Journey to Capiz

There are three goals I wanted to accomplish before I become wrinkled and bedridden.

First is to have a stable job with a more than average income. Second is to have a family of three kids, two boys and one girl. And third is to perhaps travel across the seven continents, and yes, that would include Antarctica. To travel seem to bring the best out of life; a little shopping in Paris, a cup of coffee along the sidewalks of Portugal, several minutes of street dancing in Cuba, some petals of cherry blossoms from Japan, or a photograph with a kangaroo from down under.

Yet, my parents told me that there are still more sites to be seen without the expense of an international flight. They were right. There are hundreds of places just under our noses, within the island of Panay that are worth visiting before we break our piggy banks to spend some three days in Disneyland.

Last week, my family went on a two-day road trip to the province of Capiz. We wanted to visit my maternal grandfather whom I last met in nine years and along the way witness the less noticed but tourism-worthy attractions. Boarding our L300 van, I waved goodbye to the busy streets of Iloilo City and got my camera phone ready for some amazing shots along the way. Our first stop was an inland resort in Pototan called Mel Rose Resort, there I saw a pair of amazingly huge jackfruits that were good enough to eat. It’s quite unique since it’s far from the usual beach front resorts we have along Villa and Oton. They have a hiking trail, two small pools and nipa cottages. Most of the visitors are from rural towns who came in tricycles and even carabao-driven sleds. What struck me most was the sight of more than thirty people enjoying themselves in two small pools barely four feet deep. Though they can’t flutter freely, a simple rare dip in a swimming pool with their families can beat the experience inside the Olympic natatorium in Beijing.

The clouds were getting dimmer, my ten year-old cousin, Ken told me they were called Nimbostratus rain clouds. Yet, our hopes were still sunny side up. The light drizzle didn’t hinder us from visiting the Mariit Wildlife Reserve of West Visayas State University in Brgy. Jayubo, Lambunao. We had a little trouble finding the place; it so happen that a lady selling lumpia lived near the reserve, so she took a hitchhike with us. I could not imagine how far she travels everyday from home hoping to sell all her lumpia to feed her family. People in that area lived simpler but harder. There were children walking with their bare feet along the mud-stricken road. A man was carrying a sack of charcoal that was probably from uphill, and mind you, it was a long way down. Funny, how I clamor often about less maintained roads in the city. The wildlife reserve was worth the 14 kilometer bumpy and rocky ride from the highway. We were guided by Mr. John Rey Callado who told us about the amazing yet endangered species of fauna in the island of Panay. There were hornbills, owls, deer, and a pair of unfortunately sterile wild hog couple which according to John were the one of the most endangered species of swine in the world. And here we are, all afraid of getting swine flu. I guess it’s just simply nature’s way of reminding that she can get back at us for leaving her simply ignored and exploited.

It was either my sun dance wasn’t quite effective or simply bad luck that got us driving through a rough storm of fierce rain drops and heart-thumping thunder. But still, though a little nervous, our smiles were up. Kamelle, my five year old cousin, just kept on praying to Bro (Jesus according to Santino) for a great weather when we reach the sandy shores of Baybay Capiz. Jesus does listen to the cuter ones. It was an amazing sight, the entire atmosphere before Roxas City was hopelessly dim, but as we entered the city a bright blue sky welcomed us and our two sachets of sun block lotions. The sea was calm and though my brother Ramon splashed sand in my eyes which wrought havoc amongst us, we altogether had a relaxing salty dip at the beach. Roxas City has one of the best beaches in the island, with a great bay-walk to stroll around after munching on their seafood delicacies.

The next day was as adventuresome with lesser rain. We drove to my grandfather’s house at Bolo, Capiz and saw his amazing carvings of religious images. Too bad those creative genes weren’t passed unto me. Family togetherness is one spot that is omnipresent all over the island. But, since it was just a two day road trip, we ought to turn back and return to Iloilo. Yet along the way we stopped over three more spots. The Pan-ay Church in Pan-ay, Capiz which had the biggest bell in Asia, though we only got to take a photo with the replica since the original one was on the bell tower, and the man in charge was still out for lunch. Well, there’s simply more than Dinagyang or Boracay that Panay can offer. Here we have a seven-foot diameter and 10,400 kilogram working church bell. The Carmelite Missionaries Center of Life Retreat and Training Center at Brgy. Tinocuan, Dueñas, Iloilo which simply had a breath-taking view of mountains and cheerful sisters. It is a place for retreat and get together, a place for meditation and family bonding. With the busy world that each of us lives in, where each of us aspires to be financially stable, we tend to forget about emotional and spiritual stability. I guess the amazing sunrise at this retreat house can remind us that there is a God, there is Bro, who has given us the beautiful mountains and wide vast plains, who has given us the very life that we have. The Dingle Dam at Brgy. Moroboro, Dingle, Iloilo was our last spot. The keenness and practicality of man to make use of stored water for agricultural irrigation is simply admirable and the view is breath-taking.

We went home with stinky damp clothes, a few plastic bags of seashells and lots and lots of photos. It was nice getting to see my Lolo Pat again after nine years. I have only traveled barely half of the Panay island. Come to think of it there are 7,106 (low tide) islands more to go in our archipelago.

My life goal number three will always remain as is. I still want to climb huge blocks of ice in Antarctica. But for now, traveling around my province, my region, my country still bring the best out of life; an early morning jog in our beach shores, a hike in our amazing mountain trails, some photos from historical landmarks, and once in a while a ride in an L300 van with my family.

Disneyland can wait.

Explore what’s near.

No Charge

For my column today, permit me to share a touching short story about a mother revealing her relentless love to her son.

My little boy came into the kitchen this evening while I was fixing supper. He handed me a piece of paper he’d been writing on. After wiping my hands on my apron, I read it, and this is what it said:

For mowing the grass, $5

For making my own bed this week, $1

For going to the store, $0.50

For playing with baby brother while you went shopping, $0.25

For taking out the trash, $1

For getting a good report card, $5

And for raking the yard, $2

Well, I looked at him standing there expectantly, and a thousand memories flashed through my mind. So I picked up the paper, and turning it over, this is what I wrote.

For the nine months I carried you, growing inside me, No charge.

For the nights I sat up with you, doctored you, prayed for you, No charge.

For the time and the tears and the cost through the years, No charge.

For the nights filled with dread, and the worries ahead, No charge.

For advice and the knowledge, and the cost of your college, No charge.

For the toys, food and clothes, and for wiping your nose, No charge.

Son, when you add it all up, the full cost of my love is No charge.

Well, when he finished reading, he had great big tears in his eyes. He looked up at me and he said, “Mama I sure do love you.” Then he took the pen and in great big letters he wrote, PAID IN FULL. (Christmas CrossTalk Songs and Stories, Joel Eslabra)

Yes, no one in this world can replace the role of a mother.

No profession can equal the amount of nobility your mama offers considering she always works overtime without compensation. Once she had timed in into motherhood, her tasks are endless. No wealth in this world can pay the cost of a mother’s love. Even every mine of gold and diamonds and all the bank accounts combined could not equal the very life your nanay has risked. But, most often we, her kids, tend to ignore her importance. We’d rather go to the movies with our friends than spend some few hours watching foreign novellas with her while eating Indian mango soaked in soy sauce. We’d rather choose to break her heart with our stubborn words because she becomes too nagging again than extend our patience more and accept our mistakes without talking back.

I am one lucky daughter. Amidst all those nights that I kept my nanay up until 3:00 in the morning while studying for my exams simply to be with me and cook noodles when I get hungry, I never heard a word of regret, a phrase of complaint from her. But, I am one ungrateful daughter. It was foolish of me to make her wait when she wanted a back massage since I was watching a good show aired on the television. It was dumb of me to constantly ask her to pass over some load for my cellphone, which she immediately does, considering there are times I would deny her some moments of hugs, kisses and words of thanks just because of teenage angst.

I do not know what your mother is like, whether you call her mama, nanay or mommy, how she puts you to sleep or how she reprimands your stupid decisions. But what I do know is, like my nanay, she would do everything, and I mean everything from fighting over labor pains when she was pregnant to strangling your pre-school teacher after she saw a bruise on your arm that resembled a ruler. My nanay told me one time that if she could have all the powers in the world, she would make me and my brother perfect and that would make her extremely happy. Now, tell me who has a love that unconditional and selfless? She deserves more than our thanks yous, roses, hugs, kisses and mushy column articles. But, you know what? She is more than contented of these petty and simple acts of repayment.

Like the little boy, most of us would compete with our mother’s worth. With a simple wash of dirty dishes or a quick sweep of the sala, we then think that we have done her role. But, actually we should do these simple acts as an attempt to make her happy and feel that her every day love and concern is appreciated. Each of us have the best mom in the world and even if we can’t be the best sons or daughters, she doesn’t care, she still loves even the worst of us. I guess in some way, the best mom rightfully deserves the best treatment. Kiss her with your best kiss. Hug her with your best hug. Do your best to love her everyday.

Her love costs more than all the wealth you’ll see in your life time.

But her love remains free of charge.

Sa pinalanga ko nga Nanay, I love you and you’re the best!

Belated Happy Mother’s Day.

ouch! my boo-boo (04/28/09)

Ouch! my boo-boo
Maria Reylan M. Garcia

Ouch. It stabbed like a murderer’s knife as if lacerating every bit of tissue. Ouch. The intense agony radiated throughout my lower abdomen. Ouch. Drops of sweat began to dampen my forehead, and I was getting paler and paler by the moment. Ouch. I am in terrible cramping pain. Curse this monthly cycle. I grieve with several other females who suffer dysmenorrhea; as if monthly blood stains and the added discomfort of soaked pads aren’t bad enough. Nevertheless, analgesics are as popular as sanitary pads. But, I often would refuse to take. No,

I’m not a masochist, but I would like to feel the pain for little longer while it still last. Call me a nut-head, but somewhere in my mind, that pain assures me that this month I’m having my menses, and that is a good thing.

The pain assures me that I am still alive.

Pain is something that most people dread, since it’s the complete opposite of comfort that everyone longs for. Whether it be physical pain or that which evolved from emotions, pain remains the most unsought feeling. Today, pain is attributed to costly hospital bills, marital separations and the rise of the golden era of analgesics. Although each people may vary in pain tolerance, which means one might handle the pain more lightly than another who would wail out for a shot of morphine just for a boo-boo. Yet, all with no exceptions ask and seek for a relief when the pain is already weakening him. We continue to drive ourselves to a detour away from pain. This detour may be a capsule of analgesia, an all-out confession that you haven’t had in many years, a handshake with a former rival, or the most peaceful yet worst, eternal rest.

But, pain isn’t all that bad. Scientists believe that pain is our body’s way of securing its own safety. Pain warns us of injury, protects us from further injury and prevents the body from too much activity enabling it to restore to its normal healthy state.

The bonus part is, if we lived through the pain, we become stronger

Just think, what if we don’t feel the pain of a touching a hot stove? We might be surprised part of our skin is burning making us susceptible to quick entry of infection. What if we don’t feel the pain of a clogged artery? We might be surprised that we lay flat on the floor, cold and lifeless because of total stoppage of blood flow, thus the heart gives up. What if people don’t get hurt when their husbands, wives or fiancés cheat on them or becomes too insensitive? We might be surprised that promiscuity will fly high and no one will ever believe on loyalty, since its okay to betray because the other one doesn’t seem to care enough to be faithful or truthful. What if there is no pain? We might be surprised that soon enough, there would be no life, no one would go up to mommy and ask her to kiss the boo-boo.

When we indeed feet the pain, we are reminded that what we did hurt and it’s up to us if we would intend to feel that pain again or go the opposite route and be anesthetized, be painless. If you feel pain, that is indeed too bad and really, you should be pitied. But, I believe that as long as we feel pain, this also means we still have something to fight for in order to feel at ease.

The bonus part is, if we lived through the pain, we become stronger.

We become assured that when that pain comes again we know we have the ability to possibly conquer it the second, third or fourth time around.

I may have little of other else’s shares of pains in life. What I may perceive as an excruciating pain may just be a prick of a needle for others, but like them, I have felt the pain, I simply have lived through it, and I have gotten stronger like them, though not as equally strong. Yet, I have gotten stronger.

Life is an irony. When we are in pain, for the present time, we seek for dependence. We use analgesics. We use anesthesia. We call on to mommy to kiss the boo-boo on our head. We call on to our friends to hear their comforting words whenever another guy breaks our heart. When in pain, we are weak. After the pain becomes a memory, we become braver.

Ouch. It still hurts. I took a tablet of analgesic a few minutes ago, now I have to bear the pain for several more minutes until it takes effect. Ouch. I’m still quite helpless. I reached for my mother’s hand. She smiled. Ouch. It still hurt. I smiled and hummed the song “If I were a boy….”

Soon the pain will be away. I know. It keeps coming back every month.

But, every month it reminds me, I still continue to live through it.

* * *

I am glad that our modern heroes, our OFWs have been reading and pouring out comments to my previous articles. Many thanks to Mr. Randy Bataanon and Engr. Cel Ramos. You do our country proud!

* * *

I'd like to greet a belated Happy Birthday to my Tatay, Engr. Reyno B. Garcia, who has lived through a lot of pains but still remains strong, and is getting stronger each year.

squids-on-a-stick (04/21/09)

Squids-on-a-Stick
Maria Reylan M. Garcia

Back in elementary, I always get dismayed whenever Lent was observed. It meant the canteen will serve less pork barbeques and more of squids-on-a-stick. That I have to be extra behaved because, according to my CLE (Christian Living Education) teacher, Papa Jesus died for my sake.

Lent meant torture for my playful age because it meant less television hours and more hours of visiting the school chapel. Even Eucharistic songs at Sundays tend to be duller and the energetic melodies that I look forward to, the Alleluia and Gloria were, for the meantime, postponed. All the more do I get bummed when Holy Week comes, since this happens to commemorate the saddest week in Jesus Christ’s life.

Eating nothing but fish for an entire week was okay, but my favorite cartoon channels off air for three days? It was torture, I felt like I was nailed on the cross.

Silly me, though I could not blame my young self. James Fowler, a child development theorist said during those years I was still under the Mythic-Literal faith, which meant I did not completely understand the core and essence of religious rites and customs. For as long as I prayed to my guardian angel every night before I sleep and not make fun of others, I was being a good child of God.

But, gradually as life began to present problems other than homework, my faith, my real faith also grew. Soon, Lent and Holy Week became more important to me. Soon, I understood my CLE teacher why I have to “extra behave.” Jesus died for my sake, for my sins. I saw the Holy Week as equally, no even—more significant than Christmas.

This may be the reason why I was much affected by news reports flooding the televisions and radios during the solemn week. Showbiz personalities raging havoc in Boracay. Actresses mouth-trashing and throwing shot glasses at some night club. Ramp models grabbing guns from security guards. Father, forgive them for they do not know what they are doing.

While I was at home, reflecting on Santino’s kindhearted generosity to a drunkard magician, some people were crowding the Boracay Police Station with foul accusations of one another. Holy week was supposedly commemorated not just for relaxation but also for reflection. Holy week is not commemorated for bikinis and violence.

I have nothing against people using the Holy Week for vacation. Family ties are actually strengthened with a few days at the beach. Since mom and dad have no work, they can certainly bond with the kids and cope with what they have missed for the past months. That’s a good thing. But to drown yourselves in alcohol, partying ‘til you drop and engaging in promiscuity while some people literally nail themselves to the cross, or let themselves be whipped ‘til they bleed and engaging in abstinence and fasting, you’ve gone too far.

I am aware that not everyone celebrates Holy Week, I am aware that not everyone shares the same religion. But I am Christian, I am a Catholic. I couldn’t stand people desecrating the week when my Savior was crucified to death just to save the lives of these same insensitive people.

Last Easter Sunday, I went to hear mass and the good priest’s homily was about the three Rs that should be done during Lent, most especially at Holy Week. These are Relax, Reflect and Renew. Most people perfected the first R, some did the second R, but a few considered doing the third. Whether you’re a Christian or any other sect of faith, I guess we all need to observe these three things once in a while. The Holy Week was one of the best times to observe them, since we were all free from work and school.

At times, we need to gather broken selves, think about how we can be better, and then eventually vow to practice our renewed and reborn selves.

I am guilty of not being able to fully fulfill the three Rs, but in one way or another, I had shed some tears and felt an awakening pain inside my heart. I realized my faults, I realized their consequences. As a Christian, as a Catholic, every moment my Lord’s portrait of suffering was flashed on the TV screen or simply came across my mind, I wanted to rush unto him and help him carry the cross that was actually never his. As a human being, as a person regardless of denomination and beliefs, every moment I see the man called Jesus Christ, I wanted to still rush onto him, help with the 50kg cross and maybe change the already confused and wasted world.

Every time it’s Lent, every time Holy week comes I still feel dismayed. But not because of less pork barbeque at the canteen. But because one man suffered and died for my sake, for everyone else’s sake and many don't seem to care.

* * *

Birthday greetings to my brother Ramon, who's entering the world of adolescence at 12 years old.

pregnant at 17 (04/14/09)

Pregnant at 17
Maria Reylan M. Garcia

She was young at 17. Her brown eyes were to every girl’s envy. With one look, she can bring a one-woman man down on his knees. Make-up enhances her charm.

The blush on her cheek and the gloss on her lips bring out a smile, a grin that goes right at you saying ‘talk to me’. Her hair would bring shampoo models to shame. Her dress and her shoes were in harmony to her beauty. She may seem perfect at first glance, but wait until you see the problem she bears.

Quite recently, she's been feeling weak and nauseated. Teary-eyed every night,her parents lecture her. It's because she is pregnant. She's going to be a mother at 17.

Teen pregnancy these days sounds like a female teenager’s fashion like skinny jeans, colorful bottles of nail polish, or multiple shades of eye shadows. It has become part of teen culture because the incidence of teenage sexual activities have increased over the years. Some 75 percent of those below age 19 being already, as they themselves admit, “active.”

I happen to understand that within a human’s growth and development reaching adolescence or teenage entails the heightened increase of sexual interest, sexual maturity, and well... everything sexual. The topic of peer conversations shifts from harmless arguments of who has the best Pokemon collectibles to condoms, birth control pills, abortion, one-night stands and sex.

Yet, curiosity kills the cat. Thousands of 17-year-old mothers stopped schooling, ended their social lives, isolating themselves, depressed and hesitant to start over. They are afraid of what society may brand them as. Sure, some might have a more liberated approach, that since it is rampant, it can’t hurt. Since, the father of her baby agreed to marry her and be young couples still quite dependent upon their respective parents, it can’t hurt. But, I believe that a part of their lives, a portion of their innocent youth has been piled into a bucket of regret and could have been more rewarding and less of a headache to their families.

Look at several young parents today. Some might present themselves as happy and very well adapted, but there are nights when each teen mother or father face themselves in the mirror thinking about slapping their own faces and remembering that hormone-filled and clumsy night. Look at several young parents today. At the mall, their peers seethem walking around cradling a baby in their arms. The peers pause and try to look sympathetic and tell the young parent how cute the baby is. They go separate ways, the young parent a little uncomfortable, missing out on a whole day of fun gimmick. The peers walk into a cinema, temporarily forgetting the fate of their friend. The young parent walks to the grocery store, along aisle three at the infant milk’s section.

Part of my Normal Obstetrics lectures, I have come to realize that an entire sexual intercourse can pleasurably take place in some ten minutes. Too short to risk your entire life and door-opening chances for, right? Yes, we are young and reckless and all we think about is everything that could bring us into euphoria, into what we blindly, deafly and dumbly regard as happiness and satisfaction. But, think about it while hormones haven’t got the better of you. Are you indeed willing to spend a few minutes of pleasure in exchange of a potentially problematic lifetime? And if you do have contraceptives and elate yourselves without getting tummies bloated and innocent fetuses being born out of purely “accidents”, can you still walk upright with intact morals and face your parents with sincerity? Think about it. You still haven’t finished school, you still live under your parents’ house, still cries to mom when you have troubles with your boyfriend and still have your dad paying for your monthly phone bills. Where’s your simple debt of gratitude, simple shame I might add, to simply come home and wail out to your already high-blood parents’ that ‘I’m pregnant.’

I had my duties in the delivery room and I concretely saw what pregnant women undergo. After forty weeks of nothing but mood shifts, lower back pains, distorted body image, stretch marks, and possible depression, a woman has to undergo several hours more of intense pain during increasing contractions during her date of delivery. Plus, not to mention the very possibility of developing complications that may be life-threatening. I had patients at their 30’s who still couldn’t get the hang of pregnancy and delivery. Then I wondered, how much more a 17-year old?

I appeal to you my fellow youth, there is always a time for everything. It’s hard to get pregnant when it is still not the time.

It’s hard to have a family when it is still not the time.

But, everything remains two-sided. Teen pregnancy isn’t just a result of teen rebellion. Teen pregnancy may also be a cry for help from weakly-guided teenagers. Teen pregnancy can be the outcome of the obnoxious crime of rape. I still admire the several young mothers, you’re courage to continue bearing the child, denying the very thought of abortion, is above all admirable. Yes, what else can we do if the act has been done? I am advocating for the prevention of teen pregnancy, but I am still pro-life. Teen would-be fathers and mothers, the fetus has nothing to do with the irresponsibility you have done.

I appeal to you my fellow youth, do not resort to abortion. I appeal to you parents, don’t push away your children who have gone astray. This should be the proper time and venue for you to be a parent to them. This is indeed a cry for help. You have brought them up for so many years now, and just for a single mistake you’ll give up on those many years and disown them? Please, we need your help, we had and always will.

She was young, at 17 and pregnant. Help her.

But don’t follow her example.

Save the Earth (04/07/09)

Save the Earth

Maria Reylan M. Garcia

As we pray at night for a better tomorrow, we need to act, too. We need to plant trees. We need to stop smoking....

I was three years old when I first saw the picture of the earth in an encyclopedia where Mickey Mouse was in an astronaut’s suit floating beside the blue planet. All I could think of at that very moment was how the earth resembled the blue bouncing rubber ball of my jackstone set.

I was in elementary when I first saw the satellite image of the earth. I wondered at how a single planet can support the billions of lives in it.

Until today, I continue to marvel at the beauty of Mother Earth. But alongside is the uncertainty and fear of how much longer it will resemble my blue bouncing rubber ball and how long can it support those that live in it.

Save the Earth. This tagline has undoubtedly been used countless of times. But, as time progressed, the earth’s need to be saved worsens. Environmentalists conceived almost every creative idea to gather the support of the majority since the earth’s disease gradually becomes systemic and irreversible.

Last March 28, 2009 from 8:30 to 9:30 in the evening, some ten million Filipinos decided to switch off their lights and unnecessary appliances for an hour to show their support for the earth. They joined other countries for Earth Hour. They opted to save the earth, even for just an hour. I hope soon, it may evolve into more than just an annual event. I hope it may evolve into a habit, a daily routine. If we could spend the 23 hours with ease, an hour without television or air-conditioners won’t hurt.

This global activity only proved that the global community can actually work together to bring back the long lost pristine ecosystem. But I just could not understand why others seem not to care. It seems so simple to realize that if we continue on polluting the earth, we will soon lose the only home that can support us. I don’t know much about economics or how world trade commences, but I am aware that some industries won’t permit to go for renewable energy because they earn big from smog-producing energy sources. I am aware that they want to grow filthy rich and famous. But, pardon me; our lives are at stake here. Once the earth explodes and suffer fatal climate disturbances, she won’t consider anything, she won’t care how much you have or who you are.

Think about it, the earth is the only planet with chocolates, with white-sand beaches, with cute fluffy puppies and the only planet we have.

We dream of big things. These dreams were the mother of technology and progress, but when dreams were splattered with greed and self-centered interests, they become roots of extinction and global warming.

In one way or another we have contributed. Once in our lives we have forgotten to turn of the lights when not in use, threw a candy wrapper on the sidewalks, used a bottle of hairspray, and we occasionally fart. But, sad to say we are also the patients to this malady.

We were tasked as stewards of all the creations, living or non-living.

As we pray at night for a better tomorrow, we need to act, too. We need to plant trees. We need to stop smoking. We need to reduce, reuse and recycle. We need to use fluorescent lamps instead of incandescent light bulbs because they last longer and are 75 percent more efficient in saving energy. We need to make use of paper more efficiently. We need to stop eating gas-producing foods to prevent massive production of carbon dioxide. We need to campaign for our government to enforce the use of renewable energy. We need to tell others to do something for the earth everyday.

The earth has been letting us live for millions of years now. It’s about time we pay back and let her live millions of years more.

Save the earth.

Truly, I’m not joking.

It is the only planet with chocolates.

White-Out (03/31/09)

White-Out

Maria Reylan M. Garcia

In order to survive and continue to thrive as a living being, I need three essentials. These are oxygen to which without I’ll be cold and blue literally, food to which absence I’ll be malnourished and eventually be swarmed by flies and my correction tape otherwise popularly known as the white-out. Yes, the white-out, taking form of both a strip of tape and ounces of fluid, it had whitened the dimmest and the messiest set of scribbles I have written. I had relied on it since high school when Trigonometry spilled the worst blots of ink and even until now, when my minimum-of-ten-pages Nursing Process have sent my spastic left hand berserk, committing jerky errors every two seconds. To whoever had conceived the brilliant idea of my white redeemer, hear my words of gratitude: You’re such a kindhearted person. You made the world a better place.

I use white-outs more frequent than I use my hairbrush. From this utter reality, one may realize how roughly careless I am when it comes to writing on paper. That may be the reason why I write my column articles directly on the computer; otherwise I might have used up all the white-out in the world. This dependence placed me into a life threatening challenge when I entered my Nursing course, since during examinations we are not allowed to have erasures of any forms: white-outs, rubber erasers even re-tracings. It may appear that on every exam that I have taken, I have already risked my very life. I turn frustrated every time I would shade the wrong selection while completely aware of the mistake, if I could just bring out my white-out and make things white—I mean right.

We learn from our mistakes. The basic idea of committing an error so that the same carelessness won’t recur again in the future has been the wall of confidence for many, has been the ray of hope for failures. But, then it came across me, what if we won’t have the
future to regain and correct our errors? We are too confident that someday we will be able to prove ourselves right. I am too confident that for every word I misspell the white out will simply be some few flicks away. Soon, I begin to disregard to battle off carelessness because I am assured that even though I spelled public schools as pubic schools, in a matter of seconds I can spare myself from foolish shame. Because I knew that wrong things can be made right, I took for granted on making the right things.

But, to err is human. We can’t escape the fact that we are imperfect, that we at times would take a detour on a no U-turn zone, that we at times would shade the wrong selection at an examination, that we at times would mutter awful remarks and impulsive prejudice that are in the end completely contrary. I honestly believe that we should not
just let this human characteristic to be the reason for why we are so. I don’t think our tendency to commit mistakes would be enough reason for us to stop trying to avoid mistakes. I don’t think our potential to commit errors would be a justifiable reason for us to confidently say, “I’ll do better next time.” I believe we must find ways to prevent making mistakes, learning from them should be the last resort.

I cannot imagine myself as a registered nurse who made a mistake on recording the vital signs of the patient or charting the wrong medications given. Lucky for me if the error was discovered before things get worse and life threatening. But, there are times, there are certain moments in our lives that mistakes aren’t part of the choices, that there is no room for error. Right now, I am guilty of still using the white-out, but somehow I have loosened my reliance. I treat every article, essay or even things-to-do list as one of my Nursing exams that as much as possible I must not make erasures, I must not make
mistakes. Besides it would be a waste of some drops of ink to rewrite and possibly some few sheets of paper too.

Mistakes indeed are present to remind us that we must do better the second time around, but mistakes must not prevent us from doing well the first time. Yet, I still am in deep gratitude to the creator of the white-out, because sometimes my tendency to misspell public to pubic can bring me to trouble.

White-outs are always available in office supplies, but the opportunities to do things right for the first time might not always be.