The Hands that Wrack the Cradle

(my journal entry dated June 20, 2012, a Wednesday)

I did not learn much about Jose Rizal’s birth anniversary commemoration yesterday. Except for Lourd de Veyra’s commentary about how kids today don’t know much about Rizal, which is tragic really, but the treatment of the story was rather comic, and I don’t know at whose expense—the students themselves, their parents, their teachers, mass media, or society in general.

The high school students that were interviewed to answer basic questions about Rizal were simply all over the place. One question was, what are the two novels that Rizal wrote? One kid answered “Noli Me Tangere” and “Florante at Laura.”

Another question: Who was Jose Rizal’s only brother (the answer to which is Paciano). The kid had it wrong again by saying, “Graciano.” Oh well.

It would be too premature to say that the way patriotism is taught in our schools has indeed gone down the drain. But if the gauge to finding out is measuring how much they know about the country (its history, culture, heroes, etc.), then we are in serious trouble. If the kids from the private schools flunk it, how much more if the kids from the public schools are asked?

Fortunately, I think gauging a person’s worth based on academic performance is becoming passé as years go by. Companies have not been that strict when it comes to accepting applicants with no college degrees.

Besides, previous generations of Filipinos may know a great deal about Rizal, this country and our culture and history, but where exactly has it gotten us anyway? Some of them are in politics and, well... you know the rest.

I think one dictum that we could consider redefining is one that concerns raising our kids. “The hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that moves the world” just doesn’t apply to parenting anymore. Or rather, it still does, but parents these days just don’t have the corner market in the “rocking-the-cradle” territory. We have cable TV, the internet, our children’s friends, the school and neighborhood, etc.

Before cable TV and the internet, most kids go out to play with other neighborhood kids. You knew who your kids’ friends were. These days, it’s practically the same, except for two things: First, why would the kids bother going out when there’s internet gaming, social networking sites and all-day-long TV cartoons at home? Second, with so many “hands” rocking the cradle, we’re raising distracted kids on the verge of becoming spoiled brats—or spoiled “broths,” what with too many “cooks” trying to cook them up according to their own standards.

We can’t just throw the burden of the responsibility on the parents. Children these days tend to outgrow their cradles at a very fast rate. And we live in a society that’s trying to work us hard and dumb down our sensibilities.

In an oppressive society, privileged kids are no longer just those who live with affluent lifestyles. PRIVILEGED KIDS ARE THOSE WHO HAVE GOOD PARENTS/PARENT FIGURES AT LEAST.

The Genius of Broken Hearts

(with excerpt from my journal entry dated February 16, 2012, a Thursday)

Earlier this morning, while I was gargling, I heard Ate Gina singing “I love you, goodbye” in the backyard, and then the song “It’s the end of the world” (Skeeter Davis) came to mind, and then I realized, for most people, the end of the world is so much easier to deal with than failure in love. Meaning, there are people out there who would rather that the world ended rather than face up to a broken heart. Ahehe.

I think it’s got something to do with the need to forget already—the need to get over with the emotion, the need to be shocked and shaken out of the…what? Stupor? Hypnosis? The spell?

And with what? With an experience that’s somewhat more mind-boggling or shocking, whose impact would “replace,” in the mind, the “breakup of the century.”  Ahehe.

Just now, I thought of the movie with Adam Sandler owning some kind of remote control device that can make time stop, go fast forward or in slow motion, etc. Somehow, having a broken heart can make time stop and everything else go still.

Years ago, I thought of madness as some kind of inability to cope with a difficult "present." That since you can’t deal with the present, you get stuck in the past. Or the future. Or any other time in any other dimension, other than the here and now. Parang Shaider. Naka-time-space warp ang mga baliw. Either they’re trapped in the past (either traumatically or euphorically) or they’re trapped in the future (or in some futuristic world of their own making) gaya ni Cita Aztals. Tama ba ang spelling ko ng name ni Cita Aztals?

Anyway, the point is, having a broken heart is some kind of temporary madness. Just me. There’s a temporary inability to focus or deal with present circumstances. I guess that’s why I think it’s wise to be able to detach oneself from one’s self, and see things from the perspective of another person. Or from the perspective of eternity—if you’re feeling profound enough—by thinking of the situation from the point of a great great grandchild. “When my grandma was this age, she had her heart badly broken….etc.”

And then we see things happening in our life just the way we review, say, the tragedies of William Shakespeare. I mean, did Romeo and Juliet actually live? Did their tragic love affair really happen? We make our own reflections and our own judgments and conclusions, foremost of which is that broken hearts are a universal experience.

Now, what you do with a broken heart is up to your genius, of course. You can write a play about it, or a novel in which you transform yourself in to a vampire’s object of obsession. Hey, you can make money out of things like that these days.

But then, wouldn’t that classify you as “mad” also? Hmm…probably. Pero temporary madness lang naman ‘yun. Nagkakatalo lang sa control. Ang mga totoong baliw, walang control sa detachment nila from reality. Pero ‘yung mga gifted…or, okay, yung mga may konting sayad na lang, at least may control pa rin. Tama ba?

Just now, naalala ko si Akira Kurosawa. Sa pelikula niyang “Dreams,” sabi niya, “Man is a genius when he dreams.” Or something to that effect. Come to think of it, karamihan sa mga panaginip natin, puro “kabaliwan” lang. Walang logic. Walang rational structure. Pero, our sleeping selves readily accept them  or tolerate them like they’re the most natural thing.

Teka pala. What about nightmares? I’ll think about it some other time. Right now, I can only conclude that this world is so much more alive and so much more colorful because of broken hearts. And dreams. And madness…or genius. Whatever. Chapter!

The Hunger Game

(with my journal entry dated August 1, 2012, a Tuesday)

First birthday ng isa sa mga bata dito sa amin. Si Jewel. We call her Juweweng. Everyone’s busy. Maulan nga lang. May bagyo kasi.

‘Yung kapraningan ko early this year—about December 19, 2012 being the end of life as we know it—bumalik. It seems things are happening again that point toward that. Ewan.

Right now, I’m thinking of growing fat. I’m worried about famine when “the end” starts happening. Sa napanood ko kasi sa National Geographic, fat people tend to survive longer in times of famine. Nauuna kasing “kainin” ng katawan ang fat reserves for energy—that is, kung wala na talagang makain ang isang tao. Kapag naubos na yung fat reserves, kasunod naman “kinakain” ng katawan ‘yung mga muscles.

Now, kung hindi na makakilos ang isang tao dahil halos buto’t balat na lang siya, tsaka naman magsisimula ngayon yung pagsa-shutdown ng mga sistema ng katawan na hindi naman talaga kailangan para ma-sustain ang buhay. This is to divert a person’s remaining energy to functions that are really essential for living, e.g. respiration, heartbeat, etc.

Magsa-shut down ngayon ang digestive system (kasi nga kung wala ka na kinakain, ano pa ang ida-digest mo? Sayang lang yung energy), excretory system, etc. —mga functions na hindi naman talaga basic para manatiling buhay.

Lastly, kapag walang-wala na talaga, magsa-shutdown naman yung part ng brain that helps us distinguish between right and wrong. Medulla oblongata* nga ba ‘yun? Now, dahil wala na tayong sense of right and wrong, we become like animals—reduced to our instincts in order to survive. We’d eat anything, even each other, and we won’t even be squeamish about it anymore. Scary, right? But then we probably won’t be scared kasi we would be too insane to be scared by then.

Kawawa naman yung mga taong walang immediate access sa pagkain—yung mga taong hindi nakapag-stock ng food supply or hindi maka-move from place to place in order to find food. People would pray that death come quicker. Pero with just food scarcity threatening life, it would be a slow, agonizing death. Forty days**? Parang narinig ko dati, man can survive without food for forty days. I’ll check that one out if it’s correct.

Now, I’m wondering if suicide would be an option. I mean, for a deranged man whose instincts are focused on survival, would suicide even figure as an option? Oo siguro. Pero that would probably happen bago pa tayo masiraan ng bait. I surely hope it wouldn’t have to come to that. Hmm . . . e, bakit ko nga ba iniisip na magpataba? I mean, kung mataba ako, mas mahaba pang paghihirap dadanasin ko; whereas kung payat naman, sandali lang tepok na. Would I really want to last that long before I die? Geez.

But then, all that I’ve discussed so far is just the grimmer side of the coin. Malay natin, may mga rescuers naman pala. O di kaya, paano pala kung may pagkain naman na available, didiskartehan mo na lang para makuha? So, kailangan mo pa rin talaga makatagal. Expect the worst ba? With such scenarios, mas preferable pa ba ang tsunami? O ang mga solar flares na sa sobrang intense, instantaneous death naman agad? Siguro nga.

But right now, as much as I don’t want to be hedonistic about this, I can’t. May birthday party sa kabila. Dami food. Happy birthday, Juweweng!

*It’s the cerebrum. Dumb ass! Lol.

**It’s 7–9 weeks, or about 42–63 days, estimate of how long a man can survive without food.

We need ROLE MODELS!

(excerpt from my journal entry dated March 20, 2012)

. . . And then I remembered the issue with the Azkals, the Philippine football team. Right now, they have a sexual harassment case (there are two, actually), and in his commentary, Arnold Clavio, a broadcast journalist, pointed out how abusive the Azkals were of their fame. Arnold even went on to say (or so I think) that they’re not really Filipinos but just pretending to be Filipinos. Of course, the Philippine Football Association found this to be a racist remark.

I saw the Arnold Clavio video on Youtube. In the comments section, I remember one viewer commenting that the the Azkals members (most of whom are half-Filipino half-foreigners) did not have to represent the Philippines yet are doing so out of their own efforts and finances (so they say) and for that we should be thankful to them at least, and that if there be a case against them, just let the courts decide on the matter, etc.

Now, I do not have to agree or disagree on anything about the issue (as if I have a say on this and what I have to say would matter). I just remember Michio Kaku’s video about what keeps America afloat despite the rise in the “stupid” index of its populace.  Kaku says it’s due to the US government’s H-1B Genius visa, which basically employs highly skilled immigrants in various industries and provides them the option to become US citizens once their tenure is over. Of course, along with that are the many opportunities and privileges, which most Americans tend to be complacent about.

While Americans take their opportunities and privileges for granted, highly skilled immigrants tend to take advantage of those. And when they excel, they are urged to stay and are given even more privileges. Canada does that, too, and among such privileges is free education (with allowance) from grade school to high school for children (although I think Canada does that to keep their people from leaving and living somewhere else).

I’m wondering, why can’t we do the same thing here? For the right people, I mean. Which is not to say that the Azkals are not the right people. What I’m saying is why not invite over, say, a hard-nut tree-hugger and make him/her head of (or at least consultant to) the DENR?

Not that our local tree-huggers do not have the qualification. It’s just that, more than the technical know-how, we need people who are almost “maniacal” for the task. Maniacal so as to be above the politics. Maniacal so as to be above the corruption and the culture of padrino and mañana. In short, WE NEED ROLE MODELS(!!!!!!) because the role models we have currently are too close to be familiar (and familiarity breeds understanding—and “understanding” in this country is often abused).

[Note: I think “technocracy” is the term for this, but you can form your own conclusions. Follow this link, if you like: http://www.aljazeera.com/indepth/opinion/2011/11/2011111675931523936.html]

We can do the same in other departments, say, crime scene investigation or garbage management. I mean, our 5-star hotels hire foreign chefs for their kitchens, and private companies do that for their operations, why can’t our government do the same?

Of course, this will be met with opposition from so-called “nationalists” who will allude to Filipino pride being stepped on. But when you think closely on it, you realize there’s just no way that national pride be involved in this. National pride is not equivocal to a Filipino’s individual pride. In the end, it’s just all in a day’s work.

Ang hirap kasi sa karamihan ng mga Pinoy porke matagal na daw sila sa trabaho, dapat mataas na daw ang sweldo at posisyon nila sa isang kumpanya. They resent those who, although new to the company, are promoted because they show a lot of promise and excel. ‘Yan din ang problema sa mga rights at sa pag-a-uphold sa mga rights.

Not all men are created equal. In God’s eyes siguro, oo. Pero kasi sa mundong ginagalawan natin, may mga exemptions. ‘Yung mga disabled (or differently abled) halimbawa, our society has more lenience toward them. Equality ba yun? The truth that we’re not all equal means that our rights and privileges should not be equally extended and applied. These rights come with responsibilities and so I think only those who are “responsible”—or who can live up to the responsibility—should enjoy them more.

Random istorya

(excerpt from my journal entry dated July 23, 2012, a Monday)

I was watching TV last night, and then CSI came on. Bigla ko naalala, may nabili nga pala akong novelization ng isang CSI episode. Hindi ko pa nababasa. Kaya kagabi, naghalungkat ako ulit sa library namin. Nakita ko naman 'yung libro, pero katakut-takot na halungkat ang ginawa ko.

Sa kakahanap ko, andami kong nakitang libro na na-“miss” ko na. Mga libro na nabasa ko na at nagandahan ako. Mga librong nasimulan kong basahin pero hindi ko natapos.

Nang nagligpit kasi sila Ate Gina dito sa library, tinago nila nang husto 'yung mga libro. Hindi kita 'yung spine. So, kagabi, inilabas ko lahat and ayun nga, andami kong nakita. Pati 'yung matagal ko nang hinahanap na libro ni Albert Camus, “The Stranger,” andun lang pala. First person nga pala ang pagkakasulat niya. Akala ko, third e. Pero okay pa rin.

Nanaginip pala ako kagabi. It was very remarkable kasi dalawang episodes 'yun ng iisang panaginip lang. Putol sila, pero 'yung daloy ng “istorya” nila, continuous.

High school daw ulit ako. May test daw kami. Anghaba. Madadali lang ang tanong pero mahaba. Katabi ko 'yung batchmate kong babae. Ambilis niya sumagot ng test. May na-develop siyang sistema ng pagsagot dun sa pangalawang part ng exam. Sine-share niya sa akin. E, since wala pa naman ako dun sa part na 'yun ng exam, hindi ko muna ginawa 'yung sistema niya.

Ambagal ko sumagot sa test. May isang part sa exam na naguluhan ako sa instruction. So, I stood up and went around, looking at how my classmates were answering it.

Divided into groups ang mga kaklase ko. In the middle of each group, may malaking bandehado ng sinangag (Yangchow fried rice) sa harap nila. Tapos, sa pagsagot nila sa exam, sinasawsaw nila 'yung lapis nila dun sa sinangag at nagdo-drowing sila sa surface ng sinangag. That dream ended with the teacher asking me to collect the papers. Nagising ako.

After some time, nakatulog ako ulit. Tapos nanaginip na naman ako. Pero yung panaginip ko this time, continuation lang nung unang napanaginipan ko. Tinatanong daw ako ni teacher, bakit daw hindi ko pa kinokolekta yung mga exam papers.

Nakakainis. E ako nga, hindi pa tapos e. Naku naman ‘tong si Ma’am, o . . . . Chapter!