Boom Tarat Tarat - original?

I meant to blog about this before when the boom tarat tarat hype was at its highest but decided it was not worth blogging about. However, this morning, a friend and superior in school came to me to show me an article written by Ricardo F. Lo at the Entertainment section of the Philippine Star that appeared on Februrary 22. The article said that Miguel Zubiri will be using the boom tarat tarat theme as his jingle.

...Lito Camo has agreed Miguel "Migs" Zubiri (to) use his popular song Boom Tarat Tarat as Migz's campaign pitch in his bid for the Senate in this May's election "for nothing."... But inside soursces said that Lito was paid "no less than P3 million" for the rights to the song.

Really? If the sources cited by Mr. Lo is correct, then, I can say that Zubiri might be wasting too much money over this. Why? The Boom Tarat Tarat tune is not new. The tune has been used in our Father and Son camps since tralala time. The friend that showed me the article has always been the scoutmaster of these camps and always used the tune to gather the troops, enliven the campfire, entice them to participate in all the activities and what else it can serve us. We use the tune as a fanfare every year that we do not have to teach the old timers how to sing the song and dance to it. This has been a boy scout tune without the gyrations and that final hump of the hips, of course. However, it is not that we do not have an accompanying choreography for the tune. What we do is to mimic playing a trombone for the tarat tarat portion and a big bass drum for the boom part. This we do like playing a guitar on air. Not as exciting as the new version, maybe, but nevertheless, has been with us since time immemorial.

I do not wish to discredit Mr. Lito Camo or portray him as a plagiarist for I am sure he had composed a song and has all the rights to his creation. I have not heard the song played in its entirety but I am also positive that what Mr. Zubiri is after is the boom tarat tarat portion, an old tune incorporated into the song. Now, certainly that cannot be worth P3 million, can it?

My Daily Commute

This round at the Blogkadahan, we are posting pictures of streets where we live. Coming from different countries, you will find these posts from my friends very interesting. For my share, I am posting these pictures but am not telling the story here. You've got to go there to read it. My entry is scheduled to come out on Tuesday. In the meantime, read and see the other posts made by my friends. Happy viewing!

You want it? Pay for it.

I mentioned in another post that I had been jamming with my two boys since they discovered a little music studio near our area. Well, the older of the two is so into music he had been bugging me to buy him an electric guitar since last year. I can see his interest with the instrument as I see him downloading tunes in the internet and trying to learn how to play it with my classical guitar. (Imagine trying to bend notes on a nylon string.) I told him earlier on that if he really wanted one, then he should at least shoulder half the cost. I thought that would be the end of it since I and my wife knows that he is rather stingy. :-)

I am serious about him paying for at least half of the price of an electric guitar. There are several reasons why and these are:

1. I do not have that much money. Inasmuch as I would like my children to have everything they wanted, I have to prioritize which ones I am giving in to as I am not a rich man. I will have to make every centavo count;
2. I would know that he is really determined to learn. I do not want to see another guitar cluttering our small house.;
3. I will be assured that he will take good care of it (he is stingy, remember?); and,
4. I co-own the instrument, hence, can play it anytime I wanted

I think my son is a born musician. He is self taught with the guitar. Read here how he learned to play the instrument. That ought to be inspiring.

He was in Grade 3 when he told me he wanted to play the violin. I told him sure but he will have to just use the school's violin first. I thought it was just a passing phase. But later on, I realized he was really that interested. I told my wife we better get him a cheap violin as he had to practice at home, too. So, we bought him a half-size violin. True enough, he always had that violin with him. When we were to go home, all I had to do was find that violin sound and sure enough, it was him. So, the following year, we asked my niece who lives in the States and was coming over for a visit, to buy him a full-size violin. You should see the smile on his face when he got the surprise. To date, he is a member of the orchestra and had been the school's concert master last year before he graduated high school.

Anyway, last Friday, he texted me to say that there was a sale on electric guitars and that he can shoulder half of the price. He had been earning from gigs with the orchestra and saving cash. I told him I had no cash available. He was really dismayed. The following day, my two Korean students who had been having classes with me for painting paid me. So, I asked my wife's permission if I can use the money to purchase the guitar our son wanted. She gave me the nod and so, I told my son to get his money ready as we were buying the sought after guitar. Well, we did buy it and as I expected I ended up paying for it more. About 55% of the cost (magulang talaga) True to form, my son is currently sleeping with it. Now my only wish is that the younger do not ask for a drum set as that is not really possible at this time.

It is election season once again. We can already feel the election fever on tv with all those campaign materials in advertisements. While I was at the computer last night, one of those ads was on and I heard my eldest daughter complain. Something like "arghh, not that again." I was thinking, maybe, there goes one vote.
Anyway, the question of teachers manning the polls is once again the topic in our forum at the PTN. Apparently, there has been a move to spare teachers from this mandate from the constitution. I received from my email a link to a news in the House of Representatives of a proposal to relieve teachers from this mandate, which incidentally was passed in 2005 yet. It goes something like this:

TO ALLOW public school teachers to concentrate fully on their teaching duties, thereby improving the quality of education in the country, Marinduque Representative Edmundo Reyes Jr. filed House Bills 2864 and 2898 seeking to release them from compulsory election duties.

While this is good news to teachers, for I am sure, they do not need this thankless job (added to teaching which can also be a thankless job altogether...sometimes) the task has always been the cause of heartaches and headaches, if not totally puts the teachers in danger. I can only imagine hot spots where candidates kill themselves just to get elected. I have heard of stories about teachers subjected to harassment by candidates and/or their minions during election time. And yes, the sleepless nights counting the ballots, taking these to the municipal hall, etc.

Eusebio San Diego, president of the Quezon City Public School Teachers Association, informed the body of the negative consequences arising from the compulsory service imposed upon public school teachers during election time.
The teachers, he said, are confronted with election offenses aside from fatigue, lack of sleep and overwork. Others are gunned down or exposed to other election-related violence, he added.

While I agree with Rep. Eulogio "Amang" Magsaysay that the teachers must focus their attention on improving the quality of education in the country, yet, I have been thinking, if not the teachers, then who? The best scenario would be volunteers but then, how sure can we be that these volunteers are not partisan in nature? Would they be as subjective? It would be easy for a candidate to fill the vacancy with his/her own people. In this scenario, we are assured that the election could easily be rigged. The only solution I can think of is automated elections. But that is a long time coming.

Published again

I just got word today that the final issue of the Country mouse, a poetry e-zine co-owned by my friend, Arlene , is now out. Guess who's in it. Moi!!!! Yup, I have five poems included in this issue. What's even great is that I have been promised that I shall be getting three copies of the printed issue.

Too bad, this is the final issue. The ezine held contests every issue and published the winners. This time, together with the winners, friends of Arlene were asked to submit poems for publication.

Incidentally, should you happen to view my poems, the picture of me was taken in Canada during my last visit there. There are things too good to be true. Never did I know that that would be the last time I would be with my friend.

In the meantime, you can read my poems here Tell me what you think.

Singing and drinking always go together

Had a drinking spree with three of my best friends last Friday. Well, sometimes, I do have to go out just to unwind. Well, not knowing where to go, we settled in one of those watering holes that carry videoke along the Rizal Sports Complex. I was just amazed we could carry on a conversation amid the songs (sometimes noise) people sang (or made).

Anyway, we, too, sang a few rounds and it was pretty decent. Afterall, one of us is really a singer. But there was this guy who really really knew how to sing. The power in his voice is just awesome. He was so good I figured he ought to be singing professionally. He sang from the most recent songs to standards. Even sang one of my mother's favorite songs. Then, he also sang a man and woman duet which he carried all alone by himself. He shifted from the male version to the female version using a very high falsetto.

What separates a singer from a mere hobbyist like me? Well, almost everyone can carry a tune. There are those who are really tone deaf and I just could not understand how they manage to even think about singing - and in public, at that. Well, the thing is you're all out to have a good time. But please, not at the expense of another person's ears hahaha.

So, okay, one can carry a tune, sing in the right key, knows when to start and when to end, knows and understand the lyrics of the song -understanding the lyrics helps because that gives you the right mood and emotion you put out in a song. But what really tells a neophyte from a real singer is tone. Tone is the quality of the voice. This is what we refer to as talent. When someone says you've got the talent for singing, that means you have a very good voice and, most importantly, you have a good tone. FYI, my friend, Batjay has a good singing voice. You can listen to his voice in songs he recorded in his blog. And he plays the guitar, too. What's even more interesting is we share the same kind of music. Do you have a good singing voice? Tell me about it.

"Driving" us crazy?

Driving in the Philippines is no easy task. During college, I had an American classmate and friend, Roy Neely, who said the first thing he learned when he came over is to drive like a Filipino. I would not have known what this truly meant until I have learned how to drive myself, and most importantly, experienced driving in a foreign land. Of course, I have always heard about the notoriety of Filipino drivers but experiencing it first hand and noting the differences, still comes like a shock. I have even heard we are one of the worst drivers, second only to the Italians (but I have not confirmed that).

The first thing I noticed is the discipline on the road. This is paramount! When I first drove in Canada, I was confused about the three and four-way corners. I knew each car in an intersection is supposed to take turns in going. However, what I could not understand is who has the right to go first when two or three cars came to the intersection at the same time. remember I always had to ask Arlene, "Is it my turn yet?" You know how it is in intersections without a stoplight here in the country. Whoever has the guts to go first goes. We usually create a big pile-up in intersections on busy days, do we not?

Passing lanes - another ignored rule. Just a few days ago, I almost hit another van who suddenly stopped while we were about to overtake another car. Why? He noticed something wrong with his engine. No forwarning signs, no hassle lights no anything. I heard the car behind me shout, "take it to the service lane instead of suddenly stopping on the fast lane!"

Public utility vehicle drivers stop at will anywhere at anytime. I took a bus going to Alabang one time and I got pissed at the bus driver who stop right at the foot of the bridge in Makati going to Magallanes waiting for passengers. This looks like a common practice with these drivers plying the Alabang route. The pink barricades instituted by Fernando do not work. These buses would stay there for a long time, inching forward and stopping again just to make it appear that they are about to leave so that passengers would be lured to ride. Very annoying. The thing is commuters condone this practice. Everybody is so keen on getting to their destination and take these buses rather than walk to the designed stations.

Second is the rule on pedestrians. Anywhere else in the world, pedestrians have the right of way. Once a pedestrian steps on the street pavement, drivers have to stop to let them cross the street. Not so here. Pedestrians have to wait until the side of the street is clear. Well, we have been taght to look left and right before crossing the street, right? A very prudent advice should I say.

They also have buttons on lamp posts which the pedestrian presses when he/she wants to cross the street. Now, if you have walked along Taft Avenue, you'll see the same device but will figure out that these do not work.

Street signs! There you go. Should I delve deeper on these ? There was once a tv show that made a report on drivers, who were supposed to be professionals, who did not know what most of the signs were. Scary!

Speed limits are practically non-existent. However, with the traffic situation, this may not pose too much of a problem. Hmm, so traffic jams come in handy, eh?
What could be the reasons behind the differences? I figure this can be due to several things. First and foremost is cultural.

We as a people have been programmed to think that the other person would understand. Take a jeepney driver for instance. When a passenger is going to alight from his vehicle, he would not bother going to the sides as it would only take several seconds for the passenger to get off his vehicle. As if there is an unwritten code that drivers who encounter this situation should understand for after all, its just for a few seconds. The thing is, there might be more than one and not to mention, another group of people who is going in.

Another reason may be lack of education. Let us face it. Most of these drivers were taught not by true professionals who know and observe road courtesy but bad drivers themselves. There is a rather nasty term for these drivers - bastos (rude) This brings to mind the time I took my driver's license. I perfected the written exams but I was sure I should have failed the practical exam. The engine died on me several times. I almost hit someone when the vehicle jerked. (It was not my own vehicle) To my surprise, I saw my grade and it was 96!
This brings me to my next point - corruption! Drivers do not fear traffic enforcers because they get away with their offenses through bribery. If only one hundred percent of the traffic enforcers were honest, imagine what hassles a driver have to face retrieving his/her license. That ought to make him/her follow the rules, right? This extends to LTO offices. Fixers and whathaveyou are always there to "provide" assistance for your convenience.

The other reason that I can think of is practicality.

The four-way corners, pedestrian stop lights, etc., could not work in Manila where thousands upon thousands of commuters, pedestrians and vehicles abound. Imagine if every pedestrian used those buttons ion Manila, traffic would have been more congested if not chaotic The same thing with pedestrians crossing the street. If every car stopped when people crossed the street, traffic would not have moved anymore. That is why our stoplights are either controlled by traffic enforcer or goes on automatically.


Are Filipinos the worst drivers? I guess not. Filipinos in other countries know how to follow rules to the letter. They are law abiding. My conclusion, it is the system that is flawed.

I'm back!

I have not been active since my mother died. No bloghopping, no internet, no new posts. This is because our home computer died on us and it was only yesterday that the repairman came to fix it. Well, not too much of a loss for me, actually. When my friend Arlene died, a big part of my computer activities died with her. We communicated practically everyday via this mode.

2006 was not a good year for me. I have lost four people I love. First to go was my aunt, the older and only sister of my mom; my friend Joji who finally succumbed to cancer while I was in Canada; my closest friend, Arlene and the final blow and most painful of all, just two days before Christmas, my mother passed away. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank those who reached out to console me during these trying times. I had failed to respond to readers' comments simply because I did not have a computer. Rest assured that your beautiful thoughts are very much appreciated.

Anwyay, no matter how cruel the past year has been, life has to move on and that is what I am going to do. I have my hands full. It was submission of grades the past week, I have accepted teaching several Korean students for advanced lessons in painting every Saturdays, had been reading several books, two of which are gifts from a German friend, Herr Karl Wioncek, who wrote/edited two books about the presence of German ships in the Philippines during the Spanish-American War fought in Manila Bay and a story about Magellan's circumnavigation of the world; and just now, a jamming with my two boys!

Yup, I was surprised, too. My two boys and a cousin discovered this music studio just a stone's throw away from the house (that is if you are a discuss thrower). They decided that they wanted to try it out. Hmmm, what harm will it do, huh? So, I went with them. To my surprise, Coby, the youngest, can hit those drums! (HOw did he learn to do that? Well, the beating those pillows got did some good!) And Mickey can play the guitar. I also wrote about the anxiety attack I had when he first performed in school. Read about it here I played bass for them and we did a few tunes here and there. Great! I am looking forward to the next session. We may suck today but who knows what is in store for tomorrow, eh?

Grief comes in very huge packages

Tell me, what are the odds of a blogger posting entries about the passing away of a loved one twice in a row? It's practically nil, right. That was what I thought until I realized I have not blogged anything since my friend's, Arlene's, death. Now, I have to post this painful entry over the loss of my mother and realized I am wrong. But then, I have been wrong all the time about my mother's passing. You see, she has been suffering from alzheimer's and arthritis a long time that I thought the news of her death would not come as a surprise to me anymore. She's 87 years old, did nothing else but lie on her bed or sat on her wheelchair. She would not recognize anyone, much more, me, who could only come on Sundays for a visit.

My eldest sister would often call the house to tell me our mother has been looking for that bald, big man sitting by the tv. She can only surmise it was me she was talking about. Who really knew?

At any rate, that morning of the 23rd still came as a shock as I received a text message from my nephew that my mom has gone. I immediately went to her home in Marikina to find out what happened. She was no longer there. My only brother has taken her to the morgue. It was my sister and her grandchildren who greeted me. They were waking her up and she would not respond. They tried everything to revive her to no avail.

It was a long wait. My nieces and nephews and their families started to come and we all helped in cleaning the house for her arrival.

I couldn't find the tears when she arrived. I watched her peacefully lying in her coffin assuring myself that that was the way to go. Die in my sleep. No struggles, no painful goodbyes. We have been deprived of a memory of a doting mother, strong-willed, assuring for a very long time. She was deprived of her dignity, being bathed, clothed with diapers which probably irritated her as she continuously divested of them in spite of our incessant demands not to. She was tied in the hospital or she'd hurt herself getting rid of the dextrose, tubes stuck in her nose to feed her.

And yet, during the interment, it finally hit me. She will no longer be with us and she's buried six feet below the ground. Nobody could ever go away from there. The coffin entombed in sealed cement and buried with thick dirt. I cried. The person I loved most, the person that brought me into this world, the person that cared and nurtured me is no more. All I have left are memories of a distant past. Memories of me growing-up, being taken in front of the tv and fed with landing airplane spoons just so I would eat my food, being taken to and from school, watching plays I was a part of, a memory of a loving, responsible mother, who did her very best to rear her children the only way she knew how. Memories of my teen-aged years which were barely a parent's pride. How I wish alzheimer's did not touch my mother that robbed her of her dignity, her pride. She was robbed of her talent for cooking, baking and all that stuff that mothers loved to do. My only consolation was, she probably did not realize how much in pain she was in. It would have been more painful knowing her children suffered with her.

When she arrived in her coffin, I thought the box was too small. Her legs were bent like as if she was made to fit the coffin. And then I remembered, even her toes were bent. Her toes were all curled up, the big toes landed on top of the other toes and yes, her legs were bent that way causing her too much pain everytime we straightened them up. If you could bear with me for much longer, I would like to share two poems I wrote (not the only ones, you know) about my mother as a tribute to her.


A STRANGER IN HER OWN HOUSE

She wouldn’t have minded
the stranger for he feeds her,
helps her bathe and dresses her up,
puts talcum powder on her back

But he ties her hands…

Moves her every two hours
just when she is about to fall
asleep. Says he has to
or she will wound herself scratching

her itchy body. Her healing wounds
feel like a thousand ants
crawling, biting, nibbling her flesh.
He may look nice.

But he ties her hands…

She wonders who he is.
He seems to know everyone.
Talks to them, laughs and tells jokes.
By her count, there are at least
five adults, two children
and a frequent visitor.

And he ties her hands…

“Who are these people?”
she wonders. They say this is her house
she sleeps on her own bed
eats off her own plate,
but strange as it may seem
she feels she is
the stranger...

a stranger in her own house

Is She Really?
(Working title)
This is where alzheimer finally takes me.
My mother - alone in her bed

with neither memory nor care.
She is nothing but a shell

fleshy mollusk meat gone
the soup down to the last gulp.

Like the debris found in the morning
of a full night's revelry

confetti strewn thick on the pavement
amid trash of firecracker paper.

A birdcage without the bird
or a flower without the scent.

This is what she finally seemed to be
until...

With probing eyes and withered hands
she held my face!


Nay, goodbye for now and always remember, I love you very much!!!

Parting is never sweet!

We have cheated death once. When my friend, Arlene Lawson, accepted my invitation to come over to the country in 2000, little did I know that she had a prostethic heart valve. I only knew when we went swimming and saw the scar on her chest Little did I know that she caught a virus enroute and would soon be attacked with a serious case of pneumonia. Hence, on our way to Villa Escudero, she experienced chest pains and hardness of breathing. Alarmed, my wife suggested that we turn back. Having felt sorry for the postponed trip as we were with the whole family, and Redjie, a close friend, she suggested that we ought to have lunch in her hotel instead. We obliged but insisted that we take her to the doctor thereafter. (she said what she was feeling would go away and all she needed was to rest). After lunch, she asked permission to go to the comfort room to freshen up while we waited. It took her awhile until I asked my wife to go check on her. Suddenly, I heard my wife frantically calling my name. And our nightmare began.

There she was, all black and blue, holding her chest, crying for help. Redjie immediately called for help at the hotel's clinic while I took her outside and laid her down on the carpeted floor. A doctor and a nurse came rushing with my friend. He held an oxygen tank, put the mask on her and opened it. Empty! We rushed her to the clinic where two tanks were. Both were not functioning. We were already cursing the hotel, the doctor, the nurses. He decided we had to bring her to the hospital.

At the emergency room, I could feel the fright on her voice as she called for help. Imagine being at the brink of death in a foreign land with a friend you just knew from the internet. I would have been scared, too. She was administered medications while she continuously called my name. I held her hand telling her I was with her, assuring her that the doctors were good, that everything would be alright. My head was spinning. A lot of things ran through my head. What would i do should the worst happen? Who do I contact? How? I asked her who in Canada can I call? She wouldn't understand. Then I remembered she showed me a list. There was a friend who had an email address.

When the sedative she was given took effect, I was called to sign something. But before I did that, I was asked if she had any relatives here. I said no. They informed me that she would be taken to the ICU and that their ICU would cost around Php30,000 a day. I said I understood. I blindly signed the contract. My mind was floating. Where would I get the money, if ever? Added to this would be the doctors, the hotel...

Thus went Arlene's supposedly ten-days of fun in the country turned into a month's stay at the hosptial. Knowing how lonely she would be, we made sure we visited her everyday. My wife, sometimes, sleeping over to keep her company. On Sundays and holidays, we took all the children to her room for some sort of a get-together. In spite of all these troubles, this story made us very close. Too close, as a matter of fact. We began emailing each other practically everyday. Feeling that she owed me her life, she showered me with kindness and love. I kept assuring her that any Filipino would have done what I did but she would have none of it. When she was going back to Canada, she whispered to my friend, "Rolly's going to Canada soon. I wish you can go with him!" I brushed it aside when my friend told me that.

A year later, she invited me to come over. Nitz and I went. She also invited our American friends and we all gave out a poetry reading at Steveston. Since it was May, she decided to give us an off season thanksgiving dinner. The Americans went along with it and everybody contributed to make it as close to the original. She took us to different places like Victoria, Banff and Calgary. It was an experience that never occured even in my and my wife's dreams. And this trip to Canada was repeated again. Twice, as a matter of fact. Everytime, I would hesitate knowing that it is very costly. She argued that it would be just like her going abroad to see her friends and since she couldn't do that anymore, she asked her friend to see her.

Yesterday morning, as was my practice, I turned on the computer to while away the time, waiting to wake up the kids. I know she would have an email for me as it is not very likely that she wouldn't. There was none. Instead, I got a strange email from our mutual friend Gwen. The title read "horrible news about Arlene". I opened it and was surprised to learn that my good friend, Arlene, has passed away. I couldn't believe it. I gasped and tried to read it again hoping I read the message wrongly. But much as I try, the words would not change or go away. She passed away! "But I was just on the phone with her the other day.
I reasoned. She called because she was worried about the typhoon. She wanted to make sure everybody was safe. Since I was not at home when she called, I returned her call the following day. We talked a long time and she was her usual bubbly self, laughing at my jokes, exchanging banters. As she always say that my call would have caused me a fortune, it was she who hinted at saying goodbye. She never did that, though. She would say it might be costing me a fortune but still would wait for me to say adieu. If I only knew, I would have protested and suggested we talked some more.

I knew she was going to try a new medication for Rheumatoid Arthritis as she had suffered from this ailment for a very long time. She had been under every new medication that is being tested and none of them seem to work. I knew that she told me there were risks involved, even deadly, but she decided she's going for it anyway. But I never expected news like this would come - and real quick. I immediately called her daughter, Trudy, to confim it. She was about to call me and was just waiting for the proper time as she knew I would have been still asleep.

Arlene is not just a wonderful person to me. She meant a lot to me and my family. The children love her very much. She was Lola Arlene to them. They would always be excited when we call her up to greet her a happy birthday every December 22nd. They would be excited writing down little notes on a huge Christmas card we are sending her way. My daughter Kim cried the hardest at the news of her death. She was very special to her lola Arlene. When she came over, I asked my children to perform for her. Kraiganne sang her a song, Mickey played the violin, and Kim recited a poem. Unbeknownst to Arlene, Kim would be reciting one of her poems. She was surprised when Kim uttered the title and the name of the poet. She listened intently on every word the very young Kim recited. By the end of the poem, Arlene was already in tears. "I've never heard my poetry being recited before," she quipped. She gave Kim a huge hug and Kim wiped out her tears.

My children adored her. I adored her. She meant a lot to me. She was my mentor, my muse in poetry, she was my confidante who always listened when I whined, laughed at my antics, my source of energy everytime I felt so-so, my fan who believed in everything I do, my patron who had taken me to places I would not have dared go. As she always say that because we think alike, we were probably bobsey twins. She was my angel. With her passing, I know I have lost all these but most of all, I have lost a cherished friend. She surely has left an empty void in our hearts, the same void she had left in every heart she had touched with her kind soul. Today, I opened my email and true enough, there was no message that came from her. I would miss that terribly. Her emails are my morning breakfast. Like we always say in its closing of each mail, I say to Arlene, "with a lot of love and kisses,", I end this post with "We all love you very much and you shall always be in our hearts."


;


Arlene Lawson
December 22, 1935 - December 6, 2006
Buella's Rite of Passage


Here's a rite of passage when
I'm allowed the privilege of toddling
to the privvy

I traipse on wobbled, weathered
boards laid down by the last hobo who
pleaded for sandwiches in trade for work

growing up means sitting on a hole
wide and deep
full of tentacled arms raised to grab me
bared and vulnerable

a pitiful candle protects me
from a fall into the well
I grasp edges of the hole
created for an adult

business done
in a hurry to scoot the thirty feet
from outhouse to back porch

I fall

tripped by loosed boards
the stick I carry in my hand
imbeds itself into my chin

a reminder in white of an
evening I'm big enough
to abandon
"the thunder mug"

Privy enough to traipse the boards

Arlene Lawson

States bound

Oil on canvass 30" X 60"

"The Day Before"


Since my last painting of a town fiesta called Too Many Cooks", I have been getting commissions that feature town fiestas. My idea of fun during fiestas is actually not the feast day itself but the preparations that go with it, especially the eve of the actual feast. Just finished this one which I entitled "The Day Before". This is another commissioned work and is bound for the States soon. Hopefully it dries up fast and heals well before it is transported. Hope you like it.

A little thought

For those who do not know yet, I am an Art teacher in one of the schools in Metro Manila. I have been an Art teacher for 21 years, the same number of years I have been married. Not that that is relevant but just to give you an idea of how old I am. Teaching has never been my intended vocation, though. I am a Fine Arts graduate with an Advertising major but never got to practice this trade. I worked as soon as I graduated. Meaning I took whatever was available.

Anyway, not having been trained to be a teacher, I labored each day during my first years of teaching. I had to learn the tricks of the trade, sometimes, painfully. I had to learn to deal with each problem that came my way. Slowly, I learned what works and what does not work with my lessons. I kept those lessons that many were able to grasp, threw away those that were too hard to comprehend. Always a hit or miss with my lessons, I tried to come up with a cohesive syllabus, a word which meaning II did not have a full grasp of at the time I started.

Anyway, I have been thinking about showing examples to students. First and foremost, examples that we show the students should always be what we, in the academic world as "authentic material". By this we mean those that are seen in print and has been available to the public. Hence, if say for example that a teacher, who writes poems, should want to show a poem as an example, it should only be those that have been published and not a personal poem, he/she has written. Of course, with subjects like Science, authentic material would be an actual leaf, or whatever material is being discussed rather than showing a picture or a drawing.

At any rate, will showing examples in art, like painting styles, be beneficial to the learner. My theory is that sometimes, they are not. While it is true that examples facilitate in the understanding of a concept being taught and at best, trigger an idea for the day's project, I have the feeling that sometimes, they stand in the way for new creative ideas to prosper.

Showing examples may limit the avenue for the creation of a new style or concept since the learner has fixed his/her standard of beauty based on the example. Hence, the learner might not try to explore new avenues to attack the problem/project on hand. And yet, we must remember that the great artists, especially during the modern era, became what they are in the Art world simply because they did not go with the flow. They rebelled with what was considered as the norm. Remember, too, that art is the pursuit of beauty, which is relative in the first place. This line of thinking, again, posed a big problem for me during my first years of teaching. What if a student submits a mere line on the premise that this is his ideal of beauty? Would you have considered this as creative seeing that he/she diverted from the norm or is this a product of sheer laziness? It took me a while to learn how to parry a retort like this one. First, I should know how a student works in class. Secondly, know how his/her mind works. And lastly, come up with projects that has less subjectivity in it.

academic freedom anyone?

Not many educators know that in education, there is an animal called academic freedom. Academic freedom is the right of a teacher/professor and students to pursue research and publish their findings without restraint. Conversely, it also holds that teachers are entitled to full freedom in discussing their subject. This is a principle exercised first in Germany and later on, in France and the United States. The rationale behind this principle is to give the learner a free hand in any field of study that is not controlled by any individual thus hampering the initiative of the learner to pursue a field of study and as a consequence, deprive mankind of a valuable lesson. The effects of restraining/control an individual to learn a new field of study is dramatically shown in the case of one Russian biologist named Trofim Lysenko.

Trofim Lysenko is a Soviet biologist who rejected the advances of science and proposed his unscientivic approach to biology. Since his principles suited dialectical materialism, the propaganda value of his ideas appealed to the Soviet leadership and made him director of the Soviet Academy of Agricultural Sciences. In power, he ordered the expulsion, imprisonment, or death of hundreds of Soviet scientists to implement his ideas on collectivised farms in the Soviet Union and China. This resulted in famines which believed to have killed 30 million people in China alone.

The fate of biology in the Soviet Union shows why society has an interest in protecting academic freedom. A Soviet biologist named Trofim Lysenko rejected Western scientific advances and proposed a new, unscientific approach to biology (called Lysenkoism) that was based on the principles of dialectical materialism. Because of their propaganda value, Lysenko's ideas proved appealing to the Soviet leadership, and he became the director of the Soviet Academy of Agricultural Sciences; subsequently, Lysenko directed a purge of scientists who professed "harmful ideas," resulting in the expulsion, imprisonment, or death of hundreds of Soviet scientists. Lysenko's unscientific ideas were implemented on collectivised farms in the Soviet Union and China. Famines that resulted partly from Lysenko's influence are believed to have killed 30 million people in China alone.

Academic freedom, however, is not a license to teach anything at will. Like any rule or right, it carries with it certain limitations.

In the United States, for example, according to the widely recognized "1940 Statement on Academic Freedom and Tenure"[3], teachers should be careful to avoid controversial matter that is unrelated to the subject. When they speak or write in public, they are free to express their opinions without fear from institutional censorship or discipline, but they should show restraint and clearly indicate that they are not speaking for their institution. Academic tenure protects academic freedom by ensuring that teachers can be fired only for adequate cause, such as gross professional incompetence or behavior that evokes condemnation from the academic community itself.

We should remember that as teachers, we carry a big amount of responsibility on our shoulders.

The reason why not many teachers know about this principle is probably because there has been no need for it. We seem to inherently know about our freedom and are aware of the advances of technology and the fruits we reap from it. Thanks to modern means of information, we see the tremendous successes as well as failures of recent studies conducted by research institutes. However, I wonder when academic freedom can be invoked and if it has been invoked before in the country. Is it only applicable to college education or does its hands go down to elementary and high school?

source: wikipedia.com

TV commercials

I have to admit that I am a couch potato. When I am not on the computer, there's a big chance (say about 90%) that I am in front of the television set. Like most men, you will find me with the remote on my hand, frequently changing channels trying to find a show that would suit my fancy. Well, my favorites lately has been the cooking shows like the Naked Chef, The Surreal Gourmet, Keith Floyd and Surfing the Menu (not good for my appetite). For game shows, I watch the long time running Wheel of Fortune and Double Jeopardy. I also frequent The Animal Planet and the Discovery Channel. The other 10% would be reading a book or playing the guitar.

Anyway, this post is not really about what shows I watch but the commercials we see on the boob tube. Before I proceed, allow me to reminisce first. During the mid 80's, there was this commercial with Mr. Jim Paredes saying, "These look like oranges... (bounces the orange) but they don't!" Anybody reading this remember that one? Well, if we really analyse the sentence, we will see how ridiculous the statement was. They look like oranges but they don't look like they are. Clearly, what he should have said was "but they're not!"

Anyway, the reason I suddenly remembered that ad is because there is one commercial that piqued my interest today. I have seen it several times in the local channels and I am bothered by it. I am talking about this commercial about a fifty something mother who says: "You are not my baby no more!" I checked my kids and asked, "analyse that statement and tell me, is he still a baby of hers or no more?" My children's initial reaction wass that he is no longer her baby.

Maybe we often hear this phrase quite too often in movies that we believe that this is proper english. But it's not! Well, at least the last time I looked, a double negative means it is positive! So, if we analyse the sentence carefully, it really means he is still her baby. But we know this is not the case if we look at the context by how and under what circumstances the utterance has been made.

The media's role in shaping the young is unprecedented. Schools are facing a losing battle with the media. Considering the cost of production and the coverage of these commercials, the advertisers ought to be very careful with what they show on tv and other medium.

I hope this never happens again!

This is one for the books - well, at least in mine, if I were to write one. You see, a strange thing happened to me last night. I went to the gas station to have my car filled-up with nary a peso on my wallet (and that is not speaking figuratively). As was my practice, I alit the car, went to the ATM to get part of my monthly salary. Lo and behold, the ATM was off-line. Now, I had to use my card - yet again! I was thinking my wife would h8t the roof when she gets to see my bill. (The card has always been for emergency cases only and my epass). Then I remembered the gas station across has an ATM, too. So, I went. I approached the ATM, put in my card and punched the first number of my PIN. Then it suddenly hit me. I was having a mental block. I coud not remember my PIN!

I stared at the keys real hard trying to recall the next number. NADA! I had to press cancel as there was another person who would use th machine. I let her use it first and when she finished, I tried out what I thought was my PIN. Wrong! Tried another one. Wrong! Now I began to panic. My wife is about to go the province with her mom and she really needs money. I hurried back to the car with nothing on my mind except for my freakng PIN. I gavve out my card to the gasoline attendant, started the car and think where else there was a machine. As I was cruising Commonwealth Ave., I remembered there are several machines at Filinvest. I decided to go there, this time, armed with another set of numbers.

I parked my car, got off stood in line for the machine. When it was my turn, I punched in the numbers, the transaction, the amount and waited. Drats! still wrong and my card had been blocked as it was the third time I punched in a wrong combination. Guess what, iIt is now 5:10 am and I am still not sure about my freaking PIN. Ii will have to try again later.

In fairness to myself, I never forgot my former number as I was just using four digits. However, when our school decided to transfer banks, we had to use 6 digits. Has this happened to you before? Have you experienced mental block? I know I have especially during my high school days, taking written tests!

I bid you Adieu!

We were having dinner when my wife received a text message from our friend which made her practically shout.
"Oh no! Bro. Rafe passed away!" she said. That was a terrible news to hear. My wife and I knew him well. We both have worked for Bro. Rafe when he was still President of DLSU. My wife had known him personally even before that. I had worked closely with him while I was still the coordinator of the Art Department. We went to workshops and outings together and he is the epitome of cool. As an administrator, he was not just al brains but balanced everything with an accepting heart. I admired his resolve and his mature ways to decide things - firmly but with compassion.

A very affable man, one would not hesitate to approach him even if he held the highest post in the university then. He was a well-mannered man with a well-modulated baritone voice that gave out a very calming effect. His words were well calculated and spoken clearly that one never missed what he wanted to say. When he spoke, one listened. We only have high praises for this man who had dedicated his life to teaching. He will be a big loss to the De La Salle community.

Goodbye, Bro. Rafe! Thanks for everything you have shared with us.

Now I've heard everything

Of course you're wondering about the title, right? Well, allow me to set it up for you first.

You see, I've written about how my mother-in-law got sick, of all days, on my birthday, last September. She was taken to the hospital where she was confined for about three days. Expectedly, she was given medication, among which, were antibiotics, probably to ward off the flu she's gotten, presumably from me. I was the first one to get sick, you see, and I was bedridden for about two days already. Anyway, during that period of time, she began to show signs that are, should I say, not normal. She was not herself anymore. I called my good friend, Doc Emer who revealed to us that there had been recent studies which show that certain antibiotics may sometimes cause erratic behavior. He said that nothing was conclusive but it would be wise to take my mother-in-law again to her doctor.

When my wife and her older sister took my MIL to the doctor, she dismissed the theory and said that my MIL is suffering from Alzheimer's disease. My wife was naturally disheartened by the news. She has seen my mother bedridden and helpless, with all dignity gone. My MIL was incoherent, making gestures we couldn't understand, and so on and so forth. All this time, it was my eldest daughter who has just recently graduated from college and was on vacation who tended to her. It went on for almost a month, but guess what, a little after she has been off the medications, she began to be herself again. Yes, she's back to her old self. Cooking, making a fuzz about disorder in the house, sometimes, even doing some laundry work when my wife missed to hand some of the laundry to the laundry woman. I guess my friend was right after all.

And so we thought everything's back to normal. However, one night, over dinner, I overheard her talking to my two younger kids. I wasn't hungry yet and was awaiting my wife to come home. She asked them if they had classes the following day. They answered in the affirmative . Then she asked, "Why, waht date is it?" They said it was October something. She said, no it wasn't. It was already November. When the kids tried to correct her, she got mad at them. So, when my wife arrived from work, she told on them. My wife patiently explained that it was still October. She got mad at my wife, and went to her room. To make a long story short, we just let her believe what she wanted to believe for after all, we've tried everything. Relatives coming to visit her would correct her and still she wouldn't believe. I told my wife we better get ready for two Christmases and two New Years. :-).

Now comes Halloween. I saw her watching the news on tv yesterday and of course, she saw the cemeteries teeming with people. My wife told her they would have to go to my FIL's grave very early. She asked why and she said it's All Soul's Day. Well, I think she's beginning to have doubts about her date. This morning, enroute either to or from the cemetery, her eldest son who was driving the car told her, "You see, it's just November 1st!" her response floored everyone inside the car.

"Awww, what kind of President do we have? Now she's even changing all the dates!" I know the President has been accused of many things but changing the dates?

Now, I have heard the President being accused of every crime and what not, but chaning the dates??? That my friends is one good reason why I am never running for any government office!

Happy Halloween everyone!

A dream comes true

On Sept. 16, I blogged about a boy's little request to meet up with his idol, wrestler Batista. Pyro is a 3 year old boy who suffers from cancer. Like any other young boy, he watches wrestling and is wowed by big, bulky men. And he happens to like Batista very much. When news spread that Batista will be in town, Jojo, Mec's husband had the idea of a meeting with Batista. Thus, a series of emails passed here and there, blogger friends posting the idea on their sites hoping that somehow, the handlers of Batista would come to know of this little boy's wish.

It was a dream come true, a prayer answered for my friend Mec, Pyro's aunt, when finally, the handlers of Batista contacted her to tell her that Pyro can meet Batista in person. It was like David and Goliath sans the hostilities. Batista may seem like Goliath to us for we see him throw big men, punch heavy blows, kick like a mad man isnide the ring but in reality he, too, seems like a guy with a soft heart. You can watch the meeting here

I received an email which I'd like to share and it goes like this:

All,

Mec and I extend our gratitude, prayers and thanks to all those that helped in one way or the other to making this wish come true. I do hope that all of us would get to relate to the love and kindness that transpired to making this dream a reality. How I wish I could put into words the hapiness that is reflected in the boy's eyes after the meet and greet and after watching the wresting match live in Araneta.

We have asked so much already but forgive us if we ask for your continuous prayers for Pyro's recovery. And if you can resend this email to those that you initially sent the original email, we would be very greatful. AGAIN THANK YOU!!!


Best Regards,

Jojo Arevalo

If you would like to know about Pyro's latest condition, please read Mec's blog

Time flies so fast when you're having fun

I can’t believe it but my eldest daughter has officially graduated yesterday! As the cliché goes, it feels just like yesterday when I carried her in my arms, giving her smelling kisses from the neck all the way to her hair. What father did not enjoy the freshness of a baby, newly bathed and given a dose of oils, manzanilla and alcampurado and whatever stuff mothers and lolas give them? And yes, that fresh breath, devoid of impurities like meat, onions, garlic and what have you…

I remember that I would be late for work because I was playing with her on her crib. That first smile, the first step, the first words… each a milestone to her as a human being, a milestone for me and my wife as parents. We were in paradise.




So, this post is for my first born, who, in her own way, had given me much joy effortlessly and endlessly. Who, during the times of crisis in the family with the family matriarch being sick, diagnosed to be suffering from alzheimer’s (thank God I think the doctor made a miscalculation for she’s back!) rose to the occasion and took good care of her. And for that, we are forever grateful. So please, indulge with me a little more as I dedicate this poem for the very first angel in my life, my first born. I hope you like it, too.



Reversal of roles

I have seen her bathe you,
take you in her arms,
cuddle you more than her own

I witnessed how
she fed you with milk
as if it came from her bosom.

I saw the rituals she performed
to make you bright and bubbly.

she saw you grow
to who you are
and what you have become

this was yesterday
when the afternoon sun of her life
was at its highest!

and now, as you wear
your black toga and hat,
diploma in your hand,

she has reached the dusk,
awaiting dreams or even nightmares
in her sleep

old friends haunt her,
she calls them by name
although they have been long gone

from this world.
Tied to the wheelchair,
manacled to a sickness

that has no cure.
As I see you bathe, cuddle,
and feed that old soul, I know

that black robe and hat
and parchment paper are well earned
for you have not just learned

to count numbers or read a science book,
you have learned the most valuable lesson of all,
the lesson of life

and nana has taught you well. !