Teaching Values
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Ten minutes, the time it took us to get settled and complete inside the L300 van. Fourteen minutes, we waited for our hamburgers and sundaes at a drive-thru. Fifteen minutes, the time it took us to memorize an action song about birds, trees and fish. Twenty minutes, how long I dozed off during the entire road trip. Forty five minutes, travel time from Iloilo City to our destination, a church-side elementary school in Dueñas. As we came to a stop, I saw some curious faces of grade school pupils wondering why some weird looking college freshmen dared to enter their half-opened gates. Each of us tiptoed down the van carrying some bulky paper bags and packed carton boxes, inside are pencils, erasers, notebooks and sharpeners neatly placed inside some forty-five plastic envelopes. It wasn't long until some pupils greeted us with cheery smiles telling us we're in the right place and we're doing the right thing. Their welcoming hellos turned those few minutes into a lifetime of unforgettable moments.
As part of our school requirement, an outreach activity was to be performed by each group; otherwise we just have to visualize the number five printed in our transcripts. Twelve of us decided to push through a values formation class for grade school pupils, unaware of the tasking preparations we have to accomplish. The permits we need professors to sign, but who constantly were nowhere to be seen because of their quite habitual academic meetings. The downtown budgeted shopping for school supplies to give the students got our belts tightened to its maximum limit, we bid farewell to a week's worth allowance. But every centavo spent and every sweat drop perspired were all worth it, as we came to teach and had fun with those cute little angels of grade three, section Rizal.
We let the pupils draw their dream selves. We let them create a portrait of who they want to be when they grow up. I chuckled as a great majority drew caricatures of nurses complete with clinical uniforms and the distinct cap. At first I jumped to the theory that they may be victims of brainwashing considering the thick bundle of green cold cash they could be earning if they pursue with that course, most of aspiring student nurses do. But that chuckle was silenced to a grin, when each of them explained why they wanted to be nurses. Every single third grader muttered the phrase, 'to help sick people get well', how altruistic their motives are, in fact the very reason why that profession existed in the first place. Funny, how I was reminded of the reason why I ought to become a nurse by some innocent grade three kids. But what really caught my attention were those six boys who drew six different superheroes they see on weekend cartoons. Again their reasons of untainted innocence brought the twelve of us smiling, 'to save good people from bad guys'. Rarely, can we hear this chaste hope of a child, I wish one day they can be superheroes of their own right. Just one question, I wonder why none of them drew government leaders as their dream selves. Maybe they can't see them saving good people from bad guys or helping sick people get well.
We divided the class into smaller groups and created an open forum for them. The topic was about family, we wanted to know how they viewed their own families despite of dripping ceilings, economic poverty. There was a question that stated: If you would be given a chance to change anything in your family what would that be? Frankly, I expected for sour grapes and regrets, but I failed to hear them. Rather, my ears listened to light and happy responses of nothing, none, never, not a chance. How remarkable are these children, they have all the rights in the world to clamor for the best and yet they desire less, for they are contented. I wonder why some of society's elite still continue to shovel up some hundreds of millions and still have a lot of things that they would like to change in their families.
After several minutes of idealistic talks about believing in your dreams and living out the nationalistic pride, we stripped of the serious side and played games. For some moment or two, I was back in grade three, getting fired up in stacking the straw of towers and hitting some drinking cups with crumpled paper balls, all for the simple rewards of candies and lollipops.
An hour and thirty minutes, the time it took me to finish this article. Twelve hours, the time it took me to study three exams for the next week. A lifetime, the time I'll be remembering those moments with the grade three Rizal pupils, the moments when I thought I'll be teaching them values.
In the end, they were the ones who taught me.
Truth is out of fashion (February 26,2008)
Truth is out of fashion
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Imagine a middle aged man leisurely walking along the sidewalks. His brisk smile would have been so contagious if it weren’t for the outfit he wore. A fashion statement of boogie-ready slick and shiny silver pants, a pair of neon red boots, a fit long sleeved polka dot-sequenced shirt and dare not to miss the striking bushy afro. Now, how could he not bring out attention? Anything that is simply out of fashion, deviant to trend and alien to what is in becomes an eye-catcher to society, a rare sight that can gather up attention. I refuse to wear my bohemian skirts nowadays; fashion magazines informed me that it’s skinny jeans that rule the catwalk. I don’t want any attention; I don’t want to be a center of ridicule and criticism, so I chose to hide my bohemian skirts inside old carton boxes and let the termites do their part.
Is truth starting to grow out of fashion? I wonder how a straightforward revelation from a man, who fancies wearing tee shirts in television interviews, shocked an entire nation. Is truth starting to deviate from the trend? I wonder how a clear-cut statement from a man, who cries occasionally when pressured, trembled a police general, some cabinet secretaries and a former chairman. Is truth starting to alienate to what is in? I wonder how a forthright testimonial from a man, who reputed spending some two hundred thousand pesos of shopping spree, let the tiny she-leader hold on to her throne tighter. Truth appears to be a rare occurrence that every sound of it collects attention and the truth teller is placed on the hot and boiling seat.
A freshman college student, such as myself, has no legal grounds of categorizing truth from falsity. I don’t want to add to the sea of opinions of wiser adults regarding yet another political anomaly. I’m more concerned of imparting my views on how credible the ZTE star witness is. Mr. Jun Lozada was a successful engineer with a well-blessed family, having a prominent position in society and a more-than-stable income, and living in a well-like home. Now, Mr. Jun Lozada is a man filled with tension and anxiety with no job, having a prominent position death lists and thankful for the sanctuary fund provided by the concerned religious, and living in a tiny safe house. Who in his right mind would sacrifice all of the bounties of life, if what comes out from his mouth is not truth? Anytime he could be shot dead, anytime his children may be held as hostages, his life is highlighted with uncertainty but he chose to speak the truth.
He admitted that he never wanted to be investigated by the senate for he couldn’t help but to speak for the truth. He mentioned names of people he called friends, aware that they may never speak to him again. He was seen as a traitor to some people who relied in his silence that could break a much bigger scandal to be known. I don’t have any other reason why he risked his life into this mess except that it’s the truth he’s telling the public. Mr. Jun Lozada is not my hero. But he is that someone who urges me to smile everyday, considering that there are still some people affected by their consciences. Mr. Jun Lozada admitted his own mistakes, and never dared to be self righteous, just the behavior enough to make a freshman college student believe of his credibility. He may not be a hero, but he is a father his children will soon be proud of.
Most of the people opposing Mr. Lozada are talking about burger recipes and club payments just to protect their own image and reputation. Please shed just a little shame to yourselves. The guy gradually loses all that he honestly worked for, although he may be retaining one thing that none of the other liars would, self respect. The answers of Mr. Lozada had been amazingly consistent, giving the public all the reason to trust his credibility. Even how much the panel of interrogating senators would circle round and round the story it will always be a playback answer for the honest man.
To those smitten by the term liar, think about your children. I pray that your sons will not find out how his newly bought multi-functional toy robot was out of dirty money. I pray that your daughters will never discover how her newly bought stuffed toys came from the taxes of poverty-inflicted families. When being asked a direct question please responsd a direct answer, not some lousy replies about jargon protocols and SOPs you guys murmur to yourselves. I hope when your kids ask you why you became filthy rich you’ll not answer the same SOPs or international protocols. Spare their pure and honest minds.
Truth is like that middle aged man dreaming about the groove of the eighty’s. What truth is may be out of style, deviant of trend and alien to what is in to some opposing others. Truth may be the center of ridicule and criticism. But you know what? It’s okay. As long as it is the truth, I don’t care wearing my bohemian skirts once more.
Mr. Jun Lozada, I salute your bravery.
Thank you, for making Truth in fashion again.
Good Luck and God Bless You.
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Imagine a middle aged man leisurely walking along the sidewalks. His brisk smile would have been so contagious if it weren’t for the outfit he wore. A fashion statement of boogie-ready slick and shiny silver pants, a pair of neon red boots, a fit long sleeved polka dot-sequenced shirt and dare not to miss the striking bushy afro. Now, how could he not bring out attention? Anything that is simply out of fashion, deviant to trend and alien to what is in becomes an eye-catcher to society, a rare sight that can gather up attention. I refuse to wear my bohemian skirts nowadays; fashion magazines informed me that it’s skinny jeans that rule the catwalk. I don’t want any attention; I don’t want to be a center of ridicule and criticism, so I chose to hide my bohemian skirts inside old carton boxes and let the termites do their part.
Is truth starting to grow out of fashion? I wonder how a straightforward revelation from a man, who fancies wearing tee shirts in television interviews, shocked an entire nation. Is truth starting to deviate from the trend? I wonder how a clear-cut statement from a man, who cries occasionally when pressured, trembled a police general, some cabinet secretaries and a former chairman. Is truth starting to alienate to what is in? I wonder how a forthright testimonial from a man, who reputed spending some two hundred thousand pesos of shopping spree, let the tiny she-leader hold on to her throne tighter. Truth appears to be a rare occurrence that every sound of it collects attention and the truth teller is placed on the hot and boiling seat.
A freshman college student, such as myself, has no legal grounds of categorizing truth from falsity. I don’t want to add to the sea of opinions of wiser adults regarding yet another political anomaly. I’m more concerned of imparting my views on how credible the ZTE star witness is. Mr. Jun Lozada was a successful engineer with a well-blessed family, having a prominent position in society and a more-than-stable income, and living in a well-like home. Now, Mr. Jun Lozada is a man filled with tension and anxiety with no job, having a prominent position death lists and thankful for the sanctuary fund provided by the concerned religious, and living in a tiny safe house. Who in his right mind would sacrifice all of the bounties of life, if what comes out from his mouth is not truth? Anytime he could be shot dead, anytime his children may be held as hostages, his life is highlighted with uncertainty but he chose to speak the truth.
He admitted that he never wanted to be investigated by the senate for he couldn’t help but to speak for the truth. He mentioned names of people he called friends, aware that they may never speak to him again. He was seen as a traitor to some people who relied in his silence that could break a much bigger scandal to be known. I don’t have any other reason why he risked his life into this mess except that it’s the truth he’s telling the public. Mr. Jun Lozada is not my hero. But he is that someone who urges me to smile everyday, considering that there are still some people affected by their consciences. Mr. Jun Lozada admitted his own mistakes, and never dared to be self righteous, just the behavior enough to make a freshman college student believe of his credibility. He may not be a hero, but he is a father his children will soon be proud of.
Most of the people opposing Mr. Lozada are talking about burger recipes and club payments just to protect their own image and reputation. Please shed just a little shame to yourselves. The guy gradually loses all that he honestly worked for, although he may be retaining one thing that none of the other liars would, self respect. The answers of Mr. Lozada had been amazingly consistent, giving the public all the reason to trust his credibility. Even how much the panel of interrogating senators would circle round and round the story it will always be a playback answer for the honest man.
To those smitten by the term liar, think about your children. I pray that your sons will not find out how his newly bought multi-functional toy robot was out of dirty money. I pray that your daughters will never discover how her newly bought stuffed toys came from the taxes of poverty-inflicted families. When being asked a direct question please responsd a direct answer, not some lousy replies about jargon protocols and SOPs you guys murmur to yourselves. I hope when your kids ask you why you became filthy rich you’ll not answer the same SOPs or international protocols. Spare their pure and honest minds.
Truth is like that middle aged man dreaming about the groove of the eighty’s. What truth is may be out of style, deviant of trend and alien to what is in to some opposing others. Truth may be the center of ridicule and criticism. But you know what? It’s okay. As long as it is the truth, I don’t care wearing my bohemian skirts once more.
Mr. Jun Lozada, I salute your bravery.
Thank you, for making Truth in fashion again.
Good Luck and God Bless You.
To Sin or not to Sin (February 19,2008)
To Sin or not to Sin
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
The Catholic faith commemorates the passion of Jesus Christ through the obedient observance of the Lenten season. For some forty days, the faithful abstains from the earthly pleasures and goes on for weeks with a meat-free diet. Believers crowd the solemn corridors of churches for confessions, foreheads marked with black ashes and palm leaves shaped like crosses; so are the traditions and practices of devout Catholics. Some go to the extremes of literally carrying their own crosses and being lashed with painful whipping. These people each have a different way of repenting; each have a different means of seeking for absolution, but all for a common reason, but all for a common fear, and that is sin.
Every one of us are all capable of committing sin, in a much general term, mistake. No one is that righteous to proclaim how he is absolved from errors, no one is that good. A person who continues to wash their hands and even apply sanitizer to appear all pious is certainly someone whose pants are on fire. Every one of us gears up to be seen as perfect and without flaw. The sad thing is, while making this dream come true; we tend to defy our morals along the way. We struggle to survive in a social chaos; we apt to pass the blame from one person to another just to get rid of the dirt from our hands. Pity those innocent men who were convicted for a mistake, for a grave sin they never even dared to commit.
But, these mistakes, these errors, these sins are but part of a multiple choice exam. Temptation usually precedes before them, luring us to forget temporarily that telling a lie is against the grounds of morality. Temptation seduces us, which means they appear so beautiful and pleasurable that a lot of times man falls to its trap. Money, greed, fame, lust and power though how negative they sound they appear otherwise. Proofs are the respectable men who dared juggling the truth hiding their foul perjury. Evidences are the honorable men who dared cheating legitimacy tucking beneath their pungent corruption. Man had a choice to do good or to sin, to be moral or to defy the norms, to prevent mistakes or let errors prevail. Once again human as we are, we chose to defy, but for crying out loud, we could have chosen not to.
I am not preaching. I am aware that a sixteen year old can’t change the old and already rooted ways of the several strayed adults. I could only guess that they weren’t trained much on using that certain “free will” they have on the back of their greedy heads. A corrupt politician could have started off as a cute little toddler stealing away pencils from his classmates. It would not come out a surprise if his present self goes stealing the country some barrels of public funds. Sin would just start from petty trials until one would certainly be addicted and couldn’t lose the habit. The concept of rebelling against good is very difficult to grasp concretely as because of that driving force of being human some already concluded that man couldn’t help but give in and sin.
I myself at an age that is not yet aware of the other pleasures materialism offer, continues to create more and more sins every day. But I guess, the main point here is to accept and realize the guilt, that one had apparently sinned and committed something regrettable. Someone who wouldn’t understand a sinner would be a hypocrite. Not unless he can prove to me he had never thought of something malicious, said vulgar words, read a green joke, told a white lie or stole some cents from his mom’s purse all his life. I noticed something so evident that I also hope most have observed. When someone so controversial because of some criminal or offensive act he had committed continues to deny accusations, people continue to loathe him and throw rotten tomatoes at him. But, just see when after he had come into light and accepted all the allegations, people decide to shut their mouths and let him be.
Yes, you made a wrong choice, you led a troublesome life, and you blamed yourself. Point taken. Everybody makes mistakes. But still even before he lead astray, man continues to try and make right choices and shun temptation. I presume this is where the values taught by our parents and the foundation built upon by certain institutions such as the church and the school will be put to the test.
Yes, to err is human.
But prior to that err was a choice.
I guess it’s also human to choose.
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
The Catholic faith commemorates the passion of Jesus Christ through the obedient observance of the Lenten season. For some forty days, the faithful abstains from the earthly pleasures and goes on for weeks with a meat-free diet. Believers crowd the solemn corridors of churches for confessions, foreheads marked with black ashes and palm leaves shaped like crosses; so are the traditions and practices of devout Catholics. Some go to the extremes of literally carrying their own crosses and being lashed with painful whipping. These people each have a different way of repenting; each have a different means of seeking for absolution, but all for a common reason, but all for a common fear, and that is sin.
Every one of us are all capable of committing sin, in a much general term, mistake. No one is that righteous to proclaim how he is absolved from errors, no one is that good. A person who continues to wash their hands and even apply sanitizer to appear all pious is certainly someone whose pants are on fire. Every one of us gears up to be seen as perfect and without flaw. The sad thing is, while making this dream come true; we tend to defy our morals along the way. We struggle to survive in a social chaos; we apt to pass the blame from one person to another just to get rid of the dirt from our hands. Pity those innocent men who were convicted for a mistake, for a grave sin they never even dared to commit.
But, these mistakes, these errors, these sins are but part of a multiple choice exam. Temptation usually precedes before them, luring us to forget temporarily that telling a lie is against the grounds of morality. Temptation seduces us, which means they appear so beautiful and pleasurable that a lot of times man falls to its trap. Money, greed, fame, lust and power though how negative they sound they appear otherwise. Proofs are the respectable men who dared juggling the truth hiding their foul perjury. Evidences are the honorable men who dared cheating legitimacy tucking beneath their pungent corruption. Man had a choice to do good or to sin, to be moral or to defy the norms, to prevent mistakes or let errors prevail. Once again human as we are, we chose to defy, but for crying out loud, we could have chosen not to.
I am not preaching. I am aware that a sixteen year old can’t change the old and already rooted ways of the several strayed adults. I could only guess that they weren’t trained much on using that certain “free will” they have on the back of their greedy heads. A corrupt politician could have started off as a cute little toddler stealing away pencils from his classmates. It would not come out a surprise if his present self goes stealing the country some barrels of public funds. Sin would just start from petty trials until one would certainly be addicted and couldn’t lose the habit. The concept of rebelling against good is very difficult to grasp concretely as because of that driving force of being human some already concluded that man couldn’t help but give in and sin.
I myself at an age that is not yet aware of the other pleasures materialism offer, continues to create more and more sins every day. But I guess, the main point here is to accept and realize the guilt, that one had apparently sinned and committed something regrettable. Someone who wouldn’t understand a sinner would be a hypocrite. Not unless he can prove to me he had never thought of something malicious, said vulgar words, read a green joke, told a white lie or stole some cents from his mom’s purse all his life. I noticed something so evident that I also hope most have observed. When someone so controversial because of some criminal or offensive act he had committed continues to deny accusations, people continue to loathe him and throw rotten tomatoes at him. But, just see when after he had come into light and accepted all the allegations, people decide to shut their mouths and let him be.
Yes, you made a wrong choice, you led a troublesome life, and you blamed yourself. Point taken. Everybody makes mistakes. But still even before he lead astray, man continues to try and make right choices and shun temptation. I presume this is where the values taught by our parents and the foundation built upon by certain institutions such as the church and the school will be put to the test.
Yes, to err is human.
But prior to that err was a choice.
I guess it’s also human to choose.
Love is... (February 12,2008)
Love is…
By Maria Reylan M. Garcia
This statement had challenged yet the greatest minds. Noah Webster, when asked, was caught speechless and out of words. Isaac Newton would rather bake the fallen apple into tart pie than answer it. Thomas Edison decided to turn off the light bulb and hid himself in the dark. Higher Mathematics and highfaluting words won’t scare a cell out of these people, but it got their brains constricting when asked, “What is Love?” Thousands have tried to decipher and unlock the greatest brainteaser of all time. But none prevailed. I for one happen to gamble my chances, but all I got were cheesy lines of: “Love is like rosary beads, that’s full of mysteries” and the ever immortal “Love is blind”. Amusing, how a four letter word would give one an awfully hard time to figure out its definition.
Scholarly men who strives to give meaning to love tends to consider it to be complex and intricate; an emotion that is beyond the range of measurement, a disease that is outside the control of diagnosis. It is still unclear, whether love is a moment, a state, a process, or simply an implication of intense hormonal activities going on in the hypothalamus gland, the body’s emotion center, and yes it’s not the heart that feels. But, I presumed they just haven’t met Chris, a seven year old boy who defined love as how he sees it to be. For Chris, Love is “when your puppy licks your face even after you left him all day”. The seven year old boy saw love in the simplest of situations; he saw love in the excited and jumping dog welcoming him home from a tiring day at school. Love has no ultimate definition. Every person may define love according to how he has seen it.
Media today furnishes its own definition of love. The tingling sensation one gets when seated next to her crush, the blushing of cheeks after hearing some sweet words from the perfect suitor, the dreamy eyes as you share an umbrella with that special him in the rain. Love Songs, Love Movies, Love Television Series, Love Teams they all define love to be a guy and a girl racing around on the seashore with the latest OPM song played on the background. But, I presumed they haven’t met Lola Elsa, a 75 year old lady who defined love as how she experienced it to be. For Lola Elsa, Love is “the fifty years of untiring sweet talks, candle light dinners, petty love quarrels and night hugs and kisses with Lolo Rene”. The 75 year old lady continues to see love in the longest of time; she saw love in the unbroken promise she and Lolo Rene made more than fifty years ago in front of the altar. Love has no ultimate definition. Every person may define love according to how he has lived it.
Commercialism wrote its own description of love. The valentine cards, three roses for ten pesos, Belgian chocolates, latest valentine special CD release of the currently hottest hit-maker, and limited promos from breakaway destinations fit for budgeted honey moons. Love was defined to be as superficial, material and tangible which in fact it’s the most abstract thing existing. I presumed they haven’t met Beatrice, a three year old girl who defined love as how she felt it to be. For Beatrice, Love is “when mommy and daddy kisses me good night and never leaves me until I sleep.” The three year old girl felt love in the warmth of a parent’s care; she saw love in the playful kisses and bear hugs her parents give her before she sleeps. Love has no ultimate definition. Every person may define love according to how he felt it to be.
Love is not something to be defined because it needs to be. It is literally just everywhere. Love is the moment your teacher praised you after giving the right answer to her question. Love is when you look up in the heavens and remember the big boss. Love is everything, from cupid’s romantic arrows to mom’s good night kisses. It’s that certain thing that though we can never get hold of, we continue to see, experience and feel it like any other tangible thing around. One that is not visible but is around, the closest thing to magic that we got.
This Valentine’s let us remember that this day isn’t just for the lovers smooching their way to celebrate. Valentine’s Day is a celebration of love, and all of us are invited because all of us had love, loves and will love.
What is Love?
It’s better than rosary beads or being blind.
Love is everything.
By Maria Reylan M. Garcia
This statement had challenged yet the greatest minds. Noah Webster, when asked, was caught speechless and out of words. Isaac Newton would rather bake the fallen apple into tart pie than answer it. Thomas Edison decided to turn off the light bulb and hid himself in the dark. Higher Mathematics and highfaluting words won’t scare a cell out of these people, but it got their brains constricting when asked, “What is Love?” Thousands have tried to decipher and unlock the greatest brainteaser of all time. But none prevailed. I for one happen to gamble my chances, but all I got were cheesy lines of: “Love is like rosary beads, that’s full of mysteries” and the ever immortal “Love is blind”. Amusing, how a four letter word would give one an awfully hard time to figure out its definition.
Scholarly men who strives to give meaning to love tends to consider it to be complex and intricate; an emotion that is beyond the range of measurement, a disease that is outside the control of diagnosis. It is still unclear, whether love is a moment, a state, a process, or simply an implication of intense hormonal activities going on in the hypothalamus gland, the body’s emotion center, and yes it’s not the heart that feels. But, I presumed they just haven’t met Chris, a seven year old boy who defined love as how he sees it to be. For Chris, Love is “when your puppy licks your face even after you left him all day”. The seven year old boy saw love in the simplest of situations; he saw love in the excited and jumping dog welcoming him home from a tiring day at school. Love has no ultimate definition. Every person may define love according to how he has seen it.
Media today furnishes its own definition of love. The tingling sensation one gets when seated next to her crush, the blushing of cheeks after hearing some sweet words from the perfect suitor, the dreamy eyes as you share an umbrella with that special him in the rain. Love Songs, Love Movies, Love Television Series, Love Teams they all define love to be a guy and a girl racing around on the seashore with the latest OPM song played on the background. But, I presumed they haven’t met Lola Elsa, a 75 year old lady who defined love as how she experienced it to be. For Lola Elsa, Love is “the fifty years of untiring sweet talks, candle light dinners, petty love quarrels and night hugs and kisses with Lolo Rene”. The 75 year old lady continues to see love in the longest of time; she saw love in the unbroken promise she and Lolo Rene made more than fifty years ago in front of the altar. Love has no ultimate definition. Every person may define love according to how he has lived it.
Commercialism wrote its own description of love. The valentine cards, three roses for ten pesos, Belgian chocolates, latest valentine special CD release of the currently hottest hit-maker, and limited promos from breakaway destinations fit for budgeted honey moons. Love was defined to be as superficial, material and tangible which in fact it’s the most abstract thing existing. I presumed they haven’t met Beatrice, a three year old girl who defined love as how she felt it to be. For Beatrice, Love is “when mommy and daddy kisses me good night and never leaves me until I sleep.” The three year old girl felt love in the warmth of a parent’s care; she saw love in the playful kisses and bear hugs her parents give her before she sleeps. Love has no ultimate definition. Every person may define love according to how he felt it to be.
Love is not something to be defined because it needs to be. It is literally just everywhere. Love is the moment your teacher praised you after giving the right answer to her question. Love is when you look up in the heavens and remember the big boss. Love is everything, from cupid’s romantic arrows to mom’s good night kisses. It’s that certain thing that though we can never get hold of, we continue to see, experience and feel it like any other tangible thing around. One that is not visible but is around, the closest thing to magic that we got.
This Valentine’s let us remember that this day isn’t just for the lovers smooching their way to celebrate. Valentine’s Day is a celebration of love, and all of us are invited because all of us had love, loves and will love.
What is Love?
It’s better than rosary beads or being blind.
Love is everything.
Dagyang ta! (February 5,2008)
Dagyang ta!
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
The streets of downtown Iloilo couldn’t have been more festive. Drums roared in thumping rhythms while chants echoed in jovial tempos; no one could help but just tap to the beat. Costumes of street dancers flowed with colors while their dancing feet marched with grace; every eye was captivated in a fiesta of cheer. Food along the sidewalks led to a yummy bag of peanuts or a mouth watering stick of grilled native chicken. Avenues were closed, intersections were railed and one-ways were implemented, temporarily forgetting a week of busy traffic and hectic work for two days of fun and festivity. In my case, a brain draining week of midterms just ended, and there’s no better way to shove off the remaining jibes due to a 150 item anatomy exam than two words, “dagyang ta.”
My green tennis shoes brought me and some of my classmates to every nook and corner, and for each stop were a simple flicker of thought that would last until the next time Dagoy visits Iloilo again. 10 pesos worth of Bubbles filled the humid air; we were like pre-schoolers who found delight in blowing and popping floating soap balloons. Everyone needs some time out and be like little kids running around in circles, momentarily forgetting the pressures of bills to pay, scholarships to maintain, business proposals to push through. Take a deep breath, sigh a little, problems never cease, a truckload of new ones will come barging at your door next week.
They decided for face painting, I never really like to have one, but still went along. I was amused at how some blobs of poster paint and some twists and flicks of the paintbrush became the next fashion accessory at that very moment. The whole celebration for the holy child seems so grandeur and festive but notice how simple are the parts that make it whole. Music, dance steps, food, bubbles and poster paint; we see, hear, smell, taste and touch them every day but common as they are, when viewed as full brings to life the best Tourism Event in the country. You’ll never really appreciate a face painting until it’s all drawn up and done.
Whenever there is fiesta, there shall be food. Whenever there is food, there I shall be. We trailed towards a food chain that some of us didn’t even know existed. Taking a break from fast foods wouldn’t hurt; a broiled seasoned tangige and an exceptionally tasty tinolang manok would get your taste buds going. With food, the best experience is to continue on exploring for new tastes, new styles of cooking, new flavors until the time comes you’ll finally get your tongue on the yummiest dish. Life seems to go that way, you must continue to explore for new adventures, new people, and new problems until the time comes you’ll finally get your feet on the ground you choose to go steady on.
Before the day ended, we joined the thousands of people vying for a perfect spot overlooking the old domestic airport for the much awaited fireworks display. My eyes were glued, they were like stars dancing on a stage of a flawless black sky; they were like paint blobs sketched on a canvass of a clear night. The field echoed in howls of amusement and awe. I thought of the application those fireworks had in real life, at first I concluded it was: Good things never last. As you see it exploding in the night sky, the glittering glow lures you to reach for it and be captivated with its glimmer but in the end you’ll realize it eventually fades in the night sky, leaving gray smog. But, the thing about fireworks is even though it only lives for a few seconds, you’ll remember its fountain of ember and glow for quite a long time. My adventure for that day was like the splendor display of fireworks, although it just lasted for some fourteen hours, a life time of realizations and memories will be kept sealed in my treasure chest of experiences.
There were random ideas, varying thoughts, and surprisingly long term insights on simple experiences of bubbles, face paintings, lunch and even fireworks. But, the whole day was more than complete. Not just because of street dancing, celebrities on caravans or midnight sales in department stores but because somewhere among those thumping drums is a true and genuine smile on each of our faces.
So, next year?
Same Time?
Same Place?
Iloilo, dagyang ta!
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
The streets of downtown Iloilo couldn’t have been more festive. Drums roared in thumping rhythms while chants echoed in jovial tempos; no one could help but just tap to the beat. Costumes of street dancers flowed with colors while their dancing feet marched with grace; every eye was captivated in a fiesta of cheer. Food along the sidewalks led to a yummy bag of peanuts or a mouth watering stick of grilled native chicken. Avenues were closed, intersections were railed and one-ways were implemented, temporarily forgetting a week of busy traffic and hectic work for two days of fun and festivity. In my case, a brain draining week of midterms just ended, and there’s no better way to shove off the remaining jibes due to a 150 item anatomy exam than two words, “dagyang ta.”
My green tennis shoes brought me and some of my classmates to every nook and corner, and for each stop were a simple flicker of thought that would last until the next time Dagoy visits Iloilo again. 10 pesos worth of Bubbles filled the humid air; we were like pre-schoolers who found delight in blowing and popping floating soap balloons. Everyone needs some time out and be like little kids running around in circles, momentarily forgetting the pressures of bills to pay, scholarships to maintain, business proposals to push through. Take a deep breath, sigh a little, problems never cease, a truckload of new ones will come barging at your door next week.
They decided for face painting, I never really like to have one, but still went along. I was amused at how some blobs of poster paint and some twists and flicks of the paintbrush became the next fashion accessory at that very moment. The whole celebration for the holy child seems so grandeur and festive but notice how simple are the parts that make it whole. Music, dance steps, food, bubbles and poster paint; we see, hear, smell, taste and touch them every day but common as they are, when viewed as full brings to life the best Tourism Event in the country. You’ll never really appreciate a face painting until it’s all drawn up and done.
Whenever there is fiesta, there shall be food. Whenever there is food, there I shall be. We trailed towards a food chain that some of us didn’t even know existed. Taking a break from fast foods wouldn’t hurt; a broiled seasoned tangige and an exceptionally tasty tinolang manok would get your taste buds going. With food, the best experience is to continue on exploring for new tastes, new styles of cooking, new flavors until the time comes you’ll finally get your tongue on the yummiest dish. Life seems to go that way, you must continue to explore for new adventures, new people, and new problems until the time comes you’ll finally get your feet on the ground you choose to go steady on.
Before the day ended, we joined the thousands of people vying for a perfect spot overlooking the old domestic airport for the much awaited fireworks display. My eyes were glued, they were like stars dancing on a stage of a flawless black sky; they were like paint blobs sketched on a canvass of a clear night. The field echoed in howls of amusement and awe. I thought of the application those fireworks had in real life, at first I concluded it was: Good things never last. As you see it exploding in the night sky, the glittering glow lures you to reach for it and be captivated with its glimmer but in the end you’ll realize it eventually fades in the night sky, leaving gray smog. But, the thing about fireworks is even though it only lives for a few seconds, you’ll remember its fountain of ember and glow for quite a long time. My adventure for that day was like the splendor display of fireworks, although it just lasted for some fourteen hours, a life time of realizations and memories will be kept sealed in my treasure chest of experiences.
There were random ideas, varying thoughts, and surprisingly long term insights on simple experiences of bubbles, face paintings, lunch and even fireworks. But, the whole day was more than complete. Not just because of street dancing, celebrities on caravans or midnight sales in department stores but because somewhere among those thumping drums is a true and genuine smile on each of our faces.
So, next year?
Same Time?
Same Place?
Iloilo, dagyang ta!
Dollars for You (January 22,2008)
Dollars for You
By Maria Reylan M. Garcia
A few Sundays ago, when my family and I attended mass to celebrate the feast of the Holy Family; the priest, during his homily, fulfilled the simple wish of a Filipina domestic helper back in Hong Kong. She was a mother who against all odds, dragged her suit case to a foreign land and literally scrubbed for money in order to send to her hopeful family. This woman’s wish was to let her children know her work in Hong Kong is nowhere near easy and they have to always put that in mind. It is not easy when the toilet disinfectants, use to clean rest rooms, would creased her hands into what appears to be decaying. All for the love of family, this cliché compresses the daily struggles of each domestic helper, and basically each overseas Filipino worker. I looked around the multitude of people hearing mass, and believe that more than half of the crowd have either mothers, fathers, siblings or children scattered in all corners of the globe, with just about the same condition of that simple woman who scrubs for her family.
Every person would agree that the family is the ironically abstract force that gives the individual a concrete reason to battle out the cruelty of life. What more is life’s cruelty other than poverty? Hearing your children’s tuition increase by some ten percent, forces you to read the classified ads for some recruiting agency. Seeing how more and more basins and buckets line in your living room catching rainwater from a leaking ceiling, compels you to accept the job offer in some country you never even know existed. Being aware how your mother’s struggle against diabetes have continuously pained her, eventually made you pack your suit case and board the next flight to who knows where and start wiping the poop out of some foreigners behind. Then, coming back home after a few years you’re standing outside your mansion where a rickety shack used to be, smiling that everything was worth it.
But you know what bugs me? Some people back here doesn’t seem to care at all. Though I may not narrate the specific tiresome experiences those workers abroad have, all testimonials from OFWs alike share the same thought; their work is never easy. A little appreciation and respect would go a long way. But, as dad works under the scourging Middle East heat in a construction site, his party going daughter back home spend relentlessly his hard earn dinars on the latest wardrobe of dresses she’ll be using on night outs, instead of saving them up for her college expenses. But, as mom has her duty on freezing nights in a New York hospital, her son back home charge away her hard earn dollars on the latest gadgets he’ll be bragging to his classmates the next day at school. But, as first born Nene takes care of some cranky senior citizens in London, her mom and dad back home continuously talk to her by broadband to send more money so as to finish the talk of the barrio mansion their building. As I’ve said, a little appreciation and respect would definitely go a long way.
When your mom, dad or child goes home with a truckload of balikbayan boxes, I can assure you not one of those items inside are out of some happy go lucky life abroad. I took up Nursing to go abroad and get a high paying job, I won’t deny that. But, I’m not one of the many who were forced and brain washed by their families and pushed to their very limits to provide better lives for them. My parents told me that I should be pursuing my course not for them, but for myself and my future family. This thought fuels me to strive on the career I chose, not pressured but inspired to continue. Many others were oceans away because of pressure, yet I salute them because considering the number of years they spent in search for a greener pasture, a quarter of their lives has already been taken away from their very own selves. Some years that should have been for their own pampering and individual joys, then again, seeing their children or their parents smile and contented of their new lives, is already the pampering joy fulfilling them.
Yes, your parents and children may be sending their pictures taken from Disneyland or the Grand Canyon posing like life is as sweet as the chocolate bars their sending back here. Better take another look. Yes, your parents and children may be smiling wide while talking on webcams with you assuring you, that they’re having a fun time. Don’t conclude just yet.
Respect your parents and what they earn.
Appreciate your children and what they give.
Their works are never easy.
I’ll prove to you someday.
By Maria Reylan M. Garcia
A few Sundays ago, when my family and I attended mass to celebrate the feast of the Holy Family; the priest, during his homily, fulfilled the simple wish of a Filipina domestic helper back in Hong Kong. She was a mother who against all odds, dragged her suit case to a foreign land and literally scrubbed for money in order to send to her hopeful family. This woman’s wish was to let her children know her work in Hong Kong is nowhere near easy and they have to always put that in mind. It is not easy when the toilet disinfectants, use to clean rest rooms, would creased her hands into what appears to be decaying. All for the love of family, this cliché compresses the daily struggles of each domestic helper, and basically each overseas Filipino worker. I looked around the multitude of people hearing mass, and believe that more than half of the crowd have either mothers, fathers, siblings or children scattered in all corners of the globe, with just about the same condition of that simple woman who scrubs for her family.
Every person would agree that the family is the ironically abstract force that gives the individual a concrete reason to battle out the cruelty of life. What more is life’s cruelty other than poverty? Hearing your children’s tuition increase by some ten percent, forces you to read the classified ads for some recruiting agency. Seeing how more and more basins and buckets line in your living room catching rainwater from a leaking ceiling, compels you to accept the job offer in some country you never even know existed. Being aware how your mother’s struggle against diabetes have continuously pained her, eventually made you pack your suit case and board the next flight to who knows where and start wiping the poop out of some foreigners behind. Then, coming back home after a few years you’re standing outside your mansion where a rickety shack used to be, smiling that everything was worth it.
But you know what bugs me? Some people back here doesn’t seem to care at all. Though I may not narrate the specific tiresome experiences those workers abroad have, all testimonials from OFWs alike share the same thought; their work is never easy. A little appreciation and respect would go a long way. But, as dad works under the scourging Middle East heat in a construction site, his party going daughter back home spend relentlessly his hard earn dinars on the latest wardrobe of dresses she’ll be using on night outs, instead of saving them up for her college expenses. But, as mom has her duty on freezing nights in a New York hospital, her son back home charge away her hard earn dollars on the latest gadgets he’ll be bragging to his classmates the next day at school. But, as first born Nene takes care of some cranky senior citizens in London, her mom and dad back home continuously talk to her by broadband to send more money so as to finish the talk of the barrio mansion their building. As I’ve said, a little appreciation and respect would definitely go a long way.
When your mom, dad or child goes home with a truckload of balikbayan boxes, I can assure you not one of those items inside are out of some happy go lucky life abroad. I took up Nursing to go abroad and get a high paying job, I won’t deny that. But, I’m not one of the many who were forced and brain washed by their families and pushed to their very limits to provide better lives for them. My parents told me that I should be pursuing my course not for them, but for myself and my future family. This thought fuels me to strive on the career I chose, not pressured but inspired to continue. Many others were oceans away because of pressure, yet I salute them because considering the number of years they spent in search for a greener pasture, a quarter of their lives has already been taken away from their very own selves. Some years that should have been for their own pampering and individual joys, then again, seeing their children or their parents smile and contented of their new lives, is already the pampering joy fulfilling them.
Yes, your parents and children may be sending their pictures taken from Disneyland or the Grand Canyon posing like life is as sweet as the chocolate bars their sending back here. Better take another look. Yes, your parents and children may be smiling wide while talking on webcams with you assuring you, that they’re having a fun time. Don’t conclude just yet.
Respect your parents and what they earn.
Appreciate your children and what they give.
Their works are never easy.
I’ll prove to you someday.
How 'I Love You' becomes complicated (January 14, 2008)
How ‘I Love You’ becomes complicated
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
What if one day someone told you; “Alas, my sagacity has comprehended the convolution of the physiological progressions relentlessly functioning medial to the membranes of my pericardial cavities. Indeed, the continual projection of acetylcholine escalating the throbbing of my cardiac muscles has been an observable phenomenon that has persistently dwelled upon my cranial region seemingly encroaching the hemispheres of my intellect.” Could you hang on for a minute, blood’s rushing out of my nose. Seriously, what he simply want to say is, I love you. If someone would propose to me blubbering those apparently nose-bleeding words, I’d rather grow old unwed. I have nothing against the use words that will force you to buy the latest dictionaries, I know a lot of people who are so fond of using them, even I myself am guilty of muttering some words alien to the average society. But, to recite a thesis report during the night you’ll be waiting for her sweet yes and I do, I say forget it.
Making simple things complicated, here’s a talent almost all of us had practiced to perfection. Situations that can be solve with a frank yet peaceful conversation usually leads to a legal yet chaotic session in the courtroom. A few weeks ago, nothing but private owned vehicles roamed the streets of Iloilo city and province. The two-day transport strike painted the overwhelming smiles on the faces of students who had been spared from the hassle of waking up early. Yet, sketched the distress on the weary faces of some families who for two days will have to tighten their belts because their father joined the cry of his fellow drivers. The roads were paralyzed for a single reason, to ask for a roll back on the price of gasoline.
If only I took up a major in Economics then I’d be able to react more vividly. Yet, with my frail understanding, I see this to be quite simple and making it complicated would get us nowhere. I don’t consider this a petty matter but, some case simple enough to have some doable alternatives rather than paralyzing both the streets, as well as the lives of commuters. As I understand we don’t have much control on the regulation of oil prices or anything that we import to our country, so sacrificing two days of not routing the streets for a seemingly hopeless objective would soon turned out to be, unfortunately, immobile. We tend to complicate instances that could actually be done in a simple way, avoiding the negative blobs to both yourself and the larger group.
Let the simple things remain simple. Look at the traffic flow in the highways of Iloilo, for such a small and barely urbanized locality, the commotion is darker than the filthy soot. I see a lot of public utility jeepneys paying no attention to road signs, loading in places that are prone to slow traffic. Every one wants to get some meters ahead, overtaking three consecutive cars in a row, worse, in a rascal manner. Both sprinkle the sundae of a sluggish-decongesting vehicle flow. Let’s pretend I’m some guy those PUJ’s follow and eventually made them obey those simple traffic rules what would become of them? A driver’s six roundtrips for his whole day may be raised to some nine or ten roundtrips, adding up to his minimum profit. An increase in profit to equalize the steady increase of gasoline purchase won’t be a bad thing right? Simple problems have simple solutions. Although, it may not be a solution but it’s a start, compared to wasting away in the deserted roads a two-day’s profit.
A lot of articles other than mine may provide the best of the best theoretical solutions and mature viewpoints. I can’t argue, since I can’t give what I don’t have. Yet, I think more people would appreciate and to the extent, understand a simple I love you rather than a cluster of utterances clogged in an abandoned lexicon that only scribes of astonishing mental power have convened to employ and utilize in the daily existence of a struggling homo sapien sapien.
When you talk about stuff that is beyond the tangible reality, you’ll appear delusional and psychotic nowadays. Try murmuring simple, practical and lay terminologies; you’ll be surprise that the average Juan de la Cruz will appreciate you more. As everyone had concluded, the world is complicated, why make it more complicated? Remember, priceless pieces of jewelry that’ll rip off millionaire’s pockets, are stored inside simple and small boxes. Great things show up for simple yet real and feasible strivings.
The next time someone asks you if saying “I love you” could get anymore complicated, you know the drill.
And thus, my phalangeal region owe much gratitude to the invariable function of contractile proteins following such unvarying typing that—who am I kidding? In non-nosebleed terms I mean, my fingers are tired of typing.
Keep it simple.
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
What if one day someone told you; “Alas, my sagacity has comprehended the convolution of the physiological progressions relentlessly functioning medial to the membranes of my pericardial cavities. Indeed, the continual projection of acetylcholine escalating the throbbing of my cardiac muscles has been an observable phenomenon that has persistently dwelled upon my cranial region seemingly encroaching the hemispheres of my intellect.” Could you hang on for a minute, blood’s rushing out of my nose. Seriously, what he simply want to say is, I love you. If someone would propose to me blubbering those apparently nose-bleeding words, I’d rather grow old unwed. I have nothing against the use words that will force you to buy the latest dictionaries, I know a lot of people who are so fond of using them, even I myself am guilty of muttering some words alien to the average society. But, to recite a thesis report during the night you’ll be waiting for her sweet yes and I do, I say forget it.
Making simple things complicated, here’s a talent almost all of us had practiced to perfection. Situations that can be solve with a frank yet peaceful conversation usually leads to a legal yet chaotic session in the courtroom. A few weeks ago, nothing but private owned vehicles roamed the streets of Iloilo city and province. The two-day transport strike painted the overwhelming smiles on the faces of students who had been spared from the hassle of waking up early. Yet, sketched the distress on the weary faces of some families who for two days will have to tighten their belts because their father joined the cry of his fellow drivers. The roads were paralyzed for a single reason, to ask for a roll back on the price of gasoline.
If only I took up a major in Economics then I’d be able to react more vividly. Yet, with my frail understanding, I see this to be quite simple and making it complicated would get us nowhere. I don’t consider this a petty matter but, some case simple enough to have some doable alternatives rather than paralyzing both the streets, as well as the lives of commuters. As I understand we don’t have much control on the regulation of oil prices or anything that we import to our country, so sacrificing two days of not routing the streets for a seemingly hopeless objective would soon turned out to be, unfortunately, immobile. We tend to complicate instances that could actually be done in a simple way, avoiding the negative blobs to both yourself and the larger group.
Let the simple things remain simple. Look at the traffic flow in the highways of Iloilo, for such a small and barely urbanized locality, the commotion is darker than the filthy soot. I see a lot of public utility jeepneys paying no attention to road signs, loading in places that are prone to slow traffic. Every one wants to get some meters ahead, overtaking three consecutive cars in a row, worse, in a rascal manner. Both sprinkle the sundae of a sluggish-decongesting vehicle flow. Let’s pretend I’m some guy those PUJ’s follow and eventually made them obey those simple traffic rules what would become of them? A driver’s six roundtrips for his whole day may be raised to some nine or ten roundtrips, adding up to his minimum profit. An increase in profit to equalize the steady increase of gasoline purchase won’t be a bad thing right? Simple problems have simple solutions. Although, it may not be a solution but it’s a start, compared to wasting away in the deserted roads a two-day’s profit.
A lot of articles other than mine may provide the best of the best theoretical solutions and mature viewpoints. I can’t argue, since I can’t give what I don’t have. Yet, I think more people would appreciate and to the extent, understand a simple I love you rather than a cluster of utterances clogged in an abandoned lexicon that only scribes of astonishing mental power have convened to employ and utilize in the daily existence of a struggling homo sapien sapien.
When you talk about stuff that is beyond the tangible reality, you’ll appear delusional and psychotic nowadays. Try murmuring simple, practical and lay terminologies; you’ll be surprise that the average Juan de la Cruz will appreciate you more. As everyone had concluded, the world is complicated, why make it more complicated? Remember, priceless pieces of jewelry that’ll rip off millionaire’s pockets, are stored inside simple and small boxes. Great things show up for simple yet real and feasible strivings.
The next time someone asks you if saying “I love you” could get anymore complicated, you know the drill.
And thus, my phalangeal region owe much gratitude to the invariable function of contractile proteins following such unvarying typing that—who am I kidding? In non-nosebleed terms I mean, my fingers are tired of typing.
Keep it simple.
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