lucky man if you find her. She's the one with a journal in her hand, a notebook in her purse, scrap paper in her car, and pencils in her back pocket. she's always scribbling something, praying it won't evaporate before she gets it down onto paper. and because she's always scribbling, she's always looking down, and that's why you never noticed her before.
if you're lucky, you'll find her at a library or in a park or at a coffee shop or in an airport, drinking coffee and watching people or typing furiously at her computer. If you see her looking at you, look back and wait.
if she looks away she doesn't want to be interrupted and she doesn't want you to notice her, so pretend you don't. but if you can get her to look at you and not look away, she wants to talk to you. she's targeted you, pursuing you, inviting you. once she catches your eye, once she hears your voice that first time, she begins her profile. she's the one who will have your character in 10 seconds and have you completely profiled in 10 minutes.
after two weeks she'll know you better than you know yourself.
if you catch her muttering to herself, don't feel awkward, she's talking with the characters in her story, probably arguing about what happens next.
don't lie to her because she knows. she can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice, sense it in your energy field. she pays attention to every detail of your every word and if you're not careful, she'll ask the question that strips your lie away and you'll be humiliated.
so tell the damn truth.
If something is wrong, you may as well tell her because she'll figure it out.When something is wrong, you may as well tell her because otherwise she'll jump to the most absurd, most outlandish, most creative but ridiculous possibilities anyone could ever come up with, and when the truth comes out and she tells you what she thought, you'll remind her she's crazy, and she'll remind you that she knows this because of the voices, and you'll both laugh and hug and go on with life.
It's easy to shop for a girl who writes: office supplies like sticky notes and pencils, calendars, and especially beautiful journals will bring her immense joy because she knows that blank paper is the beginning of a new person, a new life, a new world. and holding that blank notebook in her hands lets her feel the power she knows exists inside her soul.
If you find out she's upset, don't ask her why, just let her cry until she hands you her journal and goes to stand by the window until you finish reading her most recent entry. She could never tell you what was wrong with her mouth because her soul is in her hands. once you read that entry, skip back in her journal and read the parts about you, because if she handed you her journal and walked away, it means she wants you to read it. she wants you to know that she dreams about becoming your only love every night, and that she has the whole thing planned out.
then once you know the plan, carry it out. she'll play along.
she'll write the wedding invitations, and the baby announcements, and stories for your children. she'll write you letters in your lunch every day and put sweet sensual notes on your pillow in the evenings. she'll ramble on and on as you take long walks along the beach and tell you all about a world that doesn't exist, and people who were never born and will never die and whom she loves as much as she loves your children, because her characters are just more of her children.don't feel like you didn't help create them because chances are, if you love a girl who writes, there's a piece of you embedded in every hero, and a piece of herself in every heroine. you can sleep at night knowing that even after you both die, you'll both continue to live together in everyone else's minds through her books and stories, and you can live a thousand nights in stories that never end.
Date a girl who writes. She's hard to find because she's the one who stands in the corner of the room watching other people from a distance. She's the one who searches their faces and watches their body language. She stands close enough that she can hear but far enough away so that she won't be seen. She's a master at invisibility, and all the smart girls know she's the best at eavesdropping. They go to her for the gossip. She knows who is in love with who just by watching them.
You'll be a lucky man if you find her. She's the one with a journal in her hand, a notebook in her purse, scrap paper in her car, and pencils in her back pocket. she's always scribbling something, praying it won't evaporate before she gets it down onto paper. and because she's always scribbling, she's always looking down, and that's why you never noticed her before.
if you're lucky, you'll find her at a library or in a park or at a coffee shop or in an airport, drinking coffee and watching people or typing furiously at her computer. If you see her looking at you, look back and wait.
if she looks away she doesn't want to be interrupted and she doesn't want you to notice her, so pretend you don't. but if you can get her to look at you and not look away, she wants to talk to you. she's targeted you, pursuing you, inviting you. once she catches your eye, once she hears your voice that first time, she begins her profile. she's the one who will have your character in 10 seconds and have you completely profiled in 10 minutes.
after two weeks she'll know you better than you know yourself.
if you catch her muttering to herself, don't feel awkward, she's talking with the characters in her story, probably arguing about what happens next.
don't lie to her because she knows. she can see it in your eyes, hear it in your voice, sense it in your energy field. she pays attention to every detail of your every word and if you're not careful, she'll ask the question that strips your lie away and you'll be humiliated.
so tell the damn truth.
If something is wrong, you may as well tell her because she'll figure it out.When something is wrong, you may as well tell her because otherwise she'll jump to the most absurd, most outlandish, most creative but ridiculous possibilities anyone could ever come up with, and when the truth comes out and she tells you what she thought, you'll remind her she's crazy, and she'll remind you that she knows this because of the voices, and you'll both laugh and hug and go on with life.
It's easy to shop for a girl who writes: office supplies like sticky notes and pencils, calendars, and especially beautiful journals will bring her immense joy because she knows that blank paper is the beginning of a new person, a new life, a new world. and holding that blank notebook in her hands lets her feel the power she knows exists inside her soul.
If you find out she's upset, don't ask her why, just let her cry until she hands you her journal and goes to stand by the window until you finish reading her most recent entry. She could never tell you what was wrong with her mouth because her soul is in her hands. once you read that entry, skip back in her journal and read the parts about you, because if she handed you her journal and walked away, it means she wants you to read it. she wants you to know that she dreams about becoming your only love every night, and that she has the whole thing planned out.
then once you know the plan, carry it out. she'll play along.
she'll write the wedding invitations, and the baby announcements, and stories for your children. she'll write you letters in your lunch every day and put sweet sensual notes on your pillow in the evenings. she'll ramble on and on as you take long walks along the beach and tell you all about a world that doesn't exist, and people who were never born and will never die and whom she loves as much as she loves your children, because her characters are just more of her children.don't feel like you didn't help create them because chances are, if you love a girl who writes, there's a piece of you embedded in every hero, and a piece of herself in every heroine. you can sleep at night knowing that even after you both die, you'll both continue to live together in everyone else's minds through her books and stories, and you can live a thousand nights in stories that never end.
Saturday, October 15, 2011
way to go!
Geez. I haven't seen my grades, yet! MyUste, please don't prolong my agony! I am quite anxious to see how I did this semester. To state "I did my best" would be an understatement, seriously. I have poured my heart and soul to every commitment and I can't afford (and I don't know what will I do) to see myself slowly slipping from getting that Latin distinction. Please. Don't give me that look now, I know that grades do not make a man, but I am banking on the principle that, mag-aaral ka na nga lang, bakit hindi mo pa galingan?
Anyway, others have seen theirs and I'm quite envious that they have entered the site, without much ado.
My crush (haha!) happened to post his grades, and I was like O.O you already! I am contemplating on posting his grades since it's not mine in the first place, who am I to post such things? But come to think of it, he posted it on Facebook which means it is for public-consumption. HAHA. His grades inspired me to do better and give my best shot since it's the last semester and I am finally graduating. Another plus for you dude, way to go! *hands down*
Anyway, others have seen theirs and I'm quite envious that they have entered the site, without much ado.
My crush (haha!) happened to post his grades, and I was like O.O you already! I am contemplating on posting his grades since it's not mine in the first place, who am I to post such things? But come to think of it, he posted it on Facebook which means it is for public-consumption. HAHA. His grades inspired me to do better and give my best shot since it's the last semester and I am finally graduating. Another plus for you dude, way to go! *hands down*
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Thank You!
Finally! I could smell and taste my much-awaited sem break!
But before anything else (read: shopping, reading pocketbooks, partying, sleeping until wee hours) I would like to thank my first semester 'adventure' for letting me experience--happiness, struggles, anxiety and apprehension--in a jam-packed five-month-school-stay.
My Broadcast Journalism subject has opened my horizons and technical knowledge on "television mechanics." Today, I would critique some news programs especially now that i'm backed up with our lessons. Before, I would just dumbly watch a program on face value, now i know some camera angles, techniques and rules. Despite the struggles in meeting all the demands of the said subject, what mattered most was the experience and lessons gathered from every wanting days.
Non-academic wise, the last semester also taught me how to balance my time, endure conflicts within my paper organization, and end up with a smile painted on my face as if nothing happened.
Thank you, first semester, for that roller coaster ride!
But before anything else (read: shopping, reading pocketbooks, partying, sleeping until wee hours) I would like to thank my first semester 'adventure' for letting me experience--happiness, struggles, anxiety and apprehension--in a jam-packed five-month-school-stay.
My Broadcast Journalism subject has opened my horizons and technical knowledge on "television mechanics." Today, I would critique some news programs especially now that i'm backed up with our lessons. Before, I would just dumbly watch a program on face value, now i know some camera angles, techniques and rules. Despite the struggles in meeting all the demands of the said subject, what mattered most was the experience and lessons gathered from every wanting days.
Non-academic wise, the last semester also taught me how to balance my time, endure conflicts within my paper organization, and end up with a smile painted on my face as if nothing happened.
Thank you, first semester, for that roller coaster ride!
Bianca and Cj's birthday celebration in Shakey's. *photo courtesy of Bianca* |
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
all work and no play...
*"You may want to give your co-workers a nudge occasionally. The moral of the story: Don't work too hard. Nobody notices anyway."
*Self- note: It's okay to slack sometimes and give yourself a treat after a day of hardwork!
Saturday, September 24, 2011
another break
Okay, we (my friends Bianca and Demi and i bet Joanne and Ana too) got depressed yesterday because of a very low grade we got in Broadcasting despite the efforts, energy, time...However, pampalubag-loob, the class in general got lower than average ratings. At least, we're not alone! But still, low grade is low grade! Pfft.
In the other news, i did not attend our acquintance party (I bet my friends are partying right now!) for so many reasons i'd rather keep zipped. Sayang yung outfit ko. *i do sound too vain, eh?
Attack of the sheer tops
In the other news, i did not attend our acquintance party (I bet my friends are partying right now!) for so many reasons i'd rather keep zipped. Sayang yung outfit ko. *i do sound too vain, eh?
Attack of the sheer tops
back |
front |
Friday, September 23, 2011
blue
I'm feeling blue, what else is new?
Our broadjourn class has been consuming my time, engergy and effort but it seems the results are not we're expecting.
Glue me when it's gloomy.
Our broadjourn class has been consuming my time, engergy and effort but it seems the results are not we're expecting.
Glue me when it's gloomy.
Sunday, September 18, 2011
name-fetish
What's in a name?
Call me vain, but i hate it whenever people mispell my name. Yeah, i know it isn't spelled the usual way and even I, hate it! But at least, show some respect and write my name right.
A little history: way back when my mother is still in college, she says she scribbles my would-be name in her notes, folders, and papers. And truth behold, the folder with the doodle of my name is still kept in our house. But until today, i don't understand why she has to complicate things. #bakitganun
Anyway, i don't know why i get offended when people err in writing my name. Yes, it's too tedious to write-- double K and C. I perfectly understand that you would prefer to baptize me and spell N-I-K-I or Nicky or Nikky or Nikki (the list goes on...). I do get this feeling, (pardon me if i sound too shallow) that the people who do not write it the way it should be, take me for granted. HAHA. I mean, spelling na nga lang, itama mo naman! Bakit yung iba, tama naman.
Call me vain, but i hate it whenever people mispell my name. Yeah, i know it isn't spelled the usual way and even I, hate it! But at least, show some respect and write my name right.
A little history: way back when my mother is still in college, she says she scribbles my would-be name in her notes, folders, and papers. And truth behold, the folder with the doodle of my name is still kept in our house. But until today, i don't understand why she has to complicate things. #bakitganun
Anyway, i don't know why i get offended when people err in writing my name. Yes, it's too tedious to write-- double K and C. I perfectly understand that you would prefer to baptize me and spell N-I-K-I or Nicky or Nikky or Nikki (the list goes on...). I do get this feeling, (pardon me if i sound too shallow) that the people who do not write it the way it should be, take me for granted. HAHA. I mean, spelling na nga lang, itama mo naman! Bakit yung iba, tama naman.
Saturday, September 17, 2011
I will get there
Section of rambles...
***
I saw my name in the roster of graduating students, and it gave me goosebumps--because A. there was a note beside my name stating that i don't have a mother's name, wth? B. Six months to go and *crossed-fingers* i'll be part of the working class. C. but, i don't want to 'go out' yet. HAHA.
***
My friend Demi, and I recently gave a small talk/seminar in Don Bosco Technical College on writing 101. It was my first time, (and i bet, Demi too) to give pieces of advice to our fellow practioners. Yeah, it was fun but tiring at the same time. Kuya EIC was just, i don't know, too nosy? Can't think of a better term. I thought, he was annoying. Sorry.
***
On a lighter note, i've never been the type to sneak around and stalk on crushes. However, recently, i've been visiting his page and saw how he's close to his mama and ate. I thought it was cute. It just explained why he has many girl friends. And i like to consider myself as one of them. Hihi.
***
I saw my name in the roster of graduating students, and it gave me goosebumps--because A. there was a note beside my name stating that i don't have a mother's name, wth? B. Six months to go and *crossed-fingers* i'll be part of the working class. C. but, i don't want to 'go out' yet. HAHA.
***
My friend Demi, and I recently gave a small talk/seminar in Don Bosco Technical College on writing 101. It was my first time, (and i bet, Demi too) to give pieces of advice to our fellow practioners. Yeah, it was fun but tiring at the same time. Kuya EIC was just, i don't know, too nosy? Can't think of a better term. I thought, he was annoying. Sorry.
***
On a lighter note, i've never been the type to sneak around and stalk on crushes. However, recently, i've been visiting his page and saw how he's close to his mama and ate. I thought it was cute. It just explained why he has many girl friends. And i like to consider myself as one of them. Hihi.
Why are we 'mababaw'?
Why we are shallow, by F. Sionil Jose source
I was visited by an old Asian friend who lived here 10 years ago. I was floored by his observation that though we have lots of talented people, as a whole, we continue to be shallow.
Recently, I was seated beside former Senator Letty Shahani, PhD in Comparative Literature from the Sorbonne, watching a medley of Asian dances. The stately and classical Japanese number with stylized movements which perhaps took years to master elicited what seemed to me grudging applause. Then, the Filipino tinikling which any one can learn in 10 minutes; after all that energetic jumping, an almost standing ovation. Letty turned to me and asked, “Why are we so shallow?”
Yes, indeed, and for how long?
This is a question which I have asked myself, which I hope all of us should ask ourselves every so often. Once we have answered it, then we will move on to a more elevated sensibility. And with this sensibility, we will then be able to deny the highest positions in government to those nincompoops who have nothing going for them except popularity, what an irresponsible and equally shallow media had created. As my foreign friend said, there is nothing to read in our major papers.
Again, why are we shallow?
There are so many reasons. One lies in our educational system which has diminished not just scholarship but excellence. There is less emphasis now on the humanities, in the study of the classics which enables us to have a broader grasp of our past and the philosophies of this past. I envy those Hindus and Buddhists who have in their religion philosophy and ancestor worship which build in the believer a continuity with the past, and that most important ingredient in the building of a nation — memory.
Sure, our Christian faith, too, has a philosophical tradition, particularly if we connect it to the ancient Greeks and Romans. Remember, the first Bible was in Greek. But Greek, Latin and the classics in these languages are no longer taught in our schools the way these are still studied in many universities in Europe.
We are shallow because we are mayabang, ego driven, and do not have the humility to understand that we are only human, much too human to mistake knowledge for wisdom. We can see this yabang in some of our public commentators, particularly on TV — the know-it-alls who think that because they have so much knowledge — available now on the Web at the click of a button — they can answer every question posed to them. What they do not realize is that knowledge is not wisdom. Until they recognize that important if sometimes awful difference, they will continue to bluster their way to the top at our expense because we, the people, will then have to suffer their arrogance and ignorance.
We are shallow because with this arrogance, we accept positions far beyond our competence. Because there is no critical tradition in this country — a tradition which will easily separate the chaff from the grain, we cannot recognize fakery from the real goods. That outstanding scholar, Wilfredo Villacorta, is a rare bird indeed; when offered a high position in government, he refused it because he knew he was not qualified for the job. Any other mayabang academic would have grabbed it although he knows he can’t handle it. And so it happens always — the nitwits who hold such high positions stubbornly hold on to their posts, bamboozling their subordinates who may be brighter than them for that is the only way those who are inferior feel they can have respect.
On the other hand, the intelligent person will be aware of his shortcomings. He does not hesitate to ask the opinion of those who know more than him on particular subjects. If he is a government hierarch, he will surround himself with advisers who he knows can supply him with guidance and background possessing as they do more knowledge, experience and wisdom than him. Such an official is bound to commit fewer mistakes because he knows himself.
We are shallow because we lack this most important knowledge — who we are and the limits to what we can do.
We also lack the perception, and the courage, for instance, to deny these religious quacks and the thousands who listen and believe in them. Sure, religion is the opium of the masses as Marx said. So then, how can we prevent the masa from taking this poison without recognizing their right to make fools of themselves? Again, shallowness because the good people are silent. Ubi boni tacent, malum prosperat. Where good men are silent, evil prospers.
This shallowness is the impediment to prosperity, to justice, and men of goodwill should emphasize this, take risks even in doing so. As the late Salvador P. Lopez said, “It is better to be silenced than to be silent.”
We are shallow because our media are so horribly shallow. Every morning, I peruse the papers and there is so little to read in them. It is the same with radio — all that noise, that artifice.
I turn on the TV on prime time and what do I get? Five juvenile commentators gushing over the amors of movie stars, who is shacking up with whom. One of the blabbering panelists I distinctly remember was caught cheating some years back at some movie award. How could she still be on TV after that moral destruct? And the telenovelas, how utterly asinine, bizarre, foolish, insipid moronic and mephitic they are! And there are so many talented writers in our vernaculars and in English as the Palanca Awards show every year — why aren’t they harnessed for TV? Those TV moguls have a stock answer — the ratings of these shows are very high. Popularity not quality is their final arbiter. They give our people garbage and they are now giving it back to all of us in kind! So I must not be blamed if, most of the time, I turn on BBC. Aljazeera, rather than the local TV channels. It is such a pleasure to read The New York Times, the San Jose Mercury News, the Washington Post, to listen to “Fresh Air” on US public radio and public TV where my ever-continuing thirst for knowledge (and good entertainment) is quenched.
We are shallow because we don’t read. I go to the hospital on occasion — the long corridor is filled with people staring into the cosmos. It is only I who have brought a book or a magazine. In Japanese cities, in Korea — in the buses and trains, young and old are reading, or if they are not holding books and magazines, they are glued to their iPhones where so much information is now available.
In these countries and in Western cities, the bookshops are still full, but not so much anymore because the new communications technologies are now available to their masa. How I wish my tiny bookshop or any Filipino bookshop for that matter would be filled with people. I’ll make an exception here: BookSale branches are always full because their books are very cheap. But I would still ask: what kind of books do Filipinos buy?
We are shallow because we have become enslaved by gross materialism, the glitter of gold and its equivalents, for which reason we think that only the material goods of this earth can satisfy us and we must therefore grab as much as can while we are able. Enjoy all these baubles that we have accumulated; sure, it is pleasurable to possess such artifacts that make living trouble free. And that old anodyne: “Man does not live by bread alone,” who are the thinking and stubborn few who believe in it?
I hope that those who read this piece still do.
***
The post may sound too preachy, but heck Jose is so right!
I was visited by an old Asian friend who lived here 10 years ago. I was floored by his observation that though we have lots of talented people, as a whole, we continue to be shallow.
Recently, I was seated beside former Senator Letty Shahani, PhD in Comparative Literature from the Sorbonne, watching a medley of Asian dances. The stately and classical Japanese number with stylized movements which perhaps took years to master elicited what seemed to me grudging applause. Then, the Filipino tinikling which any one can learn in 10 minutes; after all that energetic jumping, an almost standing ovation. Letty turned to me and asked, “Why are we so shallow?”
Yes, indeed, and for how long?
This is a question which I have asked myself, which I hope all of us should ask ourselves every so often. Once we have answered it, then we will move on to a more elevated sensibility. And with this sensibility, we will then be able to deny the highest positions in government to those nincompoops who have nothing going for them except popularity, what an irresponsible and equally shallow media had created. As my foreign friend said, there is nothing to read in our major papers.
Again, why are we shallow?
There are so many reasons. One lies in our educational system which has diminished not just scholarship but excellence. There is less emphasis now on the humanities, in the study of the classics which enables us to have a broader grasp of our past and the philosophies of this past. I envy those Hindus and Buddhists who have in their religion philosophy and ancestor worship which build in the believer a continuity with the past, and that most important ingredient in the building of a nation — memory.
Sure, our Christian faith, too, has a philosophical tradition, particularly if we connect it to the ancient Greeks and Romans. Remember, the first Bible was in Greek. But Greek, Latin and the classics in these languages are no longer taught in our schools the way these are still studied in many universities in Europe.
We are shallow because we are mayabang, ego driven, and do not have the humility to understand that we are only human, much too human to mistake knowledge for wisdom. We can see this yabang in some of our public commentators, particularly on TV — the know-it-alls who think that because they have so much knowledge — available now on the Web at the click of a button — they can answer every question posed to them. What they do not realize is that knowledge is not wisdom. Until they recognize that important if sometimes awful difference, they will continue to bluster their way to the top at our expense because we, the people, will then have to suffer their arrogance and ignorance.
We are shallow because with this arrogance, we accept positions far beyond our competence. Because there is no critical tradition in this country — a tradition which will easily separate the chaff from the grain, we cannot recognize fakery from the real goods. That outstanding scholar, Wilfredo Villacorta, is a rare bird indeed; when offered a high position in government, he refused it because he knew he was not qualified for the job. Any other mayabang academic would have grabbed it although he knows he can’t handle it. And so it happens always — the nitwits who hold such high positions stubbornly hold on to their posts, bamboozling their subordinates who may be brighter than them for that is the only way those who are inferior feel they can have respect.
On the other hand, the intelligent person will be aware of his shortcomings. He does not hesitate to ask the opinion of those who know more than him on particular subjects. If he is a government hierarch, he will surround himself with advisers who he knows can supply him with guidance and background possessing as they do more knowledge, experience and wisdom than him. Such an official is bound to commit fewer mistakes because he knows himself.
We are shallow because we lack this most important knowledge — who we are and the limits to what we can do.
We also lack the perception, and the courage, for instance, to deny these religious quacks and the thousands who listen and believe in them. Sure, religion is the opium of the masses as Marx said. So then, how can we prevent the masa from taking this poison without recognizing their right to make fools of themselves? Again, shallowness because the good people are silent. Ubi boni tacent, malum prosperat. Where good men are silent, evil prospers.
This shallowness is the impediment to prosperity, to justice, and men of goodwill should emphasize this, take risks even in doing so. As the late Salvador P. Lopez said, “It is better to be silenced than to be silent.”
We are shallow because our media are so horribly shallow. Every morning, I peruse the papers and there is so little to read in them. It is the same with radio — all that noise, that artifice.
I turn on the TV on prime time and what do I get? Five juvenile commentators gushing over the amors of movie stars, who is shacking up with whom. One of the blabbering panelists I distinctly remember was caught cheating some years back at some movie award. How could she still be on TV after that moral destruct? And the telenovelas, how utterly asinine, bizarre, foolish, insipid moronic and mephitic they are! And there are so many talented writers in our vernaculars and in English as the Palanca Awards show every year — why aren’t they harnessed for TV? Those TV moguls have a stock answer — the ratings of these shows are very high. Popularity not quality is their final arbiter. They give our people garbage and they are now giving it back to all of us in kind! So I must not be blamed if, most of the time, I turn on BBC. Aljazeera, rather than the local TV channels. It is such a pleasure to read The New York Times, the San Jose Mercury News, the Washington Post, to listen to “Fresh Air” on US public radio and public TV where my ever-continuing thirst for knowledge (and good entertainment) is quenched.
We are shallow because we don’t read. I go to the hospital on occasion — the long corridor is filled with people staring into the cosmos. It is only I who have brought a book or a magazine. In Japanese cities, in Korea — in the buses and trains, young and old are reading, or if they are not holding books and magazines, they are glued to their iPhones where so much information is now available.
In these countries and in Western cities, the bookshops are still full, but not so much anymore because the new communications technologies are now available to their masa. How I wish my tiny bookshop or any Filipino bookshop for that matter would be filled with people. I’ll make an exception here: BookSale branches are always full because their books are very cheap. But I would still ask: what kind of books do Filipinos buy?
We are shallow because we have become enslaved by gross materialism, the glitter of gold and its equivalents, for which reason we think that only the material goods of this earth can satisfy us and we must therefore grab as much as can while we are able. Enjoy all these baubles that we have accumulated; sure, it is pleasurable to possess such artifacts that make living trouble free. And that old anodyne: “Man does not live by bread alone,” who are the thinking and stubborn few who believe in it?
I hope that those who read this piece still do.
***
The post may sound too preachy, but heck Jose is so right!
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Worry
Six months more and I'm done with school stuff. I don't know if I should be celebrating or what. *sigh*
My mind has been constantly worrying about things, especially school stuff.
***
I am on the brink of losing my three-year investment in the hopes of ending up with flying colors. (I made this so obscure, no one would understand.)
***
The Remedy
There's no need to hurry when I'm making up my mind
because...
The remedy, is the experience
This is a dangerous liaison...
I won't worry my life away...
***
I can't help but worry, sorry.
My mind has been constantly worrying about things, especially school stuff.
***
I am on the brink of losing my three-year investment in the hopes of ending up with flying colors. (I made this so obscure, no one would understand.)
***
The Remedy
There's no need to hurry when I'm making up my mind
because...
The remedy, is the experience
This is a dangerous liaison...
I won't worry my life away...
***
I can't help but worry, sorry.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
BBBBBBB
Books before boys because boys bring babies. LOL.
I've been clearly busy (see my erratic post's schedule) but I do still find time to read and buy more books tohoard collect. I think I'm on my way to fulfilling one of my dreams: to own a home-based library. Hihi. I've recently bought classics (I'm into them now, iniisip ko kasi para mabasa ng magiging anak ko, yes I'm serious!) George Orwell's 1984 and Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita. I've been hunting down a copy of Lolita since summer and thanks to my friend Claire, who informed me that Fullybooked has a copy! Lolita is a rare book, I've been scouting it, yeah, like I said awhile ago, heck I didn't mind that it cost me almost P900!!!
I've been clearly busy (see my erratic post's schedule) but I do still find time to read and buy more books to
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Filipino, not a language of the learned (?)
Kamakailan ay umani ng batikos ang artikulo ng isang Atenista sa Manila Bulletin ukol sa wikang Filipino, ito ang link
Language, learning, identity, privilege
By JAMES SORIANO
August 24, 2011, 4:06am
MANILA, Philippines — English is the language of learning. I’ve known this since before I could go to school. As a toddler, my first study materials were a set of flash cards that my mother used to teach me the English alphabet.
My mother made home conducive to learning English: all my storybooks and coloring books were in English, and so were the cartoons I watched and the music I listened to. She required me to speak English at home. She even hired tutors to help me learn to read and write in English.
In school I learned to think in English. We used English to learn about numbers, equations and variables. With it we learned about observation and inference, the moon and the stars, monsoons and photosynthesis. With it we learned about shapes and colors, about meter and rhythm. I learned about God in English, and I prayed to Him in English.
Filipino, on the other hand, was always the ‘other’ subject — almost a special subject like PE or Home Economics, except that it was graded the same way as Science, Math, Religion, and English. My classmates and I used to complain about Filipino all the time. Filipino was a chore, like washing the dishes; it was not the language of learning. It was the language we used to speak to the people who washed our dishes.
We used to think learning Filipino was important because it was practical: Filipino was the language of the world outside the classroom. It was the language of the streets: it was how you spoke to the tindera when you went to the tindahan, what you used to tell your katulong that you had an utos, and how you texted manong when you needed “sundo na.”
These skills were required to survive in the outside world, because we are forced to relate with the tinderas and the manongs and the katulongs of this world. If we wanted to communicate to these people — or otherwise avoid being mugged on the jeepney — we needed to learn Filipino.
That being said though, I was proud of my proficiency with the language. Filipino was the language I used to speak with my cousins and uncles and grandparents in the province, so I never had much trouble reciting.
It was the reading and writing that was tedious and difficult. I spoke Filipino, but only when I was in a different world like the streets or the province; it did not come naturally to me. English was more natural; I read, wrote and thought in English. And so, in much of the same way that I learned German later on, I learned Filipino in terms of English. In this way I survived Filipino in high school, albeit with too many sentences that had the preposition ‘ay.’
It was really only in university that I began to grasp Filipino in terms of language and not just dialect. Filipino was not merely a peculiar variety of language, derived and continuously borrowing from the English and Spanish alphabets; it was its own system, with its own grammar, semantics, sounds, even symbols.
But more significantly, it was its own way of reading, writing, and thinking. There are ideas and concepts unique to Filipino that can never be translated into another. Try translating bayanihan, tagay, kilig or diskarte.
Only recently have I begun to grasp Filipino as the language of identity: the language of emotion, experience, and even of learning. And with this comes the realization that I do, in fact, smell worse than a malansang isda. My own language is foreign to me: I speak, think, read and write primarily in English. To borrow the terminology of Fr. Bulatao, I am a split-level Filipino.
But perhaps this is not so bad in a society of rotten beef and stinking fish. For while Filipino may be the language of identity, it is the language of the streets. It might have the capacity to be the language of learning, but it is not the language of the learned.
It is neither the language of the classroom and the laboratory, nor the language of the boardroom, the court room, or the operating room. It is not the language of privilege. I may be disconnected from my being Filipino, but with a tongue of privilege I will always have my connections.
So I have my education to thank for making English my mother language.
***
Nakaka inis lang 'di ba? Di porke't conyo ka o magaling mag Ingles, mas mataas na ang posisyon mo sa lipunan.
Bakit ba may nosyong mas matalino, mas magaling, mas edukado kapag umi-English?
Language, learning, identity, privilege
By JAMES SORIANO
August 24, 2011, 4:06am
MANILA, Philippines — English is the language of learning. I’ve known this since before I could go to school. As a toddler, my first study materials were a set of flash cards that my mother used to teach me the English alphabet.
My mother made home conducive to learning English: all my storybooks and coloring books were in English, and so were the cartoons I watched and the music I listened to. She required me to speak English at home. She even hired tutors to help me learn to read and write in English.
In school I learned to think in English. We used English to learn about numbers, equations and variables. With it we learned about observation and inference, the moon and the stars, monsoons and photosynthesis. With it we learned about shapes and colors, about meter and rhythm. I learned about God in English, and I prayed to Him in English.
Filipino, on the other hand, was always the ‘other’ subject — almost a special subject like PE or Home Economics, except that it was graded the same way as Science, Math, Religion, and English. My classmates and I used to complain about Filipino all the time. Filipino was a chore, like washing the dishes; it was not the language of learning. It was the language we used to speak to the people who washed our dishes.
We used to think learning Filipino was important because it was practical: Filipino was the language of the world outside the classroom. It was the language of the streets: it was how you spoke to the tindera when you went to the tindahan, what you used to tell your katulong that you had an utos, and how you texted manong when you needed “sundo na.”
These skills were required to survive in the outside world, because we are forced to relate with the tinderas and the manongs and the katulongs of this world. If we wanted to communicate to these people — or otherwise avoid being mugged on the jeepney — we needed to learn Filipino.
That being said though, I was proud of my proficiency with the language. Filipino was the language I used to speak with my cousins and uncles and grandparents in the province, so I never had much trouble reciting.
It was the reading and writing that was tedious and difficult. I spoke Filipino, but only when I was in a different world like the streets or the province; it did not come naturally to me. English was more natural; I read, wrote and thought in English. And so, in much of the same way that I learned German later on, I learned Filipino in terms of English. In this way I survived Filipino in high school, albeit with too many sentences that had the preposition ‘ay.’
It was really only in university that I began to grasp Filipino in terms of language and not just dialect. Filipino was not merely a peculiar variety of language, derived and continuously borrowing from the English and Spanish alphabets; it was its own system, with its own grammar, semantics, sounds, even symbols.
But more significantly, it was its own way of reading, writing, and thinking. There are ideas and concepts unique to Filipino that can never be translated into another. Try translating bayanihan, tagay, kilig or diskarte.
Only recently have I begun to grasp Filipino as the language of identity: the language of emotion, experience, and even of learning. And with this comes the realization that I do, in fact, smell worse than a malansang isda. My own language is foreign to me: I speak, think, read and write primarily in English. To borrow the terminology of Fr. Bulatao, I am a split-level Filipino.
But perhaps this is not so bad in a society of rotten beef and stinking fish. For while Filipino may be the language of identity, it is the language of the streets. It might have the capacity to be the language of learning, but it is not the language of the learned.
It is neither the language of the classroom and the laboratory, nor the language of the boardroom, the court room, or the operating room. It is not the language of privilege. I may be disconnected from my being Filipino, but with a tongue of privilege I will always have my connections.
So I have my education to thank for making English my mother language.
***
Nakaka inis lang 'di ba? Di porke't conyo ka o magaling mag Ingles, mas mataas na ang posisyon mo sa lipunan.
Bakit ba may nosyong mas matalino, mas magaling, mas edukado kapag umi-English?
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