NOTE: Some of the paragraphs were not published on the August 21,2007 issue.
That Something
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
My eyes widened as my left foot led my right one of the yellow tracks of the escalator. It was such a sight to see, more rigidly interesting than a championship match in one of those NBA games my father use to go nuts for. The shopping haven of SM City hadn’t been so jam-packed of people since a novelty icon or some matinee idol paid a visit. But that day was an exemption, and thus my premonition blurted out to be quite reliable. When I say jam-packed I mean it to the highest extent, in grammar we use to call it as the superlative degree. Swarms of college freshmen, including myself, flooded most of the upper floor corridors, all for the very same reason. Nope, we’re not there to sit on Santa Claus’s lap and tell him what we want for Christmas (it’s not even December, yet). It’s a all for one and hardly one for all scenario, packs of my kind were there because of a simple reason, that is, to watch a movie. The flick entitled “Paraiso” (starred by Maricel Soriano, Cesar Montano, Michael V.) was shockingly a required activity for most of the universities here in Iloilo City. Now before anyone gets the wrong idea of me making a movie review, I’m not. I already did that for my Filipino project, and trust me it was quite more taxing than doing hundreds of essays in one seating.
What I had experienced that day was not a matter of popcorn buckets or the piles of tissues soaking with tears. Throughout the endless wait of lining up, the wide vicinity of the cinema’s corridors was but a convention or to the least extent a gathering of colors and variations. Every kind of teenage personality you would ever possibly imagine was but a part of this orchestra of differences. Those descriptions I read on psychology magazines about the different types of teenagers were popping out of those glossy pages and existing in the real world. There were the fashionitas, those dudes and dudettes who seem to be always blooming and getting everything within the “it” of the cool category. There were the laid-backers, with their composed and frail looks, endlessly unaware of the past nor tomorrow; all that matters to them is enjoying the present. There were the brianiacs, who still in spite of the sea of crowd continues to glue the eyes over their textbooks or mutter about equations of their last chemistry exams. Then, there were my kind, those who feel so naked within a multitude, who looks down on the flooring almost always, seeming to be counting all the tile blocks the whole shopping mall has. It’s nobly funny to think how a simple charity-oriented movie brought together such a variety of people.
The heavens had answered our prayers; the chariot of luck brought me and my classmate, Marinel inside the cinema house, fortunate among the many, who still waited in line outside to be accommodated. Agreeing to sit near the path to the restrooms, you know the reasons: the cold aura, the possible funny jerks, a filled bottle of water in my hand, and not to mention, my body not able to perspire so well. The entire place was bombarded with a rock concert of different voices, all telling distinct stories. My boyfriend cheated on me. I got a perfect 1.0 in our Algebra midterms. I got sour cream popcorn instead of barbeque. Those kinds of stories. For that moment, it became some sort of a nuisance. I pampered myself by enjoying the nerve wrecking and spine tingling game of Snakes on Marinel’s phone while the films still weren’t rolling. Sadly I never got a score higher than ten. It was harsh, The Snake game.
But you know something made me grinned that day, right there, on that very cinema. Although all of us must be some pack of jelly beans of different colors packed in one box, something in such box made us so yummy to taste. As the movie progressed, I couldn’t’ help but noticed at every particular scene in which everyone would react. I sensed that when everybody laughed, I couldn’t seem to tell which laugh came from which voice. When everybody awes I couldn’t anymore distinguish as to which tone came from which person. Alas, the variety of individualities came to a blend during a common sight, a common emotion, a common experience. I looked back towards the entire crowd, as the dim atmosphere of the cinema seem to blind my some call it perfect 20-20 vision, I realized something striking. Those fashionistas I saw earlier, those laidbackers, those braniacs and of course my kind, were all but the same silhouettes sitting in unison, seeming to be of one particular type.
It is a heartwarming experience, to see how a world of differences come to a point of commonality. Right there and then, I knew that men aren’t indeed that unalike. They may vary in the hipping of clothes; some might be more expensive or branded than others or even carry their attires like supermodels, but still every one of them still worn something. They may vary in their perceptions in life, some always blame the past for their fate, others may be afraid of the future, but still every one of them still perceived something. They may vary in the grades or degrees they acquire, some might be top of their class, others might be just passing, but still every one of them still acquired something. This something brings people together, that abstract thought of us being connected in a bond of our being human sets different pitches or timbres to a monotonous but melodic harmony.
That little experience I had told me a simple conclusion. In order to achieve the particular goal of man for unity and equality, he has to concretize and develop that something. He already has it, all it needs is some magic and fairy dust. So the next time I would feel I seem to be totally off or aloof from others, I would then be urge to think otherwise. The next time I would feel insecure of someone being on top of the pyramid than me, I would then be lured to think the opposite. All because of that something that connects us all. Connecting the cool from the uncool, the braniacs from the average, the laidbackers from the worry-freaks, the “me” to them.
What’s that something? I would like to find out.
(Many thanks to AJ, and other readers who sent in their comments, these are highly appreciated.)
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
Perfectly Perfect (August 7,2007)
Perfectly Perfect
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
What is it with the word, perfect? At one glance it may seem to be just one of the cluster of words in the dictionary, or an insignificant blabber coming from any man’s conversation, or even some involuntary expression common to schoolgirls. But to most people, being perfect is easier said than done. It may actually appear to be undoable, or to the very least impossible. Perfection has been part of any to-do list of man, though it may not be explicitly stated, but within the network of consciousness, comes his desire to be the best of the best. As I understand, we can do nothing about it, as it is part of our nature, it is but part of our being human. Permit me to say, that it is then rational for someone to grope and even whim to become, to the very least, the best of his league. Yet, the horrible truth of perfection or being perfect kills millions of my brains cells whenever I think about it. Deeming to comprehend the abstract reality of perfection would seem to make a Human Anatomy midterm exam a piece of cake, better yet some packet of peanuts.
I admit, I am confused. Confuse of how people would define something without flaw, something for them to be excellent and somewhere near divine. Take the sensitive route of physical appearance for example. Spin the globe to the western side of it and everything rotates around the obsession of Caucasians to acquire the goddess-like tanned beauty. If only the Orientals understood the tantrums of the other race, then they would spot how the whiter skinned would see their bleaching mania to be a waste of time. The connotation of perfection in terms of physique and beauty is relatively subjective and depends on the beholder. Most of the people already understood that, but still there they are; sun baiting to get the freshest bronze look or saving up money to get the blanched skin of their dreams. I am extremely puzzled, not of perfection as being subjective, but on the thought that people understood its opinionated view, but still deem for that unwritten throne of being best.
Knowing how vast and widespread the epidemic of this obsession may be, I happen to be a lowly victim of its tantalizing venom. I have just been once again told off by my extremely galaxy-wide patient parents. Our midterms exams are due to be taken this week, and I was readily frustrated unto mastering every bit of information my textbooks binds within its pages. Who wouldn’t want to get a high score? Why would one settle for a passing remark when a top score can just be few hours of studying away? Yes, I too was deeming for perfection. I thought that if I get such a high grade then I would be happy. Then again, I failed to recognize that even if I got a perfect score, I still haven’t reached the state of perfection. A few minutes, that is how long happiness would last after seeing a high grade in an exam. After that, what next, as for me it would be an eternity of regret that I could have been sleeping soundly in wee hours of the night, or enjoying munching on the infamous junk food while watching my favorite soap opera. The state of perfection won’t be either of the two, either of the high grades or a paradise of vacation. According to my juvenile mind, it would seem to be simply the state of contentment.
Contentment, is one of the values or should I say goals that man often refuses or simply finds it hard to obtain. Without contentment you’ll fell everything is imperfect. This is where I got my logic. If the Caucasians would be contented and satisfied of their color and same as with the Orientals to keep their tropical complexion, then each of them would more or less gradually climb to the stairs of perfection. It isn’t how the world views it; depending on another’s perception would allow you to commit a regretful decision. Being perfect is in its course, and as people say, subjective. Now if we would all depend on what others say is perfect then we would never find an end to our obsession. I say, redefine the meaning of perfection according to oneself, in order to attain the sense of contentment and eventually happiness.
I wanted a high grade, but I also wanted to take a break and relax. The solution here, according to simple logic is actually elementary. If you wanted a perfect grade, you have to sacrifice the pleasure of enjoying. The same goes to, if you wanted to have a prefect recess, you have to give up staying up studying in wee hours of the night. That state, perfection, is achieved when you were able to decide which of which do you really want. It’s being contented of either of the two, or for a bargainer’s benefit equally shared among the two. Choose: you had a boring weekend but ended up with a perfect grade, or you had perfectly fun weekend but ended up with a low grade, or you had somewhat a fine weekend and ended up a somewhat okay grade. I may not arbitrarily judge that any of this is the best decision; it just depends on the satisfaction of the doer. If he feels it’s okay to fail but had enjoyed, then no one could sentence him to death if he blurted out he reached the state of perfection.
Perfection is about contentment and redefining it for one’s sake. I happen to landed upon the same hat. If I would sacrifice studying a subject just to use the time on writing this article, or don’t submit any article for the week and let myself be indulge in studying. I chose the bargainer’s benefit; I hasten up my studying and limited my time writing. Though I didn’t do both overtly well, I am contented of what I did. Thus whatever outcome would befall my world next week, I’d still say I’ve done a good decision and will reach the state of perfection, somehow.
Perfection covers three choices: this one, that one or the bargainer’s benefit. Choose one, and then be happy and contented about it. Sooner or later, you’ll feel perfectly perfect.
(Many thanks for the readers who commented on my previous write-up, Dare to be like Cinderella)
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
What is it with the word, perfect? At one glance it may seem to be just one of the cluster of words in the dictionary, or an insignificant blabber coming from any man’s conversation, or even some involuntary expression common to schoolgirls. But to most people, being perfect is easier said than done. It may actually appear to be undoable, or to the very least impossible. Perfection has been part of any to-do list of man, though it may not be explicitly stated, but within the network of consciousness, comes his desire to be the best of the best. As I understand, we can do nothing about it, as it is part of our nature, it is but part of our being human. Permit me to say, that it is then rational for someone to grope and even whim to become, to the very least, the best of his league. Yet, the horrible truth of perfection or being perfect kills millions of my brains cells whenever I think about it. Deeming to comprehend the abstract reality of perfection would seem to make a Human Anatomy midterm exam a piece of cake, better yet some packet of peanuts.
I admit, I am confused. Confuse of how people would define something without flaw, something for them to be excellent and somewhere near divine. Take the sensitive route of physical appearance for example. Spin the globe to the western side of it and everything rotates around the obsession of Caucasians to acquire the goddess-like tanned beauty. If only the Orientals understood the tantrums of the other race, then they would spot how the whiter skinned would see their bleaching mania to be a waste of time. The connotation of perfection in terms of physique and beauty is relatively subjective and depends on the beholder. Most of the people already understood that, but still there they are; sun baiting to get the freshest bronze look or saving up money to get the blanched skin of their dreams. I am extremely puzzled, not of perfection as being subjective, but on the thought that people understood its opinionated view, but still deem for that unwritten throne of being best.
Knowing how vast and widespread the epidemic of this obsession may be, I happen to be a lowly victim of its tantalizing venom. I have just been once again told off by my extremely galaxy-wide patient parents. Our midterms exams are due to be taken this week, and I was readily frustrated unto mastering every bit of information my textbooks binds within its pages. Who wouldn’t want to get a high score? Why would one settle for a passing remark when a top score can just be few hours of studying away? Yes, I too was deeming for perfection. I thought that if I get such a high grade then I would be happy. Then again, I failed to recognize that even if I got a perfect score, I still haven’t reached the state of perfection. A few minutes, that is how long happiness would last after seeing a high grade in an exam. After that, what next, as for me it would be an eternity of regret that I could have been sleeping soundly in wee hours of the night, or enjoying munching on the infamous junk food while watching my favorite soap opera. The state of perfection won’t be either of the two, either of the high grades or a paradise of vacation. According to my juvenile mind, it would seem to be simply the state of contentment.
Contentment, is one of the values or should I say goals that man often refuses or simply finds it hard to obtain. Without contentment you’ll fell everything is imperfect. This is where I got my logic. If the Caucasians would be contented and satisfied of their color and same as with the Orientals to keep their tropical complexion, then each of them would more or less gradually climb to the stairs of perfection. It isn’t how the world views it; depending on another’s perception would allow you to commit a regretful decision. Being perfect is in its course, and as people say, subjective. Now if we would all depend on what others say is perfect then we would never find an end to our obsession. I say, redefine the meaning of perfection according to oneself, in order to attain the sense of contentment and eventually happiness.
I wanted a high grade, but I also wanted to take a break and relax. The solution here, according to simple logic is actually elementary. If you wanted a perfect grade, you have to sacrifice the pleasure of enjoying. The same goes to, if you wanted to have a prefect recess, you have to give up staying up studying in wee hours of the night. That state, perfection, is achieved when you were able to decide which of which do you really want. It’s being contented of either of the two, or for a bargainer’s benefit equally shared among the two. Choose: you had a boring weekend but ended up with a perfect grade, or you had perfectly fun weekend but ended up with a low grade, or you had somewhat a fine weekend and ended up a somewhat okay grade. I may not arbitrarily judge that any of this is the best decision; it just depends on the satisfaction of the doer. If he feels it’s okay to fail but had enjoyed, then no one could sentence him to death if he blurted out he reached the state of perfection.
Perfection is about contentment and redefining it for one’s sake. I happen to landed upon the same hat. If I would sacrifice studying a subject just to use the time on writing this article, or don’t submit any article for the week and let myself be indulge in studying. I chose the bargainer’s benefit; I hasten up my studying and limited my time writing. Though I didn’t do both overtly well, I am contented of what I did. Thus whatever outcome would befall my world next week, I’d still say I’ve done a good decision and will reach the state of perfection, somehow.
Perfection covers three choices: this one, that one or the bargainer’s benefit. Choose one, and then be happy and contented about it. Sooner or later, you’ll feel perfectly perfect.
(Many thanks for the readers who commented on my previous write-up, Dare to be like Cinderella)
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
Dare to be like Cinderella (July 31,2007)
Dare to be like Cinderella
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
It was twelve o’clock in the morning. But, I couldn’t care less. There I was squeezing in every bit of information that I can inside my little noodle mind. Yes, I was studying. Our midterm examinations are but weeks away, I couldn’t bear to cram, not in this state. My eyes wanted to shut the lids and knock me off to dream world, but my will power to stay awake keeps on saying a few minutes more. These were the moments when fragments of illusions would come popping right in front of me. The soft, cold and comfy bed was welcoming my aching back to lie down and feel the cottony heaven, but still I have to defy. The gentle breeze of the midnight wind lulls my ear to a deceiving surrender, but I have to resist. I have to oppose the temptations of leaving my work, so as to finish and let everything fall rightly into place.
This is my daily routine, I hardly get some decent hours of sleep. Some said its torture. I said its hard work and determination. Now, I say its pressure and cowardice. This habit was not a liftoff to my burden; it actually hands in more load and weight. Evidently, I was pushing myself too hard. I could never imagine how I dared to be inclined in such practice that even my parents were not in favor of. At first it was a mere self-gratification, but somehow the extremities led to plain old self selfishness. Even the computer itself has its own limits and needs to shut down and regenerate, how much more a simple first year college student like me. I was caught up in my whims of idealism and perfection that I failed to remember my own and genuine needs.
Spending so much time in one thing, pouring out every glimpse of energy into it is a mere act of foolishness. Dedication is a noble act, but reckless obsession is nowhere near noble. Good for the computer, although it may tend to overheat and eventually shut down, it will remain to be just that. Apply the same course of situation with a human being and you’ll find nothing but the word frustration. I push myself towards the peak of my limit, but then the results of my several nights of staying up late and neglecting to have leisure and fun all arrived to a point of failure. Yes, it would take a courageous person to get over that frustration and start anew, but it would take a more courageous person to stop dealing with fear and pressure to prevent frustration.
It is fear and cowardice that fuels one to place so much pressure on his self. Better yet, on my part, it was insecurity. I am not sure of what I am capable of that I exhaust everything that I can and drain out every bit of power that I had stored. Adrenaline would rush through you and pops out an immense joy if what you goaled is what you acquired. But, the very thought of failing or underperforming would let one crumble to the brittleness of disappointment. It is okay to reach for the brightest star and grab hold of it, but it would be better if you took some time to look at the dimmer stars you passed by and dared to smile. Why? It’s because if in any case you’ll not reach that brightest star you won’t be all that gloomy, because along the way you saw dimmer stars that when their lights are added up will equal to the intensity of the brightest one.
Being pressured and too much focused only means that you fear of taking risks. The flavor and spices of life are made sweeter with every palpitating beat of your heart, with every deep breath you take in, with every doubt of certainty. That even though you just did what you can and what seemed the best, the result was satisfying. Rather than implying and tiring out all that you have and forcing out the better of your best, the result was just good, it was at any side regretful. It’s highly industrious of students in particular to study a few chapters ahead of their current lesson, making him more advance than his classmates, making him more secured of getting a higher grade. But then what? Just like me who spends most of the time reading in advance my lessons while my classmates laugh their hearts out on shared jokes and chit chats. It’s like I have conquered the mountain and climbed to the peak, but I never recalled nor noticed every steep that I have trodden; thus, making the success rewarding but never satisfying.
There I realized there was a major difference between study well and study hard. With studying hard, it gives more pressure and anxiety. The range and scope of study is just the same, but the desire and desperation seems to be at different ends. What my sometimes disfigured mind is telling that each of us got to take breaks and got to end things the way it is in order to experience more of life. Don’t you think if Cinderella had really forced herself to stay with the prince would have still made her the princess? She decided to end it there and go home. Thus, she found more adventures and more magic had she beheld with the fitting of the glass slipper.
The British proverb, All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, would explain in context what I deem to comprehend. My friends, there is nothing wrong to be focus, in fact it is noteworthy to be so. But the excessive inclination to it would lead us to living a patterned and routine driven life, making us deprived of the wonders of confusion, puzzlement and doubts. It’s nice to be not so all knowing and imperfect once in a while. Take time outs. Smell the roses. Have fun.
With my midterms fast approaching, I might be staying up late once more. But it won’t be as late as before. I’ll take some time to sip a warm cup of chocolate drink, or take a peep unto what my brother was giggling about, then doing my parents a favor to stop torturing myself and sleeping early. I may not be able to perfect the tests, but I was able to do some things, simple things they are, rather than sitting up like a desperate old maid locked up in the prison cell of serious studying.
Cinderella went back at 12 o’clock, stopped dancing with her prince and lost her glass slipper. Perfectionists claimed she should have stayed. But would it made her story a fairytale that it already is? Recess and Breaks, Weekends and Holidays were made for some reasons, let’s not waste their worth.
Dare to be like Cinderella.
Stop. Chill. Smile.
(Many thanks to Ms.Marlyn Salvilla, Mr.Murphy Pe, 09107887780, 09282928803 for their comments)
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
It was twelve o’clock in the morning. But, I couldn’t care less. There I was squeezing in every bit of information that I can inside my little noodle mind. Yes, I was studying. Our midterm examinations are but weeks away, I couldn’t bear to cram, not in this state. My eyes wanted to shut the lids and knock me off to dream world, but my will power to stay awake keeps on saying a few minutes more. These were the moments when fragments of illusions would come popping right in front of me. The soft, cold and comfy bed was welcoming my aching back to lie down and feel the cottony heaven, but still I have to defy. The gentle breeze of the midnight wind lulls my ear to a deceiving surrender, but I have to resist. I have to oppose the temptations of leaving my work, so as to finish and let everything fall rightly into place.
This is my daily routine, I hardly get some decent hours of sleep. Some said its torture. I said its hard work and determination. Now, I say its pressure and cowardice. This habit was not a liftoff to my burden; it actually hands in more load and weight. Evidently, I was pushing myself too hard. I could never imagine how I dared to be inclined in such practice that even my parents were not in favor of. At first it was a mere self-gratification, but somehow the extremities led to plain old self selfishness. Even the computer itself has its own limits and needs to shut down and regenerate, how much more a simple first year college student like me. I was caught up in my whims of idealism and perfection that I failed to remember my own and genuine needs.
Spending so much time in one thing, pouring out every glimpse of energy into it is a mere act of foolishness. Dedication is a noble act, but reckless obsession is nowhere near noble. Good for the computer, although it may tend to overheat and eventually shut down, it will remain to be just that. Apply the same course of situation with a human being and you’ll find nothing but the word frustration. I push myself towards the peak of my limit, but then the results of my several nights of staying up late and neglecting to have leisure and fun all arrived to a point of failure. Yes, it would take a courageous person to get over that frustration and start anew, but it would take a more courageous person to stop dealing with fear and pressure to prevent frustration.
It is fear and cowardice that fuels one to place so much pressure on his self. Better yet, on my part, it was insecurity. I am not sure of what I am capable of that I exhaust everything that I can and drain out every bit of power that I had stored. Adrenaline would rush through you and pops out an immense joy if what you goaled is what you acquired. But, the very thought of failing or underperforming would let one crumble to the brittleness of disappointment. It is okay to reach for the brightest star and grab hold of it, but it would be better if you took some time to look at the dimmer stars you passed by and dared to smile. Why? It’s because if in any case you’ll not reach that brightest star you won’t be all that gloomy, because along the way you saw dimmer stars that when their lights are added up will equal to the intensity of the brightest one.
Being pressured and too much focused only means that you fear of taking risks. The flavor and spices of life are made sweeter with every palpitating beat of your heart, with every deep breath you take in, with every doubt of certainty. That even though you just did what you can and what seemed the best, the result was satisfying. Rather than implying and tiring out all that you have and forcing out the better of your best, the result was just good, it was at any side regretful. It’s highly industrious of students in particular to study a few chapters ahead of their current lesson, making him more advance than his classmates, making him more secured of getting a higher grade. But then what? Just like me who spends most of the time reading in advance my lessons while my classmates laugh their hearts out on shared jokes and chit chats. It’s like I have conquered the mountain and climbed to the peak, but I never recalled nor noticed every steep that I have trodden; thus, making the success rewarding but never satisfying.
There I realized there was a major difference between study well and study hard. With studying hard, it gives more pressure and anxiety. The range and scope of study is just the same, but the desire and desperation seems to be at different ends. What my sometimes disfigured mind is telling that each of us got to take breaks and got to end things the way it is in order to experience more of life. Don’t you think if Cinderella had really forced herself to stay with the prince would have still made her the princess? She decided to end it there and go home. Thus, she found more adventures and more magic had she beheld with the fitting of the glass slipper.
The British proverb, All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, would explain in context what I deem to comprehend. My friends, there is nothing wrong to be focus, in fact it is noteworthy to be so. But the excessive inclination to it would lead us to living a patterned and routine driven life, making us deprived of the wonders of confusion, puzzlement and doubts. It’s nice to be not so all knowing and imperfect once in a while. Take time outs. Smell the roses. Have fun.
With my midterms fast approaching, I might be staying up late once more. But it won’t be as late as before. I’ll take some time to sip a warm cup of chocolate drink, or take a peep unto what my brother was giggling about, then doing my parents a favor to stop torturing myself and sleeping early. I may not be able to perfect the tests, but I was able to do some things, simple things they are, rather than sitting up like a desperate old maid locked up in the prison cell of serious studying.
Cinderella went back at 12 o’clock, stopped dancing with her prince and lost her glass slipper. Perfectionists claimed she should have stayed. But would it made her story a fairytale that it already is? Recess and Breaks, Weekends and Holidays were made for some reasons, let’s not waste their worth.
Dare to be like Cinderella.
Stop. Chill. Smile.
(Many thanks to Ms.Marlyn Salvilla, Mr.Murphy Pe, 09107887780, 09282928803 for their comments)
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
Getting 1.0 in Daughter-ship 101 (July 24,2007)
Getting 1.0 in Daughter-ship 101
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
There I was staring blankly unto a piece of one half crosswise pad paper. My eyes were glued down within its ruled blue lines. Once every second, I would snatch a glimpse of the circled score on its upper right, 39/40. It was all a careless mistake, I was thinking of writing the word “true” but ended up writing otherwise, “false”. Clerical errors were not exactly the main cause for my lapses of consciousness. Mind you, I am contented of what I have. Those several nights of staying up until one in the morning just to crank up my trusty old noodle really paid off. Still, as I went over my answers, I couldn’t help but experiencing the state of feeling two emotions at once. Half of my self was floating in cloud nine but the other half was locked up in the dungeon of dismay. The other half doesn’t contain the aura of regret; I just remembered something more important than getting a high grade. Yes, my friends, there really is something more important than 1.0’s.
These past few days I showed my university how good of a student I can be. But there is one course subject I have constantly failed to pass, and that is, Daughter-ship 101”. Being caught up with all my academic whims unto reaching some 1.25’s and 1.0’s, I forgot to focus and study on a more important lesson. My mother wakes up everyday 5:00 in the morning, and does her usual motherly chores; waking up me and my brother, preparing chocolate drinks to warm up our tummies, setting our uniforms in place, and fixing my hopeless hair. Then, at night she would stay up late with me, as I burn candles to finish my schoolwork. She keeps me company, telling me to take breaks once in a while and offering a nice warm cup of milk to soothe my occasional mental blocks. My father, well, he has a different routine. You’ll hear his snore symphony every God-knows-what-hour of dawn, just because he stayed up late the night before, tiring his brains out in front of the computer, finding ways to market his business. His profits are neither for personal nor on his own accord, but mostly to ours, his family.
This routine of selfless concern from my parents are but priceless and beyond repayment. Now, what was I thinking that a mere scrap of one half cross wise pad paper or some possible 1.0’s could make their day? Actually, these definitely would. Yet, these won’t complete the entire package, these are not enough. I see myself as crap as I thought about how reckless and insensitive I had become.
As my mother would stay up late and keep me company, I answer this act with nothing but pure rubbish. I want to slap myself for my mother. There she was waiting and watching me study, hoping that I’ll finish early and talk to her about all sorts of stuff. Stuffs about what I ate at school during lunch time, about how wide is the circumference of my mouth as I yawned in one of my boring classes, about how many cute guys I spotted within the university. Stuffs like that. Stuffs we used to talked about. Stuffs that I ignored because I was preoccupied with purely academics. I did well and almost perfected my test, but I left my mother heavy hearted during her sleep that night.
It was a Thursday, and fortunately we have no classes on Friday. I happily sat in front of the television goggling my eyes unto the telenovelas as like I haven’t viewed them since summer vacation. Now this is where I turned selfishly naïve. My father peeped through the window and hollered my name, asking if where the cd for a certain software might be. I looked at him grumpily as I childishly thought of how I was distracted with my viewing pleasure. My night ended with some hours of litany and sermon from my raging but still composed father. I’ve learned my lesson. Thursdays aren’t my lucky days. Kidding, Lesson learned: The world doesn’t revolve around me. I have to be extra sensitive.
I cut deeply their hearts. I left scars within them. No 1.0’s or 39/40 grades could mend and stitch back those rips together. That night, I’ll never forget what my father told me, “A person even with all the achievements in life but none of character, I see him as pure poop.” Before I slept that night I looked up at my medals swinging back and forth from the rustling of the evening breeze. I told myself, what really was my purpose of getting high grades and those plates of steel a.k.a medals; wasn’t it for my parents in the first place? I wasn’t living a purpose driven life. I continue on reaching for the stars but my space ship was out of control. Being young and immature is never a reason to know right from wrong. A child’s duty is not mainly to study and get high grades, this is just secondary, what comes first, is loving the reason for existence, and that is his parents.
And there were stubborn mornings. After my mother had woken up early and wash the daylights out of her just to help me prepare, I would simply and insensitively grant her back my rotten tomato complaints. She blow dries my hair and I blow dry out her concern; foolish me. She combs me hair to perfection (only she can do that) and I comb her day with frowns and discontentment. Some parents put pressure to their children of attaining high grades in school; mine are kilometers more considerate. They don’t expect me to achieve, they just want to see me try studying properly and get passing grades. How ironical it is that I would put pressure to myself on my own. Unaware as I am, I want them to feel proud of me, and perhaps and maybe those high grades could tap and mend the broken gaps I committed to them. But this is where I went 5.0 wrong. Dropped Out Wrong.
My friends, I’m not proclaiming that you’ll neglect your studies. I myself will still stay up late at night and burn my candles until it flames no more. But, beside from getting all the recognitions in the world, your family especially your parents have more value than all of these put together. Teachers and friends may give us 1.0’s and praises, but it’s only our parents who can reward us with love among any other. Even if the world may spin back at us and leave us to nowhere, our nanay, mama, mom and tatay, papa, dad will always look for us and push the earth back to spin on its axis. The world today is filled with users and advantage seekers, but never shall our parents be one of these people. They work, toil and even scold us not for their own benefits, but for our own. Why would you waste liters of saliva and crawl to the pressures of work for just nothing, our parents do all sorts of stupidity just for us.
I may be too young to comprehend these all. Forgive me for my lack of judgment and irrelevance of thoughts. Sooner in the future when I’ll be a parent, I’ll understand. Somewhere in the near beyond I might be in the place of my parents and go back to what I have written, that being a parent entails due sacrifices. Thus it is enough and rewarding to the extent, for a child to repay his mom and dad not just with stars on his report card nor 1.0’s on his transcripts but a sincere hug and warm thank yous to everyday acts of love.
The next time I’ll get a high grade on my upcoming midterms (hopefully), I’ll go home with my exam papers together with a smile stamped on my face and a sworn promise to be a better daughter. Hoping that one day, I too might get 1.0’s not just with my course subjects, but on Daughter-ship 101.
Nanay… Tatay… I’m sorry.
(Many thanks to 09184081998, 09177170874 and Dr. Paul Francia for expressing their comments for my previous write up “More than Harry’s Magic”.)
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or send an SMS to 09186363090).
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
There I was staring blankly unto a piece of one half crosswise pad paper. My eyes were glued down within its ruled blue lines. Once every second, I would snatch a glimpse of the circled score on its upper right, 39/40. It was all a careless mistake, I was thinking of writing the word “true” but ended up writing otherwise, “false”. Clerical errors were not exactly the main cause for my lapses of consciousness. Mind you, I am contented of what I have. Those several nights of staying up until one in the morning just to crank up my trusty old noodle really paid off. Still, as I went over my answers, I couldn’t help but experiencing the state of feeling two emotions at once. Half of my self was floating in cloud nine but the other half was locked up in the dungeon of dismay. The other half doesn’t contain the aura of regret; I just remembered something more important than getting a high grade. Yes, my friends, there really is something more important than 1.0’s.
These past few days I showed my university how good of a student I can be. But there is one course subject I have constantly failed to pass, and that is, Daughter-ship 101”. Being caught up with all my academic whims unto reaching some 1.25’s and 1.0’s, I forgot to focus and study on a more important lesson. My mother wakes up everyday 5:00 in the morning, and does her usual motherly chores; waking up me and my brother, preparing chocolate drinks to warm up our tummies, setting our uniforms in place, and fixing my hopeless hair. Then, at night she would stay up late with me, as I burn candles to finish my schoolwork. She keeps me company, telling me to take breaks once in a while and offering a nice warm cup of milk to soothe my occasional mental blocks. My father, well, he has a different routine. You’ll hear his snore symphony every God-knows-what-hour of dawn, just because he stayed up late the night before, tiring his brains out in front of the computer, finding ways to market his business. His profits are neither for personal nor on his own accord, but mostly to ours, his family.
This routine of selfless concern from my parents are but priceless and beyond repayment. Now, what was I thinking that a mere scrap of one half cross wise pad paper or some possible 1.0’s could make their day? Actually, these definitely would. Yet, these won’t complete the entire package, these are not enough. I see myself as crap as I thought about how reckless and insensitive I had become.
As my mother would stay up late and keep me company, I answer this act with nothing but pure rubbish. I want to slap myself for my mother. There she was waiting and watching me study, hoping that I’ll finish early and talk to her about all sorts of stuff. Stuffs about what I ate at school during lunch time, about how wide is the circumference of my mouth as I yawned in one of my boring classes, about how many cute guys I spotted within the university. Stuffs like that. Stuffs we used to talked about. Stuffs that I ignored because I was preoccupied with purely academics. I did well and almost perfected my test, but I left my mother heavy hearted during her sleep that night.
It was a Thursday, and fortunately we have no classes on Friday. I happily sat in front of the television goggling my eyes unto the telenovelas as like I haven’t viewed them since summer vacation. Now this is where I turned selfishly naïve. My father peeped through the window and hollered my name, asking if where the cd for a certain software might be. I looked at him grumpily as I childishly thought of how I was distracted with my viewing pleasure. My night ended with some hours of litany and sermon from my raging but still composed father. I’ve learned my lesson. Thursdays aren’t my lucky days. Kidding, Lesson learned: The world doesn’t revolve around me. I have to be extra sensitive.
I cut deeply their hearts. I left scars within them. No 1.0’s or 39/40 grades could mend and stitch back those rips together. That night, I’ll never forget what my father told me, “A person even with all the achievements in life but none of character, I see him as pure poop.” Before I slept that night I looked up at my medals swinging back and forth from the rustling of the evening breeze. I told myself, what really was my purpose of getting high grades and those plates of steel a.k.a medals; wasn’t it for my parents in the first place? I wasn’t living a purpose driven life. I continue on reaching for the stars but my space ship was out of control. Being young and immature is never a reason to know right from wrong. A child’s duty is not mainly to study and get high grades, this is just secondary, what comes first, is loving the reason for existence, and that is his parents.
And there were stubborn mornings. After my mother had woken up early and wash the daylights out of her just to help me prepare, I would simply and insensitively grant her back my rotten tomato complaints. She blow dries my hair and I blow dry out her concern; foolish me. She combs me hair to perfection (only she can do that) and I comb her day with frowns and discontentment. Some parents put pressure to their children of attaining high grades in school; mine are kilometers more considerate. They don’t expect me to achieve, they just want to see me try studying properly and get passing grades. How ironical it is that I would put pressure to myself on my own. Unaware as I am, I want them to feel proud of me, and perhaps and maybe those high grades could tap and mend the broken gaps I committed to them. But this is where I went 5.0 wrong. Dropped Out Wrong.
My friends, I’m not proclaiming that you’ll neglect your studies. I myself will still stay up late at night and burn my candles until it flames no more. But, beside from getting all the recognitions in the world, your family especially your parents have more value than all of these put together. Teachers and friends may give us 1.0’s and praises, but it’s only our parents who can reward us with love among any other. Even if the world may spin back at us and leave us to nowhere, our nanay, mama, mom and tatay, papa, dad will always look for us and push the earth back to spin on its axis. The world today is filled with users and advantage seekers, but never shall our parents be one of these people. They work, toil and even scold us not for their own benefits, but for our own. Why would you waste liters of saliva and crawl to the pressures of work for just nothing, our parents do all sorts of stupidity just for us.
I may be too young to comprehend these all. Forgive me for my lack of judgment and irrelevance of thoughts. Sooner in the future when I’ll be a parent, I’ll understand. Somewhere in the near beyond I might be in the place of my parents and go back to what I have written, that being a parent entails due sacrifices. Thus it is enough and rewarding to the extent, for a child to repay his mom and dad not just with stars on his report card nor 1.0’s on his transcripts but a sincere hug and warm thank yous to everyday acts of love.
The next time I’ll get a high grade on my upcoming midterms (hopefully), I’ll go home with my exam papers together with a smile stamped on my face and a sworn promise to be a better daughter. Hoping that one day, I too might get 1.0’s not just with my course subjects, but on Daughter-ship 101.
Nanay… Tatay… I’m sorry.
(Many thanks to 09184081998, 09177170874 and Dr. Paul Francia for expressing their comments for my previous write up “More than Harry’s Magic”.)
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or send an SMS to 09186363090).
More Than Harry's Magic (July 17,2007)
More Than Harry’s Magic
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I was going eccentric. If you didn’t know exactly reason why I was hysterical, you’ll think I was possessed by some uncanny spirit. I went inside the movie house with my knees wobbling in all directions, knowing that my almost two years of waiting has finally paid off. My classmates, who were encouraged on viewing the movie on its opening day due to my rampaging persuasions, struggled to calm me down as we occupied the de luxe center seats of the cinema. Then, I found myself sitting in the cozy chair with my eyes goggling towards the huge screen where the bespectacled wizard with his lightning bolt shaped scar would make his most awaited apparition.
But something struck me more, that day. It wasn’t Harry Potter’s charming aura, or his wand flicking and swishing. Neither of the astounding visual effects and flawless choreography jinxed me more than what I noticed that day. Sadly, even the Harry-Cho seven seconds kissing scene didn’t make much impact compared to what I had learned that day. Actually what caught my eye was not flashed on the big screen, they were those found just within our seats, just within the popcorn buckets and junk food wrappers, just within the common nuisance me and my classmates did throughout the whole movie. With that, I would like to extend my heartfelt apologies to people behind our seats who suffered the terrible noisy fate.
I saw my classmates’ faces gleaming with smiles amidst the dim atmosphere of the cinema. It’s heartwarming to see smiles that offer no holding back, genuine smiles that were brought to life by a simple movie experience. Watching them smile would tickle my funny bone unto how different we would look when at school. There, we cram over our mind numbing quizzes, or copying off notes with our incomplete assignments, alas, we looked like wilted-out vegetables. The two hour break from reality and escape from responsibilities somehow reenergized us all from pressures the world constantly pours out. Not to mention made our smile muscles functional.
To my surprise, I discovered something naturally existing and obvious that day. Food connects people. Food promotes bonding among friends, most when it is shared. Several hands performed their stylish dives and back flips as they reached in into assorted corn chip, potato chip or pop corn containers. The cinema conducted a symphonic harmony of crunching, munching and chomping. Indeed we were part of this food orchestra. Amazing as it is, I saw smaller strikes to this portrait of gestures. The stampede of hands unto one unfortunate popcorn bucket seeks to portray a gesture of bonding and togetherness. Though how simple and usually ignored this act is, I see it differently. The crunching and munching with some added chomping weren’t just the musical sounds. Giggles, Chuckles, Laughs together with some “Thank You’s” and “Can I have some?” completed the melodic ensemble. Food + a good movie = magical movie experience and bonding.
I may seem to be such a symbolist, that I take simple things and spice them up with emotions. I can’t help myself seeing a plain gesture as something good enough for an Oscar nomination. I’m sorry if some might find it over reacting, but that is how I view life. To view a movie without noticing the less striking occurrences just beside your seats, wouldn’t make it a movie experience at all. It’s just like viewing it on DVD or on your cable television, nothing more, and nothing special. There’s a reason why the cinema can contain a large capacity of audience. Social activity can still happen within its reverberating walls. Mingling and awareness can still be felt together with the cool temperature. I pity people who wanted a perfect cinema experience; no noise, no disturbances, KKP (kanya-kanyang pagkain). Everything those people saw were simply just for personal consumption and fulfillment. They went inside the cinema, buy popcorn, view the movie, got their expectations reached or dismayed, then go home. So, where’s the fun?
I did what those people have done, but added some extra features to make my experience extra special. I realized I have extra sensory vision that can see smiles within the dark. I noticed that I have supersonic hearing that can identify the kinds of chips (may it be potato chips, corn chips or pop corn) just through the variations of munches and chomps. With these superpowers I detected within me, I guess I’ll rush myself down to merry ol’ London and help young Harry Potter in vanquishing Lord Voldemort.
In a few years, months, or weeks even I might forget how the visual effects drooled me to hypnosis, I might fail to remember how Harry maneuvered his lips in his kissing scene with Cho, or even fail to recall some quotable lines which I’m currently hoping to memorize. But I’m sure that those unwavering sweet smiles of my classmates, all of our shrieks, giggles, and shivers, and even some of the lingering flavors of different corn chips (may they be barbeque or sour cream and onion) will forever be intact and untouched in my time capsule of memories.
In the end of the movie, (don’t worry this isn’t a spoiler) Harry gave focus to how his life was given more meaning because of friendship and love. Troubled as his experiences might be, and though how they linger in his dreams, the simple yet brighter memories lured him to wake up and face life all over again with a smile on his face and a wand ever ready in his pocket.
My two years of waiting was compressed into a few hours of cinematography. But during those few hours were learnings and realizations that’ll keep me smiling through several years more to come. That day ended more than spells and enchantments, more than broomsticks or Thestrals, more than Harry’s Magic.
(I would like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to the readers who shared their reactions with regards to my previous write up “Of Quidditch and Chocolate Frogs”.)
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or send an SMS to 09186363090).
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I was going eccentric. If you didn’t know exactly reason why I was hysterical, you’ll think I was possessed by some uncanny spirit. I went inside the movie house with my knees wobbling in all directions, knowing that my almost two years of waiting has finally paid off. My classmates, who were encouraged on viewing the movie on its opening day due to my rampaging persuasions, struggled to calm me down as we occupied the de luxe center seats of the cinema. Then, I found myself sitting in the cozy chair with my eyes goggling towards the huge screen where the bespectacled wizard with his lightning bolt shaped scar would make his most awaited apparition.
But something struck me more, that day. It wasn’t Harry Potter’s charming aura, or his wand flicking and swishing. Neither of the astounding visual effects and flawless choreography jinxed me more than what I noticed that day. Sadly, even the Harry-Cho seven seconds kissing scene didn’t make much impact compared to what I had learned that day. Actually what caught my eye was not flashed on the big screen, they were those found just within our seats, just within the popcorn buckets and junk food wrappers, just within the common nuisance me and my classmates did throughout the whole movie. With that, I would like to extend my heartfelt apologies to people behind our seats who suffered the terrible noisy fate.
I saw my classmates’ faces gleaming with smiles amidst the dim atmosphere of the cinema. It’s heartwarming to see smiles that offer no holding back, genuine smiles that were brought to life by a simple movie experience. Watching them smile would tickle my funny bone unto how different we would look when at school. There, we cram over our mind numbing quizzes, or copying off notes with our incomplete assignments, alas, we looked like wilted-out vegetables. The two hour break from reality and escape from responsibilities somehow reenergized us all from pressures the world constantly pours out. Not to mention made our smile muscles functional.
To my surprise, I discovered something naturally existing and obvious that day. Food connects people. Food promotes bonding among friends, most when it is shared. Several hands performed their stylish dives and back flips as they reached in into assorted corn chip, potato chip or pop corn containers. The cinema conducted a symphonic harmony of crunching, munching and chomping. Indeed we were part of this food orchestra. Amazing as it is, I saw smaller strikes to this portrait of gestures. The stampede of hands unto one unfortunate popcorn bucket seeks to portray a gesture of bonding and togetherness. Though how simple and usually ignored this act is, I see it differently. The crunching and munching with some added chomping weren’t just the musical sounds. Giggles, Chuckles, Laughs together with some “Thank You’s” and “Can I have some?” completed the melodic ensemble. Food + a good movie = magical movie experience and bonding.
I may seem to be such a symbolist, that I take simple things and spice them up with emotions. I can’t help myself seeing a plain gesture as something good enough for an Oscar nomination. I’m sorry if some might find it over reacting, but that is how I view life. To view a movie without noticing the less striking occurrences just beside your seats, wouldn’t make it a movie experience at all. It’s just like viewing it on DVD or on your cable television, nothing more, and nothing special. There’s a reason why the cinema can contain a large capacity of audience. Social activity can still happen within its reverberating walls. Mingling and awareness can still be felt together with the cool temperature. I pity people who wanted a perfect cinema experience; no noise, no disturbances, KKP (kanya-kanyang pagkain). Everything those people saw were simply just for personal consumption and fulfillment. They went inside the cinema, buy popcorn, view the movie, got their expectations reached or dismayed, then go home. So, where’s the fun?
I did what those people have done, but added some extra features to make my experience extra special. I realized I have extra sensory vision that can see smiles within the dark. I noticed that I have supersonic hearing that can identify the kinds of chips (may it be potato chips, corn chips or pop corn) just through the variations of munches and chomps. With these superpowers I detected within me, I guess I’ll rush myself down to merry ol’ London and help young Harry Potter in vanquishing Lord Voldemort.
In a few years, months, or weeks even I might forget how the visual effects drooled me to hypnosis, I might fail to remember how Harry maneuvered his lips in his kissing scene with Cho, or even fail to recall some quotable lines which I’m currently hoping to memorize. But I’m sure that those unwavering sweet smiles of my classmates, all of our shrieks, giggles, and shivers, and even some of the lingering flavors of different corn chips (may they be barbeque or sour cream and onion) will forever be intact and untouched in my time capsule of memories.
In the end of the movie, (don’t worry this isn’t a spoiler) Harry gave focus to how his life was given more meaning because of friendship and love. Troubled as his experiences might be, and though how they linger in his dreams, the simple yet brighter memories lured him to wake up and face life all over again with a smile on his face and a wand ever ready in his pocket.
My two years of waiting was compressed into a few hours of cinematography. But during those few hours were learnings and realizations that’ll keep me smiling through several years more to come. That day ended more than spells and enchantments, more than broomsticks or Thestrals, more than Harry’s Magic.
(I would like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to the readers who shared their reactions with regards to my previous write up “Of Quidditch and Chocolate Frogs”.)
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or send an SMS to 09186363090).
Of Quidditch and Chocolate Frogs (July 10,2007)
Of Quidditch and Chocolate Frogs
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Five years. Yes, it has been five years since I started living in a world of enchantments and fantasies. No, I’m not smoking pot, nor indulging my self with illegal stimulants that leads nincompoops to cloud nine. I never, in these five years, have mistaken a dog innocently taking a leisurely walk as Mary Poppins with her magic umbrella, or submerged my head in the aquarium claiming that I’m looking for Nemo. Instead, I started living in a world of flying broomsticks, chocolate frogs, invisibility cloaks and time turners. I loaned my galleons for the chance of a lifetime, to live in Rowling’s world of Harry Potter. Fresh were the memories of the very first time I flipped the pages of the first book of the series. Human will didn’t give me the capacity to place it down and temporarily stop reading. Rather, my eyeballs were glued to it until I digested every page of magical brilliance.
As you all might know, the last book will be release this July 21st. Hats off to Mrs. Rowling, her genius had never showed signs of depreciation, the plot just continued to be more complex and a must-read. For almost a decade of her writing, she never failed to meet, or yet overcome, the expectations of her readers. Take it from me. The last book will put a stop and silence the great boy with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead and his amazing adventures. I can attest to the growth of the series, logically speaking, I have grown together with Harry. Every reader, especially of my same age group, had understood the boy wizard’s range of emotions and had absorbed a value or two from his wand-breaking experiences. Permit me now, to behold the readers, of how this noble book landed an impact to my whole existence. The smiles I made, the tears I shed, the lessons I learned and the fantasy I made.
The first book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (Philosopher’s Stone), provided a gateway for me and supposedly all of the readers to chance to earn the ticket to Rowling’s immense imagination. It was an exploding start for a series. Harry being an orphan and in the domain of his horrid relatives, brings to sense a reality that having a family is never a choice but a gift. Yes, Harry might have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a chance I’ll never have, reality speaking, but he was deprived of a family’s warmth and love. Sure, friends would temporarily satisfy his cravings for belongingness, but at the end of the day, it’s really different if you have a mother who’ll kiss you good night before you sleep, a father who’ll orient you with the beauty of his experiences, it’s really different if you have a family.
Next, came the Chamber of Secrets. The characters were settled in and becoming quite used to troubles and mishaps. Amazing how a diary brings to life a massive past of excessive greed and desire for power. Harry showed that with ample hope and unceasing trust, there is always a way out of dilemmas. At that point, I liked my child-like thinking, for a moment I told myself, why would I lose hope and faith on a simple problem if Harry himself never lost hope while battling a basilisk? Each of us has our own phoenixes that die out just to let us see the beauty of its resurrection. We have to experience pain and feel the stinging of problems in order to bring to life the thriving impulses of hope and faith.
The mind-number Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban left readers befuddled with deciphering the unending paradox of time. I never really paid attention to how Harry and Hermione skillfully manipulated the ticking of the clock, what hit me is the importance of time itself. The old cliché goes; don’t wait for tomorrow what you can do today. Time is but one of the uncertain things in our existence, we don’t know what’s going to happen, and we don’t have the chance to go back. Unlike Harry and Hermione, who just gave a few turns and poof they saved a hippogriff from execution and freed an innocent man. The thing is, it’s not that simple in real life, you have to play things with precaution and anticipation. Let the past teach you the lesson of not repeating in the future what should have not been done. Regrets, What ifs and compunctions are results of ol’ mischievous time; let it not get the better of you. If only we had time turners.
The fourth installment of the series, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire created fear to keen followers of the story. Voldemort has returned in flesh, and has the greatest urge to exterminate the pest hindering him from his dark reign, Harry Potter. This part revolves around competition. The three wizarding schools battled it all out for the eternal glory giver tournament, Triwizard Tournament. Competition has never been conceived to be negative; it’s the participants who made it so. Harry took it as a motivation rather than a fiery yearning for triumph, making him the champion in the end. Life has never been sweeter if it weren’t for a certain quest for proof. But it will be the sweetest, when this quest is shared with fellow adventurers, all directing to one goal. We might not be battling dragons and answer riddles of sphinxes, but we’ll feel the same joy of triumph in the end. Let the games begin.
Book number 5, the most intricate, the longest, and my favorite; Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. The rebellion begins. Harry and his gang decided to stand up for themselves as no one was standing quite stably for them. In life, there are instances when you’ve got to stand up for yourself and fight in what you believe in. As long as you don’t step on others and follow the norms, your revolt is within the boundaries of validity. Being shy and timid about circumstances, or what Filipinos refer to as the “bahala na” habit, will lead one to nowhere. Things won’t turn up in thin air if you don’t let them be. Even Harry has to conjure a spell to let feathers fly. They say Do or Die is not a matter of choice, I disagree. It is, if you won’t do anything, what would become of you, what’s your purpose of living?
The sixth part, Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince, opens more twists and disappointments. It depicted a considerable potential for uncertainties. It illustrated a vast chance for ambiguity. Everything is never 100 % sure. There is always room for vagueness. Human as we are we should be ready and accept those wholly and without excuses. The Horcruxes maybe the key to Voldemort’s downfall, but Harry should leave a space, even just a tiny one, for doubts and second thoughts. Trusting is a noble act. But trusting to much is a weakness. Settle some minute percentage of reservations for anything. I say so because not one of us is fate itself, not one of us is destiny itself. In any case, Snape was nothing at all but deceiving. So, where does his loyalty lies? Let’s leave room for doubts.
Tomorrow, you’ll find me in possibly one of the cinema houses here in the city, carrying pop corn and being a nuisance all throughout the film. Yes, tomorrow is the first day of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix movie. After more than a week, you’ll then see me probably lining up waiting for my reserved book to be unfolded in my agitated hands. Yes, that time will be the release of the Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the last book to the series. It will be sad, seeing all the parts gradually passing by quickly, as if you’re stepping out of the world where you found comfort and assurance. Time will come when I’ll grow out of Quidditch and Chocolate Frogs. Time will come when Harry’s adventures will just be figments of my mind. Time will come when I might forget all the crazy things I did for Harry Potter. But, never in my whole existence will I fail to remember the lessons and values I garnered from J.K. Rowling’s creation. These lessons and values I shall live and pass on to the next generations, who’ll soon see Harry as a classical character of English Literature.
The story will have to dry out, but the magic will remain conjuring and intact. Magic that only a famous boy wizard with a lightning bolt scar in his forehead can give. The Magic of Harry Potter.
I’d like to extend my gratitude to these readers who have shared their comments on my previous article “Student I.D. Number Fiasco”. Your comments are highly appreciated: 09186702272, 09209626961, and 09282928803.
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Five years. Yes, it has been five years since I started living in a world of enchantments and fantasies. No, I’m not smoking pot, nor indulging my self with illegal stimulants that leads nincompoops to cloud nine. I never, in these five years, have mistaken a dog innocently taking a leisurely walk as Mary Poppins with her magic umbrella, or submerged my head in the aquarium claiming that I’m looking for Nemo. Instead, I started living in a world of flying broomsticks, chocolate frogs, invisibility cloaks and time turners. I loaned my galleons for the chance of a lifetime, to live in Rowling’s world of Harry Potter. Fresh were the memories of the very first time I flipped the pages of the first book of the series. Human will didn’t give me the capacity to place it down and temporarily stop reading. Rather, my eyeballs were glued to it until I digested every page of magical brilliance.
As you all might know, the last book will be release this July 21st. Hats off to Mrs. Rowling, her genius had never showed signs of depreciation, the plot just continued to be more complex and a must-read. For almost a decade of her writing, she never failed to meet, or yet overcome, the expectations of her readers. Take it from me. The last book will put a stop and silence the great boy with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead and his amazing adventures. I can attest to the growth of the series, logically speaking, I have grown together with Harry. Every reader, especially of my same age group, had understood the boy wizard’s range of emotions and had absorbed a value or two from his wand-breaking experiences. Permit me now, to behold the readers, of how this noble book landed an impact to my whole existence. The smiles I made, the tears I shed, the lessons I learned and the fantasy I made.
The first book, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone (Philosopher’s Stone), provided a gateway for me and supposedly all of the readers to chance to earn the ticket to Rowling’s immense imagination. It was an exploding start for a series. Harry being an orphan and in the domain of his horrid relatives, brings to sense a reality that having a family is never a choice but a gift. Yes, Harry might have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a chance I’ll never have, reality speaking, but he was deprived of a family’s warmth and love. Sure, friends would temporarily satisfy his cravings for belongingness, but at the end of the day, it’s really different if you have a mother who’ll kiss you good night before you sleep, a father who’ll orient you with the beauty of his experiences, it’s really different if you have a family.
Next, came the Chamber of Secrets. The characters were settled in and becoming quite used to troubles and mishaps. Amazing how a diary brings to life a massive past of excessive greed and desire for power. Harry showed that with ample hope and unceasing trust, there is always a way out of dilemmas. At that point, I liked my child-like thinking, for a moment I told myself, why would I lose hope and faith on a simple problem if Harry himself never lost hope while battling a basilisk? Each of us has our own phoenixes that die out just to let us see the beauty of its resurrection. We have to experience pain and feel the stinging of problems in order to bring to life the thriving impulses of hope and faith.
The mind-number Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban left readers befuddled with deciphering the unending paradox of time. I never really paid attention to how Harry and Hermione skillfully manipulated the ticking of the clock, what hit me is the importance of time itself. The old cliché goes; don’t wait for tomorrow what you can do today. Time is but one of the uncertain things in our existence, we don’t know what’s going to happen, and we don’t have the chance to go back. Unlike Harry and Hermione, who just gave a few turns and poof they saved a hippogriff from execution and freed an innocent man. The thing is, it’s not that simple in real life, you have to play things with precaution and anticipation. Let the past teach you the lesson of not repeating in the future what should have not been done. Regrets, What ifs and compunctions are results of ol’ mischievous time; let it not get the better of you. If only we had time turners.
The fourth installment of the series, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire created fear to keen followers of the story. Voldemort has returned in flesh, and has the greatest urge to exterminate the pest hindering him from his dark reign, Harry Potter. This part revolves around competition. The three wizarding schools battled it all out for the eternal glory giver tournament, Triwizard Tournament. Competition has never been conceived to be negative; it’s the participants who made it so. Harry took it as a motivation rather than a fiery yearning for triumph, making him the champion in the end. Life has never been sweeter if it weren’t for a certain quest for proof. But it will be the sweetest, when this quest is shared with fellow adventurers, all directing to one goal. We might not be battling dragons and answer riddles of sphinxes, but we’ll feel the same joy of triumph in the end. Let the games begin.
Book number 5, the most intricate, the longest, and my favorite; Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. The rebellion begins. Harry and his gang decided to stand up for themselves as no one was standing quite stably for them. In life, there are instances when you’ve got to stand up for yourself and fight in what you believe in. As long as you don’t step on others and follow the norms, your revolt is within the boundaries of validity. Being shy and timid about circumstances, or what Filipinos refer to as the “bahala na” habit, will lead one to nowhere. Things won’t turn up in thin air if you don’t let them be. Even Harry has to conjure a spell to let feathers fly. They say Do or Die is not a matter of choice, I disagree. It is, if you won’t do anything, what would become of you, what’s your purpose of living?
The sixth part, Harry Potter and the Half-blood Prince, opens more twists and disappointments. It depicted a considerable potential for uncertainties. It illustrated a vast chance for ambiguity. Everything is never 100 % sure. There is always room for vagueness. Human as we are we should be ready and accept those wholly and without excuses. The Horcruxes maybe the key to Voldemort’s downfall, but Harry should leave a space, even just a tiny one, for doubts and second thoughts. Trusting is a noble act. But trusting to much is a weakness. Settle some minute percentage of reservations for anything. I say so because not one of us is fate itself, not one of us is destiny itself. In any case, Snape was nothing at all but deceiving. So, where does his loyalty lies? Let’s leave room for doubts.
Tomorrow, you’ll find me in possibly one of the cinema houses here in the city, carrying pop corn and being a nuisance all throughout the film. Yes, tomorrow is the first day of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix movie. After more than a week, you’ll then see me probably lining up waiting for my reserved book to be unfolded in my agitated hands. Yes, that time will be the release of the Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, the last book to the series. It will be sad, seeing all the parts gradually passing by quickly, as if you’re stepping out of the world where you found comfort and assurance. Time will come when I’ll grow out of Quidditch and Chocolate Frogs. Time will come when Harry’s adventures will just be figments of my mind. Time will come when I might forget all the crazy things I did for Harry Potter. But, never in my whole existence will I fail to remember the lessons and values I garnered from J.K. Rowling’s creation. These lessons and values I shall live and pass on to the next generations, who’ll soon see Harry as a classical character of English Literature.
The story will have to dry out, but the magic will remain conjuring and intact. Magic that only a famous boy wizard with a lightning bolt scar in his forehead can give. The Magic of Harry Potter.
I’d like to extend my gratitude to these readers who have shared their comments on my previous article “Student I.D. Number Fiasco”. Your comments are highly appreciated: 09186702272, 09209626961, and 09282928803.
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
Student I.D Number Fiasco (July 3,2007)
Student I.D. Number Fiasco
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I don’t go looking for trouble, trouble usually finds me. Frankly, my everyday life seems to revolve around this witty piece of thought. By the word everyday, it really means everyday. It is evident even during my first few meeting on my college subjects; they were no excuse for my exceedingly reckless gift of trouble-seeking. Before I exhaust my point and ruthlessly make a fool out of my self, I’d like to stress out to the whole of publication media and its avid readers that I never welcome trouble, that I never wished to be in limelight because of trouble, I am not that hopeless enough to inhale the word, trouble. Now as things seem to be acquainted and settled, this will be the part where I’ll thoughtlessly divulge my innocent yet careless experiences of what I redundantly call as trouble.
I heard my Humanities professor calling out my name aloud. Unaware as I was, I thought I would be asked to define and give an overview of what our subject is or even with the slightest hope of him recognizing me to be a regular writer of this noble press. He called out my name, not because he wants me to recite what I’ve been memorizing all summer, nor he considers my articles to be outstanding, he called me out because I had a problem with my Student I.D. Number. A classmate of mine and I had the same student I.D. Number, I had a strong vibe that my classmate did no error or whatsoever with her information. Right there and then, seeing myself standing in the middle of the class, getting stares and presumed whispers, I knew that once again trouble found a way to my domain.
Simple as it is, the experience was humiliating and ego bursting. A college student who graduated high school as Valedictorian would miss out and incorrectly fill in her Student I.D. Number. Ouch, it was indeed a deep cut. All the while I thought the last digit of my Student I.D Number was 9, but because of my somewhat low proficiency in reading variation of handwritings, I never knew that the nine was supposedly the menacing number 6. At that point, I wanted to tell my professor how external factors made me vulnerable to my mistake and carelessness. I wanted to regain myself there and then; I wanted to neutralize the tomato colored pigmentation engulfing me. I know, this is super petty and insignificant, but for someone thought to be complicated as I, for having been unaware of the petty things, seems so not right.
I couldn’t do much, but wait for dismissal and strayed my incompetent feet towards the registrar’s office to verify my predictable mistake. I scanned through the student information and evidently saw what everyone was expecting, my Student I.D. Number to have 6 as the last digit instead of 9. A shout out sorry goes to my unfortunate classmate who suffered the quarter of humiliation I got for my petty mistake. The moment was so clear and apparent that I am having thoughts of thinking what face shall I present to my class and professor the next meeting. The next meeting when I would tell them how I intimately but in an unaware manner committed such an elementary mistake. I was so timid but agitated inside of the possible reactions. I know I have low confidence and self esteem, having this, would call a self-presuming down pull for my personality. But, I was wrong.
The day of our next Humanities meeting came, I was trembling. But I wanted to reminisce those few moments worth lingering for. As I was walking past the huge corridors of the university, I noticed myself breathing deeply and calmly, internalizing the aura of acceptance, the actualization of the quote which I quote “Too err is human.” Well, People of the World, I’m human and I supposedly err. I realized that I forgot to think more complex than what a complicated person like me should. I was actually as petty as my actions. What I had experience was but a reminder to me, that unlike the tales of perfection, I am human and I suffer the noble put painful art of imperfection. If Thomas Edison failed thousand of times, why could not a simple complicated youth like me? I fail to recall that indeed, the key to regaining my self worth and esteem was through the acceptance that at times, I may do petty and insignificant things which actually in turn teach me valuable and logical lessons.
I entered our classroom and faced our professor. I presented to him my class card with a darkened correction at the last digit. My professor looked at me and said nothing but smiled. I was plain and dull at that very period of time. I sighed and went back to my seat, now smiling relentlessly, coping up with my recovering self esteem and confidence. Humanities was all about art, and will be all about art. Through our lessons, I’ve learned that art is man-made and for which means made by human. Being human as it is humanities errs and isn’t perfect. Now I know why art seems so perfectly prefect for art viewers, it’s because within its imperfections you see its beauty and a promising improvement and revitalization. Humanities and Me sure has something in common.
What I had experienced, was not embarrassment in the first place, nor was it a humiliating situation. It was so, because I made to think it to be so. Right now, I only recognize it as a reassurance of my form of being human and imperfect. The troubles that had come passed and who still plans to pass by my side, I’ll really try to see it differently. The more troubles I will come across, the more chances and proofs I have to attest that I am indeed human. I see myself once as being unlucky all the time, always being the number one target and bull’s eye hit for unlucky-day archery tournament. Now, I see myself considerably opportune, learning from troubles and my mistakes would clearly define me as a person. As the cliché goes, “It doesn’t matter how many times you fell, but how many time you stood up from those falls.” I bid myself confident that through the infinite mistakes I had face and will be facing, I will continually learn from them and try not to mourn for such acts. I’ll always be the loser if I do so. Without considering the very reality of troubles and mistakes, one denies his true form of being human.
As I type along these words to make a portrait of words, I committed a lot of errors, but who gives a heck, these errors made me think of better words to harmonize to make this article worth reading.
Don’t fuss about mistakes. They are part of our being human. Fuss if you think you are not human. Okay?
Check Your Student I.D Number, is it a 9 or is it a 6?
(Comments and Reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I don’t go looking for trouble, trouble usually finds me. Frankly, my everyday life seems to revolve around this witty piece of thought. By the word everyday, it really means everyday. It is evident even during my first few meeting on my college subjects; they were no excuse for my exceedingly reckless gift of trouble-seeking. Before I exhaust my point and ruthlessly make a fool out of my self, I’d like to stress out to the whole of publication media and its avid readers that I never welcome trouble, that I never wished to be in limelight because of trouble, I am not that hopeless enough to inhale the word, trouble. Now as things seem to be acquainted and settled, this will be the part where I’ll thoughtlessly divulge my innocent yet careless experiences of what I redundantly call as trouble.
I heard my Humanities professor calling out my name aloud. Unaware as I was, I thought I would be asked to define and give an overview of what our subject is or even with the slightest hope of him recognizing me to be a regular writer of this noble press. He called out my name, not because he wants me to recite what I’ve been memorizing all summer, nor he considers my articles to be outstanding, he called me out because I had a problem with my Student I.D. Number. A classmate of mine and I had the same student I.D. Number, I had a strong vibe that my classmate did no error or whatsoever with her information. Right there and then, seeing myself standing in the middle of the class, getting stares and presumed whispers, I knew that once again trouble found a way to my domain.
Simple as it is, the experience was humiliating and ego bursting. A college student who graduated high school as Valedictorian would miss out and incorrectly fill in her Student I.D. Number. Ouch, it was indeed a deep cut. All the while I thought the last digit of my Student I.D Number was 9, but because of my somewhat low proficiency in reading variation of handwritings, I never knew that the nine was supposedly the menacing number 6. At that point, I wanted to tell my professor how external factors made me vulnerable to my mistake and carelessness. I wanted to regain myself there and then; I wanted to neutralize the tomato colored pigmentation engulfing me. I know, this is super petty and insignificant, but for someone thought to be complicated as I, for having been unaware of the petty things, seems so not right.
I couldn’t do much, but wait for dismissal and strayed my incompetent feet towards the registrar’s office to verify my predictable mistake. I scanned through the student information and evidently saw what everyone was expecting, my Student I.D. Number to have 6 as the last digit instead of 9. A shout out sorry goes to my unfortunate classmate who suffered the quarter of humiliation I got for my petty mistake. The moment was so clear and apparent that I am having thoughts of thinking what face shall I present to my class and professor the next meeting. The next meeting when I would tell them how I intimately but in an unaware manner committed such an elementary mistake. I was so timid but agitated inside of the possible reactions. I know I have low confidence and self esteem, having this, would call a self-presuming down pull for my personality. But, I was wrong.
The day of our next Humanities meeting came, I was trembling. But I wanted to reminisce those few moments worth lingering for. As I was walking past the huge corridors of the university, I noticed myself breathing deeply and calmly, internalizing the aura of acceptance, the actualization of the quote which I quote “Too err is human.” Well, People of the World, I’m human and I supposedly err. I realized that I forgot to think more complex than what a complicated person like me should. I was actually as petty as my actions. What I had experience was but a reminder to me, that unlike the tales of perfection, I am human and I suffer the noble put painful art of imperfection. If Thomas Edison failed thousand of times, why could not a simple complicated youth like me? I fail to recall that indeed, the key to regaining my self worth and esteem was through the acceptance that at times, I may do petty and insignificant things which actually in turn teach me valuable and logical lessons.
I entered our classroom and faced our professor. I presented to him my class card with a darkened correction at the last digit. My professor looked at me and said nothing but smiled. I was plain and dull at that very period of time. I sighed and went back to my seat, now smiling relentlessly, coping up with my recovering self esteem and confidence. Humanities was all about art, and will be all about art. Through our lessons, I’ve learned that art is man-made and for which means made by human. Being human as it is humanities errs and isn’t perfect. Now I know why art seems so perfectly prefect for art viewers, it’s because within its imperfections you see its beauty and a promising improvement and revitalization. Humanities and Me sure has something in common.
What I had experienced, was not embarrassment in the first place, nor was it a humiliating situation. It was so, because I made to think it to be so. Right now, I only recognize it as a reassurance of my form of being human and imperfect. The troubles that had come passed and who still plans to pass by my side, I’ll really try to see it differently. The more troubles I will come across, the more chances and proofs I have to attest that I am indeed human. I see myself once as being unlucky all the time, always being the number one target and bull’s eye hit for unlucky-day archery tournament. Now, I see myself considerably opportune, learning from troubles and my mistakes would clearly define me as a person. As the cliché goes, “It doesn’t matter how many times you fell, but how many time you stood up from those falls.” I bid myself confident that through the infinite mistakes I had face and will be facing, I will continually learn from them and try not to mourn for such acts. I’ll always be the loser if I do so. Without considering the very reality of troubles and mistakes, one denies his true form of being human.
As I type along these words to make a portrait of words, I committed a lot of errors, but who gives a heck, these errors made me think of better words to harmonize to make this article worth reading.
Don’t fuss about mistakes. They are part of our being human. Fuss if you think you are not human. Okay?
Check Your Student I.D Number, is it a 9 or is it a 6?
(Comments and Reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
Schoolbag with rollers (June 27,2007)
Schoolbag with rollers
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
It was the first day of school and one fifth grade boy was happily dragging his brand new schoolbag with rollers. It was his first time to have a schoolbag with rollers. This was his parents’ gift for being the top one of his fourth grade class a year ago. His father had to spend extra hours in the factory to earn something extra to buy that school bag with rollers. The smile on his face was certainly a gem of warmth. When he arrived at their local elementary school, he parked his handsome bag-on-wheels, greeted classmates and sat on the ground under the shady tree waiting for their first subject teacher. Yes, the boy who had that new schoolbag with rollers is one of the many unfortunate students who didn’t have the chance to sit on a desk inside a furnished classroom. But still the smile on his face didn’t vanish; it remained intact, what was the reason? Was it the thought of having a new bag for school gave him all the reason to continue smiling?
A simple scenario from a wide phenomenon, that fifth grade boy was one in the several unlucky ones of the 11.9 million enrolment turnouts for public schools. The unlucky ones, I should stress out dearly. I won’t have any pinpointing sessions unto whose fault why these elementary pupils are suffering. I am not directly involved in these matters, so I can’t judge whether the government, the Department of Education to be exact, had done their best or slacked the way off this situation. What the statistical data revealed to me, (according to the Fact Sheet of DepEd as of February 2007) and what the media has been propagating I see a neutralizing balance of positives and negatives.
The Department of Education Fact Sheet of February 2007 blurted out that 1:35 is the teacher-pupil ratio of elementary schools, and 1:39 for secondary schools. That perhaps would be, under my vulnerable assessment, still good enough for an effective class discussion to take place, regarded that the classroom area remains constantly proportional to the ratio too. Although, the variable of students increase, seeing as things are, it’s still under a proportional ratio. Another uphill is the augmentation of resource materials such as books and computer access, even to the far-flung rural areas. Mostly popularized by known private sponsors who goal to help this underprivileged pupils with their pursuance of academic learning. The negative side of this battery of an idea is with the relative number of classrooms to the students. Documentaries and news reports reveal the pitiful reality of some students having to sit inside their classrooms like sardines forced in a tin can, of some students having to use the school’s basketball court for classrooms, worse, of some students going to a school with delaying evacuees caused by a natural calamity.
I’m confused. Too young, I suppose. I’m too young to comprehend all of this and weigh the status of my country’s educational performance. Stating out the plus and minus, made me not decide on what conviction I would give. I would either clamor from the government’s lack of preparation or salute them for their innovativeness. How hard I try to understand, I really can’t. All I can picture out in my mind is the lingering sweet smile of the fifth grader, who despite the situation still pursued to wake up early, kiss his parents thank you, and bearing in his heart the flaming determination to finish school. Right now I take this right to be one sided. If one is really agitated to receive formal education, he’ll not let this inconveniences hinder his path to success. So what if you can’t sit on a desk and have the basketball court as your classroom? We have no choice, that’s the reality; we have to live with it though how cruel or vain it may be. Just see the at-leasts of things. At least, I got to sit and listen to my teacher. At least, I got to have a place to shelter me as I study. At least I’m at school. No matter how we try to clamor and persecute others on these hassles, we’ll just waste our saliva from wailing on the streets, we’ll just waste our time from popping our brains out to think of the solution. I know, we must alas think and do of a way out of this problematic maze. But, if this thinking and doing would prevent us from receiving the education we yearn in the first place, would you take that risk?
Some might say I’m very clear about my theory of being one sided. Some might even conclude that I never had a point for I never went to a public school until college, so I won’t understand. But and yet, I see a number of professionals and experts at their fields who graduated and pursued their successful careers with the past of suffering form this imperfect schooling preparations our country endured and endures. If they survived, better yet succeeded, with such lacking benefits and privileges, why can’t the children of today? I’m a supporter of change, I’m a restless idealist. So would I settle for mediocrity of my country’s offer of education? No, I won’t. But sadly I can’t do much right now. I have decided that I’ll be fully effective and hopeful if I’ll not let die this smoldering flame of change in my heart and actualize it if I have the control over things; if it’s my generations term to take over the running of this country. I’ll just study well and most importantly be aware of the flaws and blemishes including the checks and correcto-mundos of the leading generation today. Keeping these in mind, I may now how to start the change if it’s my time.
With all of these facts and figures, all of these hearsays and news, all of these mumbo jumbos of our educational system, my age and generation can’t do much but to sacrifice and continue studying. Because as they say if there is suffering, there is joy in the end. If in case we might have not found that joy, we probably have the idea to attain that joy. We’ll do it our way when we’re in charge. Right now, my lips are zipped. No major prosecutions or praises from this mouth. Education, they say, starts from observation and actualizes in application. So that’s what I’m going to do.
Soon, I’ll be able to talk to that fifth grader. I’ll ask him his memories of the very first schoolbag with rollers he had. I’ll ask him how he put up with smiling after being deprived of a classroom. Soon will be the time when both of us shall have the country’s state in our hands. Soon will be the time after we have studied to the fullest and did our part during our youth. Soon will be the time when we’ll set wrong things right and right things remain right.
It was time for the fifth grader’s first subject; he stared at his new schoolbag with rollers. He hushed to himself some thoughts. He wasn’t smiling because he had a new schoolbag with rollers, he was smiling because he was there, listening to his teacher.
Thus it was the reason for his smile.
(Comments and Reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
It was the first day of school and one fifth grade boy was happily dragging his brand new schoolbag with rollers. It was his first time to have a schoolbag with rollers. This was his parents’ gift for being the top one of his fourth grade class a year ago. His father had to spend extra hours in the factory to earn something extra to buy that school bag with rollers. The smile on his face was certainly a gem of warmth. When he arrived at their local elementary school, he parked his handsome bag-on-wheels, greeted classmates and sat on the ground under the shady tree waiting for their first subject teacher. Yes, the boy who had that new schoolbag with rollers is one of the many unfortunate students who didn’t have the chance to sit on a desk inside a furnished classroom. But still the smile on his face didn’t vanish; it remained intact, what was the reason? Was it the thought of having a new bag for school gave him all the reason to continue smiling?
A simple scenario from a wide phenomenon, that fifth grade boy was one in the several unlucky ones of the 11.9 million enrolment turnouts for public schools. The unlucky ones, I should stress out dearly. I won’t have any pinpointing sessions unto whose fault why these elementary pupils are suffering. I am not directly involved in these matters, so I can’t judge whether the government, the Department of Education to be exact, had done their best or slacked the way off this situation. What the statistical data revealed to me, (according to the Fact Sheet of DepEd as of February 2007) and what the media has been propagating I see a neutralizing balance of positives and negatives.
The Department of Education Fact Sheet of February 2007 blurted out that 1:35 is the teacher-pupil ratio of elementary schools, and 1:39 for secondary schools. That perhaps would be, under my vulnerable assessment, still good enough for an effective class discussion to take place, regarded that the classroom area remains constantly proportional to the ratio too. Although, the variable of students increase, seeing as things are, it’s still under a proportional ratio. Another uphill is the augmentation of resource materials such as books and computer access, even to the far-flung rural areas. Mostly popularized by known private sponsors who goal to help this underprivileged pupils with their pursuance of academic learning. The negative side of this battery of an idea is with the relative number of classrooms to the students. Documentaries and news reports reveal the pitiful reality of some students having to sit inside their classrooms like sardines forced in a tin can, of some students having to use the school’s basketball court for classrooms, worse, of some students going to a school with delaying evacuees caused by a natural calamity.
I’m confused. Too young, I suppose. I’m too young to comprehend all of this and weigh the status of my country’s educational performance. Stating out the plus and minus, made me not decide on what conviction I would give. I would either clamor from the government’s lack of preparation or salute them for their innovativeness. How hard I try to understand, I really can’t. All I can picture out in my mind is the lingering sweet smile of the fifth grader, who despite the situation still pursued to wake up early, kiss his parents thank you, and bearing in his heart the flaming determination to finish school. Right now I take this right to be one sided. If one is really agitated to receive formal education, he’ll not let this inconveniences hinder his path to success. So what if you can’t sit on a desk and have the basketball court as your classroom? We have no choice, that’s the reality; we have to live with it though how cruel or vain it may be. Just see the at-leasts of things. At least, I got to sit and listen to my teacher. At least, I got to have a place to shelter me as I study. At least I’m at school. No matter how we try to clamor and persecute others on these hassles, we’ll just waste our saliva from wailing on the streets, we’ll just waste our time from popping our brains out to think of the solution. I know, we must alas think and do of a way out of this problematic maze. But, if this thinking and doing would prevent us from receiving the education we yearn in the first place, would you take that risk?
Some might say I’m very clear about my theory of being one sided. Some might even conclude that I never had a point for I never went to a public school until college, so I won’t understand. But and yet, I see a number of professionals and experts at their fields who graduated and pursued their successful careers with the past of suffering form this imperfect schooling preparations our country endured and endures. If they survived, better yet succeeded, with such lacking benefits and privileges, why can’t the children of today? I’m a supporter of change, I’m a restless idealist. So would I settle for mediocrity of my country’s offer of education? No, I won’t. But sadly I can’t do much right now. I have decided that I’ll be fully effective and hopeful if I’ll not let die this smoldering flame of change in my heart and actualize it if I have the control over things; if it’s my generations term to take over the running of this country. I’ll just study well and most importantly be aware of the flaws and blemishes including the checks and correcto-mundos of the leading generation today. Keeping these in mind, I may now how to start the change if it’s my time.
With all of these facts and figures, all of these hearsays and news, all of these mumbo jumbos of our educational system, my age and generation can’t do much but to sacrifice and continue studying. Because as they say if there is suffering, there is joy in the end. If in case we might have not found that joy, we probably have the idea to attain that joy. We’ll do it our way when we’re in charge. Right now, my lips are zipped. No major prosecutions or praises from this mouth. Education, they say, starts from observation and actualizes in application. So that’s what I’m going to do.
Soon, I’ll be able to talk to that fifth grader. I’ll ask him his memories of the very first schoolbag with rollers he had. I’ll ask him how he put up with smiling after being deprived of a classroom. Soon will be the time when both of us shall have the country’s state in our hands. Soon will be the time after we have studied to the fullest and did our part during our youth. Soon will be the time when we’ll set wrong things right and right things remain right.
It was time for the fifth grader’s first subject; he stared at his new schoolbag with rollers. He hushed to himself some thoughts. He wasn’t smiling because he had a new schoolbag with rollers, he was smiling because he was there, listening to his teacher.
Thus it was the reason for his smile.
(Comments and Reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
How to be a nationalist in 85 million easy ways (June 21,2007)
How to be a Nationalist in 85 million easy ways
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I noticed something oddly different as I was approaching our front door the other day. After I deciphered what it was, it left a smile on my face. “Did you see what I made, Yan? Did you see?” My brother said those words as he was gleaming as he was pointing on our front door. On our front door was a scotch-taped Philippine Flag, drawn on half of a short sized bond paper with carefully colored reds, blues and yellows, the three stars were outlined as well as the legendary eight rayed-sun. I was awed of how a ten year old would spend some time concentrating on his simple artwork, but I wondered more on how a ten year old would carry nationalism and commemorate Philippine pride along every stroke of his crayon. There I go again, with my inter-dimensional visits, where I stare blankly into space, and ponder about how a common object would widen my thoughts. In this case, I stared at my little brother and idealistically thought of the widely talked about and controversial Philippine Nationalism.
As the definition of Nationalism would perhaps remain constant, the curiosity develops on the question, “How exactly do you show Nationalism”? I checked up all the bookstores to find a book that might say “How to be a Nationalist in Seven easy ways”. Unfortunately, I didn’t. I bagged down with the dismay of putting an end to my quest of discovering the ways for nationalism. I tell you, it isn’t like a simple chocolate chiffon cake recipe on a cookbook. I pity a lot of self-proclaimed nationalists who spend sleepless night’s writing papers on proper showmanship of nationalism, of renowned rally advocates who fill the streets with their own beliefs of patriotic pride, and of some youth including myself who sighs to the confusing view of what a Proud Filipino must precisely be. It must be tough; I would have given up for this unending search until I thought about how my brother maneuvered his fingers in creating a simple display of Philippine Pride. Yes, I realized that simple 10-year-old-drawn Philippine flag was an act of nationalism.
I’m taking up BSN for college and yes honestly I’m looking forward unto going abroad after my board exams. Along with the tiresome future hospital duties and mind-numbing lessons, I am aware of the rigorous pressure of some people saying that going abroad after finishing up Nursing would make me less country loving. Most say, I would deprive my country of a service she deserves from me that I would not be just with my debt of honor to her. I’m quite aware that people might mistake me in being financially motivated. It would be a denial if I say I’m not going abroad for the money, of course I am chasing after the Benjamins (100 dollar bill). Just like the other millions of OFW’s around the world, we all are in search for greener pastures.
Accuse me for being practical and money wise, but never accuse me of being not nationalistic. It doesn’t mean if I go abroad I would be less of a Filipino. Much more, that if I stay here in the Philippines and serve my profession I would be more of a Filipino. Going abroad would be a way of nationalism. Our economy is flourishing due to the outpour of dollar remittances here in our country coming from the accused not-so-nationalistic OFW’s. Filipinos are being praised by many nations because of such brilliant display of talent, skill and profession in health care, engineering, house aid, arts, media and sciences because of abroad based Filipinos who coincidently excel in their fields. The mere fact of these millions of OFW’s sending financial support would prevent same amount of millions of their families back here in the Philippines from poverty. Saving the Philippines from Poverty is but another sign of nationalism. For a 16-year old like me, these are all displays of nationalism. I salute all the Philippine based nurses and other professionals; you’ve done laborious service to our country by being physically and all in all being holistically here. You deserve to be called nationalists. Then again, those OFW’s abroad facing all sorts of discomforts such as discrimination and physical challenges but still waving the Philippine flag up high, you deserve the same recourse of salute. You, too for a 16-year old like me, are nationalists.
I only showed a matter of two categories; The Philippine-based Filipinos and abroad-based Filipino’s nationalism. Each of them has separate ways of showing the spirit of Philippine pride. Not one has a heavier and bigger significance than the other, as each of them has the same goal, has the same vigor, and has the same dreams, which are for nation building. Serving locally and sending remittances has but the same level in the balance scale of Philippine Nationalism. I see the same generalization to be applied with private and public sectors, which are the capitalists and the government. The private sector, headed by the businessmen, show nationalism by executing their main role in economic flows, they provide goods for the consumers; they provide employment for the majority, and save their own families from poverty through the success of their businesses. The public sector or the government weighs equal grounds of nationalism, through its leadership and service oriented activities for the people. I see no difference in the nationalism offered by the President from my father who’s a businessman. They both serve the country in their own unique way. The President heads the country, my father heads our family. The President sees the security and progress of the country, so does my father with me, my mother and my flag making brother. The same nationalism offered, but in different channels of deed.
How do you exactly show nationalism? It depends on you. No research paper, statistical views, political views or any other source would tell you how. Discover it yourself. If the noble Benigno Aquino lived his life as a great lawmaker and risked it as well for his country, my little brother on the other hand took some of his television viewing time just to create that simple Philippine flag and posted it on our front door; reminding all of us in that household, that we can be heroes and nationalists in our own way. I don’t have to be Miss Philippines representing my country for the Miss Universe Title, I can just be a simple Nursing student dedicated into studying well, bearing the future of my family and of my future family in that matter.
We have different ways of showing nationalism. We are all around 85 million Filipinos, and I expect the “how to be a nationalist in 85 million easy ways” to be on the best seller list on the bookstores of our Philippine spirits.
Dare to make one out of the 85 million ways. Please.
Mabuhay!
(Comments and Reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I noticed something oddly different as I was approaching our front door the other day. After I deciphered what it was, it left a smile on my face. “Did you see what I made, Yan? Did you see?” My brother said those words as he was gleaming as he was pointing on our front door. On our front door was a scotch-taped Philippine Flag, drawn on half of a short sized bond paper with carefully colored reds, blues and yellows, the three stars were outlined as well as the legendary eight rayed-sun. I was awed of how a ten year old would spend some time concentrating on his simple artwork, but I wondered more on how a ten year old would carry nationalism and commemorate Philippine pride along every stroke of his crayon. There I go again, with my inter-dimensional visits, where I stare blankly into space, and ponder about how a common object would widen my thoughts. In this case, I stared at my little brother and idealistically thought of the widely talked about and controversial Philippine Nationalism.
As the definition of Nationalism would perhaps remain constant, the curiosity develops on the question, “How exactly do you show Nationalism”? I checked up all the bookstores to find a book that might say “How to be a Nationalist in Seven easy ways”. Unfortunately, I didn’t. I bagged down with the dismay of putting an end to my quest of discovering the ways for nationalism. I tell you, it isn’t like a simple chocolate chiffon cake recipe on a cookbook. I pity a lot of self-proclaimed nationalists who spend sleepless night’s writing papers on proper showmanship of nationalism, of renowned rally advocates who fill the streets with their own beliefs of patriotic pride, and of some youth including myself who sighs to the confusing view of what a Proud Filipino must precisely be. It must be tough; I would have given up for this unending search until I thought about how my brother maneuvered his fingers in creating a simple display of Philippine Pride. Yes, I realized that simple 10-year-old-drawn Philippine flag was an act of nationalism.
I’m taking up BSN for college and yes honestly I’m looking forward unto going abroad after my board exams. Along with the tiresome future hospital duties and mind-numbing lessons, I am aware of the rigorous pressure of some people saying that going abroad after finishing up Nursing would make me less country loving. Most say, I would deprive my country of a service she deserves from me that I would not be just with my debt of honor to her. I’m quite aware that people might mistake me in being financially motivated. It would be a denial if I say I’m not going abroad for the money, of course I am chasing after the Benjamins (100 dollar bill). Just like the other millions of OFW’s around the world, we all are in search for greener pastures.
Accuse me for being practical and money wise, but never accuse me of being not nationalistic. It doesn’t mean if I go abroad I would be less of a Filipino. Much more, that if I stay here in the Philippines and serve my profession I would be more of a Filipino. Going abroad would be a way of nationalism. Our economy is flourishing due to the outpour of dollar remittances here in our country coming from the accused not-so-nationalistic OFW’s. Filipinos are being praised by many nations because of such brilliant display of talent, skill and profession in health care, engineering, house aid, arts, media and sciences because of abroad based Filipinos who coincidently excel in their fields. The mere fact of these millions of OFW’s sending financial support would prevent same amount of millions of their families back here in the Philippines from poverty. Saving the Philippines from Poverty is but another sign of nationalism. For a 16-year old like me, these are all displays of nationalism. I salute all the Philippine based nurses and other professionals; you’ve done laborious service to our country by being physically and all in all being holistically here. You deserve to be called nationalists. Then again, those OFW’s abroad facing all sorts of discomforts such as discrimination and physical challenges but still waving the Philippine flag up high, you deserve the same recourse of salute. You, too for a 16-year old like me, are nationalists.
I only showed a matter of two categories; The Philippine-based Filipinos and abroad-based Filipino’s nationalism. Each of them has separate ways of showing the spirit of Philippine pride. Not one has a heavier and bigger significance than the other, as each of them has the same goal, has the same vigor, and has the same dreams, which are for nation building. Serving locally and sending remittances has but the same level in the balance scale of Philippine Nationalism. I see the same generalization to be applied with private and public sectors, which are the capitalists and the government. The private sector, headed by the businessmen, show nationalism by executing their main role in economic flows, they provide goods for the consumers; they provide employment for the majority, and save their own families from poverty through the success of their businesses. The public sector or the government weighs equal grounds of nationalism, through its leadership and service oriented activities for the people. I see no difference in the nationalism offered by the President from my father who’s a businessman. They both serve the country in their own unique way. The President heads the country, my father heads our family. The President sees the security and progress of the country, so does my father with me, my mother and my flag making brother. The same nationalism offered, but in different channels of deed.
How do you exactly show nationalism? It depends on you. No research paper, statistical views, political views or any other source would tell you how. Discover it yourself. If the noble Benigno Aquino lived his life as a great lawmaker and risked it as well for his country, my little brother on the other hand took some of his television viewing time just to create that simple Philippine flag and posted it on our front door; reminding all of us in that household, that we can be heroes and nationalists in our own way. I don’t have to be Miss Philippines representing my country for the Miss Universe Title, I can just be a simple Nursing student dedicated into studying well, bearing the future of my family and of my future family in that matter.
We have different ways of showing nationalism. We are all around 85 million Filipinos, and I expect the “how to be a nationalist in 85 million easy ways” to be on the best seller list on the bookstores of our Philippine spirits.
Dare to make one out of the 85 million ways. Please.
Mabuhay!
(Comments and Reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
Enrolling with Pink Folders (June 12,2007)
Enrolling with Pink Folders
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I woke up with a jolt; my body was triggered to get up from bed at the sound of my punctual alarm clock. Similar to some students who have the same fate as I did that morning, they were all dashing up to be on time for school. We all gobbled up out breakfast like some pack of wolves, held a dressing marathon contest, and constantly checking our wristwatches if we were speeding up on time. There may be only one thing that differs me from the other early birds; they brought along a school bag loaded with books while I had my brown envelope enclosed some documents and my registration form. Oh yes, I’m going to school too, but for a slightly different purpose, that is to undergo the tedious process of enrolling. I’m no high school anymore, the comforts of simple enrollment process was out of my midst, what fogs my way is the vague uncertainty of my college enrollment. College became so frighteningly foreign to me after I was open to the tedious flow of entitling yourself as a student of a university. I don’t want future incoming freshmen or someone so unfamiliar with what I’ve gone through experience the same head-aching processes I’ve been through. That is why I would like to share the simple learning a literal “fresh” man like me had harvested after finding the needle from the haystack.
Even before enrollment, (as I was taking up the legendary bandwagon course, Nursing) a lot of screening and filing up sessions made me realize how importantly significant the skill taught to all the girl scouts and boy scouts; The Undying Lesson of: Always Be Prepared. Take the sacrifice of packing some extra stuff inside your bag. Although you’ll look like someone who brings a mini bookstore with her, it’s all worth it, than experiencing the pain of crossing to the other side of the street just to buy a one peso paste from the nearby convenience store. I had my share of discomfort because of ignoring the Girl Scout skill. I had to undergone the confusing phenomenon of going back and forth around four times, photocopying my documents and even taking a rush developed picture, I tell you my smile wasn’t amusing enough. During God given events of life, from enrollments to job interviews, it really pays to be extra prepared. Trust me, you don’t want to see yourself having the same fate of unprepared noodle heads sitting under the tree, murmuring he has to go back again for tomorrow.
It’s nice to share a seat for a friendly stranger, to wait in line with a fellow applicant and share some stories, and to chat with some high school friends you met at the university. All of these, sums up as what psychologists say growing interpersonally. Being open to the sociality of the world, in order not to get bummed, alone or at the most insecure, you need to have someone alongside, even if you just met him. This supports the ever lingering cliché of “No Man is an Island”. But, sometimes it will cost you if you depend and trust too much on what others and interpersonal growth says. As I journeyed my enrollment adventure, I can’t help but overhear some students saying, “You know, one girl said that one guy told him we need some pink folders for our application forms.” Huh? I told myself, who said who, what said what? Nevertheless that group of students immediately went outside and bought some six pesos worth of long pink folders because some girl said one guy told her. I too was victimized, unfortunately. I went outside and bought 2 pink folders. But, after the enrollment, it all ended with me regretting. I wasted the twelve pesos for the some girl said one guy’s pink folders. Pink Folders weren’t needed. My Advice? If you seem too unsure of your requirements, Go ask the officers-in-charge or someone credible enough to give your specific and accurate information.
Have you heard of the popular note, “The Law Excuses No One”, well during my enrollment; it was revised to a suitable quote, “The Line Excuses No One”. Really, there are some pretending-to-be-dumb people who pretend not to know how to make a line. Hello? Wasn’t lining up step by step explained clearly by our teacher way back in kindergarten? It was such a pity sight, some parents who went with their children, even pushed their way in first line showing their children the fast lane to accomplishing your tasks. They weren’t thinking about some people they stepped ahead on, who came as far as Antique (which is like approximately 98 kilometers from the city), who woke up early in the morning just like what I did just to acquire the first priority number, and who even wasn’t entertained, enrolled and will still come the next day because of those pretenders’ ignorance. I arrived at the university 6:15 am, being the third in line, some mother and her daughter swept passed us first three and rushed to go first. As I understand, what we did was right; it was human enough to let that mother know she’s teaching wrong decorum to her daughter. We told the ROTC Cadets to tell her off and send her at the back of the long line where she appropriately belongs. How could someone who arrived 7:30 am be first before someone who arrived at 6:15. Even a simple inexperienced freshman like me knows its Logic. This is one of the reasons why our country is such a chaos, simple line formation we can not be disciplined, how much more of complex regulations? Beware of Line Pretenders, shove them off and let them learn.
As I was enrolling in a government subsidized school, of course you could imagine the flock of enrollees. What a busy enrollment day that was! Lines were starting to tick off some impatient parents and students, everyone was blaming the slow service and flow of accommodation of facilitators and clerks, and the unending revolution of mothers who kept on claiming the quote “We were lining here for a long time now”. Actually dear mothers, everybody is lining, so a little patience and reality check would be of big help to replenish your heated and motherly instincts. What I found lacking was the simple existence of courtesy. Not only in the part of clerks who undeniably had some loopholes in their service. I was one of the many poor come-back-again-tomorrow people. I am a suffering entrance scholar who has to go back the next day just for my fees to be assessed. Everyone that is seated inside the assessment room had been expecting to be entertained, for having to wait more than three hours. But what do you know, the cut-off for the first twenty was made, and I was number thirty seven, because it was already nearing their service closing times. Technically, the clerks were legally correct. But just for the love of work and exercise of government service; can’t you accommodate the others? Can’t you sacrifice going home late for a noble cause that is to assess the fees of worthy scholars (like me perhaps)? I’m not only referring to the schools, but government offices had been quite too mechanical and strict with service offered. Just a question from a freshman: Isn’t service, freely and without a doubt sincerely given? Just Checking.
This is quite one sided. That is why, courtesy from the service givers and courtesy greatly as well from the service receivers. Customer’s are always right, but let us not abuse that right. Although there were loopholes with the side of facilitators, the main point of seeing them do their job even if power failure struck us all down, seeing them with smiling faces even with the rigorous pressure of work, and seeing them just being there to try and accommodate are but some big reasons for us to relate with them with smiles on our faces and minding our p’s and q’s. Remember your simple please and thank you lessons and practicing them on the clerks and facilitators. You might not know your simple smile and thank you would lessen their burden and brighten them up, thus giving them more energy and vigor to accommodate more people. To get good service you must encourage good service. A two way process, treat and relate the clerks kindly and they’ll have the interest in the world to quicken up your documents; the cycle of life as we call it.
I was amazed how a few days of enrollment would lead me unto think about Girl Scout skills, pink folders, line pretenders and the very most of basic courtesy. I hope when you enroll or come across a similar incident my simple and infantile realizations would make you less pinkishly dependent and more assertive with the importance of line formation. I may know less, may be some might disagree with my thoughts, but as a “fresh” man and so are my “fresh” thoughts would say, I’ll remain true to my observations and reflections until the next enrollment period. I’ll let you know.
Scout with pink folders!
Line with Courtesy!
You get the point.
(For comments and reactions send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I woke up with a jolt; my body was triggered to get up from bed at the sound of my punctual alarm clock. Similar to some students who have the same fate as I did that morning, they were all dashing up to be on time for school. We all gobbled up out breakfast like some pack of wolves, held a dressing marathon contest, and constantly checking our wristwatches if we were speeding up on time. There may be only one thing that differs me from the other early birds; they brought along a school bag loaded with books while I had my brown envelope enclosed some documents and my registration form. Oh yes, I’m going to school too, but for a slightly different purpose, that is to undergo the tedious process of enrolling. I’m no high school anymore, the comforts of simple enrollment process was out of my midst, what fogs my way is the vague uncertainty of my college enrollment. College became so frighteningly foreign to me after I was open to the tedious flow of entitling yourself as a student of a university. I don’t want future incoming freshmen or someone so unfamiliar with what I’ve gone through experience the same head-aching processes I’ve been through. That is why I would like to share the simple learning a literal “fresh” man like me had harvested after finding the needle from the haystack.
Even before enrollment, (as I was taking up the legendary bandwagon course, Nursing) a lot of screening and filing up sessions made me realize how importantly significant the skill taught to all the girl scouts and boy scouts; The Undying Lesson of: Always Be Prepared. Take the sacrifice of packing some extra stuff inside your bag. Although you’ll look like someone who brings a mini bookstore with her, it’s all worth it, than experiencing the pain of crossing to the other side of the street just to buy a one peso paste from the nearby convenience store. I had my share of discomfort because of ignoring the Girl Scout skill. I had to undergone the confusing phenomenon of going back and forth around four times, photocopying my documents and even taking a rush developed picture, I tell you my smile wasn’t amusing enough. During God given events of life, from enrollments to job interviews, it really pays to be extra prepared. Trust me, you don’t want to see yourself having the same fate of unprepared noodle heads sitting under the tree, murmuring he has to go back again for tomorrow.
It’s nice to share a seat for a friendly stranger, to wait in line with a fellow applicant and share some stories, and to chat with some high school friends you met at the university. All of these, sums up as what psychologists say growing interpersonally. Being open to the sociality of the world, in order not to get bummed, alone or at the most insecure, you need to have someone alongside, even if you just met him. This supports the ever lingering cliché of “No Man is an Island”. But, sometimes it will cost you if you depend and trust too much on what others and interpersonal growth says. As I journeyed my enrollment adventure, I can’t help but overhear some students saying, “You know, one girl said that one guy told him we need some pink folders for our application forms.” Huh? I told myself, who said who, what said what? Nevertheless that group of students immediately went outside and bought some six pesos worth of long pink folders because some girl said one guy told her. I too was victimized, unfortunately. I went outside and bought 2 pink folders. But, after the enrollment, it all ended with me regretting. I wasted the twelve pesos for the some girl said one guy’s pink folders. Pink Folders weren’t needed. My Advice? If you seem too unsure of your requirements, Go ask the officers-in-charge or someone credible enough to give your specific and accurate information.
Have you heard of the popular note, “The Law Excuses No One”, well during my enrollment; it was revised to a suitable quote, “The Line Excuses No One”. Really, there are some pretending-to-be-dumb people who pretend not to know how to make a line. Hello? Wasn’t lining up step by step explained clearly by our teacher way back in kindergarten? It was such a pity sight, some parents who went with their children, even pushed their way in first line showing their children the fast lane to accomplishing your tasks. They weren’t thinking about some people they stepped ahead on, who came as far as Antique (which is like approximately 98 kilometers from the city), who woke up early in the morning just like what I did just to acquire the first priority number, and who even wasn’t entertained, enrolled and will still come the next day because of those pretenders’ ignorance. I arrived at the university 6:15 am, being the third in line, some mother and her daughter swept passed us first three and rushed to go first. As I understand, what we did was right; it was human enough to let that mother know she’s teaching wrong decorum to her daughter. We told the ROTC Cadets to tell her off and send her at the back of the long line where she appropriately belongs. How could someone who arrived 7:30 am be first before someone who arrived at 6:15. Even a simple inexperienced freshman like me knows its Logic. This is one of the reasons why our country is such a chaos, simple line formation we can not be disciplined, how much more of complex regulations? Beware of Line Pretenders, shove them off and let them learn.
As I was enrolling in a government subsidized school, of course you could imagine the flock of enrollees. What a busy enrollment day that was! Lines were starting to tick off some impatient parents and students, everyone was blaming the slow service and flow of accommodation of facilitators and clerks, and the unending revolution of mothers who kept on claiming the quote “We were lining here for a long time now”. Actually dear mothers, everybody is lining, so a little patience and reality check would be of big help to replenish your heated and motherly instincts. What I found lacking was the simple existence of courtesy. Not only in the part of clerks who undeniably had some loopholes in their service. I was one of the many poor come-back-again-tomorrow people. I am a suffering entrance scholar who has to go back the next day just for my fees to be assessed. Everyone that is seated inside the assessment room had been expecting to be entertained, for having to wait more than three hours. But what do you know, the cut-off for the first twenty was made, and I was number thirty seven, because it was already nearing their service closing times. Technically, the clerks were legally correct. But just for the love of work and exercise of government service; can’t you accommodate the others? Can’t you sacrifice going home late for a noble cause that is to assess the fees of worthy scholars (like me perhaps)? I’m not only referring to the schools, but government offices had been quite too mechanical and strict with service offered. Just a question from a freshman: Isn’t service, freely and without a doubt sincerely given? Just Checking.
This is quite one sided. That is why, courtesy from the service givers and courtesy greatly as well from the service receivers. Customer’s are always right, but let us not abuse that right. Although there were loopholes with the side of facilitators, the main point of seeing them do their job even if power failure struck us all down, seeing them with smiling faces even with the rigorous pressure of work, and seeing them just being there to try and accommodate are but some big reasons for us to relate with them with smiles on our faces and minding our p’s and q’s. Remember your simple please and thank you lessons and practicing them on the clerks and facilitators. You might not know your simple smile and thank you would lessen their burden and brighten them up, thus giving them more energy and vigor to accommodate more people. To get good service you must encourage good service. A two way process, treat and relate the clerks kindly and they’ll have the interest in the world to quicken up your documents; the cycle of life as we call it.
I was amazed how a few days of enrollment would lead me unto think about Girl Scout skills, pink folders, line pretenders and the very most of basic courtesy. I hope when you enroll or come across a similar incident my simple and infantile realizations would make you less pinkishly dependent and more assertive with the importance of line formation. I may know less, may be some might disagree with my thoughts, but as a “fresh” man and so are my “fresh” thoughts would say, I’ll remain true to my observations and reflections until the next enrollment period. I’ll let you know.
Scout with pink folders!
Line with Courtesy!
You get the point.
(For comments and reactions send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
Peace Be With you (June 5,2007)
Peace be with you
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Peace, how do you define it? Many say it is the absence of war. Some believe it is the silence of chaos. A lot of people think it is the end of violence. I wish to agree with their idealistic views, but juvenile as my thoughts I happen to define peace in a whole new dimension. Peace, for me, is not an absence or an escape from all that is evil and immoral. Peace is finding that serene state, amidst all that is wicked and negative. It is about having hope, that somehow and someday the war will end. Believing that one day, you’ll wake up hearing not gunshots but sweet music of laughter; you’ll wake up seeing not flying grenades or unfriendly tanks of war, but happy children playing on the streets. Peace is simply having hope and trust even though hostility is evident.
The Philippines just have had her national elections, and most critiqued it to be blood-risking, deceiving, and all the adjectives in the dictionary leading to not very peaceful. I may know little on Politics but their views were quite one-sided. Sure, political killings were rampant, manipulating of vote tallies were apparent, bribery and vote buying were but a common scene, but these aren’t just the bases to tell whether the elections were peaceful or not. Look on the other side of the street, check the backside of your shirt; there were little actions and realities that weren’t seen and noticed.
2007 Voters have been more oriented on their bets for office, 2007 Voters were smarter voters. Why? The previous elections had manifested some unworthy winning candidates; many show business personalities acted their way to government seats. Now, the voters did not let particular shallow people to box and jab their way to authoritative positions. The voters realized that the senate, congress, municipal, city and provincial capitols are not the same with boxing arenas and locations for shooting movies. The voters found peace within their selves, they found a clearer meaning amidst the trend of past elections, they found the serenity and stepped out of the noisy tradition of voting candidates that are not worthy of the position. I have no right to judge these candidates, for they are not useless, in fact they have been contributing members to our nation by providing quality entertainment and pride. But the people had spoken, and more deserving ones were placed in positions.
There was a great turn out of voters these elections. A few weeks ago, I had an amazing time in Boracay, but what made it extra special is the experience as we were going back to Iloilo. You see we went back exactly on May 14, we bid goodbye to Boracay on an early morning as my parents were really determined to take a stand and vote that day. We passed by a lot of elementary schools and day care centers of rural barrios. I saw the urge of Filipinos, to take time to scribble the deserving names on their ballots. Lines of people flock the elementary schools and day care centers, and it happens to be on an early morning. Voters paid no excuse to exercise their right of suffrage. Indeed they found peace within the significant day of May 14, to wake up extra early, or to sacrifice a few hours of daily routine just to be present in their relative precincts and vote. Indeed, there was peace and the blazing hope of believing that their simple ballot could help their nation; a peace that pushed them to vote for the future of their families and Philippines as a whole.
Those were simple realities that made me negate the views of critics who considered out elections to be generally not peaceful. I guess I’m much too inexperienced than they, but seeing we have different definitions of peace really made a difference in our views of the elections. I’ll never let go of my belief of peace. Peace is always there, it always exists. I lay half of my agreement to the definition that there is really peace in the absence of war, but I reserve the other half to the belief that there was still peace during the presence of war. People were just blinded by the fright of wickedness and malevolence that they fail to see peace within it. Look at the night sky, though it’s so dark and black, you’ll see its beauty, you’ll see hope, when you spot the glistening stars emitting their light amidst the engulfing darkness. Peace is like the stars. When one realizes it is already night time and darkness would blanket the sky, he is not completely scared and never lost track of hope, because the stars continue to shine and emit light, carrying the promise of a brighter sun for tomorrow.
Along the road of our negatively stricken elections, let us not forget that once upon the voting and canvassing times, there was peace, even just a pinch of it. For every reported political murder and bombings, let us not fail to remember one Filipino who woke up early morning to sincerely and honestly vote for his deserving bet. Though this thought is far simpler and insignificant, remember that this simple and insignificant thought carries a weight of peace. We become too preoccupied with mourning over how despicable our election was, that we tend to overlook the simpler yet peace-bearing realities just around the corners of our lives.
Forgive my childish thoughts, but every time I would turn on the radio to listen, switch on the television, and turn a page of a newspaper all I can hear, see and read about are the negative sides of our elections. Of how incompetent and irresponsible the canvassers were, of how slow and lousy the presentation of results, and of how they were cheated and betrayed says the losing candidates. Here I go again with my simple understandings. Wasn’t it good enough that there were canvassers who coincidently were paid less for an extreme task (or just a few some who volunteered)? Weren’t their unrecognized sleepless nights of sheer counting and tallying good enough? Yes, they may have committed mistakes, but the mere fact of them being there isn’t but a reason? Because of too much prevalence of deception, peace didn’t kindle a light. Still, peace was there but wasn’t just seen. As I’ve said Peace is always there, it always exists. What makes us say it’s not there is because we didn’t see it.
Let us see peace in small things. Let us see peace in troubles and chaos. Let us find peace in the negative of the negatives.
Peace be with You!
(Comment and Reactions please post them here or send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Peace, how do you define it? Many say it is the absence of war. Some believe it is the silence of chaos. A lot of people think it is the end of violence. I wish to agree with their idealistic views, but juvenile as my thoughts I happen to define peace in a whole new dimension. Peace, for me, is not an absence or an escape from all that is evil and immoral. Peace is finding that serene state, amidst all that is wicked and negative. It is about having hope, that somehow and someday the war will end. Believing that one day, you’ll wake up hearing not gunshots but sweet music of laughter; you’ll wake up seeing not flying grenades or unfriendly tanks of war, but happy children playing on the streets. Peace is simply having hope and trust even though hostility is evident.
The Philippines just have had her national elections, and most critiqued it to be blood-risking, deceiving, and all the adjectives in the dictionary leading to not very peaceful. I may know little on Politics but their views were quite one-sided. Sure, political killings were rampant, manipulating of vote tallies were apparent, bribery and vote buying were but a common scene, but these aren’t just the bases to tell whether the elections were peaceful or not. Look on the other side of the street, check the backside of your shirt; there were little actions and realities that weren’t seen and noticed.
2007 Voters have been more oriented on their bets for office, 2007 Voters were smarter voters. Why? The previous elections had manifested some unworthy winning candidates; many show business personalities acted their way to government seats. Now, the voters did not let particular shallow people to box and jab their way to authoritative positions. The voters realized that the senate, congress, municipal, city and provincial capitols are not the same with boxing arenas and locations for shooting movies. The voters found peace within their selves, they found a clearer meaning amidst the trend of past elections, they found the serenity and stepped out of the noisy tradition of voting candidates that are not worthy of the position. I have no right to judge these candidates, for they are not useless, in fact they have been contributing members to our nation by providing quality entertainment and pride. But the people had spoken, and more deserving ones were placed in positions.
There was a great turn out of voters these elections. A few weeks ago, I had an amazing time in Boracay, but what made it extra special is the experience as we were going back to Iloilo. You see we went back exactly on May 14, we bid goodbye to Boracay on an early morning as my parents were really determined to take a stand and vote that day. We passed by a lot of elementary schools and day care centers of rural barrios. I saw the urge of Filipinos, to take time to scribble the deserving names on their ballots. Lines of people flock the elementary schools and day care centers, and it happens to be on an early morning. Voters paid no excuse to exercise their right of suffrage. Indeed they found peace within the significant day of May 14, to wake up extra early, or to sacrifice a few hours of daily routine just to be present in their relative precincts and vote. Indeed, there was peace and the blazing hope of believing that their simple ballot could help their nation; a peace that pushed them to vote for the future of their families and Philippines as a whole.
Those were simple realities that made me negate the views of critics who considered out elections to be generally not peaceful. I guess I’m much too inexperienced than they, but seeing we have different definitions of peace really made a difference in our views of the elections. I’ll never let go of my belief of peace. Peace is always there, it always exists. I lay half of my agreement to the definition that there is really peace in the absence of war, but I reserve the other half to the belief that there was still peace during the presence of war. People were just blinded by the fright of wickedness and malevolence that they fail to see peace within it. Look at the night sky, though it’s so dark and black, you’ll see its beauty, you’ll see hope, when you spot the glistening stars emitting their light amidst the engulfing darkness. Peace is like the stars. When one realizes it is already night time and darkness would blanket the sky, he is not completely scared and never lost track of hope, because the stars continue to shine and emit light, carrying the promise of a brighter sun for tomorrow.
Along the road of our negatively stricken elections, let us not forget that once upon the voting and canvassing times, there was peace, even just a pinch of it. For every reported political murder and bombings, let us not fail to remember one Filipino who woke up early morning to sincerely and honestly vote for his deserving bet. Though this thought is far simpler and insignificant, remember that this simple and insignificant thought carries a weight of peace. We become too preoccupied with mourning over how despicable our election was, that we tend to overlook the simpler yet peace-bearing realities just around the corners of our lives.
Forgive my childish thoughts, but every time I would turn on the radio to listen, switch on the television, and turn a page of a newspaper all I can hear, see and read about are the negative sides of our elections. Of how incompetent and irresponsible the canvassers were, of how slow and lousy the presentation of results, and of how they were cheated and betrayed says the losing candidates. Here I go again with my simple understandings. Wasn’t it good enough that there were canvassers who coincidently were paid less for an extreme task (or just a few some who volunteered)? Weren’t their unrecognized sleepless nights of sheer counting and tallying good enough? Yes, they may have committed mistakes, but the mere fact of them being there isn’t but a reason? Because of too much prevalence of deception, peace didn’t kindle a light. Still, peace was there but wasn’t just seen. As I’ve said Peace is always there, it always exists. What makes us say it’s not there is because we didn’t see it.
Let us see peace in small things. Let us see peace in troubles and chaos. Let us find peace in the negative of the negatives.
Peace be with You!
(Comment and Reactions please post them here or send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
Picture Takings (May 29,2007)
Picture Takings
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
It’s not my habit to join a group picture not unless it would be compulsory or a matter of life and death. I’d rather volunteer to operate the camera and take the picture for the group. Call it a trauma, but the constant series of similar picture taking positions that I had, made me surrender to my dream of being photogenic. At first I thought it was just bad luck, but as it was happening almost always, I knew I was destined to be out of the picture. For every group shots I’ve been, I’m always at the back. Still I was gleaming hoping that when the photograph will be developed, someone will notice how I placed so much effort on my simple yet genuine smile. Fate seems to be against me, as I browse the developed pictures, I realized that only an eighth of my head can be seen while others expose their pretty faces and killer smiles. Since this was never new to me, I just smile and heave a deep sigh. That particular picture would not have given me something to shed a tear on, but the experience while having the picture taken was something worth a box of tissues.
In most picture takings, I see to it and try my hardest so that I could place myself in front before anybody else does, since I am of limited height, I supposedly have the privilege to stay before the taller ones. But no, as the number of people increased, the chance of me getting seen on the photograph decreases; it is inversely proportional if you define it mathematically. They would push me back unaware, isolating me at the back. Now the dramatic era begins, I good-naturedly let them be, I agreed to the fact that I was at the back jumping up and down hoping that even just my smile will be caught on photo. Although it felt bad, although I felt like I was stepped on, I still feel composed and pleasant. But I never would forget the pain and sting those picture taking incidents brought. Then again, I took time to look on the brighter side of pain; I crowned myself Ms. Optimistic once again but with the reward of discovering some things, essential things.
Those people, those friends, who stood out and whose faces were seen superbly on the photos did something more than what I did, to be seen. That is quite obvious. Most of them already have the personality and strong aura that says “Back off! That’s my spot”. Some pushed their selves in. Others squeezed into the tiniest of space. With all of these, I give them a bravo shout and applause. They managed to get themselves in and obtain what they want, really determined and persevering; a way to really succeed. But before I give them another round of claps and cheering shouts, I thought deeply and noticed the unnoticeable details during the picture taking incident. Because of their strong aura and tough personality, I could only imagine how many weak spirits and groping vibes were crushed and tattered. Because they constantly pushed their selves in, how many passive ones were pushed out in turn. Because they squeezed into the tiniest of space, how many frails were juiced out and constricted to a lower self esteem. Indeed, they don’t really deserve a bravo or a soft whisper of cheer. Though their acts were brave and an image of strength, the very thought of stepping other else’s feet and taking advantage of other people’s weaknesses is a major illustration of cowardice.
People used to tell me I have to exert or push myself in to be recognized. No problem with that. Who doesn’t want to be famous? Who doesn’t want to be promoted? Who doesn’t want to be wealthy? Just a few days ago, I was in a room full of talented and intelligent youngsters of my age. It was some sort of an acquaintance party, with noble objectives to promote camaraderie and friendship. I was excited. I even had a bad stomach ache some hours before the activity, but I decided not to be absent, for I want to mingle. I already conditioned my mind since the day I knew of this occasion that I will attend amidst whatever may happen. Purely my mind was governed with the objectives, of pure fun and acquaintance. I never knew that in each of their minds was but a secret competition and caution. Everybody was trying to impress everybody, no, that’s not the right statement. It should be: Everybody was trying to prove he’s better than everybody. Even if it takes back biting others, insulting other participants, laughing at others mistakes, and self appointing their selves as leaders. (Take note of the word self appointing). Once again I was taken back to the exact moment when I was jumping up and down at the back during the picture taking. All of them at the front smiling, beaming with cheer because they can be clearly seen while I was faced with a vague vision if ever my smile would appear on the developed photo.
But with my irresponsible thoughts and childish ideals, I know I can’t change the world. I know I can’t make the world adjust to me, but I have to adjust with the world. I have to play with its game, triumphed with every victory and suffer with every defeat. I can’t tell those upfront of the photos to stay at the back, or those with outgoing personalities to give way for the passive ones. But, I can on the other hand to tell those at the back of the photos to try to be upfront, and those with passive personalities to eliminate their timidity. Still, with a strict advice not to follow the dirty strategies of others, not to step on other else feet, and think about those at the back during picture takings. If I would be granted a chance to stay upfront during a picture taking, I’d savor that moment and pose my greatest smile. But, I would mind my manners and pose being aware that there are still people at the back. That each of our poses and smiles will be seen superbly when the photos will be developed. That no head will be left unseen, no smile will be left isolated, and no one will be at the back jumping up and down desperate for a glimpse.
It’s amazing how a simple incident brought my simple and narrow perspective to think a little deeper. Now, some people will have the clear reason before they misjudge me why I don’t join in group pictures. Someday I may find the solution and the way how to be seen in pictures without blocking the efforts of others, without hindering the smiles of worthy ones. Right now, I’m contented with solo shots, and operating the camera for bigger groups. When I find the solution I’ll scribble again to share.
The next time you’re upfront in picture takings, think also about those little ones you pushed at the back. Think about the wasted smiles that could have been seen up close because of your ignorance.
Your smile ain’t worth for their tears.
Are you worthy enough to Say Cheese!
(Comments and Reactions please send them to 09186363090 or reylangarcia@yahoo.com .. better yet, post them here)
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
It’s not my habit to join a group picture not unless it would be compulsory or a matter of life and death. I’d rather volunteer to operate the camera and take the picture for the group. Call it a trauma, but the constant series of similar picture taking positions that I had, made me surrender to my dream of being photogenic. At first I thought it was just bad luck, but as it was happening almost always, I knew I was destined to be out of the picture. For every group shots I’ve been, I’m always at the back. Still I was gleaming hoping that when the photograph will be developed, someone will notice how I placed so much effort on my simple yet genuine smile. Fate seems to be against me, as I browse the developed pictures, I realized that only an eighth of my head can be seen while others expose their pretty faces and killer smiles. Since this was never new to me, I just smile and heave a deep sigh. That particular picture would not have given me something to shed a tear on, but the experience while having the picture taken was something worth a box of tissues.
In most picture takings, I see to it and try my hardest so that I could place myself in front before anybody else does, since I am of limited height, I supposedly have the privilege to stay before the taller ones. But no, as the number of people increased, the chance of me getting seen on the photograph decreases; it is inversely proportional if you define it mathematically. They would push me back unaware, isolating me at the back. Now the dramatic era begins, I good-naturedly let them be, I agreed to the fact that I was at the back jumping up and down hoping that even just my smile will be caught on photo. Although it felt bad, although I felt like I was stepped on, I still feel composed and pleasant. But I never would forget the pain and sting those picture taking incidents brought. Then again, I took time to look on the brighter side of pain; I crowned myself Ms. Optimistic once again but with the reward of discovering some things, essential things.
Those people, those friends, who stood out and whose faces were seen superbly on the photos did something more than what I did, to be seen. That is quite obvious. Most of them already have the personality and strong aura that says “Back off! That’s my spot”. Some pushed their selves in. Others squeezed into the tiniest of space. With all of these, I give them a bravo shout and applause. They managed to get themselves in and obtain what they want, really determined and persevering; a way to really succeed. But before I give them another round of claps and cheering shouts, I thought deeply and noticed the unnoticeable details during the picture taking incident. Because of their strong aura and tough personality, I could only imagine how many weak spirits and groping vibes were crushed and tattered. Because they constantly pushed their selves in, how many passive ones were pushed out in turn. Because they squeezed into the tiniest of space, how many frails were juiced out and constricted to a lower self esteem. Indeed, they don’t really deserve a bravo or a soft whisper of cheer. Though their acts were brave and an image of strength, the very thought of stepping other else’s feet and taking advantage of other people’s weaknesses is a major illustration of cowardice.
People used to tell me I have to exert or push myself in to be recognized. No problem with that. Who doesn’t want to be famous? Who doesn’t want to be promoted? Who doesn’t want to be wealthy? Just a few days ago, I was in a room full of talented and intelligent youngsters of my age. It was some sort of an acquaintance party, with noble objectives to promote camaraderie and friendship. I was excited. I even had a bad stomach ache some hours before the activity, but I decided not to be absent, for I want to mingle. I already conditioned my mind since the day I knew of this occasion that I will attend amidst whatever may happen. Purely my mind was governed with the objectives, of pure fun and acquaintance. I never knew that in each of their minds was but a secret competition and caution. Everybody was trying to impress everybody, no, that’s not the right statement. It should be: Everybody was trying to prove he’s better than everybody. Even if it takes back biting others, insulting other participants, laughing at others mistakes, and self appointing their selves as leaders. (Take note of the word self appointing). Once again I was taken back to the exact moment when I was jumping up and down at the back during the picture taking. All of them at the front smiling, beaming with cheer because they can be clearly seen while I was faced with a vague vision if ever my smile would appear on the developed photo.
But with my irresponsible thoughts and childish ideals, I know I can’t change the world. I know I can’t make the world adjust to me, but I have to adjust with the world. I have to play with its game, triumphed with every victory and suffer with every defeat. I can’t tell those upfront of the photos to stay at the back, or those with outgoing personalities to give way for the passive ones. But, I can on the other hand to tell those at the back of the photos to try to be upfront, and those with passive personalities to eliminate their timidity. Still, with a strict advice not to follow the dirty strategies of others, not to step on other else feet, and think about those at the back during picture takings. If I would be granted a chance to stay upfront during a picture taking, I’d savor that moment and pose my greatest smile. But, I would mind my manners and pose being aware that there are still people at the back. That each of our poses and smiles will be seen superbly when the photos will be developed. That no head will be left unseen, no smile will be left isolated, and no one will be at the back jumping up and down desperate for a glimpse.
It’s amazing how a simple incident brought my simple and narrow perspective to think a little deeper. Now, some people will have the clear reason before they misjudge me why I don’t join in group pictures. Someday I may find the solution and the way how to be seen in pictures without blocking the efforts of others, without hindering the smiles of worthy ones. Right now, I’m contented with solo shots, and operating the camera for bigger groups. When I find the solution I’ll scribble again to share.
The next time you’re upfront in picture takings, think also about those little ones you pushed at the back. Think about the wasted smiles that could have been seen up close because of your ignorance.
Your smile ain’t worth for their tears.
Are you worthy enough to Say Cheese!
(Comments and Reactions please send them to 09186363090 or reylangarcia@yahoo.com .. better yet, post them here)
Stargazing in Boracay (May 22,2007)
Stargazing in Boracay
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I thought it was a dream. A mirage of a God given bounty, clear and calm waters, fresh sea breeze, powdered white sand, and an aura that whispers paradise. But it wasn’t a dream; I was actually walking on the famous shores of Boracay. It was a first in my sixteen years of life, and given the opportunity is something I wouldn’t miss in the world. They say, when you visit a new place, you’ll leave it with memories. As usual, you may think I left Boracay with a clear remembrance of its natural radiance or maybe a lingering thought of Boracay as the ultimate summer breakaway. But no, it wasn’t. Only the pictures from the trip made me remember about its sceneries and night life. Those were the simple things I saw and felt during the road to Boracay, the leisure walks along its shores and the tranquil nights stargazing with new found friends.
Leaving from Iloilo to Boracay would take several hours of non-stop travel. By that time, I knew I was going to doze off, but I saw myself with my head leaning on the window of our car, a couple of thoughts filled my mind and brought me to reflection. I listened to my father as he would share tidbits of trivia along the drive, I heard my mother sharing some jokes which were better than listening to an FM station, and my brother’s chuckles echoed in the mountains we passed by. Then I thought, this is one of the sweetest things in life, a family together taking a break from the pressures of life, and enjoying each other’s presence. Everyday seems to be busy with our family, my father his 24 hour non stop business transactions, my mother with her endless nook of household chores, and me and my brother’s lazing around sessions with the television. Having the trip, was a time for my father to worry not about his customers’ demand, a time for my mother to leave alone the mountains of laundry to wash, and a time-out for me and my brother watching TV. (This may sound pleasant to my mother and father, but for me and my brother’s part having no TV is sheer torture). We moved out of our daily routine and risked the habit to experience something rare and always ignored. The phenomenon we call bonding. It is heart warming to see each of us with smiles carved on our faces. It really pays to sometimes take a time out from stress and enjoy the beauty of simpler things.
I didn’t have any second thoughts to join strolling along the shorelines of Boracay even if the sun was scorching hot. I was apprehensive and anxious to feel the white powdered sand sprinkle into my feet as I trod along. Throughout the stroll, different faces I came to meet; Koreans, Americans, Germans, French, Japanese and Filipinos. Boracay was like an international assembly for United Nations. Cultures and Races flood the tiny island of Boracay, each of them wanting to experience Boracay’s offer of heaven on earth. But, there was one thing I vividly notice. It’s a simple observation but it made me think deep. The smiles of foreigners from Filipino natives really differ. It was burning hot and everybody had a great excuse to go all stripped out, most foreigners were carrying a frown painted by the fiery heat of Mr. Summer Sun. But come and see the Filipinos, looks like Mr. Summer Sun’s powers can’t defeat their trademark smiles. It was then said that Philippines was one of the happiest countries amidst the economic instability it possesses. It’s in a Filipinos nature to be always cheerful and optimistic. A Filipino man trips over causing his knee to bleed; his friend asks “Are you okay?” Supposedly he’s not, but he goes blurting out “I’m fine, it’s just a scratch.” Trademark Filipinos, that is why even if our country isn’t as powerful as the great nations of the west, we still live happily. Filipinos would often times believe that God will save them, against any poverty or downfall, that is why, we are too hopeful and cheerful, although we also need to help ourselves in order to rise up from that collapse. Still, it’s nice to step aside stress and smile for a while. What’s the use of too much success if you are not happy? Rather, it will be not called success in the first place.
You know what’s better than stargazing in a beautiful night at Boracay? It’s stargazing with some friends and talking about life. It makes the stars glisten and twinkle more, it makes the darkness less scary, and it makes the night worthwhile. It was a first for me to mingle right there and then, but since the atmosphere was suitable for serenity and calmness, It really helped hide my timidity. I realized that night, that it wasn’t the clear waters and powdered sand that made Boracay, the ultimate breakaway. It’s the people you came with, the people you meet, it’s about the people. Going there alone would make the legendary sunset less than ordinary, being solo would make the experience plain and common. It takes great courage for someone to let go even just for a while all his day to day routine and breakaway from all of it. But it takes a great deal more to share some part of one’s life to another, even if you’re already family. Society today is always busy, that opportunities of interaction and mingling tend to fade. Society is in itself a word that defines community and relations, but now it contradicts its meaning. Talking to another person would not make you less human, in fact it makes you really human. I had my own problems and depressions, locking in my mind that I was the worst, that I had the most burdens. But, after sharing it with another, I proved myself to be wrong. There is always someone who has lesser or much graver problems than you do. To make you hopeful and secure, it’s nice to share and listen to others, with this one may learn to adjust with the challenges of life. I may know little about challenges and life in general, but what I am assured and sure of is that no one has the worst of everything, neither the best of everything. To be assured of this, you need to stargaze; you need to take time to talk with others. Isolating myself, was a mistake, it only took a Boracay trip to make me realize that.
Maybe those insights were the prize of being quite younger and simpler in understanding than most people in the world. In this state I was able to see more beyond the sceneries, I was able to look unto the plain and minute experiences, but due to this simplicity, I thought of a deeper perspective and view. I still have many stages to go through, but for now I won’t let go of being in this state, I want to see simpler things first so I’ll be able to discover greater ones. Simple things like taking a time-out, smiling, and stargazing with some friends; simple things, that most people today thought of as being too simple that it is quite inaccessible and hard to accomplish. If I would be ask if I wanted to visit Boracay again? I would surely agree, not mainly because of the clear waters and powdered white sand, but because of all the excuse in the world to…
Time Out..
Smile..
and Stargaze with Friends..
(Comments and Reactions please send them to relyangarcia@yahoo.com or 09186363090 or just post them here..)
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I thought it was a dream. A mirage of a God given bounty, clear and calm waters, fresh sea breeze, powdered white sand, and an aura that whispers paradise. But it wasn’t a dream; I was actually walking on the famous shores of Boracay. It was a first in my sixteen years of life, and given the opportunity is something I wouldn’t miss in the world. They say, when you visit a new place, you’ll leave it with memories. As usual, you may think I left Boracay with a clear remembrance of its natural radiance or maybe a lingering thought of Boracay as the ultimate summer breakaway. But no, it wasn’t. Only the pictures from the trip made me remember about its sceneries and night life. Those were the simple things I saw and felt during the road to Boracay, the leisure walks along its shores and the tranquil nights stargazing with new found friends.
Leaving from Iloilo to Boracay would take several hours of non-stop travel. By that time, I knew I was going to doze off, but I saw myself with my head leaning on the window of our car, a couple of thoughts filled my mind and brought me to reflection. I listened to my father as he would share tidbits of trivia along the drive, I heard my mother sharing some jokes which were better than listening to an FM station, and my brother’s chuckles echoed in the mountains we passed by. Then I thought, this is one of the sweetest things in life, a family together taking a break from the pressures of life, and enjoying each other’s presence. Everyday seems to be busy with our family, my father his 24 hour non stop business transactions, my mother with her endless nook of household chores, and me and my brother’s lazing around sessions with the television. Having the trip, was a time for my father to worry not about his customers’ demand, a time for my mother to leave alone the mountains of laundry to wash, and a time-out for me and my brother watching TV. (This may sound pleasant to my mother and father, but for me and my brother’s part having no TV is sheer torture). We moved out of our daily routine and risked the habit to experience something rare and always ignored. The phenomenon we call bonding. It is heart warming to see each of us with smiles carved on our faces. It really pays to sometimes take a time out from stress and enjoy the beauty of simpler things.
I didn’t have any second thoughts to join strolling along the shorelines of Boracay even if the sun was scorching hot. I was apprehensive and anxious to feel the white powdered sand sprinkle into my feet as I trod along. Throughout the stroll, different faces I came to meet; Koreans, Americans, Germans, French, Japanese and Filipinos. Boracay was like an international assembly for United Nations. Cultures and Races flood the tiny island of Boracay, each of them wanting to experience Boracay’s offer of heaven on earth. But, there was one thing I vividly notice. It’s a simple observation but it made me think deep. The smiles of foreigners from Filipino natives really differ. It was burning hot and everybody had a great excuse to go all stripped out, most foreigners were carrying a frown painted by the fiery heat of Mr. Summer Sun. But come and see the Filipinos, looks like Mr. Summer Sun’s powers can’t defeat their trademark smiles. It was then said that Philippines was one of the happiest countries amidst the economic instability it possesses. It’s in a Filipinos nature to be always cheerful and optimistic. A Filipino man trips over causing his knee to bleed; his friend asks “Are you okay?” Supposedly he’s not, but he goes blurting out “I’m fine, it’s just a scratch.” Trademark Filipinos, that is why even if our country isn’t as powerful as the great nations of the west, we still live happily. Filipinos would often times believe that God will save them, against any poverty or downfall, that is why, we are too hopeful and cheerful, although we also need to help ourselves in order to rise up from that collapse. Still, it’s nice to step aside stress and smile for a while. What’s the use of too much success if you are not happy? Rather, it will be not called success in the first place.
You know what’s better than stargazing in a beautiful night at Boracay? It’s stargazing with some friends and talking about life. It makes the stars glisten and twinkle more, it makes the darkness less scary, and it makes the night worthwhile. It was a first for me to mingle right there and then, but since the atmosphere was suitable for serenity and calmness, It really helped hide my timidity. I realized that night, that it wasn’t the clear waters and powdered sand that made Boracay, the ultimate breakaway. It’s the people you came with, the people you meet, it’s about the people. Going there alone would make the legendary sunset less than ordinary, being solo would make the experience plain and common. It takes great courage for someone to let go even just for a while all his day to day routine and breakaway from all of it. But it takes a great deal more to share some part of one’s life to another, even if you’re already family. Society today is always busy, that opportunities of interaction and mingling tend to fade. Society is in itself a word that defines community and relations, but now it contradicts its meaning. Talking to another person would not make you less human, in fact it makes you really human. I had my own problems and depressions, locking in my mind that I was the worst, that I had the most burdens. But, after sharing it with another, I proved myself to be wrong. There is always someone who has lesser or much graver problems than you do. To make you hopeful and secure, it’s nice to share and listen to others, with this one may learn to adjust with the challenges of life. I may know little about challenges and life in general, but what I am assured and sure of is that no one has the worst of everything, neither the best of everything. To be assured of this, you need to stargaze; you need to take time to talk with others. Isolating myself, was a mistake, it only took a Boracay trip to make me realize that.
Maybe those insights were the prize of being quite younger and simpler in understanding than most people in the world. In this state I was able to see more beyond the sceneries, I was able to look unto the plain and minute experiences, but due to this simplicity, I thought of a deeper perspective and view. I still have many stages to go through, but for now I won’t let go of being in this state, I want to see simpler things first so I’ll be able to discover greater ones. Simple things like taking a time-out, smiling, and stargazing with some friends; simple things, that most people today thought of as being too simple that it is quite inaccessible and hard to accomplish. If I would be ask if I wanted to visit Boracay again? I would surely agree, not mainly because of the clear waters and powdered white sand, but because of all the excuse in the world to…
Time Out..
Smile..
and Stargaze with Friends..
(Comments and Reactions please send them to relyangarcia@yahoo.com or 09186363090 or just post them here..)
Chinese Garter (May 8,2007)
Chinese Garter
by: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
My elementary days were simply the picture perfect moments of my life. I was carefree and innocent of the issues grown ups have been constantly squashing their brains. For me anywhere was my playground and life was my play time. My childish acts didn't linger much on my conscience. I never realized it was unruly then to call my fat classmates pigs, or start mischievous rumors on my most disliked teacher. At my young but blooming age, I start to reminisce those times and sometimes would laugh at my talent for disorder.
During recess, the best game to play at that time was the ever-famous Chinese Garter. Everyone was hooked to this fad, even my Physical Education teacher joined in one time. It's like an addictive drug that I can't bear to neglect. But there's one little problem, I'm too short to jump over higher heights in the game. I get annoyed most of the time, in my group I'm always the baby, I always go first, I always let my team down and let the mother save us all. I'm doing fine from the ankle level, knee level, and waist level but when we reach the armpit level, I'm a goner. I practiced and tried to enhance my skill in jumping over that height, but my physical limitation forbade me to achieve it. Not contented, know what I did? Sly as I am, I chose the two shortest girls in school to hold the garter when I jump, so naturally I could jump over the armpit level even up to shoulder and head level.
However, not long after, I realized what I was doing was cheating. My classmates would have not known about it but it did not escape my conscience.
Relating it with the coming election, it is such a pity that cheating happens just about everywhere. I'm not only referring to cheating in terms of money, that is, bribing voters to vote for councilor A for a certain amount, to write senator B's name in the ballot in exchange for a gift certificate in a nearby department store. Cheating also comes in other forms like a politician discrediting his opponent by maligning the latter's person. I don't know why professionals as they are, the candidates, would go down the level of attacking their opponents below the belt just to keep an edge. For sinking down low and ruining other's reputation, you, mister are a loser too. I was molded by my parents not to judge others until I look at myself in front of the mirror. If I'd laugh on someone who mispronounced a word during a conversation, it is but a must to first recall if I myself had enunciated flawlessly throughout our chat. Let me apply it to a bigger setting. Before maligning your opponent, smell first your own body odor. Before citing your views on a malfunction of another candidate review your records first. Life evolves in karma. So, beware.
These politicians, like me, may have had Chinese Garter experiences too. But, maybe they failed to realize that using two short girls to hold the garter, all because you can't reach jumping it, isn't a valid way of winning. The same is true with politicians employing bribery and persecution among their opponents, you may win the position you want but surely you will be bothered by your conscience as long as you live.
I hope the candidates would come across the same realizations that I had as a Chinese Garter enthusiast. Respecting the value of a ballot is one great act an aspiring public servant could give his country. Would it be sweeter to find out that from 100 voters five voted for you fairly, five supportive people who believe in you and know you can uphold their dreams, who entrust to you their families' future, who give you the key to the country? Rather than getting all the 95 votes but neither one voted for you because of support, but because you bribed them to, because they have a few hundreds after writing your name on the ballots, because they'll have a sack of rice waiting for them after suffrage, because you forced them to.
Jump Honestly...
even if you won't reach shoulder level...
still Jump Honestly.
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
by: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
My elementary days were simply the picture perfect moments of my life. I was carefree and innocent of the issues grown ups have been constantly squashing their brains. For me anywhere was my playground and life was my play time. My childish acts didn't linger much on my conscience. I never realized it was unruly then to call my fat classmates pigs, or start mischievous rumors on my most disliked teacher. At my young but blooming age, I start to reminisce those times and sometimes would laugh at my talent for disorder.
During recess, the best game to play at that time was the ever-famous Chinese Garter. Everyone was hooked to this fad, even my Physical Education teacher joined in one time. It's like an addictive drug that I can't bear to neglect. But there's one little problem, I'm too short to jump over higher heights in the game. I get annoyed most of the time, in my group I'm always the baby, I always go first, I always let my team down and let the mother save us all. I'm doing fine from the ankle level, knee level, and waist level but when we reach the armpit level, I'm a goner. I practiced and tried to enhance my skill in jumping over that height, but my physical limitation forbade me to achieve it. Not contented, know what I did? Sly as I am, I chose the two shortest girls in school to hold the garter when I jump, so naturally I could jump over the armpit level even up to shoulder and head level.
However, not long after, I realized what I was doing was cheating. My classmates would have not known about it but it did not escape my conscience.
Relating it with the coming election, it is such a pity that cheating happens just about everywhere. I'm not only referring to cheating in terms of money, that is, bribing voters to vote for councilor A for a certain amount, to write senator B's name in the ballot in exchange for a gift certificate in a nearby department store. Cheating also comes in other forms like a politician discrediting his opponent by maligning the latter's person. I don't know why professionals as they are, the candidates, would go down the level of attacking their opponents below the belt just to keep an edge. For sinking down low and ruining other's reputation, you, mister are a loser too. I was molded by my parents not to judge others until I look at myself in front of the mirror. If I'd laugh on someone who mispronounced a word during a conversation, it is but a must to first recall if I myself had enunciated flawlessly throughout our chat. Let me apply it to a bigger setting. Before maligning your opponent, smell first your own body odor. Before citing your views on a malfunction of another candidate review your records first. Life evolves in karma. So, beware.
These politicians, like me, may have had Chinese Garter experiences too. But, maybe they failed to realize that using two short girls to hold the garter, all because you can't reach jumping it, isn't a valid way of winning. The same is true with politicians employing bribery and persecution among their opponents, you may win the position you want but surely you will be bothered by your conscience as long as you live.
I hope the candidates would come across the same realizations that I had as a Chinese Garter enthusiast. Respecting the value of a ballot is one great act an aspiring public servant could give his country. Would it be sweeter to find out that from 100 voters five voted for you fairly, five supportive people who believe in you and know you can uphold their dreams, who entrust to you their families' future, who give you the key to the country? Rather than getting all the 95 votes but neither one voted for you because of support, but because you bribed them to, because they have a few hundreds after writing your name on the ballots, because they'll have a sack of rice waiting for them after suffrage, because you forced them to.
Jump Honestly...
even if you won't reach shoulder level...
still Jump Honestly.
(For comments and reactions please send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
Barney's Advice (May 1,2007)
Barney's advice
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
How could I ever forget my kindergarten days? The memories of colorful ribbons tied to my hair, the undying lunchbox which carried my food supply, the dance I had with my first crush which I still have the picture for proof, and our very significant line formation. I used to love being up front in the line. Why? You get to hold hands with your teacher as you walk proudly around school, you get to first use the bath room, and you get to go home ahead of others. For how many years that I have been always up front, I thought it was the best spot. But when I entered the painful stage of adolescence, I came to realize the misfortune one gets when placed as first in line. Everybody in my elementary class grew taller and bigger, so most of my classmates once just a few places behind me were now occupying the last several spots at the back. I was left in front, now being mocked because I was so small and little.
I started to forget the joys of staying up front in line formation back in kindergarten. I then faced the gloom of being teased whenever I erase the writings on the blackboard, simply because I couldn't reach it. I struggled with the ridicules during flag ceremonies where I can't see very well from the number of taller people before me. I lived by this drama for a long time now, even until the very moment. There may be some regrets and what ifs but somehow I learned to make use of my littleness. Let's take a time machine and get to know some historical figures. The great conqueror Napoleon Bonaparte of France, the undefeated dictator Adolf Hitler of Germany, and even the polyglot / ladies man Dr. Jose P. Rizal of the Philippines were some of the great world shakers. These people may have two things in common. First, they have manifested great will and power in their own fields. Second, they are not very tall. In other words they are little warriors. Surprisingly, they might have experienced the same melting teases during kindergarten or during their cleaners day when they have to reach high to clean the blackboard. But, they never let this littleness and unfading criticisms hinder them in reaching higher spots incomparable to their taller comrades.
Being little doesn't talk only about size. Sometimes it goes deeper and hurts more when it talks about your personality. For several times I tried to be tall in other fields other than height. In writing, I tried my guts with short stories, but some Shakespeare-wanna-be professor in a conference I once joined in, told me I was too little to write massive stories. In leadership, I tried my luck in student governance and started to initiate projects, but still many criticisms and undesirable comments came blazing towards my doorstep, telling me to take aback because I'm not yet that good, that I'm still little. For someone as sensitive and infantile as me, I easily get affected with such revelations. Wherever I go, whatever I try, I won't be huge enough; I'll just be too little. But, let's face it. They say it is life and it hurts. But still as I've said I could still make use of my littleness.
Once again, it came to me. Why Bonaparte, Hitler and Rizal did rose as powerful figures in history? I answered my own question. They forgot they were small and readily thought big. They focused not on their flaws but unto how they could stretch their short height. Bonaparte stretched his height through awesome military tactics, Hitler did so with strong leadership and influence, Rizal was just blessed with good looks and a brain of a multi professional. For someone who's new to history, he might be surprised that some petite persons could bring forth total global recognition. Lingering in ones weaknesses such as being little, won't give him the chance to dream big and someday be big. Though still frail and weak from the near-to-death criticisms, I took my chances and started passing my ridiculed articles, stories and poems. There are a lot of negative feedbacks, but also many positive responses, telling me a poem of mine was part of an anthology (a collection of literary pieces), a short story of mine was posted in a prestigious international website, and currently an article of mine being read by fellow little ones. Even with leadership, after the disastrous defeat I stood up and forgot my belief that I was little. I tried running as President of our Student Council, and you know what? I won. Bongga! Seriously, no one really that small could make it as the highest ranked student in school right? There and then I learned, it pays to even just forget for a couple of moments one's own littleness and weakness, so he may be able to conceive bigger things.
Through my simple understanding I conclude that the term little is just a temporary state of frailty. Once the permanence of thinking something different and bigger came to existence, confidence comes in. If this state may be applied to a single person, then absolutely it shall with a nation. Our country is thought to be little and weak; a third world, still developing, corrupt; or just in simple terms, gravely small. But this is just a state because one is just lingering in a single aspect of a nation's being. Try looking at the vast and numerous environmental resources the Philippines offer. The well praised biodiversities, vacation spots, and tourist attractions shouts forth a big Philippines. Discover the universality of Filipinos worldwide. Nurses supporting the health systems of many American states and European countries, Engineers manning the factories of Middle Eastern countries, Domestic Helpers keeping organized the household of Asian neighbors, and Scholars flooding international schools with high grades and qualifications. All of these are of little Filipinos.
I was blinded by my littleness. The Philippines on the same queue is currently blind. She fails to see her titanic assets and is focused more on her degrading faults. Is it just me or is it just too illogical? The Philippines should never have been small in the first place. With a great span of resources and powerful labor force, a nation shall dominate global market. Forgive me if I know little on Economics, but this is what I'm familiar of. Tell me then, why is it we're still not developing knowing that we have proper resources at hand? Why is it we are third world if our well being and intelligence capacity is observed to be international? The ironies of life a simple child like me shall never understand. But coming from my little thoughts, wouldn't these be just enough for us to be called huge? I thought harder and found out something was missing. This something was the same state that cured my blindness; it is the mere thought of being big, of forgetting littleness even just for the time being.
I was just somehow cured ahead of the Philippines. But not really fully healed. No doctor talented enough can heal a belittled sickly country. But those who make the country little could be healed. Little warriors like me, take time to replenish yourselves and forget for the mean time you are small. This may seem childish, but Barney the purple dinosaur usually say try to pretend and use your imagination and anything is possible. Let's follow Barney. Let's pretend we are at the back of the line back in kindergarten, let's pretend we can reach erasing the writings on the black board, let's pretend that we can see through a vast crowd during flag ceremonies. And maybe, for some moments we might feel reenergized that it is not hopeless. We can have the chance to be known to be tall in other fields, and have the chance to feel what's it like to be big.
Make use of your littleness by imagining they are humongous strengths. Be brave enough to hear criticisms but never let it linger so long. These are essentials to tell you you're little in this field, so you have to think bigger and be bigger someday through Barney's helpful advice.
Use your imagination.
Don't stay little.
Think Big.
Thanks Barney.
(For comments and reactions send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
How could I ever forget my kindergarten days? The memories of colorful ribbons tied to my hair, the undying lunchbox which carried my food supply, the dance I had with my first crush which I still have the picture for proof, and our very significant line formation. I used to love being up front in the line. Why? You get to hold hands with your teacher as you walk proudly around school, you get to first use the bath room, and you get to go home ahead of others. For how many years that I have been always up front, I thought it was the best spot. But when I entered the painful stage of adolescence, I came to realize the misfortune one gets when placed as first in line. Everybody in my elementary class grew taller and bigger, so most of my classmates once just a few places behind me were now occupying the last several spots at the back. I was left in front, now being mocked because I was so small and little.
I started to forget the joys of staying up front in line formation back in kindergarten. I then faced the gloom of being teased whenever I erase the writings on the blackboard, simply because I couldn't reach it. I struggled with the ridicules during flag ceremonies where I can't see very well from the number of taller people before me. I lived by this drama for a long time now, even until the very moment. There may be some regrets and what ifs but somehow I learned to make use of my littleness. Let's take a time machine and get to know some historical figures. The great conqueror Napoleon Bonaparte of France, the undefeated dictator Adolf Hitler of Germany, and even the polyglot / ladies man Dr. Jose P. Rizal of the Philippines were some of the great world shakers. These people may have two things in common. First, they have manifested great will and power in their own fields. Second, they are not very tall. In other words they are little warriors. Surprisingly, they might have experienced the same melting teases during kindergarten or during their cleaners day when they have to reach high to clean the blackboard. But, they never let this littleness and unfading criticisms hinder them in reaching higher spots incomparable to their taller comrades.
Being little doesn't talk only about size. Sometimes it goes deeper and hurts more when it talks about your personality. For several times I tried to be tall in other fields other than height. In writing, I tried my guts with short stories, but some Shakespeare-wanna-be professor in a conference I once joined in, told me I was too little to write massive stories. In leadership, I tried my luck in student governance and started to initiate projects, but still many criticisms and undesirable comments came blazing towards my doorstep, telling me to take aback because I'm not yet that good, that I'm still little. For someone as sensitive and infantile as me, I easily get affected with such revelations. Wherever I go, whatever I try, I won't be huge enough; I'll just be too little. But, let's face it. They say it is life and it hurts. But still as I've said I could still make use of my littleness.
Once again, it came to me. Why Bonaparte, Hitler and Rizal did rose as powerful figures in history? I answered my own question. They forgot they were small and readily thought big. They focused not on their flaws but unto how they could stretch their short height. Bonaparte stretched his height through awesome military tactics, Hitler did so with strong leadership and influence, Rizal was just blessed with good looks and a brain of a multi professional. For someone who's new to history, he might be surprised that some petite persons could bring forth total global recognition. Lingering in ones weaknesses such as being little, won't give him the chance to dream big and someday be big. Though still frail and weak from the near-to-death criticisms, I took my chances and started passing my ridiculed articles, stories and poems. There are a lot of negative feedbacks, but also many positive responses, telling me a poem of mine was part of an anthology (a collection of literary pieces), a short story of mine was posted in a prestigious international website, and currently an article of mine being read by fellow little ones. Even with leadership, after the disastrous defeat I stood up and forgot my belief that I was little. I tried running as President of our Student Council, and you know what? I won. Bongga! Seriously, no one really that small could make it as the highest ranked student in school right? There and then I learned, it pays to even just forget for a couple of moments one's own littleness and weakness, so he may be able to conceive bigger things.
Through my simple understanding I conclude that the term little is just a temporary state of frailty. Once the permanence of thinking something different and bigger came to existence, confidence comes in. If this state may be applied to a single person, then absolutely it shall with a nation. Our country is thought to be little and weak; a third world, still developing, corrupt; or just in simple terms, gravely small. But this is just a state because one is just lingering in a single aspect of a nation's being. Try looking at the vast and numerous environmental resources the Philippines offer. The well praised biodiversities, vacation spots, and tourist attractions shouts forth a big Philippines. Discover the universality of Filipinos worldwide. Nurses supporting the health systems of many American states and European countries, Engineers manning the factories of Middle Eastern countries, Domestic Helpers keeping organized the household of Asian neighbors, and Scholars flooding international schools with high grades and qualifications. All of these are of little Filipinos.
I was blinded by my littleness. The Philippines on the same queue is currently blind. She fails to see her titanic assets and is focused more on her degrading faults. Is it just me or is it just too illogical? The Philippines should never have been small in the first place. With a great span of resources and powerful labor force, a nation shall dominate global market. Forgive me if I know little on Economics, but this is what I'm familiar of. Tell me then, why is it we're still not developing knowing that we have proper resources at hand? Why is it we are third world if our well being and intelligence capacity is observed to be international? The ironies of life a simple child like me shall never understand. But coming from my little thoughts, wouldn't these be just enough for us to be called huge? I thought harder and found out something was missing. This something was the same state that cured my blindness; it is the mere thought of being big, of forgetting littleness even just for the time being.
I was just somehow cured ahead of the Philippines. But not really fully healed. No doctor talented enough can heal a belittled sickly country. But those who make the country little could be healed. Little warriors like me, take time to replenish yourselves and forget for the mean time you are small. This may seem childish, but Barney the purple dinosaur usually say try to pretend and use your imagination and anything is possible. Let's follow Barney. Let's pretend we are at the back of the line back in kindergarten, let's pretend we can reach erasing the writings on the black board, let's pretend that we can see through a vast crowd during flag ceremonies. And maybe, for some moments we might feel reenergized that it is not hopeless. We can have the chance to be known to be tall in other fields, and have the chance to feel what's it like to be big.
Make use of your littleness by imagining they are humongous strengths. Be brave enough to hear criticisms but never let it linger so long. These are essentials to tell you you're little in this field, so you have to think bigger and be bigger someday through Barney's helpful advice.
Use your imagination.
Don't stay little.
Think Big.
Thanks Barney.
(For comments and reactions send an email to reylangarcia@yahoo.com or an SMS to 09186363090)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)