Overshadowing Lavinia

“I don’t like her!” This was my 10-year old’s pronouncement thirty minutes into “Master Class”, a play based on the series of master classes given by legendary opera singer Maria Callas at the Julliard School of Music in New York City in 1971 and 1972.

I must say that I agree with my daughter’s observation. Arrogant, insulting, dismissive, condescending, haughty, difficult, impatient ... are but a few of the words that I could think of to describe this diva. She spoke her mind at will and with a wave of her aristocratic hand, trampled on people’s emotions as if they were dirt under her feet. Yes, she wasn’t likeable at all.

But likeable or not, Maria Callas must have been an awesome human being. And this very quality, this essence that was Maria Callas, was brought to us by Ms. Cherie Gil with such clarity and intensity that left us reeling. That was some emotional roller coaster ride Ms. Gil made us go through.

Ms. Cherie Gil was Cherie Gil when we first met her during the press conference. But the person who came to the stage was Maria Callas, a formidable woman who, with the slightest tilt of her chin, made it clear to us that we mere mortals being graced with the presence of a goddess. From that point on, we were not seeing Ms. Gil. We had Maria Callas before us.

At the beginning, we hated her with as much fervor as her “victims”, as she called them, must have hated La Divina herself. We laughed at her wicked humor and we sat in awe as we witnessed her live her art and delve into the passion of the characters she played in the opera.

But something unexpected happened towards the end. We stopped hating Maria Callas. And this was where Ms. Gil’s acting genius came to full force. She revealed to us a Maria Callas who was just as human as we all are ... she was lonely and she wanted to love and be loved just like any one of us. We cried for her as she gave up her unborn child for the love of a man who treated her with as much disdain as she treated those around her. And we held our breath as, letting go of every bit of pride she ever possessed, she begged and pleaded for him to marry her. She did not want to be alone. But it was all in vain. The love of her life chose another woman over her. We felt her pain. We felt her despair. Ms. Gil made us feel all that.

Ms. Gil as a consummate actress came to be as Maria Callas. The bratty Lavinia who hissed, “You’re nothing but a second-rate, trying hard, copy cat!!!” to a hapless Sharon Cuneta a long time ago is a far cry from the commanding figure we saw on stage, an aristocratic woman who could cower an entire auditorium into silence with a single look.

Admittedly, that line has achieved an almost-legendary status and continues to tickle our fancy through the years. Young children, including my 10-year old daughter, can deliver it with as much venom as Ms. Cherie Gil did in the movie Bituing Walang Ningning. This is a richly-deserved honor for Ms. Gil. But it’s time to move on.

Ms. Gil shouldn’t be known as Lavinia alone for she shone even brighter as Maria Callas. Her strength as an actress has never before been laid out to an audience with as much intensity as it was in Master Class.

Forget that copy cat line. Ms. Cherie Gil has outgrown Lavinia. She is now Maria Callas, a woman, who without any shred of doubt in her being, could dismissively declare to the world: “How can I have rivals when no one can do what I can do?”

And those very same words could very well apply to Ms. Gil herself. For who, indeed, can do what Cherie Gil can do? Kudos to our favorite villainess. Keep the passion.

MARRIAGE AND (IN)FIDELITY

A friend and I recently spotted a familiar face with a sweet young thing in tow. This was naturally very disturbing as we haven’t heard of his wife having passed on to the hereafter recently. Mind you, we were not just two nosy ladies putting one and one together and coming up with eleven. That sweet young thing with her nubile body kept resting her head on his shoulders. Now tell me, what were we supposed to think about that? Of course, they could be father and daughter bonding together. But at past 11pm in the company of drinking buddies? Right!

It was none of our business of course. But I am making mention of that incident because it led up to this topic and my admission that what I saw is forcing me to confront my own insecurities as a wife and has left me obsessing on thoughts of marriage and infidelity.

These “demons” – as I call them – are never far away from me. They are always present in the fringes of my mind. But I had always been able to keep them at a safe distance until this forced confrontation brought about by what I saw.

I would suppose that this is also the case with every woman of every status, age, color or creed the world over. Any woman reading this would probably understand when I say that no matter how happy and secure our marriages or relationships are, no matter how loving and caring our husbands or partners may be, and this is very important ... no matter how young and beautiful, or sexy and desirable, or intelligent and accomplished we may be ... those demons still come from time to time to tease and taunt us, to cast a dark shadow over our lives and upset that delicate balance we call marital happiness and contentment.

These taunting could come in different forms. It could be in the news about movie stars breaking up because of “third parties” or it could be what’s happening to people close to us – friends, relatives, or simply people we know from a distance. But in whatever form the taunting may come, it always gives us pause and makes us contemplate our own marriage or relationship ... because whether we are watching as a wife, a girlfriend, or a partner, and no matter how vehemently we may deny it to ourselves, deep inside, we cower in fear at the thought that what is happening to other women could also happen to us.

I am particularly vulnerable to these demons because my husband is a seaman. Not that he has given me reason to doubt his fidelity, but we are dealing with realities here, not the ideals, and it is a fact that seamen can commit countless acts of infidelity with impunity simply because they are too far away. The normal controls do not apply to them. The risk of getting “caught” is minimal to nil.

Of course, not all men do it. I am certain that we can still find men who take their marital vows to heart. And seamen’s wives, as probably ALL wives do, cling to that hope ... that our husbands are among those few men. Kind of naive, that’s true, but what else is there?

As I mentioned earlier, this prickly subject has been gnawing at my equilibrium lately. It is not only that encounter with that sweet young thing that triggered this. Somebody I know is going through the very same thing that we all fear. She is, like me, a seaman’s wife and she just recently discovered her husband’s infidelities and her life is falling apart right now. My heart goes out to her as I am painfully aware that, sharing parallel lives as we do, it can easily be me in her place right now.

In fairness to the male species though, I have to mention here that it is not only the men who can be unfaithful. We women are just as capable of cheating as men are on their wives. There is no question about that. It is simply a matter of letting go with our conventions and making the decision to do it.

But do all of us do it? Of course not! My personal opinion is that there are more faithful wives than there are husbands. We take our vows more seriously than men do. But then again, this is only my opinion.

So how am I coping now? First of all, I do not go into denial. I am perfectly aware that my husband, by the mere fact that he is a man whether seaman or not, is as capable of cheating on his wife as the man next to him. Again, this bears repeating: we are talking of realities and generalities here.

Has he been doing it? I have no idea and I hope and pray that he never has and never will.

But what if he has been doing it all these years? Let me share something with you. When the question as to whether or not he had been unfaithful to me and continues to be so came up in one of our discussions, I asked him to do three things for me: please do not ever let me know, please do not bring me any form of disease, and please do not ever fall in love.

Come to think of it, don’t we all women want the same things when it comes to our marriage? We dream of a perfect husband and a perfect marriage. But if we can’t have perfection in the area of fidelity, we might as well settle for the next best thing: we ask for ignorance ... for isn’t ignorance bliss?

Do I trust my husband? My heart does. My man is a good and decent person and a wonderful husband and father and I love him and I thank God for him every day. And most of all, my heart trusts him because I completely trust his love for me.

But my mind sometimes disagrees with my heart. Why? Maybe because it sees too much of what is actually happening in many marriages around us? That’s me. I am too realistic for my own good. So realistic in fact, that I can’t give my husband my unquestioning faith because I can’t ignore what I know about men and human nature and what happens in the real world. This is the reason why I am sometimes vulnerable to my demons – as they are always present, chipping ceaselessly at that wall of trust that I carefully built and is continuing to build around my marriage.

I wonder. Is it just me or is this something that I share with every woman out there? Is there a constant battle being waged within you too? Are you also lost in the midst of this silent war that is raging between our hearts and our minds? Have you also been told to just trust? And like me, did you answer: “Yes, I’d like that ... to trust fully ... if only I could stop thinking!” I would really like that. If only it were that simple.

I wonder. Is there any woman out there who can truly and honestly say that she completely trusts her husband without any shred of doubt whatsoever? I envy her. I wish I could be that kind of wife.

So going back to that question I asked earlier: how do I cope? I hold on tightly to that trust and I pray and pray and pray ...

Elsie's Smile

The first time I saw Elsie, Sister Celina was showing her an outgrown dress of my daughter’s, and telling her that it was going to be hers. Right there and then, I witnessed and was captivated by one of the most beautiful smiles I have ever seen. That was Elsie’s smile. It was hardly a smile that would qualify for a toothpaste commercial. All you could see were her gums and a few front teeth that have been eaten up and blackened by decay. But boy! was it beautiful!! It brightened up her entire face and shone with all the innocence that only children could muster. But it was more than that. Elsie’s smile that day radiated her joy and excitement at the thought that she was going to have another dress.

You see, Elsie just recently arrived at Casa Cittadini – Home for Girls. She only had one set of clothes that day she came in ... the very ones on her back. She had to borrow from the other girls during her first few days at Casa. When Sister Celina was finally able to buy her one dress, she asked a question that was of utmost importance to her: did she still have to return that dress?

That day when Sister handed her my daughter’s old dress, Elsie’s smile showed her joy as she finally understood – that dress was going to be hers alone. Nobody was going to take it back.

Today, Elsie continues to smile with that same contagious, joyous smile of hers. I would like to believe that it is a reflection of her inner joy and contentment. Having been taken in by the Ursuline Sisters at Casa Cittadini, she now lives a much better life.

Elsie’s life had not always been this good. At her tender age, Elsie already knows how it feels like to be abandoned by her own mother. Yes, tiny Elsie, who at age six looks no bigger than a four year old, has seen some of the worst that life has to offer. She still talks about her baby sister whom her father gave up for adoption due to poverty. And at that age, Elsie learned to cook rice by herself. Her case study reveals that their father often had to leave her and her brothers a week at a time because of his work. During these times, the children learned to survive on their own, sleep unaccompanied by any adult in a filthy shanty wearing the same unwashed clothes for days on end, and yes, cook rice when there was rice to be cooked.

But all that is behind her. Elsie now lives at Casa Cittadini along with 25 other girls under the care of Sister Celina and Sister Maria Fe. They all go to school and have a safe, secure, and loving home to return to each day where nutritious meals and clean, warm beds await.

Elsie is but one girl. But her life mirrors that of the 25 other girls whose life stories do not differ from Elsie’s. Fate brought them to Casa. Now they have a better shot at a future that is full of promise.

There are more institutions like Casa Cittadini that provide the same kind of service to disadvantaged children around Negros Oriental. Little Children of the Philippines, GWAVE, and GP Rehab are but a few of the non-governmental organizations that are actively working right now for these children’s welfare.

There was a time when these organizations worked individually and independent of each other and with little or no knowledge of the others’ existence. The idea to bring them together under an umbrella organization to maximize their effectiveness and to enable them to share their resources and expertise in their respective fields came up and thus, the Oriental Negros Children’s Advocacy Network (ONCAN) was formed. Under the Presidency of Baby Jambora of Chapel of the Doves, ONCAN is a fully functioning network made up of more than 30 member NGOs. It is actively working towards the advancement of its members’ capabilities and capacities with the end in view of maximizing their potential for the benefit of all the children under their care.

There are thousands more of little Elsies out there. And each of them is receiving the same kind of care and nurturing that Elsie of Casa Cittadini is getting. But the sad reality remains that there are probably hundreds of thousands more out there who have not been reached by the members of ONCAN yet. They have a daunting task ahead of them, but having seen their dedication and commitment, I am certain that they will get there.

If you wish to get involved, you may email me or visit the following websites:

http://www.oncan.org/CasaCittadini/CasaCittadini.htm

http://www.oncan.org/

(ONCAN is hiring a full-time psychologist to do counselling and evaluation of children who have been victimized, abused, or traumatized. Salary range is P10,000.00 to P30,000.00 depending on qualifications. If you are interested, please email me so I could give you more details. ONCAN will be accepting applications until August 5.)

The Never-Ending Battle with the Bulge

What is it that women of every age, race and creed continue to obsess on? What topic would we invariably talk about whenever we’d get together? What has caused and is continuing to cause us women endless frustration and dissatisfaction the world over? What have we been battling and kept losing to over and over again?

A woman reading this would have guessed already. Yes, it’s our figure or more specifically, our loss of figure. Yeah, I know – sad isn’t it? We continually lament over our bulges ... you know, that thingy that we’d see right away when we look down? Yes, that thingy – also the culprit behind those rolling undies. They really do stand out, do they? No amount of inhaling on our part could keep those tummies in. The bulges are not that bad though. They can be a source of great amusement, but only if you have an irreverent kid like mine. My brat loves to jiggle it and watch it move about like jelly. That never fails to bring out peals of laughter ... joyful laughter from her. Mine was more of the agonized kind. (sigh!)

And did you know that we also have the much sought-after, macho male must-have six- pack? Ahh! And you thought that it’s only Taylor Lautner (Jacob of the Twilight saga) and his kind who have those!!! How wrong could you be? Heavily endowed ladies like yours truly have those too and more! But ours got misplaced. Somewhere along the way to our abs, our six-pack changed course and found its way into our backs. If you are one of those who now looks at your image in the mirror with increasing dismay, do this at home – put on a tight brassiere and a close-fitting shirt – then look at your back. You won’t miss them.

But whether it’s the bulge or the six-pack, our battle boils down to one thing: weight gain. This is a curse that most of us are born with. We only get to enjoy our slimmer selves for a short while. After the babies start coming, off to heavyville most of us go.

Weight gain almost always comes with motherhood and age. It is as inevitable as the onset of wrinkles and the white hairs. But there are those of us who hasten this process because of our passion for all the sinful food out there!

Oh! If only there is fairness in this world, the vegetables and the fish would be the definite no-nos!!! Then we’d get to tell our children ... “no, you cannot eat vegetables ... they are baaaad for your health!!!” Wouldn’t that be great? Then children would joyfully eat “healthy” food.

I have been working out in the gym these past 5 weeks because I finally admitted that dieting alone wouldn’t get me where I want to be. I recently ballooned to almost 180 lbs after I’ve had another pregnancy. In an effort to keep our baby from being lost, I had to take prednisone among other medications. The steroids, plus my mandatory bedrest and all the yummylicious food I could demand from my very attentive and compliant husband, all contributed into making me the female version of the sumo wrestler.

My yo-yo dieting actually helped me lose around 10 lbs at a time but I gained back about half of them in a matter of weeks because I didn’t do any exercise. So raised the white flag I did. I dragged myself into the gym and with a heavy heart, I joined in.

And so, as I agonized over the aches and the pains that come along with the gym scene, and as I counted off the repetitions for the weights that got heavier by the second, my mind would wonder off somewhere and dream about a parallel universe where chewing is the only exercise that we needed to do. And if we wanted to go the extra mile, we could actually add to our exercise routine using only our thumbs as we press the buttons in the remote control. Yes my like-minded sisters, in my parallel world, the best exercise there is, is lying on the bed comfortably propped up by pillows as we face the TV while munching on fat-burning lechon skin.

Yes, if only the world were fair. But back to reality I must return. My fantasies made me lose count. How many leg raises have I done already, by the way?

Falling into the Love Trap

I remember reading about a man who was watching a butterfly struggle out of its cocoon. He pitied the straining creature so he did what every Good Samaritan would do ... he helped it out to ease its passage from the dark confines of the cocoon into the bright new world that awaits it. I guess that we all know what happened next. The butterfly’s wings became crippled because of the man’s kindly efforts. Unbeknownst to him, the poor creature had to go through that painful process. The butterfly needed to struggle out of the cocoon so it could emerge whole and capable of flight.

The article went on to explain how this story is an analogy of every parent’s primordial instinct to shield their children from every hardship that would come their way. There is no argument against that. As a matter of fact, this very instinct is what guarantees the survival of our race. But as we all know, too much of anything is not always a good thing. As in the case of the man and the butterfly, a loving parent wanting to show his love through every means possible, including easing the way for his child and doing everything he could to spare his little one from going through the same struggles and difficulties he grew up with, might be doing his own child a great disservice. For he may not know it yet, but he might be raising a spineless individual, one who, not so unlike the flightless butterfly, is incapable of standing on his own two feet.

I read this article from the Readers’ Digest when I was in college, a time in my life when it felt as if things could not get any worse. To put it simply, life was very, very hard. From a relatively privileged childhood where everything got done for me by other people, I suddenly found myself living in Manila in a cramped rented room and sharing a dilapidated house with three other families. Money was very scarce. Every food on the table was a result of my father’s mighty struggle for survival. And on those times when there were none, we would walk over to a nearby used clothing store and sell off our own clothes. Then we’d have rice to cook for that day.

The circumstances surrounding my life may have been the reason why I never forgot the butterfly’s story and why I made the resolve to learn its lesson: don’t fall into the parental love trap. The word “trap” is always bad, and so it is when, loving parents as we are, we want to do everything for and give everything to our children to make their lives as easy and as struggle-free as we could make it.

And how does this translate into my being a mother? Of course, like every doting parent out there, I would never wish the life I had on my only child. But I keep reminding myself that that very life that I pray she would never get a taste of, was the very same life that moulded me into the kind of person I am now. I am a survivor. I came out of it a much stronger person. Circumstances forced me to learn early on that our parents cannot provide for all our needs all the time ... that we cannot and should not expect other people to take care of the same for us ... that later in life, when we grow up, we will have to work hard for all our needs and wants.

And so my daughter began her training on independence and self-reliance as a baby who was still learning how to walk. I was always beside her, ready to help whenever she needed me. But oftentimes when she would fall, and I knew that she could get up on her own, her mama just stood by and watched her proudly as she struggled back to her feet. Lesson: “Rely on yourself. You can do it.”

Abby’s training continues until now. She has to work hard if she were to get what she wanted. With God’s grace, hers will be a different form of struggle. I pray that she will never have to experience hunger or deprivation, but learn the value of hard work ... she must! Lesson: “Things do not come for free. You have to work hard for them.” Of course there are things that I provide to her freely – but these are things that are intended to equip her for life ahead – her needs.

Staying true to this course is also a struggle because as a mother, the desire to shower my only child with all the pampering and material comforts I could muster is understandably strong. But I try to stay on course by looking around and seeing the children who have been crippled by their parents’ great love. I see grown-up sons, married and with children, still living with their parents and relying on them to see to their own children’s every need. I see young men whose needs have always been provided for by doting parents, too lazy to fend for themselves, and resorting to theft and drug peddling for its easy money when the parents were no longer there to provide for them.

I believe that it is the little things that matter. In Abby’s school (Catherina Cittadini St. Louis School) for example, Sr. Marissa, the Principal, has always encouraged the children to take their bags to their classrooms by themselves and not to rely on their parents to do the same for them. I am certain that there are parents who oppose this policy under the mindset “why let my child do it when I can do it for him?” I could only hope that they would see how this little act can go a long way into forming their children’s character.

We can’t love our children enough. Or to put it in another way, there is no such thing as too much love. Our love has no bounds, but I also believe that too much pampering does not always translate into loving the child. This mother believes that letting a child taste a little hardship or inconvenience to prepare him for what lies ahead is a form of loving no child should go without.

Unlike that man with the butterfly, we should not make life too easy for our precious ones, lest we cripple their wings and miss the chance of seeing them take flight and soar.

A Taste of Broadway

Not all of us have the means to set foot on the US and have the chance to enjoy the musical and visual delights of Broadway musicals. In the 80’s where Madonna and Cindy Lauper ruled, I was the odd one who spent nights listening to the recordings of Les Miserables, Miss Saigon, Cats, Phantom of the Opera, West Side Story, and so many other popular musicals. I could only imagine how it must be like to be actually there, watching the musical unfold before me on the stage, and soak in all the drama and the heights and depths of a truly passionate performance by professional stage actors and actresses. I have read of the elaborate sets, the moving and revolving stages, the lights, the full orchestra with their music that could fill one’s soul ... and I could but sigh and dream and imagine! Alas! Not everyone have the good fortune.

Music continues to move me. Even with marriage and motherhood, and all the seemingly endless concerns that life brings to us daily, I still take every opportunity I could get to indulge this one interest that has persisted through the years. Fortunately, the hub of Dumaguete’s cultural soul, the one we simply refer to as “Luce”, is but a stone’s throw away.

Thursday, July 1 saw me and my daughter headed towards Luce to watch Hinilawod, an epic tale of love and heroism, of vanquishing monsters, and adventurous princes whose exploits paved the way for the rising of Panay Island from the sea. I went there expecting an enjoyable night of music of which I was not disappointed. But what I did not expect was the texture and the detail that went into everything! Simply put, the richness of the production left my mouth hanging wide open. It was simply amazing!

I guess that I had gotten used to the usual productions that we see here in Dumaguete, rich in performances but kind of minimalist in terms of settings. We focus on the performance or the story but everything else that goes around is left pretty much to the imagination.

But this time around, we walked through dark scary forests and fought horrible monsters. We entered caves and shot down a monstrous flying bat. And we survived a catastrophe which saw people drowning in gigantic waves. We witnessed everything in vivid color and vibrant sounds. We were entranced by the energy of the entire production as the story was told in songs and dances amid music and sounds made by traditional instruments.

Hinilawod was a wonderful experience and should not be missed especially by children who have always wondered how a tikbalang looks like. Too bad the tickets are all sold out. But despair not. Hinilawod will be coming our way again on April 22 and 29, 2011 as announced in its website http://www.hinilawod.com/.

That is something to watch out for, for Hinilawod is not merely a production wonder. The epic itself should be introduced to our children as a source of national pride. It is a testament of our people’s creative genius and an integral part of our culture. Furthermore, the epic is a testament that the Filipinos were a far cry from the depiction of an unenlightened race that the Spaniards “discovered” and had introduced to “civilization”.

On a more personal level, this Broadway dreamer took great delight at having watched Hinilawod as it showed a little glimpse of what a Broadway musical could be like. Simply wonderful.

DO DOGS CRY?

She was a frightened little puppy, barely a month old, a sorry little creature made up of nothing but skin and bones. For days, she cried pitiably for the family from whom she was separated far too soon.

I never paid this puppy any particular attention. Our houseboy brought her home so technically she was his puppy.

I quickly forgot all about her as soon as she quieted down. I am used to having dogs and cats of all ages around our home. Abby and I have a habit of picking up abandoned kittens and puppies that we’d pass along the streets. We do not have the heart to leave them to their inevitable fate … a slow, agonizing death by starvation or a quick, gruesome one brought on by the crushing wheels of uncaring drivers.

We have had our share of deaths over the years. Most of the kittens we picked up were far too gone to be saved. But we also have our successes. Just a few days ago, one cat I rescued as a kitten brought down her two adorable bundles of fur from our roof.

Like most of our cats, she has remained unnamed. I have long since given up naming each and every one of them. But they are all loved and cared for. My wish for them to have a home where they are safe and well fed has been fulfilled.

We also have our share of adopted cats and dogs like Kitty Girl, a pretty white cat that could no longer be kept but its previous owner, or Creepy who, despite his name, is the most lovable imp there is. He almost drove his former owners and their neighbors crazy with his nightly pleas to be allowed inside their home. Then there’s friendly Brownie, abandoned by our neighbors, and fearsome Takoy, an all-black mongrel whom my husband Nonoy rescued from a certain death. Takoy, along with gentle Cutie, another adoptee, added three more dogs to our zoo, as Nonoy would call our home.

And a virtual zoo, our home is! Our houseboy had also picked up our habit and started bringing back his own collection of animals starting with a black cat and ending with several fighting cocks along with hens that have since given us a periodic supply of eggs. Add to that the flock of bantam chicken that have so fascinated me and lo and behold! A home, zoo and farm all rolled into one! Our little piece of heaven.

And then there was that scrawny brown mongrel pup that kept to herself. I barely noticed her and only came to know so much later that our houseboy had named her Dayang. Abby got to know her first. They quickly built a friendship and often played their favorite game together - fetching stones.

Without my knowing it, this little askal slowly wormed her way into my heart with her sweet and gentle nature. What a joy she was! She was always the first to greet me when I’d arrive home. My fondest memory of Dayang is of her coming towards me with tail wagging shyly, eyes half-closed, ears pulled back with glee and a face that exuded nothing but pure goodwill.

Dayang left us today. She started ailing a few days ago. I was supposed to take her to the vet today. Instead, I found her lying flat on the ground, her entire body convulsing wildly. I have never seen a more horrible sight. And I have never felt more helpless. But what broke my heart was to see this tormented little dog managing a weak wag for me when I came to her. I cried when I saw what looked like tears welling up from her eyes as her whole body shook and convulsed. Do dogs cry? I stayed with her until the end, telling her that I loved her, and praying for God to end her agony.

I really loved that little dog. But I remember how I used to shoo her away as I gave food scraps to our 11-year old Nono and 10-year old Chacha, geriatrics in the canine world … often telling Dayang that the food were only for the lolo and lola. I used to tell her, when you’re old, you’re turn will come. But Dayang never grew old.

Dayang’s death today taught me a very valuable lesson about relationships. It’s something that I have always known with my mind but have never felt with my heart. It’s all about love and letting our loved ones know today that they are loved. We should never reserve that expression of our love for later. Today is what matters. For we never know what will happen tomorrow.

HOW DOES ONE SAY “THANK YOU”?

I am going and you can’t stop me!” I was 18 years old then. I stood in front of my Dad defiantly and repeated that I was going to EDSA with or without him. With that, I marched out of the house, with only one 5-peso bill tucked between the pages of a pocketbook I was reading at that time, a bottle of tap water, a towel and my school ID, just in case …

My mind was in turmoil, trying to figure out how I could get to Ortigas Avenue from Quezon City. I was halfway out of the gate when Daddy ran out after me and told me to wait for him. His concern for his headstrong daughter overcame whatever trepidation he may have had about going to EDSA on that day.

With public transport practically non-existent, we walked from our home all the way to Muñoz Market and hitched a ride to Cubao. Again we walked to Camp Aguinaldo and Camp Crame.

And glad that he went, Daddy was! Those days in EDSA proved to be the most triumphant days we’ve ever had. We survived on shared food and slept on the ground. We joined fellow Filipinos as we chanted the name of Cory until our voices became hoarse. We scampered for cover whenever helicopter gunships would come into view or when word about nearby loyalist troops would reach us. But stayed we did. In our minds at that time, if worse came to worst, we would stand our ground.

We were in EDSA when the first of those gunships landed in Camp Crame. Oh! The jubilation as we witnessed one land after another and we realized that they have come to “our” side. We shouted with joy and Daddy danced in the street! We laughed and hugged each other and together, we all prayed. Laban signs flashed all over.

We were in EDSA when news of the Marcoses’ flight reached the people. We were in EDSA when Corazon C. Aquino was sworn in as President of the Philippines.

Those were the heady days of EDSA, when after years of darkness, we finally saw the sun again.I have never been more proud of being a Filipino than in those days when we amazed the world … timid Filipinos finally rising up to topple a dictatorship in a way never before seen in history. I have never loved our country as much as I loved the Philippines then. All that love, that hope and optimism, all that pride of our accomplishment as a people, I directed them all to President Cory. How I loved and respected her. I hanged on to her every word, scanned the papers for the latest news about her, and had my heart almost bursting with pride each time she went abroad .. that little, bespectacled housewife in yellow, receiving the world’s accolade, standing shoulder to shoulder with its greatest leaders.

But reality soon caught up with us Filipinos. The President started getting criticized by people who expected too much, too soon. But I stayed by her side, my faith unwavering. I believed in her and knew that what the people had expected from her was too much for anybody to ever achieve. Twenty years of looting could not be undone in one or two years.

In the years that followed however, as President Cory faded from the national center stage, I became guilty of forgetting her. I became cynical again, weary of politics and blasphemous of anything nationalistic. To me, she eventually became simply the ever-supportive mother of Kris Aquino. I’d see her in the news occasionally, espousing one cause or another, and the most thought I’d spare her had been, “she’s too old to be doing that” or “she is better off staying home”.

News of her illness barely moved me as well. My reaction had been more of personal concern over the indiscriminate reach of cancer.

Then one day, as I was driving towards my daughter’s school, I caught a glimpse of a newspaper headline. It blared: “Cory fighting for her life!” I choked as if my entire heart just went up my throat and tears started falling. I could barely see the road. My beloved President Cory was dying! Everything that I ever felt for her came rushing back. I was beside myself with grief.

And now she is gone, that lone ray of hope that guided us Filipinos out of the darkness. She is gone, that shining example of how every Filipino, every person, every woman, every mother, and every leader should be. Bundled all together in her small frame was the purest form of integrity and humility, selfless service, strength of conviction, and indestructible faith in God. Now that she is gone, who else will show us how we should be?

And how do we say “Thank You” to President Cory for the person that she was? How do we say “Thank You” for giving herself so selflessly to us? How do we say “Thank You” for that hope that she inspired, for that fierce pride that she made us feel, for that intense love of country that she gave us?

How do we say thank you to a beloved? How do we say goodbye?

KIDS AND THE FLU

What I have in mind now might cost me some acquaintances and a lot of goodwill among some readers. I actually spent time debating with myself whether to take up this topic or not. But those who know me well enough are aware that I couldn’t let go once something starts eating at me. I just have to take that off my chest or I’ll explode!

I hope that we have broadminded readers who will understand that I am not deliberately targeting anybody. I may appear critical of some parents and I may be met by a lot of opposing ideas after this. But that’s a risk that I’m prepared to take. Bato-bato sa langit na lang …

It’s really very simple, nothing big and earth shattering. It’s about the flu and the issue of whether or not we should send our kids to school when they start exhibiting symptoms of the illness.

At first look, the answer seems pretty simple: child with fever = home.

But you would be surprised to know that there were actually some parents who still sent their kids to school despite elevated temperatures! I have seen this happen first hand. I have also heard of stories, uncorroborated of course, of parents who pressed ice cubes into their children’s foreheads so they could pass the temperature check at the school entrance. Others were said to have given their children paracetamol prior to going to make sure that their temperature would be down by the time they got to school.

I personally know of others who had to struggle with the idea of a slightly sick child having to stay home, thereby missing seatworks, quizzes and exams.

From what I have gathered, all these boil down to one concern: inconvenience. It is inconvenient for some to go after teachers to arrange for make-up quizzes and exams for the absent child. It is too much effort for some to borrow notebooks so their kids could copy the notes that they missed while they were sick.

I am perplexed. These stories, if true, are entirely against what I believe to be every mother’s primordial instinct when her child becomes sick! And that is to keep the child at home, well rested and fed and properly medicated to boot!

I had hoped that these stories were nothing but mere fabrications dreamed up by tongues that had nothing better to do. But the sad fact is that there are actually parents out there who do not consider a slight illness or an elevated temperature as enough justification for a missed day in school. They had to wait for 40-degree fevers perhaps?

And why is that? It seems that there is concern that their kids’ absence will affect their academic performance. I am thinking right now of what my daughter’s school principal, Sister Marissa Palomar, repeatedly says to the parents: let you children be children. Let them enjoy being such. Do not concern yourself too much over their academic performance. Their grades in elementary and high school will not show when they will apply for jobs in the future.

I completely agree. And if I may add … when they are sick, let them stay home even if they insist on going! Who are the parents anyway? I say, forget the missed quizzes and whatnot! Your children will not fail with two or even more missed seatworks.

And in addition to that, I enjoin parents to think of the other children who will be interacting with your sick ones. Spare them from contracting the same illness.

And this brings us to the crux of the matter … I can’t help but think that if the parents of sick children had only exercised the right discretion, maybe, just maybe, the reach of the flu would not have been as widespread as it is now. After all, if the sick ones had stayed home, who would infect the healthy children in school?

MISSING SOMETHING AND NOT EVEN KNOWING IT

Have you ever left something behind and never looked back? You move on convinced there was nothing to look back to. You live your life … past memories consigned to the farthermost parts of your mind … life is good now … it’s all that matters.

Then one day your past waves a hand at you. You stop in mid-stride … it looks familiar and it is beautiful! Your memories, long suppressed and denied, come back to you in trickles … then the tears come … the very ones you didn’t shed before, back at that time when you have convinced yourself that there was no reason to.

You catch a drop in your finger and you ask yourself what this is for? But you already know … deep inside you know what your tears are for … you are crying for that that is lost and you are crying for those that are missed.

My tears were for the childhood that I lost, for the young life that I missed out. I cried for my lost family, my lost home, my lost friends … and for the joys of childhood that I never again experienced.

This is what happens to children when parents decide that they have had enough. They become collateral damage, bemused onlookers to an event too incomprehensible for their young minds to grasp and beyond their power to stop. That’s when childhood ends. A child went to bed. A weary old man woke up.

But I survived. Oh yes! I survived and I did well. I didn’t travel that road where so many like myself have gotten lost in. People commended for me my strength, praised me for not letting my sorry past affect my present. “Of course!” answered confident me. “I couldn’t be affected by something that isn’t of my own doing!”

But did I really manage to escape unscathed? Could it be possible that the shards left by my broken family missed wounding me in any way?

I realize now that it couldn’t be possible. A blow like that couldn’t miss leaving a wound. I didn’t even know that the wound was there. The discovery of a scab was met by amazement. Like a child mesmerized by the newness of its discovery, I couldn’t stop looking and just like any child, I couldn’t stop peeling off a bit, just to see what wonders it might hide.

But I didn’t discover wonderful things. Instead I found a wound as raw and as fresh as the day when it was inflicted. Then the pain hit me. And I cried as I should have cried 28 years ago.

No. We can’t ever escape unscathed. We will always carry that baggage with us wherever we’d go. Some may be painfully aware of its burden, others carry on like I did, blissfully unaware of that extra weight.

Opening that wound left me wondering … has it belatedly crippled me? I hope not. Rather, I would like to believe that the pain that I have denied for so long is going to make me a better wife and mother. Pain at its most raw for the first time in 28 years strengthened my resolve to spare my own child from the same fate. I could do it. It’s within my own power this time. With God’s help I’ll spare her.

Life is good now. Happy with my present and surrounded by the warmth of my family’s love, I should stop looking back to that life of long ago. But there are times when I couldn’t help myself … I had to go back and remember that beautiful childhood that I so suddenly lost. My heart would then feel heavy with regret … and the tears would begin flowing again.

COULD SAYING “SHIT” EVER BE “NOT BAD”?

This was the contention of a British man I had an encounter with lately: that “shit” for him is kind of bad-bad … but not really baaaad? I answered him that the use of profanities may not be “bad” for him but for Filipinos like myself it’s a big no-no especially with our children!

This exchange transpired when this foreigner, who is also a parent in my daughter’s school, brusquely said to Abby and her classmate, “You're talking about shit! Get out of my way!” I went cold with rage when Abby reported this incident to me. For a foreigner to act in this haughty manner to two little girls right inside their school campus is absolutely and totally unacceptable!

I could not take this kind of behavior sitting down. It’s bad enough that some foreigners treat Filipinos with disdain, but for this man to actually act in such arrogant and high-handed manner to children right in their own turf (not to mention FILIPINO children right in their own country, THE PHILIPPINES!!!), and to my own child at that, almost got me choking with fury!

I marched up to him and told him in no uncertain terms that we do not tolerate that kind of language or behavior towards our children. He reasoned that saying “shit” is normal to him, that it didn’t really mean anything. To that I countered that he is in the Philippines and that being such, he should respect the fact that we have different sets of values and sensibilities that he should abide to.

He may be used to dealing with certain kinds of Filipinos, but these Filipinos are different! I wanted to pound into his head that these Filipinos do not use profane language in our homes nor do we allow our children to speak, or be spoken to, in that way. These Filipinos expect their children to be treated with the respect that is due to them.

Our children are not mere clutter lying around for this man to kick out of his way!

Civil people in this country say “excuse me” to people blocking their way. We do not say “get out of my way!”

I say this to all our foreign guests out there: I know that some of you see your Filipina wives and their families as leeches sucking up whatever money they could get out of you. I am honest enough to admit that this could be true in some cases. This is very unfortunate but there is nothing that I could do about it!

But do not ever think, even for one moment, that all Filipinos are the same, and ergo, are to be treated in the same way. In the other side of the fence are Filipinos who keep their distance from you, Filipinos who do not come to you with palms up and arms outstretched.

As guests, you conform to our ways and not the other way around!

We treat you with respect and we expect to be respected in return.

But most of all, we expect you to respect our children!

Foundation for Battered Women Launched

A Foundation for battered women was launched last June 27, 2009. The first of its kind in Dumaguete, this advocacy focuses on empowering women victims by providing them with a means of gaining financial independence from husbands or partners who have been abusing them.

Fully named ZET Anti-Violence for Women Advocacy Foundation Through Livelihood, this movement is the brainchild of Analyn Zuñiga, a native of Dumaguete and herself a victim of domestic abuse. “I’m beyond personal ambitions now”, said Ms. Zuñiga in an interview with Metropost. “I want Dumaguete to know that there are thousands of battered women in this City and I want these women to know that I am here for them. I have gone though what they are going through. I understand. I want to use my experience as a catalyst for improving their lives. That is my goal in life now.”

Ms. Zuñiga disclosed that being financially independent made it easier for her to leave her partner. But she realized that for most battered women, leaving their abusive husbands is not option because of their inability of support their children when they do so.

The ZET Foundation is currently giving free training on therapeutic massage and other spa services to six women with histories of domestic abuse. Ms. Zuñiga hopes that after they have completed their training, she would be able to help them get employment abroad through her foreign business partners.

The Foundation also aims to create public awareness about the prevalence of physical abuse in the homes, not only against women, but also against their children. Ms. Zuñiga plans to talk to the women in the barangays to let them know that there is a law that protects them (RA 9262 – Anti-Violence Against Women and their Children Act of 2004) and that they have the ZET Foundation to go to.

Those who are interested may see SPO3 Josefa Lacandula at the PNP Women’s Desk.

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN WE INHALE DUST?

In my last article I wrote about the deplorable condition of the highway fronting the Catherina Cittadini/Don Bosco compound. I ranted and raved over the horrendous traffic clog up caused by the unfinished roads. Needless to say, this situation continues to cause immeasurable misery not only to the parents and students, but also to the countless motorists traveling to and from Dumaguete proper.

This past week, as I continued to literally inch my way towards my daughter’s school, I often thought of this road as either the road to sainthood or damnation. Truly, we don't “drive” through this disaster we call development, we struggle through it. Believe me, the things we have to put up with will test even the patience of a saint!

Being able to keep my cool day after day has become a daily test of patience for me. I count my day a success if I could suppress every urge I’d get to give each and every abusive and undisciplined driver I’d encounter the spanking they so rightly deserved!

Lately though, my concern has shifted from traffic to the perpetual cloud of dust that covers the area. I am often horrified to see children being driven through this cloud without even the most basic covering for their noses! Those children were freely inhaling all that dust and getting all kinds of particles deep into their respiratory system!

I am particularly concerned over this because I suffer from dust allergy. Let me inhale dust for two days or so and you’ll soon find me with a clogged nose and totally knocked down by severe headache.

Before starting to write this, I went online to educate myself about the ill effects of dust inhalation. Let me share what I have learned. But before that, let’s keep in mind that I’m not a doctor, so please pardon any slip-up.

What are dusts? Dusts are tiny solid particles scattered or suspended in the air. The particles are "inorganic" or "organic," depending on the source of the dust. Inorganic dusts can come from grinding metals or minerals such as rock or soil. Organic dusts originate from plants or animals.

Our lungs are constantly exposed to danger from the dusts that we breathe in. Luckily, the lungs have defense mechanisms that protect them by removing dust particles from the respiratory system. On the other hand, even though the lungs can clear themselves, excessive inhalation of dust may still result in disease.

What happens when we breathe in dust? The lungs are protected by a series of defense mechanisms in different regions of the respiratory tract. When a person breathes in, particles suspended in the air enter the nose, but not all of them reach the lungs. The nose is an efficient filter. Most large particles are stopped in it, until they are removed mechanically by blowing the nose or sneezing.

Some of the smaller particles succeed in passing through the nose to reach the windpipe and the air tubes that lead to the lungs. The airways are lined by cells that produce mucus and these catch most of the dust particles. Tiny hairs called cilia move the mucus upward and out into the throat, where it is either coughed up and spat out, or swallowed.

The air that reaches the tiny air sacs in the inner part of the lungs may carry dust particles that have avoided the defenses in the nose and airways. Special cells called macrophages will attack this dust. Macrophages virtually swallow the particles. Then in a way that is not well understood, they reach the part of the airways that is covered by cilia where the wavelike motions move the macrophages that contain dust to the throat, where they are spat out or swallowed.

What are the reactions of the lungs to dust? The way the respiratory system responds to inhaled particles depends, to a great extent, on where the particle settles. For example, irritant dust that settles in the nose may lead to rhinitis, an inflammation of the mucous membrane. If the particle attacks the larger air passages, inflammation of the trachea (tracheitis) or the bronchi (bronchitis) may be seen.

The most significant reactions of the lung occur in the deepest parts of this organ. Particles that evade elimination in the nose or throat tend to settle in the sacs or close to the end of the airways. But if the amount of dust is large, the macrophage system may fail. Dust particles and dust-containing macrophages collect in the lung tissues, causing injury to the lungs.

From what I have learned so far, I think that every parent’s more immediate concern for children who are continually exposed to dust is the development of allergic rhinitis, sinusitis, or asthma.

We have already learned that rhinitis is an inflammation of the mucous membranes of the nose. This is caused by allergy-causing irritants such as dust. Symptoms include: sneezing; itchy nose, roof of the mouth, throat, eyes or ears; runny nose; congestion; and watery eyes.

Sinusitis is a painful, long-lasting inflammation of the sinuses. Sinuses are the hollow cavities around the cheekbones found around the eyes and behind the nose. Symptoms of sinusitis include: congestion; green or gray nasal discharge; postnasal drip; pressure in the face; headache; fever; a cough that won't go away.

Sinusitis may last for months or years if it is not properly treated. Colds are the most common cause of acute sinusitis, but people with allergies are much more likely to develop sinusitis than people who do not have allergies.

Is It a Colds or Allergies? Colds, which result from viral infection, are more likely to occur at any time (though they're more common during the rainy season). On the other hand, if during summer season your child is sneezing and wheezing, he may suffer from allergies.

Although colds and allergies produce similar symptoms, colds usually last only a week or so. And although both may cause your child’s nose and eyes to itch, colds and other viral infections may also give him a fever, aches and pains, and colored mucus. Allergies wont cause these. Cold symptoms often worsen as the days go on and then gradually improve. Allergies, on the other hand, begin immediately after exposure to the offending allergen and last as long as that exposure continues. If you're not sure whether your symptoms are being caused by allergies or a cold, talk with your doctor.

How about asthma? Asthma symptoms can be brought on by dozens of different things, and what causes asthma flare-ups in one person might not bother another at all. The things that set off asthma symptoms are called triggers. The following is one of the more common triggers: allergens. An allergen is any substance that causes an allergic reaction in some people. Some people with asthma find that allergens can be a major trigger. Common allergens are dust mites (microscopic bugs that live in dust), molds, pollen, animal dander, and cockroaches.

Another common trigger are airborne irritants and pollutants. Certain substances in the air, such as chalk dust or smoke, can trigger asthma because they irritate the airways.

I hope that parents reading this will see the point that I am trying to drive at. While excessive inhalation of dust could cause long-term damage to our and our children’s lungs, we should also concern ourselves with its immediate effects.

If your child is having colds that has been going on for weeks, this means that he has developed an allergic reaction to dust. He will most likely develop sinusitis. Believe me, having this condition is not easy. I suffer from migraines because of my allergies. There are nasal sprays that I could use to protect myself against allergens, but they are very expensive, with prices ranging from P700.00 to as much as P1,200.00 and probably even more! There are times when I’d go unprotected because I had either ran out of spray or did not have the extra money to buy another bottle. These are times when I’d be knocked down by excruciating headaches. My experience through the years had made me realize that when our sinuses are clogged, drinking cold water could trigger the headaches.

I am writing about this topic now because I am very concerned for the children that I am seeing everyday being driven through the dust on their way to and from school. They may not be feeling the ill effects now, but it will come. There is no avoiding them.

So what should we do? If our only means of taking our children to school is by open transport such as motorcycle or a multicab, we should ensure that their noses are appropriately covered in the hope of minimizing their exposure to dust.

And children being children, we cannot trust them with mere hankies. Sooner or later, they will most certainly forget that they had to keep holding their hankies up against their noses. Maybe the best that we could do is to make them wear facemasks when we drive through dusty streets.

I don't really know if facemasks are effective protection against dust, but in my mind, it’s better than nothing at all. So what are we waiting for? It’s our children’s future health that we are talking about! Let’s start doing something now!

I Dreamed a Dream

No, this is not about that beautiful song from Les Miserables that Susan Boyle made even more famous. It’s my dream that came to me as I was driving around these monstrosities we call Dumaguete streets.

I dreamed of an election-free Philippines. Yes. I dreamed of a time where the word “election” is but a distant memory. And why not? What’s the use of elections anyway, when it’s nothing but a farce, a charade where we fool ourselves into believing that we are electing people who would represent us in this great exercise we call Democracy. Ha-ha! Fat chance! We all know that those whom we send to walk the corridors of power represent all but one thing: their own interests. I need not elaborate on that. We all know what that means.

So how do our leaders come to us? How about via succession like how the royalties do it? In my dream, I had a vision of the son taking over the reign of the father. And why not again? It’s not as if this idea is totally foreign to us! Are we not seeing political dynasties everywhere we’d turn? Don’t sons, or grandsons, wives, and even mistresses join in the foray, with virtually the same motivation that aristocracies had when they intermarried … to keep the spoils within the family?

This is really sad. But let’s get realistic for a while. Isn’t this pretty much what is happening already?

I have to say this again. This is really sad. And what is sadder is that the condition of our streets had what prompted me to get transported into this ra-ra dreamland. I thought that with elections gone, we won’t have to do this daily rigodon as we travel around our city. Do I still have to elaborate on that? Ok. Are we not all saying, to explain away all these flurry of road cementing, that it’s because elections are in the air? I rest my case.

If I sound bitter, that’s because I am! Anybody who has passed through Calindagan will understand my sentiments. Half a kilometer away from the Catherina Cittadini/Don Bosco compound, you could already see the dust enveloping the area like a thick fog! On top of that is the monstrous traffic clog up during rush hours that has brought countless motorists unfathomable frustration, not the least of whom are the parents (that includes me!) of students of Catherina Cittadini and Don Bosco.

I just couldn’t, for the life of me, understand why the planners of this so-called road development project didn’t plan the cementing of this part of the highway in a better, more intelligent and more considerate manner! I am pretty certain that they didn’t miss out on the fact that there are two schools in the Calindagan area (not to mention Dumaguete City High School) with hundreds, if not thousands of students!

Could they not have anticipated the horrendous traffic that would result when the schools opened? THEY COULD HAVE, AT LEAST, FINISHED CEMENTING THAT STRETCH OF THE HIGHWAY FRONTING THE TWO SCHOOLS DURING VACATION TIME. Isn’t that pure and simple common sense?

Instead, they went on their merry way digging up the existing asphalt all the way to eternity and left the cementing until … surprise of all surprises (the surprise being all on their side of course, these brainiacs not having thought of hello?... THE STUDENTS!!!) … the students returned, unwittingly finding themselves tied up in knots in several places, as they troop to their schools by the thousands day in and day out!

And it gets worse! At some point in this nightmare of ours, the two gates in our school compound will not become passable for some period. And do you know what they expect us to do? Drop our children off in the Teletech area and leave them to their own devices from that point onwards. As if!!! If you are as conscientious a parent as I am, would you leave your children alone and allow them to walk all the way to their school unescorted and lugging their heavy bags behind? Of course not! And there are hundreds of similarly-minded parents out there. We would have to leave our cars where we could and walk our children to school. I wonder how they plan to fit hundreds of cars in that area outside the Teletech compound. This I have to see. But deep inside I know already. It will be the usual “bahala na mo sa kinabuhi ninyo kung mag-unsa mo!” scenario. As always, poor, poor us!

I can think of only one explanation why our present problem was never considered … these brainiacs do not have children in either Cittadini or Don Bosco! Otherwise …. Am I brilliant or what?

Whew! Huffing and puffing over our roads can be quite tiring! How about you? Any novel ideas borne out of frustration and acceptance over how powerless we really are? We are nothing but pawns, and pawns we’ll remain unless we do something. But what? That is the question. Vote? Ha-ha!

BAN PLASTIC BAGS! LET’S USE THE BAYONG!

I recently became interested in the bayong because of my friends Bing Sumanoy and Chedette Mascardo. They work in the Department of Trade and Industry and are presently promoting the use of bayong in lieu of plastic bags for carrying our purchases in the market. Likewise, they are also busy providing technical support to bayong weavers all over our province. There is a dual aim for this: save the environment and create employment opportunities for the unemployed and displaced OFWs.

The bayong is a simple woven flat basket made of indigenous materials like buri, bamboo or rattan strips. I guess that most of us are not old enough to witness the popular use of the bayong during the time of our lolos and lolas. Like me, your exposure to the bayong most likely came from movies where probinsianos are portrayed arriving in Manila carrying these bayongs laden with vegetables with the occasional chicken head sticking out.

But I did live through the times when we still used the round baskets for carrying our fish and vegetables in around the market. I remember that as a child, I used to stay clear of “the basket” that stank of fish.

I cannot remember exactly when plastic bags became widely used. My farthest recollection is during the mid-80s when I became actively involved in marketing chores. We were already using plastic bags by then. I guess I wasn’t of much use to my family with these tasks during my earlier years, hence the blank in my memory as to whether plastics were already in rage from mid-70s up to the early 80s.

What I cannot blank out though is the devastating effect that plastic must be causing to our environment. I learned from my friends at DTI that 80% of groceries and stores all over the world use plastic bags for packaging and that about a TRILLION are being consumed worldwide … EVERYDAY!!!


I learned further that in a study conducted by the National Solid Waste Management Commission, the volume of solid wastes in Metro Manila alone reached 6,720 tons per day, 25% of which is comprised of plastics. Greenpeace Asia and Ecowaste Coalition claimed that 76% of wastes floating in Manila Bay consist of plastic products, broken down into 51% plastic bags, 19% sachets and junk food wrappers, 5% Styrofoam materials, 1% hard plastics, 11% rubber materials, and only 13% biodegradable discards.

China, as always, is already leaps and bounds way ahead of us. Alarmed by the millions of plastic bags clogging their canals, its governments recently banned the use of plastic bags, and promptly ordered its citizens to start using baskets or re-usable cloth bags for either shopping or going to the market. Chinese citizens were warned that those violating the ban will pay high penalties and that the government will close down shops still using the same.

I found out from my own research that the City of Makati has promulgated an ordinance requiring all food chains, restaurants, supermarkets, eateries and other like establishments to replace all plastic and Styrofoam packaging with environment friendly materials. Los Baños, Laguna and the Municipality of Sta. Barbara in Iloilo have banned the use of plastic bags. The latter received an award from the Mother Earth Foundation for this initiative.

How about us? What part can we play in this increasing worldwide endeavor to spare Mother Earth from further destruction? There are little things that we can do. I, for instance, decline plastic packaging for purchases that I could easily put inside my bag. I just make sure that I do not lose the receipt. And I request store personnel to put additional items I’m buying into plastic bags that I already have containing earlier purchases. Small steps. But with a lot of us doing the same, maybe, just maybe, we could put a minuscule dent on the trillion being consumed daily.

We could also start using the bayong. But unless somebody up there gets serious against the use of plastic bags, market vendors will continue to use the same for every kilo of fish or vegetable that we would purchase. This would definitely defeat our purpose of using the bayong to help save our planet.

The bayong project of DTI is very laudable. But to my mind, for it to be able to achieve its worthy goals, it has to be paired with the banning of plastic bags. Unless this happens, the use of the bayong would merely become a ludicrous exercise. Even if all of us would use bayong in the tiangge, the continued use of plastic bags by the vendors will nullify all our efforts.

I have nothing but full enthusiasm for the bayong initiative. But … I do have one “but” … the bayong has to be strongly constructed out of sturdy materials for me, and all like-minded housewives out there, to consider using it on a permanent basis. It should be able to withstand the weight of several kilos of purchases.

I am fairly certain that nobody would want to keep using the bayong if they would have to buy one each time they would go to the market. One bayong should at least last for months. Minus this very important factor, it will be difficult for buyers like me to support this program. And without the consumers, the budding weaving industry will crumble.

Finally, we should all urge the City Council, if it has not done so yet, to promulgate ordinances similar to those that were imposed by Makati, Los Baños and Sta. Barbara in their respective jurisdictions. If they were able to do it, what is stopping Dumaguete?

Hayden in our Homes

I’m a Hayden victim too!

Ha-ha! Fat chance! But seriously, I count myself a victim .. sort of. That is, if you consider missing the evening news at the peak of this sex video brouhaha the kind that would qualify me into that category.

Let me put this into frame. My daughter Abby owns the TV. Weekends during schooldays and during the entire summer vacation, Abby holds absolute dominion over the TV remote. I have long since given up the fight for it, but I did managed to squeak in my parental prerogative for American Idol and the evening news.

But wait! Before anyone starts getting images of a wild child running loose in our home, let me clear things up. The word discipline hangs heavily over this household. I simply do not stand my ground on every issue that comes between my daughter and myself just because I could. I let her get away with inconsequential stuff (like the remote) and dig my heels in only for those things that really matter.

With that out of the way, let’s get back to my TV privileges and Hayden. As I was saying, I insisted on getting the TV only to watch American Idol and the news. Imagine Abby’s delight when AI had its finale … “I’m so happy!! Now I can have the TV back!” So I only had the evening news left as my sole claim to it. This was the only time when I could tell her to go to MY channel, regardless of what she may be watching at that time. And I had to give this up too because of HIM!!

I know that almost everyone is as sick and tired of this pathetic excuse of a man as I am. But I am writing all the same because this issue had not been tackled down to the level of family, more particularly, its impact on my child and how it had caused a big upset on my efforts to raise my child in ways I think best. Maybe the distasteful effects of Hayden’s capers have reached your homes too.

We all reacted in various ways when this scandal broke the surface. But react, we all did! We all professed shock and disgust over this man but undeniably, many of us got curious. Countless Dumagueteños crowded around office computers to scour the internet for these videos. I know of many who have the videos in their cell phones and flash disks. CDs sold like pancakes.

But while everyone waited with bated breath for the next installment of this latest melodrama, I became wary of TV news and started avoiding it altogether! And that’s how I missed out on almost everything that went on during that time. I had to. Abby watches with me and I did not want her to see half-naked Hayden and Katrina gyrating before her in the TV screen, or be bombarded by blurred but still highly suggestive and thought-provoking photos of an apparently-naked man and woman while the news screamed SEX SCANDAL!!! I knew exactly the kind of questions that I would be inundated with. And I wasn’t, and still am, not ready for them.

But as we all know, even the fiercest guard dog (that’s me) couldn’t keep the guard up at all times. Almost immediately, I slipped when I left Abby briefly in the care of our house helpers when she was in the hospital. When I returned, I found all three of them staring up into the TV screen seemingly mesmerized by those hateful images. I could only imagine what may have been going through Abby’s impressionable young mind as she watched them. Children’s brains soak up information like hungry sponges. I braced myself for the barrage of questions that I knew my inquisitive child had coming for me.

Abby is no stranger to sexy scenes though. She sees them in TV all the time. The reality is that THERE IS NO AVOIDING THEM. They come to you even while you are merely surfing for channels. Even cartoon characters smooch non-stop in kiddie channels. I have already been asked why foreigners sleep without their clothes on. She considered it stupid because the lady would have to keep holding the blanket up to cover her chest.

But I don't think she ever gave any of it much thought except probably to shake her head in wonder at the stupidity of some grownups’ peculiar habits.

But things changed after this Hayden scandal. The tiny wheels inside her head started turning and putting two and two together and whoa!! she had become wiser on this subject! She must have picked up snippets of information from her school friends, from TV and movies, and from everywhere else then lumped them all together and came up with an almost-perfect picture.

Then the questions started. I wanted to wail. I wanted to scratch Hayden’s eyes out! I wanted to give him the kind of circumcision that finishes everything off! I thought of that former policeman who poured water over his head and wished he had used muriatic acid instead!

“Mama, what is sex?” (waaaah!!) “No, not the male and female thing! I mean THE BAD THING!” (WAAAAH!) By then, she had me cornered! I could not think. My mind was filled with images of a glistening pair of scissors, clicking ominously, as they moved with deliberate slowness towards a cowering Hayden for that much dreamed-of circumcision!

How do we talk about sex to our children? How old should they be before this sit down about the birds and the bees becomes imperative? I have absolutely no idea. There’s supposed to be a book on this subject at National bookstore. I should have gotten that the moment I knew that I was going to have a child!

But it was too late by then. I was unprepared for her direct questions. I crossed my fingers secretly and lied through my teeth … “it’s another word for mating Langga, you know, like what our dogs, chicken and love birds do to have babies.” (It’s still partly true, I told myself!) “I KNOW THAT ALREADY!!” (Huh? Oh yeah! There goes my chance to wriggle out of this!) “So, what is “it”? Why is it bad? What is a scandal?” (HAYDENNN!!!) If I were really that guard dog I said I was, I’d be baring my fangs and growling and bristling at him by that time! But deep inside, I was writhing in agony. Add a foaming mouth in your mental image and that’s the accurate picture of what I went through at that time!

There was no way out by then. I had to face my curious child’s questions (although I still wasn’t above skirting some if I could). In essence I told her that sex is what people do to have a baby. I added that, by itself, it is not bad and that in fact, it is very beautiful and good. But I told her that it is beautiful only when done between husband and wife as God commands it. And it becomes bad only when people do it before they get married. “Or ARE NOT married!”, Abby added.

After this I braced myself for the particulars, the HOWS … I had absolutely no idea how to answer this or even how to avoid answering the questions I was sure were coming next … should I tell her already how it happens and exactly what parts of the anatomy are involved? In my mind, I was still deliberating over truths vs. lies when my brat dropped her million-dollar conclusion … “So you and Papa do it, right?” (Oh my God! I did not expect this! This is killing me! How does anybody ever answer THAT question to a nine-year old?) “But how come I don't see you take your clothes off? Or dance like this?” She raised her arms and wriggled her hips! These are obviously the images that she associates with sex.

By then, I was too exhausted even to give Hayden Kho a mental growl. I sought refuge in my lies and told Abby that those things are done only in the movies. “Besides, can you imagine me dancing like that??? With all my bilbil (tummy blob) hanging out???”

Humor saved me from further torture that day! We had a long, good laugh over that. Abby couldn’t get over the ridiculous idea of her mama (with her bilbil flying all over the place) and papa dancing the way Hayden and Katrina did. Then an idea occurred to her, “Oh yeah! I came from medicines right? You had to be injected so you could have me!” I just nodded vaguely. I was thankful for this temporary relief from the questions and the need to be upfront with her.

For now, I am happy that the questions have stopped coming. She seems content with the knowledge that she developed directly through the fertility drugs that I received while undergoing treatment.

But the crucial question still remains. How and when should we talk about sex to our children?

I know that some readers may find me too conservative regarding this matter. But is it too wrong to want your daughter to remain innocent for as long as possible? What parent wouldn’t want that for his child?

I have no intention of not taking up this topic up with Abby. I just think that at nine years old, she is still way too young for these sorts of worldly concerns. I would have wanted her to remain, in every essence a child, for as long as possible.

But what can I do? Time and circumstances have gotten way ahead of this mom. There is nothing much that we can keep from our children nowadays. The wisest course of action at this point for me will be to educate Abby about sex not only within the physical context but more importantly, within the proper context of God and religion, family, society, consequences and responsibilities, and of course, morality.

As for Hayden Kho, I still have modified circumcision in mind for him. Seriously though, his utterly selfish acts have far-reaching repercussions, way beyond the obvious damage that it is doing to the women he had victimized. He almost single-handedly corrupted the minds of countless children all over the country (with the help of the sensationalized treatment given by irresponsible TV journalism) thereby robbing them of precious innocence.

He forced into my Abby an awareness that she can still do without. He is forcing me to confront an issue that I’m still not prepared and not willing to meet at this time.

But there it is. The need has arisen. I have no choice. So off to the bookstore this Mom goes!

Is Dumaguete Ready for the AH1N1 Flu?

When this article came out in the May 30 issue of the MetroPost, the Philippines barely had 10 confirmed AH1N1 cases. As of today, the Department of Health announced 77 cases. WHO declared the Philippines as having the most number of cases in Southeast Asia.

Dumaguete has been spared so far. Last week, 2 foreign students of Silliman University exhibited flu-like symptoms and were advised to go on quarantine. As of this writing, there has been no update as to their status.

The children have gone back to school. Colleges and universities will be opening their doors on June 15.

We continue to hope and pray that Dumaguete will be spared from the H1N1 virus.


This column has to come out of hibernation to ask this question: are our hospitals prepared should, God forbid, a possible H1N1 case rears up its scary head?

I remember that during the SARS scare our hospitals, albeit belatedly, set up screening points in their entrances. Looking around now, I am dismayed to see that, while the whole world seems to be panicking over swine flu, Dumaguete hospitals are still in their “business as usual” mode.

Why is that? Shouldn’t they be the very first ones to “panic”? After all, hospitals are where sick people ran to at the first signs of illness. And especially at this time when the threat of an H1N1 pandemic is very real, our hospitals should be gearing up to meet this head on.

So what are they doing about it? How are the hospitals planning to handle a possible swine flu patient? Have they set up plans to protect the other patients from possible transmission of the virus? Like isolation or something? I am particularly concerned over this because my mother-in-law is presently hospitalized. Would they place a possible H1N1 patient in a room next to hers? How would that affect visitors and family members like us?

Has the hospital staff been briefed on what should be done in this event? They should not be clambering over each other asking what they should do to protect themselves, should a consultant for instance, call up to inform them that he’s sending up a patient who had just flown in from Central America and who is exhibiting with flu-like symptoms!

Does Dumaguete have the antiviral drugs to combat this flu?

I just have to ask. I am not a doctor, and obviously, I do not know enough. All I know are what I hear from the news and what I see and hear in our hospitals.

And from the inaction that I have seen so far and from the stories that I have been hearing, I should start getting seriously alarmed!

HUMANITY: AT ITS BRIGHTEST AND DARKEST

Whenever we’d sing praises of Dumaguete, we almost never fail to mention how fortunate we are to have mountains shielding us against the worst of weathers. February 7 made us realize that we are not that fortunate. We didn’t even have the worst of weathers that day. News reports informed us that a low-pressure area over Eastern Mindanao had brought about the rains.

And yet last Saturday, Dumaguete and its neighboring towns were driven to their knees, its people incredulous at the sight of floodwater as it started to gather at their doorsteps. We all know by now that those waters did not merely stop there. They continued to rise as the rivers swelled. As a consequence, precious lives were lost, homes, belongings and valued livestock carried away, and the collective fallacy of Negros being a haven against nature’s fury shattered into pieces.

Although many of us were fortunate enough not to get flooded, somehow, we still felt the brunt of Banica’s ferocity. For instance, we lost our water supply for more than one day here in Batinguel. We were informed that rampaging waters busted the main supply pipe in Candau-ay. Yes, there was no escaping Saturday’s calamitous event. In some way or another, we all felt, and continue to feel, Mother Nature’s unequivocal message: we have always been and will always be at her mercy.

And yet, it is during times like these that our humanity shines at its brightest. Many a time we read about people rising above their own selves to lend help in times of disaster. Many a time we silently rejoice as we listen to stories of ordinary men doing extraordinary deeds. For who wouldn’t rejoice at shining moments that give boost to our sagging faith on the basic goodness of man?

It is no different this time. People banded together to help neighbors. Lifelines were provided and countless men, women and children made it to safety. A life was given to save a loved one. Who hasn’t heard of the heartbreaking story of the father who let go of the rope that would have dragged him to safety? He did so to save his child, losing his life in the process. We could all identity with this father. We’d do the same for our children.

A poignant image struck me in MetroPost’s issue last Sunday: that of the boy and his dog. In times of disaster, we worry about saving our loved ones and ourselves first, and only of the other family members next. It warmed my heart to see that this boy had not forgotten his pet. I worried for our 11 dogs and 6, 7, or 8 cats too. I had mental pictures of all these dears running amok in our bedroom in the second floor as I thought of the possibility of the floodwaters reaching our area.

But just at humanity had shone in this dark day, my family had a brush with man at one of his darkest. It was really an insignificant encounter, forgettable even, but thinking of that incident, I realized how that little event mirrored a sickness that ails the hearts of so many: selfishness.

As I had mentioned, we lost our water supply. Although we managed to store some, it eventually came to a point where we had no water left even for cooking rice. My husband, Nonoy, then decided to get water from a barangay artesian well located near his brother Joel’s house. After securing the necessary permission from the man in-charged of the well through my sister-in-law, Trining, he proceeded to draw water with the help of our houseboy, oftentimes stopping to give way to the residents who also came for water. They weren’t able to finish though. A woman accosted them, questioning their right to draw water in Taclobo after learning that they were from Batinguel.

Indeed, it was a small event. But against the backdrop of the disaster that had just hit our City and the need for water that became extremely urgent for some of us, this lady had effectively declared: what is ours is ours alone.

Sharing that water with anybody in this time of need would not have cost her a thing. In fact, it would have been an opportunity to lend a helping hand to anyone who had been affected by the recent flooding. And it would not have even created a dent in the underground reservoir.

Pray answer this then: isn’t that an illustration of man in one of his darkest?