My brother Ramon
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I stood in front of the nursery room; my six year old self had never felt so excited. I have been trying to get the nurse’s attention for quite some time; there were awfully a lot of crying babies keeping her busy. I turned to my father, who was as eager as I am, asked him for the name card and flashed it on the glass window. Then, seconds later a cute baby boy lying on his crib approached us, and greeted us with his constant yawns. My heart was so full that I wanted to go right pass the glass window and hug that cute little baby in my arms and whisper in his ears, hello my baby brother. Those were the days; eleven years had gone past so quickly that I never noticed how that adorable baby boy would soon turn out to be taller than I am. Those were the days; my baby brother now morphed into a non-stop irritatingly annoying machine who runs on lifetime batteries and main features are to bring bothersome torture and sibling dilemma to my life. Those were the days; that cuddly infant trying all his might to open and close his little fists, now once in a while hits his not so cuddly fists to my upper arm whenever I tease him crushing on a girl.
Being an elder sister isn’t as fun as it appears to be. Some may think the older ones are in control, can manipulate their younger pests – I mean siblings. Well, think again. Take my younger brother for example; my supposed to be semi-perfect day starts out all sunny and according to plan but after he gets on stealing my tv hours, bothering my study time and rampaging the refrigerator until no food is left, my day is as you would predict, ruined. How I hate it when he begs me to help him with his homework; because when I would mercifully do and solved it for him, he starts acting as if he already knows the answers in the first place and erased my existence from his stubborn little mind. If I were given the opportunity to write a resignation letter to the older brothers and sisters association of the universe, I would. If I can give you hundreds of reasons and explain them comprehensively in an unbiased level, I would. But you know what? I can’t. Better yet, I wouldn’t.
Although he would get too annoying and could often times blow up my nerves, science simply blurts out that blood is in fact denser than water. Yes, he may be the very definition of butt pains but when he gets all sentimental and brotherly he shoots bull’s eye at my weak point. I heard him on the phone one night, at first I thought he was probably bragging about how he captured the legendary what’s-his-name with a master ball in his pokemon game. But, he was bragging about someone otherwise. He was proudly telling his friend how I graduated in high school with honors and write decent articles. Just recently on my birthday, he surprised me with a hand made card with colorful stickers and a poem he personally made. I didn’t realize how he treasured those moments when I would sit down his side and help him with his homework. These are the times when this irritated and annoyed seventeen year old becomes a big sister to a wonderful baby brother.
My mother always told me that I should not be jealous of my brother. Yes, I too am a victim of sibling rivalry, but not in an intense degree. There were times I wondered why he gets higher grades even if he spends more time flicking the remote than the pages of his text books. There were times I wondered why he could easily play tunes on piano even if he heard the song just once, while if I would give it a try all I get is a plain sour and disfigured noise. But, a sister like me who has an incredible and talented brother should be more proud and less envious. I could not imagine being an only child, not that it’s boring or resentful because you got all the attention and love of your parents, but because of these simple reasons. It’s yummier to eat with a sibling even if you would get only a half of what you both are eating (or a fourth of it you are four siblings in the family). It’s more exciting to play chess with someone who laughs at your wrong moves and you won’t get hurt that much. It’s more fun to wake up every morning with an annoying eleven year old saying you look horrible and your breath stinks. It’s more meaningful to live a lifetime with someone calling you ate, manang, kuya, toto, or inday all throughout.
Today is my brother Ramon’s birthday. I am sure this mushy article of mine won’t change anything of our ruthless arguments and remote control debates but this will remind my little brother of how much I appreciate him, of how much my life was made more colorful now that he’s around.
It was eleven years ago that I became a sister.
I will forever be one.
Happy 11th Birthday Ramon Ariel Ken M. Garcia!
Laundry and Black Briefs (April 15,2008)
Laundry and Black Briefs
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Household chores, they make up the list of good deeds little children send to North Pole weeks before Christmas. Household chores, they are part of a month’s worth of torture after dad says you’re grounded. Household chores, they are the conditions before your thumbs get to work on game boys and your wallets filled with allowance. Sometimes a helpless grounded kid might wonder, if these chores were really intended for house keeping, or are they just the next in thing for parents who’d like to torture their children with the slow and burning pain of boredom. Yet, sometimes a bored seventeen year old who has nothing to do on a two month long summer vacation might wonder, if these chores are more than meets the eye.
My mother couldn’t force me to do the laundry or tidy up my bed on school days even if I presume she had been trying to. I simply couldn’t afford to spend some thirty minutes watching a washing machine rotating red boxer shorts, black briefs and a pair of knee socks clockwise and counterclockwise. I would rather spend those thirty minutes ravaging my textbook in chemistry. But now that vacation defines more free time and a break from all brain chores, I took the liberty of trying my skills in laundry, sweeping, fixing beds and those that are yet to come.
A lot of people take household chores for granted, seeing these tasks to be quite lenient and ordinary. I would be a hypocrite if I would deny that sometime ago I did not appreciate much my mother’s effort on keeping our home in order. But a couple of spins made me value more their importance. The steamy rice we see on our tables every meal time. Yes, it may take just some minutes to wash the grains and several more to cook them but someone’s effort of remembering to cook rice for us is not a simple act, especially if this someone wasn’t paid to do so. The shirts we wear and our habit of digging our noses to get a sniff of the detergent’s fragrance. Yes, it may take just two cups of laundry powder and a number of spins to finish them up and hang them dry but someone’s effort of getting those hard-to-get stains off is not a simple act, especially if only a fifth of those washed clothes belonged to that someone.
If it is that menial to do household chores, why do people continually hire housekeepers? We always get that notion of household chores being inferior compared to other tasks. I beg to differ. That hearty and yummy breakfast laid on the table keeps dad fueled up for work for the rest of the day. That cleaned and ironed uniform worn by junior on school days gets him the confidence to raise his right arm and answer the teacher’s question. We tend to disregard the huge value little things such as doing laundry and cooking up rice does. I guess one should get their hands soaked up in soapy water before they could see its significance.
Responsibility, now that is one thing these household chores teach us. I seemed to be programmed in some way that every five o’clock in the after noon, the hour is solely between me and my machine, my washing machine. It even gives me more satisfaction after seeing my mother smile at me, as she now irons the clothes I previously washed and hanged dry. Summer is just a matter of two months, and after which I’ll be back to my hermit self, isolating from the actual world as I dig on my newly bought text books. I may not be certain if could help my mother in the chores as I would do this vacation. I am not that sure if I could spare another thirty minutes to spin some black briefs and red boxer shorts clean on a night before my midterms. But, I am definite that every morning before going to school I won’t forget to thank my mother for waking up even earlier to cook up breakfast. I am certain that every time I’d stain my white uniform I will feel more depressed than I once did. I am sure that from now on household chores won’t be just some good deed list a kid makes for Santa Claus.
Got nothing to do this summer?
Fix your bed. Cook Rice.
They aren’t so boring after all.
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Household chores, they make up the list of good deeds little children send to North Pole weeks before Christmas. Household chores, they are part of a month’s worth of torture after dad says you’re grounded. Household chores, they are the conditions before your thumbs get to work on game boys and your wallets filled with allowance. Sometimes a helpless grounded kid might wonder, if these chores were really intended for house keeping, or are they just the next in thing for parents who’d like to torture their children with the slow and burning pain of boredom. Yet, sometimes a bored seventeen year old who has nothing to do on a two month long summer vacation might wonder, if these chores are more than meets the eye.
My mother couldn’t force me to do the laundry or tidy up my bed on school days even if I presume she had been trying to. I simply couldn’t afford to spend some thirty minutes watching a washing machine rotating red boxer shorts, black briefs and a pair of knee socks clockwise and counterclockwise. I would rather spend those thirty minutes ravaging my textbook in chemistry. But now that vacation defines more free time and a break from all brain chores, I took the liberty of trying my skills in laundry, sweeping, fixing beds and those that are yet to come.
A lot of people take household chores for granted, seeing these tasks to be quite lenient and ordinary. I would be a hypocrite if I would deny that sometime ago I did not appreciate much my mother’s effort on keeping our home in order. But a couple of spins made me value more their importance. The steamy rice we see on our tables every meal time. Yes, it may take just some minutes to wash the grains and several more to cook them but someone’s effort of remembering to cook rice for us is not a simple act, especially if this someone wasn’t paid to do so. The shirts we wear and our habit of digging our noses to get a sniff of the detergent’s fragrance. Yes, it may take just two cups of laundry powder and a number of spins to finish them up and hang them dry but someone’s effort of getting those hard-to-get stains off is not a simple act, especially if only a fifth of those washed clothes belonged to that someone.
If it is that menial to do household chores, why do people continually hire housekeepers? We always get that notion of household chores being inferior compared to other tasks. I beg to differ. That hearty and yummy breakfast laid on the table keeps dad fueled up for work for the rest of the day. That cleaned and ironed uniform worn by junior on school days gets him the confidence to raise his right arm and answer the teacher’s question. We tend to disregard the huge value little things such as doing laundry and cooking up rice does. I guess one should get their hands soaked up in soapy water before they could see its significance.
Responsibility, now that is one thing these household chores teach us. I seemed to be programmed in some way that every five o’clock in the after noon, the hour is solely between me and my machine, my washing machine. It even gives me more satisfaction after seeing my mother smile at me, as she now irons the clothes I previously washed and hanged dry. Summer is just a matter of two months, and after which I’ll be back to my hermit self, isolating from the actual world as I dig on my newly bought text books. I may not be certain if could help my mother in the chores as I would do this vacation. I am not that sure if I could spare another thirty minutes to spin some black briefs and red boxer shorts clean on a night before my midterms. But, I am definite that every morning before going to school I won’t forget to thank my mother for waking up even earlier to cook up breakfast. I am certain that every time I’d stain my white uniform I will feel more depressed than I once did. I am sure that from now on household chores won’t be just some good deed list a kid makes for Santa Claus.
Got nothing to do this summer?
Fix your bed. Cook Rice.
They aren’t so boring after all.
The Kalesa's Competence (April 8,2008)
The Kalesa’s Competence
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
She stood at the middle of the studio. I was sitting crossed-legged on the bed, hugging my pillow. Her face was wrinkled in tension; her knees wobbled in fear and her fingernails already nibbled in anxiety. I seemed to have finished two packs of potato chips; I took the remote control and adjusted the volume. The quizmaster repeated the question once more; he seems to be pleased at how the lady trembles in apprehension. I held my fingers crossed and kept on repeating the correct answer, as I knew it too well. She gulped heavily and wiped her hands soaked in sweat, pulled out her index finger and pushed the button. I heaved a sigh of disappointment, stripped open the third junk food and watch her lose the one hundred thousand dollar question. Often times you just can’t help but to virtually join the contestant on television and pretend you’re in the quiz show too. That lady proved to be competitive for reaching such a high level, while I proved to be competent for answering rightly that question.
Competent and Competitive, the root word seems to be similar but after adding some affixes the meaning repels each other. The lady was competitive as she was in the zone of proving to millions of viewers that she is intelligent and is worth that one hundred thousand dollars. I was competent as I was in the zone of proving to myself I knew the answer even if no one was with me at that time. Competence is different from competition, and most of time, we tend to interchange their definitions. The way I see it, you can be competent without being competitive, but you can’t be competitive without being competent. There are only few competent people who decide to remain competent rather than competitive, I admire them. But, a large number of people are nowhere near competent but decide to be competitive, I wonder why.
Forgive my ecstatic mind, I see things differently. Our society has a nature to be competitive, so we train and exhaust more effort to bring out the best and the most exemplary produce that we can offer to global market. But, competence lies on satisfaction and confidence with oneself, without it one will just remain to be competitive, to do all means to run ahead of everybody. A competent person has that knowledge that he is competent and whether he competes or not, he’s assured of himself that sooner or later he can be a self actualized individual. I see 1,289 new lawyers joining the law firms of our country and abroad, may they be more competent and less competitive. The have proven themselves competitive besting the other 4,337 others who failed to procure the title of attorney, but competence lies in each of their own workplaces, of their relation to others, of their consistency, of their satisfaction.
I admit, I always wanted to be the best. Who doesn’t? In each of us lies a spirited urge of competition. I wanted to run ahead of everyone. I get competitive. But you know what, at the end of the day those medals, promotions, and even cash prizes would simply be temporary. Sure everyone left behind you will admire you for your amazing accomplishments but, it will only last for some minutes and hours. The next year there will come more competition, more achievers such as yourself who’ll run the race like you did, thus you won’t stop from racing and being competitive. Being competent is also competing, but it is a competition with no other contestants rather than yourself.
If we continue to be competitive, we might lose track of our own competition and in the end wonder why even if we got everything we raced for, none seem to be satisfying. There is a great lesson we see from our local kalesas. You know why there’s a pair of covering called blinders or winkers that forbids the horses to look on the sides? Their drivers wanted them to remain focused on the road, refrain from looking at other kalesas so they won’t compete against them, and blinding them from all the distractions. Yes, their drivers wanted them to be competent kalesas rather than competitive kalesas.
There’s a difference between competitive and competent.
The latter seems better.
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
She stood at the middle of the studio. I was sitting crossed-legged on the bed, hugging my pillow. Her face was wrinkled in tension; her knees wobbled in fear and her fingernails already nibbled in anxiety. I seemed to have finished two packs of potato chips; I took the remote control and adjusted the volume. The quizmaster repeated the question once more; he seems to be pleased at how the lady trembles in apprehension. I held my fingers crossed and kept on repeating the correct answer, as I knew it too well. She gulped heavily and wiped her hands soaked in sweat, pulled out her index finger and pushed the button. I heaved a sigh of disappointment, stripped open the third junk food and watch her lose the one hundred thousand dollar question. Often times you just can’t help but to virtually join the contestant on television and pretend you’re in the quiz show too. That lady proved to be competitive for reaching such a high level, while I proved to be competent for answering rightly that question.
Competent and Competitive, the root word seems to be similar but after adding some affixes the meaning repels each other. The lady was competitive as she was in the zone of proving to millions of viewers that she is intelligent and is worth that one hundred thousand dollars. I was competent as I was in the zone of proving to myself I knew the answer even if no one was with me at that time. Competence is different from competition, and most of time, we tend to interchange their definitions. The way I see it, you can be competent without being competitive, but you can’t be competitive without being competent. There are only few competent people who decide to remain competent rather than competitive, I admire them. But, a large number of people are nowhere near competent but decide to be competitive, I wonder why.
Forgive my ecstatic mind, I see things differently. Our society has a nature to be competitive, so we train and exhaust more effort to bring out the best and the most exemplary produce that we can offer to global market. But, competence lies on satisfaction and confidence with oneself, without it one will just remain to be competitive, to do all means to run ahead of everybody. A competent person has that knowledge that he is competent and whether he competes or not, he’s assured of himself that sooner or later he can be a self actualized individual. I see 1,289 new lawyers joining the law firms of our country and abroad, may they be more competent and less competitive. The have proven themselves competitive besting the other 4,337 others who failed to procure the title of attorney, but competence lies in each of their own workplaces, of their relation to others, of their consistency, of their satisfaction.
I admit, I always wanted to be the best. Who doesn’t? In each of us lies a spirited urge of competition. I wanted to run ahead of everyone. I get competitive. But you know what, at the end of the day those medals, promotions, and even cash prizes would simply be temporary. Sure everyone left behind you will admire you for your amazing accomplishments but, it will only last for some minutes and hours. The next year there will come more competition, more achievers such as yourself who’ll run the race like you did, thus you won’t stop from racing and being competitive. Being competent is also competing, but it is a competition with no other contestants rather than yourself.
If we continue to be competitive, we might lose track of our own competition and in the end wonder why even if we got everything we raced for, none seem to be satisfying. There is a great lesson we see from our local kalesas. You know why there’s a pair of covering called blinders or winkers that forbids the horses to look on the sides? Their drivers wanted them to remain focused on the road, refrain from looking at other kalesas so they won’t compete against them, and blinding them from all the distractions. Yes, their drivers wanted them to be competent kalesas rather than competitive kalesas.
There’s a difference between competitive and competent.
The latter seems better.
Birthday Presence (April 1,2008)
Birthday Presence
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Colorful triangular flaglets proudly bear a commercial sponsor’s logo and hang with entwining electrical lines. Ferris wheels, roller coasters and merry-go-rounds keep the nearby plaza crowded with people. Drumbeats and xylophone chimes join the tossing and turning of majorette batons each contributing to the jovial music that fills the streets with cheer. Mouthwatering festive foods abound in almost all houses, as well as the guests. These describe a typical Filipino fiesta, one custom that’s unique to the Philippines. It’s a festivity where everyone gets to make use of aluminum wraps for take home, have a VIP pass to almost any house in the community, and crown the most attractive lady as queen. Just a week ago, I hosted a barangay fiesta’s coronation night. There were gowns bathe in glittering designs and for a few hours the barangay transformed to a royal monarchy with five princesses and a queen. But as I had the bird’s eye view on stage, I saw more than tiaras and scepters.
There were limited chairs reserved for some particular guests distinguished with garlands, while the rest of the not so particular audience stayed at the back, standing all throughout the program. Wait, wasn’t this a barangay fiesta? Isn’t this celebration more intended for the residents and less to the so called guests? The fiesta commemorates the history and culture of the place, how it came it be and the lifestyle of its people. From how I see it, a fiesta resembles a birthday celebration; a special day not of the guests but of someone who’ll blow the candles on the cake. It’s a pity the birthday celebrators were left to stand at the back, unnoticed and left out while the guests take center stage and enjoy the limelight.
There was disappointment in the eyes of the audience after realizing the guest they’re all waiting for failed to come and grace the event. Streamers with large striking fonts of guest’s name filled every corner of the barangay showing how much anticipation everyone felt. I salute that guest for doing such an amazing job of crushing these poor people’s hearts. To add to that, I applaud to that guest for making my job as host for that night more difficult, as that remarkable guest suppose to be in almost all parts of the program. Say goodbye to scripted and prepared hosting, and say hello to impromptu and panic blabber. A people’s hope is like a balloon, as it grows in strength it fills up and expands beautifully but when you pop it obliviously it explodes in the most repulsive way you could possibly think of, yes it becomes nagging, clamor, rallies, uprisings, revolts and sometimes petitions for impeachment.
I couldn’t put all of the blame to our culture; we are, as you would expect, impeccably hospitable and self-sacrificing. But, let us not forget the most basic principle of living; give when you have something to give. Let us provide ourselves with decent chairs first before letting other people sit in an expensive couch. It may appear to be a saint-like quality we Filipinos practice, but sad to say, in the end that generosity we give is often times abused and taken advantage of. We give and give and leave nothing to ourselves, but those people who have received from us don’t usually do the same thing. This, I believe is not selfishness, it’s just a simple thing I call justice. Those people whom we look up to, those people who we wish could lead us, those guests we treasure, may they realize that sometimes simple acts like attending a barangay coronation night and staying for a while would save an average man’s hopes of being a few meters away from a human being he admires. Mr. Honorable, please believe a seventeen year old when she says, spare a little time from your busy and hectic schedule to smile and wave at some hundreds of excited people who also spared a little time from their busy and hectic schedule just to see you.
These coming months celebrates most of the country’s fiestas and festivals. I hope the next time I host a coronation night there will be more seats enough for everyone to sit. I hope the streamers and welcoming marching bands will not be wasted in regrets and disappointments.
I see no logic of giving the best if we haven’t receive the best in the first place.
The birthday celebrants deserve more than your presents.
They need your presence.
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Colorful triangular flaglets proudly bear a commercial sponsor’s logo and hang with entwining electrical lines. Ferris wheels, roller coasters and merry-go-rounds keep the nearby plaza crowded with people. Drumbeats and xylophone chimes join the tossing and turning of majorette batons each contributing to the jovial music that fills the streets with cheer. Mouthwatering festive foods abound in almost all houses, as well as the guests. These describe a typical Filipino fiesta, one custom that’s unique to the Philippines. It’s a festivity where everyone gets to make use of aluminum wraps for take home, have a VIP pass to almost any house in the community, and crown the most attractive lady as queen. Just a week ago, I hosted a barangay fiesta’s coronation night. There were gowns bathe in glittering designs and for a few hours the barangay transformed to a royal monarchy with five princesses and a queen. But as I had the bird’s eye view on stage, I saw more than tiaras and scepters.
There were limited chairs reserved for some particular guests distinguished with garlands, while the rest of the not so particular audience stayed at the back, standing all throughout the program. Wait, wasn’t this a barangay fiesta? Isn’t this celebration more intended for the residents and less to the so called guests? The fiesta commemorates the history and culture of the place, how it came it be and the lifestyle of its people. From how I see it, a fiesta resembles a birthday celebration; a special day not of the guests but of someone who’ll blow the candles on the cake. It’s a pity the birthday celebrators were left to stand at the back, unnoticed and left out while the guests take center stage and enjoy the limelight.
There was disappointment in the eyes of the audience after realizing the guest they’re all waiting for failed to come and grace the event. Streamers with large striking fonts of guest’s name filled every corner of the barangay showing how much anticipation everyone felt. I salute that guest for doing such an amazing job of crushing these poor people’s hearts. To add to that, I applaud to that guest for making my job as host for that night more difficult, as that remarkable guest suppose to be in almost all parts of the program. Say goodbye to scripted and prepared hosting, and say hello to impromptu and panic blabber. A people’s hope is like a balloon, as it grows in strength it fills up and expands beautifully but when you pop it obliviously it explodes in the most repulsive way you could possibly think of, yes it becomes nagging, clamor, rallies, uprisings, revolts and sometimes petitions for impeachment.
I couldn’t put all of the blame to our culture; we are, as you would expect, impeccably hospitable and self-sacrificing. But, let us not forget the most basic principle of living; give when you have something to give. Let us provide ourselves with decent chairs first before letting other people sit in an expensive couch. It may appear to be a saint-like quality we Filipinos practice, but sad to say, in the end that generosity we give is often times abused and taken advantage of. We give and give and leave nothing to ourselves, but those people who have received from us don’t usually do the same thing. This, I believe is not selfishness, it’s just a simple thing I call justice. Those people whom we look up to, those people who we wish could lead us, those guests we treasure, may they realize that sometimes simple acts like attending a barangay coronation night and staying for a while would save an average man’s hopes of being a few meters away from a human being he admires. Mr. Honorable, please believe a seventeen year old when she says, spare a little time from your busy and hectic schedule to smile and wave at some hundreds of excited people who also spared a little time from their busy and hectic schedule just to see you.
These coming months celebrates most of the country’s fiestas and festivals. I hope the next time I host a coronation night there will be more seats enough for everyone to sit. I hope the streamers and welcoming marching bands will not be wasted in regrets and disappointments.
I see no logic of giving the best if we haven’t receive the best in the first place.
The birthday celebrants deserve more than your presents.
They need your presence.
A Parent's Promise (March 25,2008)
A Parent's Promise
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
A close friend once shared his high school graduation memories. He was at the podium on stage, neatly dressed with hair gelled, and standing in front of an audience of parents. Among the crowd, one woman stood out, for she worn differently among the rest. While others wrap themselves around branded and customized long gowns and tuxedos, this woman remained in a simple casual dress. But all the sparkling diamonds and flowing silk gowns that night couldn't compare to the attention that woman in a simple casual dress received. He mentioned her name and she stood up, the next thing happened was echoing applauses from each and every person in that auditorium. My friend was at that podium delivering his valedictory address, and the woman in that casual dress was his mother. At last, those many years had paid off.
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
A close friend once shared his high school graduation memories. He was at the podium on stage, neatly dressed with hair gelled, and standing in front of an audience of parents. Among the crowd, one woman stood out, for she worn differently among the rest. While others wrap themselves around branded and customized long gowns and tuxedos, this woman remained in a simple casual dress. But all the sparkling diamonds and flowing silk gowns that night couldn't compare to the attention that woman in a simple casual dress received. He mentioned her name and she stood up, the next thing happened was echoing applauses from each and every person in that auditorium. My friend was at that podium delivering his valedictory address, and the woman in that casual dress was his mother. At last, those many years had paid off. The joy that a parent feels seeing his or her child on stage with a diploma at hand is beyond measure. Not a long time ago, a baby was in their arms crying every time they grow hungry and peed on their diapers, and here they see a graduate all grown up equipped with the age of time to unlock another door of opportunities and start living his own life. A parent's promise as I call it. Right there after holding their new born closer to their warmth, they would look up and swear to heaven that this baby shall receive nothing but the best of life. The only promise that I know that is most of the time fulfilled and granted. Here we see mothers serving as nannies to children far from being theirs; with the thought in mind that their sons could pay his tuition in due time before the semester starts. Here we see fathers risking their lives in dusty construction sites to send home a personal computer; with the thought in mind that their daughters could type her research papers with convenience. Things parents do for their children.
We can't do much to repay them as of now, but just simply fulfilling their dreams of finishing our education. It bugs me seeing students spending nights of midterm's week in night-out bars partying until dawn and drinking until they lose everything, literally. Our parents, if they could just perspire blood, if they could just extend the day to thirty hours, if they could just vacuum all the difficulties to fulfill their promise of the best, I know they would. Before you spend that cash on computer games that should have been for your chemistry text book; think first of your father at work growing wrinkles and grey hairs for you. Before you squander your allowance on liquor and cigars that should have been for your practicum fees; think first of your mother at home telling your younger sister to stop schooling this semester in order to send money for you.
March is coming to an end, which means another set of graduates all excited to step out of their previous phases and turn over to the next. March is coming to an end, which means another set of proud parents all revived to continue on living and continue on fulfilling their promise. Remember my fellow youth, the tassels were moved and the diplomas unfolded because of those particular smiling faces in the audience, clapping hardly whenever your name is called out loud, whispering "that's my child." Yes, there may be instances when they get too demanding, too strict, too controlling and annoying. But, always know that they demand so we may achieve. They are strict so we may be disciplined. They control so we may be guided. They annoy so we may feel what we would always do to them. They were once like us, we're just starting while they're already finishing. So obviously, they know the best, they understand.
My parents made a promise seventeen years ago and currently their promise is right on track towards its fulfillment. Next semester I will be in second year college, still more semesters to go through, but I won't get tired of doing so. One of the reasons why some parents can't fulfill their promise is their own children not letting them to do so. Be afraid of karma; realize that one day your future children may possibly do the same thing. Wouldn't it be a red hot slap on your faces?
I remember my high school graduation. I was in the podium like my friend with several medals clunking in melody. I saw my Nanay and Tatay together with my grandparents and aunt in the audience all gleaming proudly at me. That moment fueled me, to continue on and finish college for them. Someday when my hour glass reaches it's half, I'll be in the audience and hopefully my child will be in the podium. I'll make the same promise my parents made and fulfill it just like how they accomplished it.
My dear friends… Love your parents.
Let them fulfill their promise to you.
Study Well.
Happy Graduation!
We can't do much to repay them as of now, but just simply fulfilling their dreams of finishing our education. It bugs me seeing students spending nights of midterm's week in night-out bars partying until dawn and drinking until they lose everything, literally. Our parents, if they could just perspire blood, if they could just extend the day to thirty hours, if they could just vacuum all the difficulties to fulfill their promise of the best, I know they would. Before you spend that cash on computer games that should have been for your chemistry text book; think first of your father at work growing wrinkles and grey hairs for you. Before you squander your allowance on liquor and cigars that should have been for your practicum fees; think first of your mother at home telling your younger sister to stop schooling this semester in order to send money for you.
March is coming to an end, which means another set of graduates all excited to step out of their previous phases and turn over to the next. March is coming to an end, which means another set of proud parents all revived to continue on living and continue on fulfilling their promise. Remember my fellow youth, the tassels were moved and the diplomas unfolded because of those particular smiling faces in the audience, clapping hardly whenever your name is called out loud, whispering "that's my child." Yes, there may be instances when they get too demanding, too strict, too controlling and annoying. But, always know that they demand so we may achieve. They are strict so we may be disciplined. They control so we may be guided. They annoy so we may feel what we would always do to them. They were once like us, we're just starting while they're already finishing. So obviously, they know the best, they understand.
My parents made a promise seventeen years ago and currently their promise is right on track towards its fulfillment. Next semester I will be in second year college, still more semesters to go through, but I won't get tired of doing so. One of the reasons why some parents can't fulfill their promise is their own children not letting them to do so. Be afraid of karma; realize that one day your future children may possibly do the same thing. Wouldn't it be a red hot slap on your faces?
I remember my high school graduation. I was in the podium like my friend with several medals clunking in melody. I saw my Nanay and Tatay together with my grandparents and aunt in the audience all gleaming proudly at me. That moment fueled me, to continue on and finish college for them. Someday when my hour glass reaches it's half, I'll be in the audience and hopefully my child will be in the podium. I'll make the same promise my parents made and fulfill it just like how they accomplished it.
My dear friends… Love your parents.
Let them fulfill their promise to you.
Study Well.
Happy Graduation!
The Monster in Me (March 18,2008)
The Monster in Me
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I stared at the sloppy looking monster in front of me. Those hideous droopy eyes that seemed to sulk deepest into its sockets made me wondered how such creature could withstand several days without sleep. Those lumping reddened pimples that scattered abundantly across its skin made me think how such creature could have forgotten the existence of a facial wash. I took a step closer towards the figure. The moist evening breath smelled of brewed caffeine and chocolate malt drink, while its untamed hair went all over the place bringing the comb and brush industry to a complete surrender. I glanced once more at the silly old reflection staring blankly at me, whispering what on earth I was doing. The few remaining minutes was a private dialogue between the mirror and my monster self, telling it how I came across slaving for two demanding masters called stress and pressure.
People believe the only ones who don't suffer the pains of these two impeccable forces, stress and pressure, are those who are six feet below the ground, feasting with decomposers. What is stress and what is pressure? Students with their exams, businessmen transacting market deals, policemen catching criminals, corrupt government officials practicing their false rationalizations; these make life in need for more stimulants and tonic drinks. Come to think of it, I could not imagine the world not being busy, hectic, disorganized, messy and terribly stressed and pressured. The use of traffic lights, digital organizers, alarm clocks, instant noodles and night lamps will all be rubbish if that happens.
This coming week would be our finals period, and it's all about exams, requirements, and anxiety. Somehow there came moments when I just want everything to stop and pause so I would remember to breathe and realize that I am still alive. Pressure fills you up to your brim and just wouldn't stop there as it continues to fill in until it overflows. Translation – Nervous breakdown. Stress steps on you until your pain receptors are stimulated and just wouldn't stop there as it continues to press on until it hurts and blood clots. Translation – Strangling yourself. But, without all of these, school, work and life would be insignificant. I would not feel the same comfort as I jump on my comfy bed after a tiring day at school if irritating unannounced exams didn't exist. I would not feel the same satisfaction as I see my grades shooting flying colors after a brain wrecking week of finals. I would not feel the same pleasure as I sniff off the aroma of hot chocolate drink if I cease to stay awake very late with a huge pile of reviewers to consume. Pressure and stress do break your bones and squash your brain, but gives you the chance to feel the pain. Translation – Balance.
Every one has their own deadlines to beat. But as my old friend leprechaun says, there's always a pot of gold after a rainbow. The nice thing about man's stressed and pressured life is the will to continue on amidst everything, the hope and the trust that everything will turn out okay in the end. Though still, a lot gives in and let such hectic fate take control. I may have such little treasures of experiences but I suppose it all relies on one's view of the situation. Optimism is not eccentricity. It is looking forward that after an hour and a half of a one hundred fifty item final exam, comes a summer time vacation of television, beach excursion, mango shakes and sleeping until one in the afternoon.
I look at the mirror for the nth time. Those droopy sulking eyes deserve some extended hours of sleep. Those reddened and lumping pimples deserve some pampering and treatment. Those two, stress and pressure need a vacation for themselves, as they will not be going extremely far. Surely, they will return, but for a while they'll take a time out and bother me occasionally. I guess getting irritated about a busy schedule would be normal, every one does.
Every body gets stressed out.
Besides, a diamond is just a coal made good under pressure.
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
I stared at the sloppy looking monster in front of me. Those hideous droopy eyes that seemed to sulk deepest into its sockets made me wondered how such creature could withstand several days without sleep. Those lumping reddened pimples that scattered abundantly across its skin made me think how such creature could have forgotten the existence of a facial wash. I took a step closer towards the figure. The moist evening breath smelled of brewed caffeine and chocolate malt drink, while its untamed hair went all over the place bringing the comb and brush industry to a complete surrender. I glanced once more at the silly old reflection staring blankly at me, whispering what on earth I was doing. The few remaining minutes was a private dialogue between the mirror and my monster self, telling it how I came across slaving for two demanding masters called stress and pressure.People believe the only ones who don't suffer the pains of these two impeccable forces, stress and pressure, are those who are six feet below the ground, feasting with decomposers. What is stress and what is pressure? Students with their exams, businessmen transacting market deals, policemen catching criminals, corrupt government officials practicing their false rationalizations; these make life in need for more stimulants and tonic drinks. Come to think of it, I could not imagine the world not being busy, hectic, disorganized, messy and terribly stressed and pressured. The use of traffic lights, digital organizers, alarm clocks, instant noodles and night lamps will all be rubbish if that happens.
This coming week would be our finals period, and it's all about exams, requirements, and anxiety. Somehow there came moments when I just want everything to stop and pause so I would remember to breathe and realize that I am still alive. Pressure fills you up to your brim and just wouldn't stop there as it continues to fill in until it overflows. Translation – Nervous breakdown. Stress steps on you until your pain receptors are stimulated and just wouldn't stop there as it continues to press on until it hurts and blood clots. Translation – Strangling yourself. But, without all of these, school, work and life would be insignificant. I would not feel the same comfort as I jump on my comfy bed after a tiring day at school if irritating unannounced exams didn't exist. I would not feel the same satisfaction as I see my grades shooting flying colors after a brain wrecking week of finals. I would not feel the same pleasure as I sniff off the aroma of hot chocolate drink if I cease to stay awake very late with a huge pile of reviewers to consume. Pressure and stress do break your bones and squash your brain, but gives you the chance to feel the pain. Translation – Balance.
Every one has their own deadlines to beat. But as my old friend leprechaun says, there's always a pot of gold after a rainbow. The nice thing about man's stressed and pressured life is the will to continue on amidst everything, the hope and the trust that everything will turn out okay in the end. Though still, a lot gives in and let such hectic fate take control. I may have such little treasures of experiences but I suppose it all relies on one's view of the situation. Optimism is not eccentricity. It is looking forward that after an hour and a half of a one hundred fifty item final exam, comes a summer time vacation of television, beach excursion, mango shakes and sleeping until one in the afternoon.
I look at the mirror for the nth time. Those droopy sulking eyes deserve some extended hours of sleep. Those reddened and lumping pimples deserve some pampering and treatment. Those two, stress and pressure need a vacation for themselves, as they will not be going extremely far. Surely, they will return, but for a while they'll take a time out and bother me occasionally. I guess getting irritated about a busy schedule would be normal, every one does.
Every body gets stressed out.
Besides, a diamond is just a coal made good under pressure.
Friends and Blueberry Cheesecakes (March 11,2008)
Friends and Blueberry Cheesecakes
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Friends, I once thought those were the posh people in slumber parties, painting each others' nails with bright neon pink glitter polish while gossiping about the latest breakup of yet another hot couple in school. Friends, I once thought they were those endurance artists who could spend an awfully long time, minimum of two babbling hours, with the telephone stuck to their ears. Friends, I once thought they were choir members in a symphony of rhythmic and successive giggles and shrieks after finding out the cutest guy in campus is currently single and looking. Friends, I once thought I had some. Turns out they were just posh gossiping, shrieking and giggling telephone maniacs with bright neon pink glitter polished nails.
Friendship, long ago I thought it was only limited to an experience of gift giving every birthdays, Christmases, Valentines and days before final examinations.
Friendship, once upon a time I thought it was only limited to group studying and copying off each other when the teacher doesn't mind. Friendship, once I thought it was only limited to offering each other handkerchiefs when our eyes starts to leak and hiccups begin to sound. Friendship, some time ago, I thought I had one. Turns out it was just an experience of gifts, cramming, tears and hiccups.
I thought I was doomed to a life without friends, a life without knowing what friendship feels like. But, some wacky, weird, unusual and bizarre creatures came barging at my doorstep calling me to open up to an amazing adventure. We call each other names different to the decent ones our parents gave. We eat on one chocolate fudge sundae and with one plastic spoon passing one kind of salivary amylase to the next. We never knew that one day our strange way of interaction will soon flourish to the most beautiful experience of friendship.
Less than a year, that was how long a friendship of people coming from different walks of life came to be. A fusion of diverse personalities resulted to the most united group and strong camaraderie I so far have witnessed. A few weeks back I celebrated my seventeenth year and decided to share a well-blessed year with my so called friends. We had a sleepover and quite ironically barely got some sleep. We didn't do each other's nails, nor giggled about frustrated love stories. In my farmland of a home, we raced around the vast plains of rugged mini hills and carabao dung, played some games along the broken multi-colored tiled flooring of our garage, trailed across a twenty feet high under-construction bamboo bridge and wished for a higher score than forty-five after singing our lungs out in videoke.
I would like to define friendship basing on the evening of the sleepover. Friendship is when you all ride at the back of a pick up wearing pajamas, shivering in the icy breeze of 11: 00 p.m., getting weird stares from sidewalk people, and driving towards a classy hotel just to pick up a friend attending a social function to join you in the sleepover. I would like to define friends basing on the morning of my birthday. Friends are people whom after you have smelled their unbearable farting and disgusting morning breath continues to hug them with much gusto and sincerity. Those wacky, weird, unusual, and bizarre creatures were my friends, are my friends and will be forever my friends.
They are my friends. They wait for me every time I struggle zippering my bag close before moving on to the next class, they won't care if they'll be late for a few minutes, as long as we're all walking together. They respond to my every text message and sweet enough to add on a smiley after each sentence, they won't care spending a peso, as long as they're replying to my message, even if we are of different networks. They pat me on the back for every accomplishment I gain and cry with me for every failure I stumbled upon. They share their blueberry cheesecakes with me, knowing it's the pastry I'd die for, and knowing it's the same pastry they too would die for.
They have different personalities. One is chubby, quite clumsy but admirable. The other is slim, hilarious and loves to declaim. One is obsessed with the color purple, the other is crazy for acetic acid. Yes, we are weird and all the possible synonyms you could think of. But we are indeed friends. Perhaps, the best one I'll ever have.
They say tell me who your friends are and I'll tell you who you are.
I say, do so anytime.
I'll miss you BSN 1B.
By: Maria Reylan M. Garcia
Friends, I once thought those were the posh people in slumber parties, painting each others' nails with bright neon pink glitter polish while gossiping about the latest breakup of yet another hot couple in school. Friends, I once thought they were those endurance artists who could spend an awfully long time, minimum of two babbling hours, with the telephone stuck to their ears. Friends, I once thought they were choir members in a symphony of rhythmic and successive giggles and shrieks after finding out the cutest guy in campus is currently single and looking. Friends, I once thought I had some. Turns out they were just posh gossiping, shrieking and giggling telephone maniacs with bright neon pink glitter polished nails.Friendship, long ago I thought it was only limited to an experience of gift giving every birthdays, Christmases, Valentines and days before final examinations.
Friendship, once upon a time I thought it was only limited to group studying and copying off each other when the teacher doesn't mind. Friendship, once I thought it was only limited to offering each other handkerchiefs when our eyes starts to leak and hiccups begin to sound. Friendship, some time ago, I thought I had one. Turns out it was just an experience of gifts, cramming, tears and hiccups.
I thought I was doomed to a life without friends, a life without knowing what friendship feels like. But, some wacky, weird, unusual and bizarre creatures came barging at my doorstep calling me to open up to an amazing adventure. We call each other names different to the decent ones our parents gave. We eat on one chocolate fudge sundae and with one plastic spoon passing one kind of salivary amylase to the next. We never knew that one day our strange way of interaction will soon flourish to the most beautiful experience of friendship.
Less than a year, that was how long a friendship of people coming from different walks of life came to be. A fusion of diverse personalities resulted to the most united group and strong camaraderie I so far have witnessed. A few weeks back I celebrated my seventeenth year and decided to share a well-blessed year with my so called friends. We had a sleepover and quite ironically barely got some sleep. We didn't do each other's nails, nor giggled about frustrated love stories. In my farmland of a home, we raced around the vast plains of rugged mini hills and carabao dung, played some games along the broken multi-colored tiled flooring of our garage, trailed across a twenty feet high under-construction bamboo bridge and wished for a higher score than forty-five after singing our lungs out in videoke.
I would like to define friendship basing on the evening of the sleepover. Friendship is when you all ride at the back of a pick up wearing pajamas, shivering in the icy breeze of 11: 00 p.m., getting weird stares from sidewalk people, and driving towards a classy hotel just to pick up a friend attending a social function to join you in the sleepover. I would like to define friends basing on the morning of my birthday. Friends are people whom after you have smelled their unbearable farting and disgusting morning breath continues to hug them with much gusto and sincerity. Those wacky, weird, unusual, and bizarre creatures were my friends, are my friends and will be forever my friends.
They are my friends. They wait for me every time I struggle zippering my bag close before moving on to the next class, they won't care if they'll be late for a few minutes, as long as we're all walking together. They respond to my every text message and sweet enough to add on a smiley after each sentence, they won't care spending a peso, as long as they're replying to my message, even if we are of different networks. They pat me on the back for every accomplishment I gain and cry with me for every failure I stumbled upon. They share their blueberry cheesecakes with me, knowing it's the pastry I'd die for, and knowing it's the same pastry they too would die for.
They have different personalities. One is chubby, quite clumsy but admirable. The other is slim, hilarious and loves to declaim. One is obsessed with the color purple, the other is crazy for acetic acid. Yes, we are weird and all the possible synonyms you could think of. But we are indeed friends. Perhaps, the best one I'll ever have.
They say tell me who your friends are and I'll tell you who you are.
I say, do so anytime.
I'll miss you BSN 1B.
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