I'm not even a small fish

"The only reason I could think, of why someone would want to hack into your account, is that if you were plotting to overthrow the Arroyo administration," he said.

"Whaaaaaat," I replied. "I'm not even a big fish. I'm not even a small fish. I'm not even a fish. I'm just an egg, a zygote even."

Still mourning my Yahoo account. I've been crazily changing all of my passwords. According to my Google account, I now have a very strong password. Haha. Beware.

*****

Herb-san, I miss our Greens days! Wala lang.

There Are No Heroes.

I come from the context wherein we all get something in return. The whole concept of heroism stems from sacrifice. Why do people sacrifice? Because they envision something greater, something beyond themselves. It may not be for them, and these guys may not personally benefit from whatever sacrifice they make (the concept of not "gaining" in conventional terms boggles mainstream society's mind, and thus they put these selfless people on pedestals and poof, our heroes are born), but somewhere down the line, they benefit from what they do. It just depends on your values system. What do you value more? Monetary gain or personal fulfillment? The freedom of your country, or your life? Your offspring's future, or your personal comfort? Sometimes I feel weird that selflessness merits this kind of recognition. It makes you realize how rare it is. And...that's kind of sad. I wish there would be a time wherein selflessness would be as ordinary as the crime blotters we hear reported over the news night after night after night.

*****

Someone screwed with my Yahoo mail account. So now, I made a new one. Please forgive me if I don't respond to your emails. Goodbye, o numerous yahoogroups. *sniff*

Can You See?

My entry to the PBBY-Salanga of last year. Yvette asked to read it, I figured I may as well post it. :-)

Can You See (What Buboy Sees)?

Buboy is Mang Enteng’s only son. Bright-eyed and outgoing, he spent all of his six years in the loving care of his father.

Buboy always enjoyed riding the jeep with his dad while on vacation from his elementary school classes. Every morning, he would eagerly accompany Mang Enteng as he drove his passenger jeep around their subdivision. He was familiar with his dad’s frequent passengers, and often greeted them with an energetic wave as he called out, “Good morning!” with a bright smile.

Around the first corner from their house waited Ate Lina. She was always up bright and early to go to the market for her Tia Tacion, who craved the freshest fruits in season for breakfast. Ate Lina was already standing at the corner clutching her colorful market bayong as they rounded the corner. “Good morning, Ate Lina!” called out Buboy from the jeepney’s passenger seat. “Good morning Buboy, Mang Enteng!” replied Ate Lina as she sat at the end of the jeepney close to the door.

Further down the street waited Mang Gorio and Aling Tinay. They both had jobs in the city and had to leave early each morning. Mang Gorio worked as a driver for one of the richer families, his crisp white drivers’ barong lovingly ironed by Aling Tinay before she delivered the rest of the laundry in the city, and picked up new laundry requests. They both got off near the entrance to their quiet subdivision, Mang Gorio carrying Aling Tinay’s load of clean clothes.

Halfway around, Kuya Berting hopped onto the jeep, carrying a large sack filled with packets of cookies and sweets to be sold at Lola Selya’s Sari-Sari store. “Good morning, Kuya Berting!” Buboy smiled. Kuya Berting smiled back and handed Buboy a pack of candy. “Thanks!” said Buboy as he took the candy handed to him. Kuya Berting replied with, “That’s for making each morning real pleasant, Buboy. We’re glad you accompany your dad in the morning.”

Mang Enteng smiled as he heard what Kuya Berting said. As other passengers boarded and got off the jeepney, Buboy stared out from his window. Driving by the marketplace where Ate Lina got off, he could see a group of children selling large sacks to the early-morning buyers. The leader of the group was Elena, his classmate. She was tall for her age with long limbs, her thin arms flailing each time she approached a buyer. She was helping an elderly lady put purchased vegetables into her sack when she saw Mang Enteng’s jeepney pass by. She saw Buboy in the passenger seat, and smiled as she recognized him, at the same time pocketing the change the old lady handed her.

“Daddy, why do Elena and her friends sell sacks at the market?” asked Buboy, wondering why his classmate wasn’t at home watching cartoons like the other children he knew. “Well Buboy,” Mang Enteng began, “Elena earns the money she spends for her allowance in school. It’s going to be June soon, so she works every morning, selling sacks to the market goers to put their groceries in.”

Buboy kept silent, thinking of the small allowance his dad gave him every morning. A few pesos was enough for him to buy ice candy and a cupcake for recess. Elena had to earn that amount to buy her treats.

As the jeepney kept on through their subdivision, Buboy spied Mang Fred, sitting at his usual corner with his guitar. Mang Fred lost his sight with old age. Refusing to depend on his grown children for money, he strummed his guitar all day, singing love songs for passersby. They would occasionally drop a coin or two. He noticed that today, Mang Fred’s coin can was lying on the ground, a few coins close to it. Without Mang Fred noticing, a passerby accidentally kicked the can. Buboy wanted to help Mang Fred, but he couldn’t stop the jeep his father was driving. So he sat there, watching men, women, the young and the old as they went about their daily routines.

Whenever he accompanied his father on his jeepney rounds, he saw things that made him ask questions. Why was Mang Fred alone? Why can’t Elena join their summer patintero tournament? Why are there children who play in heaps of garbage? Sometimes Buboy asked Mang Enteng these questions all at once, as he saw more and more of these things each day. Sometimes Mang Enteng would answer, but sometimes he would get tired, and just smile and shake his head. Buboy would then sigh and lean back into his seat, still thinking about the people he sees everyday from the passenger seat of his father’s jeep.

One day, Buboy’s father got sick. Buboy sat for a while by the window, thinking of his father’s daily passengers. He played by himself in their yard, half-heartedly constructing a tower of twigs. A sudden gust of wind knocked his tower down. He could hear the voices and the laughter of the other children from down the street as they played cops and robbers. The gate to their yard creaked with the next gust of wind. Buboy looked out the gate onto the street. Then he decided to take a walk.
Buboy took a deep breath as he walked through the morning sunshine, its brightness and heat he never really felt before, as he was always riding in Mang Enteng’s jeep. He was now among the people he watched each morning from the safety of his passenger seat. As he approached Mang Fred’s corner, he saw that some coins were once again scattered on the floor. He reached down to pick them up and drop them into the can. “Mang Fred,” Buboy said, “some of your coins were on the floor. I’m putting them into your can so they don’t get lost.”

“Thank you, iho,” Mang Fred replied. “You don’t pass here often, I can tell.”

“No, Mang Fred. I am Enteng’s son. I usually see you when I accompany him when he does his rounds on the jeep. My name is Buboy.”

“Well Buboy, I’m glad you decided to walk today. Things must look quite different from here on the sidewalk than the view you usually get from your jeepney’s passenger seat,” chuckled Mang Fred. “I may be blind now, but I do remember how different things can seem from another point of view.”

Buboy sat down beside Mang Fred, and he listened as the old man told him stories of his younger days. He learned of Mang Fred’s family, of how his wife passed away, and of how his children had moved on with their lives and their own respective families.

“I’m sorry to hear you’re all by yourself,” Buboy said as Mang Fred ended the story of his youngest son who moved abroad. “You don’t have to be sorry,” Mang Fred said, “I’m not alone. I’m happy when there are young people like you who take the time to listen to my stories. People just usually pass me by. Tell you what Buboy,” said Mang Fred as he picked up his guitar and started strumming, “whenever you pass by on your father’s jeep, do holler me a greeting.”

“Will do, Mang Fred,” said Buboy, smiling. “And I’ll be sure to pass by every now and then to listen to your stories.”

The sun was slowly climbing as Buboy reached the marketplace. “Hey Buboy!” called out Elena, as she sat on the steps of the fruit vendor’s stall. She was counting the coins she earned from selling sacks that morning. “What are you doing here? I see you almost every morning riding your father’s jeep.”

“Dad’s sick today, so I decided to take a walk.” Buboy’s brow furrowed with worry for his father. Elena noticed Buboy’s concern. “Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be fine. Your father works very hard. Maybe he just needs to rest,” Elena said with a reassuring smile. She took Buboy’s arm and led him into the market.

Buboy’s eyes shone with amazement as he observed the people in the market. Men, women and children were all over the place, running about, transferring goods, haggling over prices. The place was so filled with activity. This was so different from what he was used to seeing. He would always pass by the marketplace, but he never stepped inside. Elena led him to a stall that sold cookies and candy that came with small plastic toys. She handed him a cookie. “Don’t feel bad,” she said as she paid for the cookie she gave him.

Buboy felt strange. He was touched by what Elena did, knowing how hard she worked for the money she earned. “My daddy isn’t around anymore,” Elena said sadly. They sat on the steps of the candy stall. Elena would push back the hair from her thin face as she told Buboy of how her own father left her family to work in Saudi. He used to write frequently, and Elena always looked forward to his letters. But as time passed, his letters came less frequently, until they stopped completely. Unable to contact her father, Elena and her sisters took on responsibilities and jobs to earn money for school and allowance. Her mother worked as a helper in the city. “I don’t know what happened to my daddy,” Elena said, tears forming in her eyes. “I miss him. Whenever I see you and your father each morning, I’m reminded of him.”

Buboy stood up. It was his turn to take Elena’s arm. Elena was surprised when Buboy started running. They ran and ran, huffing and puffing as they reached Buboy’s house.

“Buboy, where have you been?” Mang Enteng asked when Buboy and Elena tumbled through the door. “Daddy!” Buboy cried. He pulled Elena and introduced her. Elena shyly greeted Mang Enteng. The two children sat on the wooden bangko facing Mang Enteng’s rocking chair. Buboy then told Mang Enteng about his morning, about Mang Fred and his stories, about the marketplace, and of how Elena treated him to a cookie.

“That’s very generous of you, Elena.” Mang Enteng said. Buboy could see that Elena was happy being in his home. “You’re welcome here anytime you like.” Elena smiled.

Mang Enteng stretched and stood up. “Well, I think I feel well enough to drive the jeepney this afternoon. Would you kids like to come along?” Buboy and Elena nodded excitedly and followed Mang Enteng to the jeepney.

The wind whipped their faces as Buboy and Elena shared the passenger seat. They watched from the window as people walked along the sidewalk, as mothers tended their lawns, and the other children played on the street, making chalk drawings of piko and drawing patintero lines. They passed Mang Fred’s corner and shouted hello. Mang Fred’s face lit up and he smiled.

When Buboy and Mang Enteng got home after making the rounds and dropping Elena off at her house, Buboy sat beside Mang Enteng resting in the living room. “Daddy,” Buboy began, “I never knew there was so much more to what I see every morning.”

Mang Enteng chuckled and ruffled Buboy’s hair. “Buboy, we see different things from different places. They may be the same people you see everyday, but when you get to know them and hear their stories, you start to see them in a different way.”

Buboy smiled as he remembered Mang Fred and Elena. He knew that from that day on, he would be walking around more often, and get to know the people he saw everyday. It was comfortable to just watch from a distance, but Buboy knew that there was so much more to learn from listening and sharing.

The hullabaloo about Easter eggs

Jesus had no servants, yet they called Him Master.
Had no degree, yet they called Him Teacher.
Had no medicines, yet they called Him Healer.
Had no army, yet kings feared Him.
He won no military battles, yet He conquered the world.
He commited no crime, yet they crucified Him.
He was buried in a tomb, yet He lives today.

I got the above text from an Easter greeting from one of my former college professors.

*****

Hesus ng Aking Buhay
Arnel dc. Aquino, SJ

Sikat ng umaga, buhos ng ulan
simoy ng dapithapon, sinag ng buwan;
batis na malinaw, dagat na bughaw
Gayon ang Panginoon kong Hesus ng aking buhay

Saan man ako bumaling, Ika'y naroon
tumalikod man sa 'Yo, dakilang pag-ibig Mo
sa akin tatawag at magpapaalalang
ako'y 'Yong ginigiliw
at siyang itatapat sa puso

Tinig ng kaibigan, oyayi ng ina
pangarap ng ulila, bisig ng dukha
ilaw ng may takot, ginhawa ng aba
Gayon ang Panginoon kong Hesus ng aking buhay

This one's my favorite among the Himig Heswita songs. Beautiful, beautiful.

*****

So, why do we have the bunny and the eggs when we celebrate Easter? These are actually non-Catholic beliefs. Then again, what Catholic text stipulates the observance of the Easter bunny anyway? In the same way that Santa Claus is to Christmas, the Easter bunny is to well, Easter. Shopping centers make a killing selling brightly decorated eggs and cute, fluffy bunnies. Country clubs and hotels organize egg hunts complete with matching buffet meals and entertainment.

Whenever someone would ask me about the egg's role in the Easter celebration, I would simply give some vague response about the egg symbolizing life, etc., etc--no, Jesus did NOT come from an egg, blah blah blah. The egg, according to About, is a Roman symbol for the seed of life. The bunny on the other hand was some sort of fertility symbol (you can imagine why). The bunny or hare's spirit was said to lay eggs in the grass, and thus the egg hunts were born. These practices persist and have been morphed by commercialism into the festive Easter traditions we have today.

Ah, another side to the Easter bunny's cute fluffiness.

Revolutionary Petunias

The Nature of This Flower Is to Bloom
By Alice Walker

Rebellious. Living.
Against the Elemental Crush.
A Song of Color
Blooming
For Deserving Eyes.
Blooming Gloriously
For its Self.

Revolutionary Petunia.

On turning 25 and other things

Yup, 25 and over the hill. Hahaha! The age of 25 ought to be a landmark of sorts. Instead I see turning quarter-life somehow the way I would see an opening in the earth being closed in as I stare in anguish from some musty underground compartment. When you get past 25, there's no more excuse for being infantile and naive. Not that I actually see myself as that (ahahaha), but it's more of the lack of comfort in hiding behind the convenient excuse of being young.

*****

The YSEI Capacity Building Workshop is over. We cross our fingers, and wait for the news. In the meantime though, we work, work, work. If you want to check out the press release, visit the Global Knowledge Partnership website. I was amazed and inspired by the people and programs I met and learned from. I think I also gained a new patch of white hair from summoning my left brain to rise to the challenge of accomplishing the requirements. Thank God for the relentless mentoring of the YSEI team, the encouragement and tips from my fellow finalists, and the prayers from my good friends.

I updated my Fotopage.

*****

GXP Team 52 is currently in Davao. Good luck you guys! Enjoy.

Shhhh.

When Marielle is quiet, it means she is cooking up something.

Some shoutouts:

Engaged! Congratulations to my dear friend Gay and her partner Daniel on their engagement! I hope to see you both very soon.

Apryll passed the bar exam! My super-asteg travelmate never got to see the Code of Hammurabi when we were at the Louvre (I suppose we can divulge that now). But she made it anyway!!! Let's go travel again, Lawyer-Apryll! Saan ang blowout? Haha.

Tita Nikki is soon to be featured as an achiever on Mega Magazine. You go, Tita-girl!