The Cookie Jar (June 24, 2008)

The Cookie Jar
by: Maria Reylan M. Garcia

Imagine the world without cellular phones; almost a fourth of our population would either lose their social lives or die without finding out the wonders of thumb reflexes. Imagine the world without telephones; almost a half of our society probably winds up with unrelieved anxiety due to unshared gossips. Imagine the world without any form of conversation; all of the world's people might end up to be living zombies with dried up saliva and bad breath. Communication has then been and remains to be a vital process that keeps us all sending SMS 24/7 unlimitedly. Man is considered to be a social being who needs to interact with another to survive, otherwise the cliché, no man is an island, would lose its hard earned integrity.

Frederick II, an emperor of Germany, proved to the world after his unusual experiment that communicating is worth more than annoying telephone rings and a stock pile of snail mail. He wanted to know if language did intuitively exist and what appears to be the oldest language. In his experiment, Frederick II used several new born babies to be raised up normally, they were fed, bathed and put to sleep when tired, all but the part where they get to be exposed to any form of communication. In the end Frederick failed to discover the oldest language and alongside are the cold and lifeless bodies of poor infants. Surely, to never get the chance to hear an actual conversation or even just to see a nod of agreement from another person would offer a sense of ignorance, that would be depriving and could kill more than hunger or thirst could.

Communication is omniscient, it is everywhere, and continues to be one of the forces that turn the world around so it would once again face the glorious day. But, although its goals may be as pure, man's brokenness and wrecked relationships were rooted out from the misuse of communication. Technically, communication is composed of the sender of the message, the message itself, the receiver of the message, and the feedback. If done ideally and in a two-way mutual process it could bridge new friendships, cease ruthless wars and even unite a multitude of differences. Communication starts off with the sender sending the message to the receiver who after getting the point of the message sends back a feedback to the sender. But, sadly such ideal communication rarely takes place.

I have observed and I myself had experienced that we never really follow how an ideal communication should commence. Most of the time, it begins with the sender sending the message but with an added twist, the sender already has a fixed expectation of what the receiver should response as a feedback. So, when the receiver replies different to what was expected by the sender, chaos takes place. Almost always do my mother and I argue on such petty things, and now I know why. How silly of me to ask my mother's opinion whether I should say yes or no, when in fact I am constantly hoping for a yes. Danger comes when my mother answers a cold no and I began to breakdown. Thinking about it, I shouldn't have asked in the first place.

People nowadays say that major problems such as our country's fractioned government couldn't be anymore solved with a simple gathering around the table to talk things out. I disagree, those problems could be solve only if everyone listens to what someone has to say, not just to what everyone expect someone to say. The process of communication could not get pass through the sending phase, because we never accept the message as it is, rather we find faults in the message. Message sending failed. I am in awe of ants, yes those minute six legged sugar lovers can communicate better than we, rational and free willed human beings do. One minute you see them all scattered and lost in direction, but then they stop to wiggle their antennas to hear what the other ant has to say, then the next minute you'll see them all line up straightly and orderly marching towards the nearest cookie jar.

Indeed, we communicate and it allows us to exercise ourselves as social beings but its goal of effective understanding, of clarity, of unity has been toned down to the most minimum of volumes. We often meet miscommunication because we only await messages that we would agree to, if not we conclude that the other doesn't understand or the communication was useless. Wouldn't it be better if after we receive the unexpected message, we try to pause and really listen to what it meant? Wiggle your antennas if you have some, whether the message was useless or worth a million pesos worth of contract accept it and later on just send the appropriate feedback.

Communicate and Live.

Find the nearest cookie jar.

His Cup of Coffee (June 17,2008)

His Cup of Coffee
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia


Faint footsteps can be heard across the hospital lobby, no one knows
for sure how many times he has walked back and forth anxiously
waiting. He tried imagining how it would feel to have a bald and
toothless creature locked up in his arms. Sweat dampened his trembling
hands as he could only peep by a small window and inside was his wife,
agonizing in labor. He tried imagining how it would sound to have a
goggly-eyed salivating creature call him dada. The door creaked slowly
and stood ajar for some seconds, the smell of antiseptic made him even
more worried than he already is. The nurse came out greeted him with a
smile and shared the news that he has been waiting for all day. He
sighed in relief and put himself together, because after that day,
because after that very moment, things will never be the same. And
yes, He became a father.

A few weeks ago during my enrollment period, the same anxious man whom
I have come to known as my father, proved that he was still perfectly
doing his job even after seventeen long years. I gravely
miscalculated my tuition fees for this semester, and ran out of cash.
Thinking only of myself, I texted him in the middle of lunch time
politely forcing him to kindly bring me extra money before one pm. The
next thing I know my coffee smelling father was enumerating every
fault I had committed that day, not to mention the other mistakes I
have carelessly done some weeks ago. I wanted to cry my heart out,
just like the very same day some doctor slapped my butt for the first
time. But, I realized that moment how a selfish dumb-headed
insensitive daughter I could become.

My father taught me three valuable lessons that day, that whether he
will believe me or not, I shall treasure forever. Resilience, he told
me that I should have been more resilient with my feelings, not to
jump into actions without much thought of its effect on other people.
I never realized he was still looking where to find the extra cash I
was asking for. I should have opted to continue my enrolment the next
day or just paid the down payment, but since I was being too carried
away I messed up and ruined every one's seemingly perfect day. Then he
mentioned Responsibility, I should have double checked my fees before
I started with the enrolment. I thought I was being responsible for
texting him right away I ran out of money, but it wasn't how
responsibility should be. Responsibility takes meaning when everything
else is difficult and confusing, but you still know what the right
thing to do. Almost every parent goals for their children's
independence, and so did my father. He wants me to stand on my own and
figure things out for myself, the kind of skill that would let me
survive in the real world later on.

Yes, a few weeks ago I was scolded in front of a crowded university. I
swore I felt those judging eyes melting me gradually, but somehow I
felt different deep inside, not everyone in my university has a father
who will drive all the way from his mountain pile of work and spend
some half an hour lecturing me until I got the baseline. My father has
his imperfections, I'm sure every father has. He could be quite rough
and too strict sometimes, or occasionally he could be annoying and
childish. But the love and concern each parent, each father has is
certainly a flawless one. Each father would want their child to grow
up much better than he did, more successful than he is. Besides, your
father has once been a son of his own dad, and thus he knows very well
how you feel.

I guess being a father is more than drinking coffee early in the
morning while reading the newspaper. I guess being a father is waking
up in the middle of a night and sing ridiculous lullabies cradling the
crying baby to sleep. Being a father is giving up a highly awaited
basketball game championship for junior's favorite daytime cartoons.
Being a father is wearing the same group of clothes for several years
while your teenage daughter gets to have a new set of dresses every
week.

I wished everything else was quieter seventeen years ago in that same
hospital. I would have heard his faint footsteps.

I'm sorry Tatay.

Happy Father's Day!

The Onigiri's War (June 10,2008)

The Onigiri's War

By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia

We are at war. These were the words that struck me after watching the movie Freedom Writers. A war that tortures the very soul of humanity, a war that is far beyond guns and bloodshed, a war that infiltrates our very core of existence. We are at war, and that war is discrimination. This is where it all started; the uprising of Black Americans, the revolt of commoner French, the rebellion of our native Filipinos. Even until now, although peace treatises are issued here and there, discrimination continues to whisper in a soft but piercing sound. Freedom Writers is the inspiring story of a high school English teacher whose class is literally a salad bowl of races; Latinos, Asians, Blacks and Whites. None saw commonality with their classmates, and so every day was blinded with slicing stares, deafened with vulgar offenses, and so every day was a clash of colors. But each got a story to tell, a story of their ongoing fight to survive, where to live the next day unharmed and without bruises is but a miracle.

I then wondered how people learned to discriminate, how people defined the other through their color, and how people become so attached to prejudice. It appeared that one might just be in one way or another, jealous. Whites tan their snowy white skin to look like Asians; Asians bleach their golden skin to look like Whites. This fad indirectly tells the story of hidden admiration that became rather negative and turned to envy that soon enough became concealed in discrimination. But discrimination doesn't only limit to colors, likewise are the clash in those of the same race. Within a single race, a separation of economic statuses, of academic achievement and family influences continue to be evident. There are qualities from that person, there are wealth and culture from that race that you would want to have for your own but couldn't accept and publicly tell you do, this then becomes the very root of discrimination.

In Fruits Basket, a Japanese manga, Tohru Honda said that all of us are like Onigiri (rice ball) and each of us has an umeboshi with a different shape, color and flavor but because it's stuck on our backs we can't see that umeboshi. The reason why people get jealous of another is because they can see clearly the umeboshi on other people's back. Truly, we become blinded by our own unique qualities that we tend to see the goodness of other people and more so intently look for the weaknesses of others and shower them with ridicule. The reason why we continue to do this, I presume, is because we wanted to be always on top, the superior, and the best but at the cost of other's inferiority and defeat. We discriminate each other because we keep on looking for the things we don't have, rather than those that are already under our noses.

A journal, a simple neat notebook this became the starting step for that English teacher's class to see the common war they are all in, the war they themselves created. Those students became the Freedom Writers, and amazingly enough, all of them graduated high school remaining to be friends regardless of color or race. The secret why they all stopped bickering at each other lies in the things they look for from one another. Once, all they saw were the differences among them, what made the other more special or less. Now, they continue to see the commonality, the line that connects them, what made them alike. They are still at war but, they are all on the same side. It is indeed human to get jealous and look down on others, but it is equally human as well to restrain ourselves from prejudice and give each other equal chances to prove that color, money, status aren't all that there is.

Discrimination has hurt a lot, enslaved many and continues to torture some more. Each of us has contributed a part to discrimination, and it is only us that could shatter it into pieces. Forgive my idealistic mind, but later on I want to venture my career as a nurse outside of the country and obviously enough, I am susceptible to be discriminated and as well as to discriminate. I wanted to work with my fellow nurses someday with clear conscience and healthy competition, whether they may be a fellow Asian or a White or Black, I hope that would not matter.

You are an Onigiri.

There is a beautiful umeboshi at your back.

What's Genius? (June 3,2008)

What's Genius?
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia

Above Average. I looked at the results once more, hoping I had
mistaken, yet the words remained as they were. Above Average. My
twelve year old self let out a sigh of childish frustration, I had
expected more. Above Average. I kept on telling myself to get a grip,
my I.Q can't go higher even if I cry my lungs out. I had always wanted
to be called a Genius, but since my intelligence quotient refuses to
agree, I withdrew my hopes and started to face the reality that I may
never become one. It should have turned out to be a lifetime defeat
until I met a kid named Amadeus. He was six years old and had already
composed five piano pieces that are contemporarily known by the world
today. He was called a genius. I would have given up hope on my dreams
until I met a humble doctor named Jose. He was exceptionally fluent in
more than twenty languages and wrote several revolutionary pieces that
freed a nation. He was called a genius. I never thought it could be
possible until I met an emo dude named Edgar. He was a lonely orphan
and yet had created a shipload of possibilities to American
Literature. He was called a Genius.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Jose Rizal and Edgar Allan Poe were called
geniuses of their fields. You might be surprised to know that the
intelligence tests apparently were first taken in 1905; by then the
three of them are peacefully six feet under. They were immortalized by
people calling them genius and yet none of them took the same test
that I did. Genius is generally conceived to be a state of excellence,
that whenever a brilliant mind is proclaimed as one, the person
becomes all that there is and the rest who failed in the same endeavor
seems to lose the right and the opportunity to be called so. The world
appears to insist that the title of genius is limited to those
exceptional ones who were destined to be. I beg for pardon, but an
above average ranker thinks otherwise. Every one of us can bear
proudly that title, we just need to find the area we are genius at.

People nowadays would presume that when one is called a genius the
person is the ultimate symbol of utmost perfection. That notion can't
be helped; we live in a very competitive world where every one wants
to get ahead of another. Thus, being crowned as Genius is such a huge
accomplishment that would construct a gap between the so called second
best. But, the word genius in itself doesn't only mean superiority,
surprisingly it also means distinctiveness, being unique, being one of
a kind. I don't consider Edgar Allan Poe as the best writer that had
ever lived, I strongly believe no one could ever be the best writer if
there would be such that writer would be the absolute definition of
perfection, but no one is perfect. Yet, I considered Edgar Allan Poe
as a genius not because he was the best but because he had been
distinct. He started to show the world that, gross and morbid themes
such as death and murder can be beautifully written into contemporary
literature masterpieces. That brave step, that distinct step of making
a taboo welcome to many people is in itself a genius act.

I believe that genius is something we all are capable of, we just need
to look for that distinct mark we can leave the world. Sure,
intelligence tests could tell who may have the most promising future
in the different areas, may it be in logic, music, athletics or
interpersonal connections. These intelligence tests could more or less
accurately identify the genius from the average but, this is not the
only measurement of being one. And even if one will be proclaimed as
genius, it would not be an assurance that he'll forever be the world's
best artist or the person with the most languages spoken. I used to
dream of becoming a writer as great as Shakespeare or the many superb
columnists of today, and now I still continue to dream of being one.
But, I have to find that style of writing, the words of power and
inspiration that would make me distinct from those whom I admire, so
then that I can be as great as them. So, I can also be called a
genius.

I had three schoolmates who made it to the Superior rank in the IQ
test, just a rank away from Genius. I kept on wishing I was in their
shoes or even greater, but at that point I still haven't got a clue of
the real meaning of genius. At that point I still haven't known my
newly found friends Amadeus, Jose and Edgar. My IQ tests results were
five years ago, I may have to take another one to make sure, and even
if I end up being with the same rank it's okay.

We can be geniuses in our own distinct fields.
Go find your genius.

The Rose among the Thorns (May 27,2008)

The Rose among the Thorns
by: Maria Reylan M. Garcia

I knew it was over for the both of us. Those sweet ice cream days turn blunt and bitter, the sugary joy melted in despair. There came those cold and lonely nights, freezing my hopeless tears. Those dreams of countless sunny days lying on the seaside, all were wiped away by the turbulent rage of current. There came those afternoons I sat by the window, counting the endless drops of rain, soaking my very being in regret. I couldn't stop him, he has to leave. Farewell my darling summer time, I hope our paths will cross once more. This is what you get from an amateur closet poet, a hopeless romantic and a kid longing for summer, three personas trapped in one body. I can't help being melodramatic at times, but saying good bye to dear old summer felt like ripping my grieving heart into pieces.

Long gone are those days of sleep until noontime, in a few days vacations will be over and each one of us will be, as they say, back to work. I always wondered why vacations, rest days, lunch breaks and even recesses last just for a while, while overtimes, nightshifts, anatomy classes, and midnight studying last forever. The good indeed, must die young. However we try to sleep as long as we want; we always wind up waking up in the morning with a pile of laundry to wash or a mountain of documents to study. These remind us that life is not always a bed of roses, because among those roses are several prickling thorns. Observe a stem of a rose; you'll see more thorns than the petals.

The recent drastic hike in petroleum ended the road tripping days of many motorists. Transport strikes from different regions in our country goaled to paralyze the highways hoping that their absence on the roads would send a clear message. I hear their cries; the disappointment of summer is a minor resemblance to the increase of fuel price. The current scenario of people lining up for repacked NFA rice ceased the banquet of abundance agriculture. Parliament of the streets, rallies, undisputed debates from one labor group to another tried to emulate historical revolts and uprising hoping that their chaos would leave a mark. I feel their pain; the regret of a relaxing sunny day at the beach is a minor resemblance to the false hope of eating thrice in a day.

I believe these people had left a mark, have sent the message. Every person in the world seems to understand that we are all in crisis; the problem is not everyone in the world is brewing up a solution or even to look at its brighter side. I keep on being depressed of summer, I keep on regretting what could have been my perfect vacation but never did I do anything to make the best out of the upcoming rainy days. As summer leaves, schools are opened and students learn more about the world they'll soon lead. As summer bids farewell, the earth's cracked soil dampens and more farmers hopefully would start planting their crops. As summer waves good bye, rain drops starts to fall and they are not exactly as depressing often times the site of falling rain is breathtaking.

Acceptance, we have to accept whatever would come may they be helpful or not. Our world's reserves of fuel are not that easy to renew plus our world's environmental condition make matters worse. These hikes on consumer goods are only domino effects of a global headache. Shall we add more to the world's migraine by flooding the streets in unnecessary noise of clamor? I don't want to preach as if I know a lot, because I don't. But on a small scale basis, I could perhaps assure that simple solutions would accumulate towards the long lost resolution our depreciating world needs. Let's try to look at the brighter side of life first before wailing out loud. I think the increase in consumer goods, especially on rice, teachers us the simple value on food. Now, every one stops and thinks twice before throwing to waste some rice grains left on their plates. Now, Some people used to riding on their private vehicles steps down and tries public transport, helping our roads to a smoother traffic with less automobiles around. Not to mention, along the way less carbon gases are released to the atmosphere with less cars running.

It's not always vacation for all of us, most of the time we have to work hard, fall down a dozen of times, and scratch ourselves along the way. That's the way life works, we can't do anything about it, but we can make the best out of it. Besides, if everyday is summer, why call it summer? Sunny days at beaches would then be just a common sight, not much to look forward to.

Good bye summer, see you soon.

The Truth about Ice Creams (May 20,2008)

The Truth about Ice Creams
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia


It has been two hours and I'm still logged on, changing my friendster
profile skins every five minutes and reading html tips on uploading
videos from youtube. Once again, I was attempting to consume the whole
twenty hours of our internet prepaid card in one seating.
Surprisingly, I grew tired of encoding colorful layouts and embedding
most viewed music videos. I came across visiting a statistics site for
no definite reason. The website holds global data on poverty, health
and education percentage, it was quite alarming and made me think
twice before taking another breath for air, yes it was that alarming.
This may be just numbers and data, but these scraps of information
mirror the reality of an unjust world we live in. These scraps of
information reflect the actual condition of an unfair fate we continue
to tread along. Yet, how negative these scraps of information may
seem, they echo the truthful hope that we can, as the cliché goes,
make the world a better place.

There are 2.2 billion children in the world, and one billion of them
are buried in the grave of poverty. Almost half of the world's
children experience the torture of skipping meals, terminal diseases
and illiteracy, without even doing anything wrong to deserve them. My
fellow youth, the next time your parents couldn't buy you the most
fashionably in outfit, think about the 640 million children who
doesn't even have a home to go to if it rains. If you could read this
article, be grateful because 121 million children couldn't receive
even the most basic of education. Surprising? I thought these numbers
were just used for some wealthy companies' annual profit, I never
realized it could bring so much pain in my heart if it goes with words
of famine, inadequacy and hopelessness.

We experience constant power interruptions, and often times we grumble
for missing to watch the most awaited episode of some foreign drama
series. I'm guilty of doing so, and have been cursing the electric
companies involved. But not after I knew 706 million in South Asia
live without electricity. Now, power failures appear to be less
troublesome, don't you think? Then, here comes our financial debts
from banks, relatives, and some friendly Hindu guy in a motorcycle.
There are times when we spend more than what we could afford, everyone
is somehow prone to that. But before you think of ways to end your
life in dismantled pieces, let me tell you, you are not alone. The GDP
(Gross Domestic Product) of the 41 heavily indebted poor countries is
less than the wealth of the world's seven richest people combined. The
world is suffering as a whole; it's time that the world has to act as
a whole.

Now, where do we go from here? At first I thought what could a mere
teenager like me do to minimize global poverty? I scrolled down the
web page and found some extremely startling facts. In 1998, United
States of America spends $8 billion on cosmetics; Europe spends $11
billion on ice cream and $50 billion on cigarettes; $35 billion on
Business entertainment in Japan. These information seem to be
insignificant if taken singly, but what if you knew that it only takes
$6 billion more to let every illiterate read and write; what if you
knew that it only takes $9 billion more to let every one drink clean
and sanitary water. I can't imagine the world giving more importance
to ice cream than education that in reality the money you spend on
education is just chump change with the money you spend on ice cream.

Everyone has to tighten their belts. Savings is not the primary reason
why, but saving the world is. The environment is reminding us every
single day, as our climate grows worse, as our animal friends grow
endangered, as our lives are at risk that we need to take massive
action as a united global community to stop the destructive force that
we ourselves created. Global warming increases the torture of poverty,
as climate refuses to obey, crops and plantations of agriculture
disappoint us leaving some countrymen lining up for retailed rice. But
a massive action might be too huge for a simple person to produce; I
don't think so because the strongest tidal waves start from a simple
wrinkle of water.

What can we do? Students, study well and do whatever it takes to
finish your education so you can spare yourself to become one of the
too many illiterate people of our world. Citizens, be responsible in
your duties to the environment start simply in your homes by switching
off appliances when not in use. Teach your pre-school children early
of throwing garbage on the proper containers. Wealthy ones, spare some
change for charity. Adopt a scholar if you could. Entrepreneurs, open
job opportunities to the unemployed. And to the concerned
underprivileged, strive and work hard for progress.

My internet prepaid card costs a hundred pesos, which amounts to
almost two dollars. Three billion people live on less than two dollars
a day. Here I am, wanting to finish the same amount of money on music
videos and profile skins while half of the world's population is
hungry.

I think I could go one week without internet.
Let's Save the World.

Source: Poverty Facts and Stats (www.globalissues.org), updated 2008

Michelle's Wallet (May 13,2008)

Michelle's Wallet
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia

Michelle woke up late one morning; she was rather cranky and pissed as
it takes time for her to get ready for school. With her hair undone
and all over the place, she went to the kitchen and found her mother
cooking up breakfast.
Michelle was so irritated that her mother forgot
to wake her up, teenage angst rose and she couldn't hold her tongue.
Michelle threw some harsh words blaming the fault to her mother why
she woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Her mother kept silent and
watched her took off to school without eating breakfast and banged the
door shut as she went out. While riding on the jeep, Michelle unzipped
her bag and searched for her wallet, she dug in every pocket of her
back pack but couldn't find it. Luckily a fellow schoolmate was riding
the same jeep and saved her the trouble of paying for the fare.
Michelle knew she left her wallet at home. She finally arrived at
school, not a second too late thankfully. But before she entered the
campus, she saw a woman standing on the other side of the street. The
woman looked exhausted as if grasping for breath, she was in a
housedress looking ragged and sweaty. The woman caught sight of
Michelle, let out a charming smile, and raised her hand holding a tiny
wallet. Michelle stared at her; she didn't notice the tears starting
to drip. The school bell rang, Michelle doesn't care and she was
hugging her mother tightly.

Michelle shared this story when we were in first year high school; I
wept a bucketful that day and realized how important it is to
celebrate a mother's love. Sometimes, human as we are, our emotions
get the better of us, we temporarily forget those nine long months of
discomfort, several hours of painful labor and the decades of endless
patience she had offered. A mother's love is difficult to understand,
unless you become a mother yourself. Very early in the morning she
wakes up and starts to multifunction, doing mountains of laundry,
cooking a hearty breakfast and preparing our stuff for school all at
the same time, the most amazing part is, she does this every single
day with minimum regressions. Very late in the evening she is still
wide awake, ironing our school uniform for tomorrow, checking our
homework for some corrections and making sure we are all tucked in bed
before she sleeps, the most amazing part is, she does this every
single night with a calm smile on her face.


Imperfections, everybody has them even our dear mothers. Often times,
we think they can do almost anything that when they fail us, their
single fault blinds us from the millions of good night kisses, neatly
polished school shoes, and cute orange jumpers they have given us.
When we feel feverish and scared at night, and seems like our trusty
blanket had betrayed us, it goes out automatically crying out their
names; nanay, mama, mom, please come here. If you have your mom beside
you, be grateful, because every time you failed an exam, missed the
winning shot in a basketball game or broke up with your boyfriend,
she's just right there, her simple hug and gentle words will dry those
tears. A lot of times we take her for granted, and forget about her
when we're having fun, when we're at the top of our game, Shame on us.
But still, she understands, she forgives.

When my mother and I go shopping, every time we would stop for a
pretty blouse her size, she would just look at it for a while then
tell me she'll buy herself one next time, we end up buying all the
clothes I like. She always says that she's already happy if she could
purchase a complete set of groceries, but the point is she doesn't
even enjoy half of what she bought. There are instances I would feel
bad and guilty, but I couldn't do much right now, nor even when I
become a professional someday, I couldn't do much to repay her. But,
somehow when I become a mother I'll show my children the same love my
own mother had shown me. This mother's day and everyday while she's
here, remember to show her your love.

When you come home today don't forget to greet her and offer her a
kiss. If you could spend hours laughing and having a good time with
your peers, why not your mother, who continues to be with you even if
every friend you have deserted you. If your mother's abroad, spare
some change and call her. If you could spend twenty pesos on the
internet chatting with someone you barely know, why not your mother,
who works over time and extends hours just to put bread on the table.
When you both started the day with a disagreement, come home with a
sorry face and apologize. If my friend Michelle did why couldn't you?

She may at times be imperfect.
But her love never fails us.

Happy Mothers Day!

Limited Edition (May 6,2008)

Limited Edition

By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia

Imported television, this appears to be the current talk of the town. Major television stations in our country take turns in bidding for production rights of latest hit television shows on the other side of the globe. More and more foreign based quiz shows are squeezing themselves in thus, extending primetime to wee hours of the night. More and more reality programs and singing contests are driving more support from the public through voting and polls thus, giving the telecommunication networks a run for their capital. More and more remakes of yet another Asian drama mania are keeping the public's eyes peeled thus, providing more debut for promising love teams. We may see native actors and celebrities still starring these shows, but let us open our eyes; Philippine television starts to grow out of its name. Our country has a hobby for creating local versions of almost anything coming from abroad. We started from fashion, chocolates, and movies. Now stopping at nothing, we localized imported television shows.

We have found an easier way around, an easy street, a shortcut. Since those television shows have been a huge chartbuster in their own native lands, we took advantage of those names and trademarks, definite that it will do the same effect to our own country. It was indeed successful and a sure win, making it more than just a fad to our entertainment industry, it has already been a standard. I don't oppose in anyway to these current realities, I myself am quite hooked to outsmarting fifth graders or spinning wheels for money. I am just anxious of the consequences that will come sometime soon. On a small scale basis our means of importing foreign based television shows resembles a struggling casting agency trying to find a look-a-like of a huge celebrity. Because the celebrity is continued to be swarmed by millions of screaming fans, that celebrity's personality, physical appearance and overall appeal is profit. So, here comes a look-a-like that would copy off the big shot and settles for secondary attention, supporting roles and adequate talent fee. The scenario doesn't stop there.

It may be quite beneficial to the look-a-like; it may appear that the struggling casting agency is sucking all the gains using the celebrity's name, but that's only one side to the story. Since you copy off someone, you're bound for criticisms and comments; you're immediately put under comparison with the original one. The look-a-like's life will be set to the standards, not of himself, nor the struggling casting agency, but that of the celebrity. What the celebrity does, the look-a-like must follow with twice the effort. Same through with any situation, once you made use of the original you must avoid scratches; you must not take detour with what's set by the original. These television shows based from who knows where are locked up from free will and decision making, Filipino franchisers are not in the position to, they can only adopt but never adapt. Call me bitter, but I am guilty of criticizing some copies our country has made. I keep on comparing our own hosts from the original hosts of the show; I keep on contrasting the voice of an unknown yet popular homeowner to his original version. These are quite inevitable, as they come with the decision of copying off someone.

Although, I admire and want to be like a lot of people, I like more myself to be original. I wanted to be known for my own efforts, not for mimicking others. I want myself to be criticized according to my own standards and not to another else's. I don't want to be a version of, I want to be a rare limited edition. I could not tell if until when this fad of imported television shows may cease. I could not even tell if what other copies our country would be making. But somehow, I am sure, that it is but always that a copy will never be the original one, and it will end up trying and trying to desperately be like the primer. I think it is much more pleasant to hear someone telling you, you set a record rather than you beaten one. Being original is sometimes quite difficult because you seem to be blinded with the bounties of another's success, popularity or even audience ratings. But wouldn't it be more fulfilling and satisfying that it is your own, and you can make decisions on your own without thinking of what they might say. No one can sue you nor blame you for being original. It's your patent. It's your trademark. Don't settle for looking like someone. Be that someone in your own right.

Spicing up a Relationship (April 29,2008)

Spicing up a Relationship
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia

It has been eight hours now, and I am aware it will take even longer.
It was torture as I saw him leave defeated and rejected; he was too
late it seemed. My heart groped in sympathy as he silently weeps in
pain; my eyes understood and they began to leak in tears. Then I felt
shivers all around me, it was far beyond the pain both he and I
shared. It was too difficult to hold in. I had no choice. His world
came to a pause, I am not sure if he even noticed. The next thing I
know, I rushed to the toilet and obeyed diligently nature's call, my
vision was still foggy as I had been crying for a while. I went back,
spared no more time and pushed the play button on the remote control
and saw him come to life once more. Yes, I was once again enjoying the
bounties of reading the subtitles. Yes, I was watching yet again
another asian drama series in one seating that normal people would do
in three months time.

I had always been a sucker for happy endings where she walks down the
aisle with the theme song sang and flashbacks start to play. Yet, I am
more thrilled with the less loved scenes where she tells him they are
not meant for each other, that he's better off with someone whom his
controlling mother favors more. Although I cry my lungs out with these
sad scenes, I am always fond of expecting more of those than sweet
bone tickling moments. Call me sadistic, but it is when two people
risk happy endings and admit they are not sure of what is to come that
teaches them if they indeed are meant to be together. I may not have
the wealth of experience, but seeing the reality, relationships are
made stronger through difficult times and failures. These gives both
husband and wife, would be lovers, and even friends the chance to
evaluate themselves and see if they need to hold on or painfully let
go.

When my parents fight, it becomes an awkwardly surreal experience for
me. I am afraid of those silent moments when none of them seems to
care. I am terrified of those heated moments when both of them take
turns in a war of words filled with anxiety and regrets. I am most
frightened that in the end I may have to choose whom I'll be living
with after separation. But, the moment they realized it was time to
stop, the moment they realize it was time to rewind and start once
more, the moment they begin to smile at each other again, is when
those fears becomes rightly worth it and meaningful. Their love
successfully passed another heck of an exam.

Fights between closer relationships had always rooted up from one
common scenario. It is when we forget to live together, and start to
live on one's own. It may not appear to be such a huge factor, but
little by little they all clog up until fixing it would be of no use.
Husbands who at times fail to see that a wife need more than financial
stability; a simple hug, a simple kiss, a simple text message telling
his wife where he currently is. These remind her that he values her to
the simplest of his actions, these remind her of a love that requires
no logic and reason, these remind her that he is still brave enough to
break out from that manly pride and show her he cares. Wives who at
times fail to see that a husband has already enough of the nagging and
bickering; a calmer approach to misunderstandings, a sweet smile to
welcome him home, a fiat to the career of taking care of his children.
These remind him that she was that same charming woman he once fell in
love, these remind him that there is still a reason to strive and dig
for the best, these remind him that she is still patient enough to
stick with him through what has been and what will soon come.

Same goes to friends who each have a role, complementing one another.
But the fights they had surprisingly turns out to be one of the
funniest topics they could have during their out of the blue
conversations. Those fights and arguments made them see what each of
them needs to change or improve to keep firm the very roots of their
friendship. Spices adds flavor to almost any food. Same goes with any
relationship. Without debates, disagreements or misunderstandings
there will be no thrill at all. Without them I wouldn't stay eight
long hours reading some subtitles on screen. Without them no one could
say they were meant for each other.

Without them there wouldn't be such a thing called destiny.