A pro, A prop, Apropos, A proposal.....

My Pen Mates,

There are a few things in life that bring true joy... Spiritual joy is a personal journey rewarded to the tried, tested, and devoted. Physical joy on the other hand plays on the senses and hovers in that zone where mental and emotional states are temporarily suspended in a state of euphoria and contentment. If one experiences the latter with people they love, then I submit that you achieve spiritual joy for that sublime experience.

This past weekend brought about a convergence of events that brought about such euphoria. What started out as an outreach to end an uncharacteristically extended period where the large Vinoya family has not gathered to celebrate anything, ended in an afternoon filled with shrieks and joy.

We (all the Vinoyas and my family) always have something to celebrate. Kids' birthdays, graduations, holidays, major sporting events, despididas, major anniversaries and benchmark adult birthdays (21, 50, 75)__ find us getting together for food, fun, and bonding. But over the Summer, it tapered off for whatever reason. Wanting to bring back the experience (partly because the kids wanted large-family together time), Grace and I decided to anchor a gathering around Kuya Cito's upcoming birthday on the 30th of September. Quick to pounce on an excuse to get together, everyone said they'll show up with their usual potluck dishes.

There was more food than usual, and for a short notice (we called Friday evening to set it up for Sunday mid-afternoon) get-together, I was surprised that Kuya Cito's children showed up with cakes and a large roasted pig (Lechon). Everyone was having fun just chatting, eating, listening to the piano, and watching the ball game.

As per usual, the end of the party brings out the camera for a group picture. First the kids with Grandma. The picture of grownups with grandma usually has variants such as_ just the girls with grandma, daughters with grandma, favorite in-law with grandma (which usually is a picture of just me and Mamang;)__ kidding!

The last sitting for the day yesterday was to be taken by Alvin (Marivic's boyfriend) and everyone was crowded on and around the living room sofa, the floor in front of it, and the bench next to the coffee table. We are pros at this picture taking thing so even Lauren the youngest one will actually sit down for several takes before everyone resumes any activity that is being interrupted.

On this particular group take, the third shot hit a snag: the camera (the prop) seem to have malfunctioned. Alvin couldn't figure it out so Marivic walks over to examine the camera. Needing to figure out and resolve the problem (before the subjects become restless in their poses), Alvin hands over the camera to Joseph, again, seeming to ask for assistance. Dutifully, Joseph examines the camera and looks through the eyepiece directing it towards Alvin. Before anyone could stir from their poses, Alvin gets on his knee next to Marivic, and in front of the entire family says: "Marivic, I love you very much......" and magically produces a black box holding a RING!

The room erupts! The rest of the marriage proposal gets drowned in the ensuing cheers and hails. The response was never heard, but it was affirmed by a kiss as Alvin gets up from his knee. An extended hug, tears, and broad smiles seals the deal and that's when everyone starts looking around the room to catch each other wipe their own tears. The scene was surreal and seemed to occur in slow motion. The hugging, jostling, and teasing that followed from Mamang all the way down to Lauren was unlike anything I've ever witnessed in terms of shared joy and unabashed expression of love.

"The best birthday gift ever!" exclaims Kuya Cito. "The best family party ever!" one of the nephews concur. I thought it was a class act on a couple of levels: it showed bravery and absolute commitment because of the way it was planned and executed, and it showed the younger generation how this type of major life event needs to happen in a manner that brings this communal joy.

First grandchild for Mamang and Auntie Victorina, first proposal, a most appropriate setting, executed by staging pros (Alvin and Joseph). You can't get a better start for a lifelong commitment.

Cheers!

Mon

Parenting memories

My Pen Mates,

My first memory of my father was waking up to see him busy on the driveway servicing passenger jeepneys. He'll see me coming out to the veranda from inside the house and ask to tell my Mom to bring him coffee or water. It will be early morning and the street is just beginning to come alive. Merchants are headed to the town, teachers are making their ways to school, karetelas and the occasional tricycles are coming from the town's outskirts to do their business at the Poblacion.

I can smell gasoline which my father uses to wash grease off engine parts as well as his hands. This early, he would already be grimy from engine dirt and grease. He can emerge from underneath the hood or the under chassis depending on what needs to be fixed. I'll learn later on that these are jeepneys he owned and leased out daily for public transport. He does maintenance as he is a mechanical engineer, and he does it early to get it done before the drivers take the keys for the day's lease.

Sometimes he'll take a break to eat right there on the driveway. He'll patiently answer my questions about what he's trying to fix, and tell me stories about how he learned to fix vehicles in answer to my queries. I remember a particular anecdote about an American co-worker of his at the Motorpol (he worked as a mechanic at the Provincial capital) who worked so fast that if anyone handed him the wrong tool, he'll come out from under the vehicle and throw the errant tool to the bushes for the hapless assistant to fetch. Another of his memorable work tales was about a skilled truck driver who can back up an eighteen wheeler on a slippery ramp and stop inches from the edge.

I remember he used to smoke. We'll go to Dagupan on some other business and he'll hold my hand as we walk down main street to this smoke shop where he'll buy two cartons of his brand Imperial. He struggled to stop smoking but I know he committed to doing it after my youngest brother was born. I was five years old. I'll join him on the veranda in front of the house where he sits at dusk to unwind. He'll have a tray of menthol candy which he doesn't want me to have because it will kill my appetite for dinner. I'm sure I asked him why he smoked but the answer never stuck in my head. Sometimes my mother will join us as the night deepens; she'll have a lit Lion's katol on its prop to keep the bugs away. Whatever small talk we shared was held in hushed tones, sometimes interrupted by expressed greetings to or from someone passing on the street front.

My parents used to count lightning bugs in the small garden below the veranda. I always said I'll catch a bunch in a jar to see how much illumination they can collectively give out, but I was never encouraged to pursue the project. During the rainy season, frogs will be cackling like a murder of crows and people will be scuttling in the dark with flashlights to trap them. Farm frogs as they are considered (our house was two streets across from a rice paddy), were truly tasty and I enjoyed them cooked in broth. It fascinated me how they are caught in cloth sacks and how children not much older than I was can catch them when I can't even hold one in my hands without it slipping away. Perhaps I should have been bold enough to ask if I could join the trappers; it's an experience I never gained because of lack of initiative.

I now wonder how he did it, but even with his morning routine, my father was still able to raise and breed farm animals. Whereas the front of the house was where he repaired cars and hung-out, the opposite end of the house was where we had livestock. There was a bamboo ladder descending from the dirty kitchen with about a square yard of concrete landing at the bottom to hold it in place. The entire backyard was corralled by a makeshift fence consisting of patchwork assemblies of mesh wire, bamboo twigs, metal gates, and stacked hollow blocks. I still hear the ruckus from the ducks and geese during feeding time. They nip at your hand even as you grab a fistful of corn grain to cast onto the soil and you see the occasional tussle and wing bashing to get to the food. There were turkeys, native chickens (kal), and a family of pigeons who seem to show up only at feeding time. My dad used to remind me to watch my step as bird droppings litter the backyard, but I never noticed him complaining about the distinctive smell of their waste which really bothered me. Further towards the back of the property was a pigpen which over the years have expanded. There was a time when it grew so big that some of the neighbors asked to keep their pigs there instead of building their own pens.

Now, pigs were a revenue generator in my household. I know money changed hands from buying or selling of these animals. There was some sort of an anteroom in front of the multi-partitioned pigpen where we stored feeds, grain, and other food mix for the pigs. A constant sight in this room is a banana trunk reclining against a makeshift tripod. This is shaved into thin slivers with a double-handled blade much like an over sized cheese cutter. The mulch is then mixed with the feed and dumped into the feeding chute. The squeaking and snorting during feeding time comes from a combination of frantic hunger and convulsive greed. It was one of the most gratifying sight for me to see sated pigs ready to be hosed down at the end of a meal.

Unlike me, my father is a quiet man. I had to engage him in conversation by asking tons of questions for him to get started. But because he gave good answers, I learned a lot. The confidence that comes with knowing a lot reduces self-doubt, and with that a proclivity for self-expression. Because of how his style of fatherhood shaped me, I cannot be the same father to my children. He was quiet, I am talkative. While in our own ways my dad and I are good fathers, the unique dynamic we have with our kids will raise characters unique on their own. Flashes of similarities show between me and my children; the inquisitiveness and insight, the curiosity and open-mindedness, the almost clinical thought process that goes into framing a question, and the hints of youthful doubt. These often show and I stop to wonder about where it came from. It's not a complete transfer of traits; I realize they came from me, but I know that my children will grow up to be their own persons because of the dad I have become.

My dad made me the person I am. I cannot raise my children in the atmosphere I was raised, but I'll try to reward him by passing on his parenting legacy in my own unique way...

Mon

Silk Purses from Sow's Ears

My Pen Mates,

One of my favorite expressions; making something beautiful out of something useless/unsightly/horrible. It's supposed to underlie a lost cause; to stress the utter impossibility of a task because of its separation from factual evidence. The irony here however, is that this is more the rule when examining positive results and landmark events. Alexander Fleming, Abraham Lincoln, Einstein, Moses, Michael Phelps? History is full of colorful, enigmatic characters who at first, seem destined into mediocrity or at best, as footnotes in bigger, grander endeavors. But defying the odds through persistence, focus, and indomitable will (and no doubt a large dose of God's grace), made them into the silk purses they turned out to be.

To be fair, privileged men and women turned out great accomplishments as well. Roosevelt, Armstrong, Gates, Rizal (?) thrived in leisure, relative comfort and high-society and turned out to play pivotal roles in history as well. But it's the long shot factor that's inspiring. People who seem to have pulled themselves by their bootstraps to overcome life's complex challenges capture the imagination and bring inspiration across generations and demographics. Makes me believe fully in this moral, legal, ethical concept of equality. It's not readily apparent, and the destitute would find it hard to appreciate, and certainly social composition lacks evidence of it, but it's fundamentally true: all persons are created equal.

We can battle over opportunities, access and doorways to privilege, societal exclusions, discrimination, and bias; but the spirit within, the ethos of a human being, determines the final product. And we are all the same inside; it's the outward expression of what's within that distinguishes us. The doer and the done is defined by how he/she expresses the power within__ which we all have in common. There is a saying that history is written by the winners and I agree with this fully. So there are winners who started poor as well as winners who started out rich, and they are all written about and praised. This is NOT unfair for the also-runs, society's "losers", because of one temporal truth: you loose if you give up.

Giving up erases your chance to write history. For if winners determine what's in the books, you forfeit that opportunity if you give up the struggle to be a winner. You are the wash-out, the has-been, the guy whose time has passed. While it makes for a tear-jerker of a movie, play, or novel, the tragedy is in the lack of recovery. That's why there's drama, and there's comedy; one ends in death/calamity, the other ends joyously. By nature, we are captivated by a convoluted story line; it's more romantic and endearing to read, hear, watch a story where an unlikely and unexpected closure occurs. It's life's nature; there is something around the corner, looming to change the present. It could be the promise of joy, or clouds of uncertainty. Life is never static but dynamic. That tomorrow is another day is a truism, and whether we'll make silk purses from silkworms or from sow's ears is entirely up to the guy in the mirror.

Mon

Malasikick

My Pen Mates,

Yes, my friends, I'm taking it back. Our beloved town, the birthplace of our dreams, the origin of our memories, the cause of our anguish. And with the frustration of a disillusioned owner, I'll start by kicking it senseless.

This "backward improvement" discussion needs to be moderated for it is simply untrue. For if our town were indeed moving backward, then it should be towards restoring it to what it was when we lived in it. And if truly improved, then it should become better than it was! But the town has moved on, it has evolved to this state of disorganization; tangled in a web of functional chaos, trapped in a cycle of political mismanagement, and populated by people who have succumbed to this new stasis. Sadly, perhaps not realizing it, our town mates have been assimilated into the new culture.

This new culture did not emerge overnight. It's a combination of population growth and influx when our citizens marry from both within and without, when commerce is drawn-in to provide for public needs, and agencies are required to regulate social services. And because this growth needs to be managed, social order requires political empowerment. It's never been clean, never without blemish, and always had the cloud of untrustworthiness, but again, that's politics' biggest oxymoron: doubt and ridicule those upon whom you have bestowed public trust. It's the most certain road to morality's downward spiral__politics is__ but such is the path one takes when your cause is to impose rule over human will. But that's topic for another day.

My cause is not to join the vortex for it is much too powerful and better-entrenched than I. But I humbly submit that there is a solution; an industrial solution as opposed to political.

The high road act here has already been taken; education will empower the next generation and help them make informed decisions (read Jevie's AVC Manifesto). However, as I've previously proffered, one needs to fill the stomach to get the mind's attention. You cannot effectively teach a hungry populace because that only gives them skills to take shortcuts and find ways to get filled sooner. You do want to teach them to fish, but you don't want them to go dynamite fishing for expediency (see rationale behind jueteng)!

Following this logic, and consistent with my aversion to political infighting, I present the road back to restoration.

Simply, Poblacion is overcrowded, unkempt, disorganized, and surely mismanaged. Regulation is not working because custom, tradition, and yes, influence takes preeminence over pragmatic solutions to these issues. Current residents and business owners will not readily surrender their central locations if it means dilution or loss of their customer base. As such, people would need to commute to the "baley" to get to these businesses, thus the traffic congestion, pollution and sanitation problems, __disorder. With this comes paternalism, where operators get special favors depending on who pays how much to whom, etc. And so the vortex churns....

But commerce is not conducted in a vacuum. There are consumers and there is produce. Where one is, the other would be, demand is created by the presence of the other. Again the problem: Poblacion is overcrowded. My solution: let us decentralize. Let us conduct trade at a location not other than, but in addition to Poblacion. In industrialized places, it's called urban sprawl. I want to see Poblacion II.

And I submit that this is more a matter of industrial rather than political imposition . Lands abound beyond baley which can be adapted for this plan. It does not need to be in close proximity to Poblacion; it does not even need to be publicly owned. The central question is what criteria will define a location as desirable for decentralization? What artifacts need to be in place such that commerce will occur? And the history of civilization points to the answer.

Long before the ancient Sumerians, there have always been two factors that need to be present for a village/city/kingdom/empire to emerge: water and access. It does not matter if its the Egyptian dessert, the mountain ranges of the Incas, or Long Island New York. Where there is water, there is sustenance and transportation. Where there is road, there is access. And most of the time these two components serve each other's purpose. But we no longer need to live by the river or sea to get water. We can now pump it, and build roads with equipment. It does not take much imagination to envision that an annexed Poblacion can be so planned that it is functionally adapted to serve the needs of merchants and consumers.

So, briefly, what's needed: land, covered venue with plentiful and reliable water and drainage, sanitation/garbage disposal system, and an all weather, easy access road system. Without totally eschewing municipal structure (after all, Town Hall, Church and schools will remain in town proper), like-minded industrialists can put this concept together.

• Mixed-use land can be converted as I don't believe that we have strict zoning laws to prohibit repurposing of available land.


• Establishing potable water pumping stations and storage structures, around which would be a covered business center designed for merchandising market produce.


• Garbage collection and disposal on a disciplined basis to maintain health and sanitation.


• A sane, regulated transportation system.

In closing: There is truth to the saying that one should never meet his/her heroes. Admiring them from afar, noting only their noble qualities and highlighting their moments of glory preserves the aura of their larger than life images. Distance and time serve to magnify the grandiosity of their deeds and motives; nuanced assessment of their noted accomplishments keep them on the pedestal of reverence and admiration. But why are there heroes? What purpose does it serve to admire a person when one can emulate their acts and deeds and still have an indeterminate outcome? It's the idolatry that plants disillusionment because when expectations aren't met, we find fault in the model. So coming face to face with your hero is not a good idea; it reveals their humanity and bursts the bubble of their ethereal influence.

My dear readers, let's stop looking at heroes. Accept this opportunity to be one. Look in the mirror and see what could be if you set out to do this; follow no one except the idea that righteous, admirable deeds can emanate from imperfect people; endure no torment just because the outcome is not self-evident. That you believe in the outcome is enough! This is where the dream is reborn. We are going to take it back. Stand tall and answer the call. And the next time you're asked who's town it is, say Malasikik (without the "c").... It-Is-YOUR-TOWN!

Sincerely yours,
Mon

You've got balls!!!

My Pen Mates,

Not to worry, despite the threatening title, this posting is not meant to confront, insult or challenge anyone. Rather, it's a reflection on the complexity of adult life.

Language is peppered with ball-referenced idioms: "Keep your eye on the ball!", "The ball is in your court", "Run with the ball", "Don't drop the ball!", etc... In my opinion, it's part of the reason why ball sports are so popular; players and spectators alike have a singular concern: shoot the ball in the hoop, get it in the end zone, hit it out of the ballpark, sink it on the green. In other words score and score at any cost! All plays attendant to getting this done is what creates excitement, and skilled players earn mucho bucks and adulation for playing the ball with accuracy, speed, grace, and stamina. And what of the fans? Granted they share the joy of their player/team's triumphs, suffer their failings, and inspired by their efforts.

But you know what it all comes down to? These events are a potent distraction from the reality of adult life. No one in real life ever plays with just one ball; we, all of us are struggling jugglers. How I wish sports is a true metaphor for life. That would mean a singular known objective, a venue that's pre-determined, a well-defined set of rules, and players who are either team-mates or opponents. If you set out to get a good team/coach/trainer/marketer together, your chances are greatly improved.

In life, you're playing more than one game at a time, the rules sometimes get mixed-up, the players constantly change, and the arena morphs with the season__ and that's with just one sport. Factor in the challenges unique to the "sport" of work, raising children, staying healthy, personal development, finance, and family/interpersonal relationships, and you would wish you were in the coliseum facing lions! That's not even counting elective "sports" like volunteer/civic duties, hobbies, and social responsibilities.

Bottom line is that we humans truly are not inclined to multi-task. We have to work very hard to be good at anything, and we can't be good at everything. That's why we always organize; to keep it simple and to get others to rally around our objectives. It's the premise behind social structure.

And the testament to our natural aversion to the pressures and anxieties of juggling multiple balls? __Our love of sports where only one ball is played at a time......

Mon

Improved Access, ALL NEW "piggy" banking

My Pen Mates,

I've been trying to make this weblog reader-friendly the last couple of days. Thank you for feedback I received; the ultimate lesson being: KISS (keep it simple stupid)! So after multiple attempts to modify the code, I'm settling for the button or "chicklet" you see above My Pen Mates. Click and it will take you directly to the blog by opening a new window. I'm hoping for more comments on subsequent postings.

As I've told Sards, I'm setting aside a personal Class-81 "belek" savings fund. For every posting or comment on any post from any batch mate, I'll put a dollar in the fund, which will be earmarked for the General Reunion Expense Fund. That's part of the reason why I want the date pegged down so I'll have an idea how much money will be in my "belek" bank ;)

As part of my Improved Access project, I've gone to web feeders to allow anyone on any server (and I hope that includes Sards at Fluor) to type in the blog name on their search engines and come up with results which leads to the site. I've activated pings as well so people can check postings on their homepage without opening their mailboxes. I've received 4 visitors through RSS (Really Simple Syndication) since yesterday, but I'm counting posts and comments so please let the word out.

All the best,

Mon

Two more in the pen

My Pen Mates,

Grace is on a crusade to get everyone she can call to get on board. She talked to Venus and Robert V. yesterday. Someone should step up from Europe to corral penmates from there; for that matter, the Asian convention needs to get some momentum as well. Let's look at what we have so far and laydown a networking strategy. What do you think?

Mon

Sitsi-ritsit....

elek na belek

My Pen Mates,

I want to share an experience with you. Grace and I attended a Filipino Society fundraising dance in our community last night. It was a mixed group so the food was typical hotel fare. There was nothing native except the pamaypay centerpieces on the tables, and a scattering of barongs here and there. Even the DJ and live band didn't sing any Filipino song, so it was just another party except for the "Filipino" label.

Something absolutely nostalgic came during the entertainment portion of the program though. Kids ranging from perhaps seven to thirteen years of age danced native Filipino dances; costumed and choreographed like the real thing, they did the sayaw ed banko, sitsi-ritsit, and tinikling. Oh the memories it brought back! I was transfixed and transported to another time and place.

It was elementary graduation again! On the grass-covered stage in Central, with wooden desks and chairs hauled from the classrooms, and speaker after speaker talking our ears off. It's getting dark and the costumes are really itchy. The loudspeaker plays the music and you dance out of step to the tune, but no matter. It was the end of the school year, you're with friends and family, summer is yours to own, and freedom like you'll never ever feel again!

For one brief moment, Grace and I just stood watching these kids (about 20-25 of them), then it dawns on you, you were that kid. You were so happy, smiling ear-to-ear, gap-toothed and all. It didn't matter that you knew not what you were doing and that it was essentially for the benefit of the grown ups. You were part of it and that's all that mattered. The practices and the stern teachers never bothered you, you were just happy to be part of something, to be with your friends, and to bring a smile to peoples faces, especially you family.

I had to hug my wife, thankful that I share that memory with her (we actually danced together in one of those graduation ceremonies). I tell you my friends, it's more precious than gold. Material rewards you can spend, but to revisit memories such as these you can spend the rest of your life remembering.

All the best,
Mon

The Pigpen needs your attention

My Fellow Beleks,

Let's hear some oinks from those who have, till now, been on the sidelines observing.

I am certain that everyone has something to share; but like it was in High School, some raise their hands, some will blurt out the answer, some will avoid eye contact with the teacher fearful of being called to answer, and then there are those who will not even be in the classroom because they have skipped class to go to Dagupan!

But there is no question that they belong in this group just as you belong in this group if they were our classmates, so there are no wrong answers. Let's corral the rest of the beleks; start forwarding known or last known addresses so we can reach out to everyone. Let's re-establish relationships early so we all fall into that classroom comfort zone way before the reunion. But HEY! where are we at with a firm date?

The piglets are restless....need food......., more info.......When is the next chow time?


Mon

Jevie redlights green!

Kudos to El Administrador for mitigating a potentially unglamorous direction for the yahoo group.

I emailed Sards a link regarding current hiring practices; it remarked about how 1 in 5 managers now scour cyberspace for potentially embarrassing or character revealing posts associated with prospective employees. Abiding by the six degrees of separation rule, how easy would it have been to find someone on line who knows someone, who knows, someone who knows that a person posted or emailed someone with a politically incorrect/personally offensive missive. I'm not acting as a morality police; just revealing the bigger picture here guys. You'll do as your nature dictates regardless, but my civic duty has been served by flagging this issue.

Thanks.

All the best,
Mon

In remembrance....

No, I did not forget. I've been thinking about it since waking up this morning.

Seven years ago, over three thousand people died by an act of man even before I had my first cup of coffee.

The world has changed a great deal since. Beyond all the conspiracy theories and political cues and miscues from all corners that's been associated with it, 9/11 is a watershed in history. World history, not just American.

Think about it: The current world economic slump can be traced back to those events. The price of oil is tied to it, the quest for alternative sources of energy was revitalized by it, offshore drilling has become more critical. And look at the kind of overseas employment we are currently exporting__ defense, security, intelligence, and yes arms proliferation. You (or at least I), can't open a paper or listen/watch the news anymore without wondering how this or that would have played out if terrorism didn't take center stage that many years ago. It goes beyond sentiment; it's more visceral in that it transformed the way we behave within the sphere that emerged from the massacre.

This was not a mass killing in Guyana or ethnic cleansing in Sarajevo. It was not civil war in Nigeria/Congo (name your sub-Saharan African country). It was not a pandemic or natural calamity. None of those are any less in terms of human drama, and they reflect all aspects of human pain and suffering. But in terms of immediacy and purposeful execution, the deeds of a handful ofpeople played a bigger part in changing the course of human history than any other group, organized or otherwise, have ever done. While we all accept evil as a thread that runs in the human fabric, this was its head reared in the action of evil men.

Was it any worse than victims of genocide or famine? Certainly not. No one chooses this lot in life. But it's crushing to imagine that no amount of civilized trapping totally insulates a society from barbaric cruelty. This brings home the message that we are all equal, irrespective of geography or physical/material stature. It's proof to the maxim of mice and men, that stripped of flesh and bones, the soul's only true alliance is to its Creator.

If I am to take any solace in my stunned grief, it's in the fact that I witnessed this man made calamity in my matured age. Beyond self-examination, past the seesaw of optimism and pessimism, over the struggle for self determination, actualization, and social acceptance, I grant that the only thing that makes a difference beyond total trust in God is doing good towards others.

Pay it forward, and pray that the rest of the world take heed.

Mon

Sards wants a Green venue?

I get your point Mon.

But I have not seen nasty posts so far. Pang GP pa naman.

Much as we would like the yahoo groups to be as "wholesome" as possible, I presume some will agree that it won't hurt if we reserve a space or a forum within the yahoo groups where those "off-colored jokes" may be posted and accessed. It's like a movie house intended for R or even X rated films. Discretion to watch the film is left to the moviegoer's sensibility and judgement.

I don't know if that kind of thing is possible. We might as well refer this to the Administrator.

By the way, I was about to include the yahoo groups in the cc line but I realized this is posted only in the "elek na belek" blog. It may be premature to bring it up in the yahoo groups, unless you've posted it there too.

I'm holding it back right now until I get notice from you.

Thanks and stay safe brother!

Sards

Put Lipstick on a Pig

Hello Y'all

If you've been following American politics lately, putting lipstick on a pig is a phrase that's been thrown about by opposing sides of the presidential contest. This tickles me pink (note reference to, again, pig); because it touches on my blog name in a contemporary way.

The idea behind the idiom is that putting lipstick on a bad idea/concept/entity to make it hip/cool/ popular does not make it so. Essentially, it's an insult especially when it's applied to policy or personality. It's a thinly masked affront on ones sense of judgement and reflects an inability to adapt to cultured society.

Which brings me to comment on this nascent idea recently hatched in the yahoo group. This thing about sharing off-colored jokes/anecdotes, IMHO has no place in this venue. Is this what we mean when we touch on nostalgia? Is reminiscing really equivalent to devolving to immaturity? I'm no prude and I can dish it out like a good sailor; it's one thing to make offhand comments among friends during conversation, but I would be concerned if people in the group would actively participate in discussion in anticipation of juvenile titillation. Reserve that for the reunion. I'd like to imagine that in the near future, we wouldn't scramble to put lipstick on our indiscreet exchanges on-line when we over share our bovine acts/thoughts.

Just a word to the wise guys....

Mon

Grace is laughing by herself at work (bad sign...)

Hey, Sards,

Your last e-mail was oozing with smoke. You're smokin', my brother! You must have an episode of flashback attacks. This is much better, at least not a heart attack. On a serious side, we should all be exercising, eating healthy food, do yoga, hummmmm, anything that will keep us young and mentally sane. You know, we are not young anymore. We should take care of ourselves and should be there for our children's children like our parents did or being there for us for our children. You guys, know what I mean. :)

We will proceed with our daily flashback next e-mail. I need to have a break from laughing.

Gratefully,

Grace

Whatever Sards' Smokin', It's causing a lot of FLASHBACK!

Ey Grace and Mon!

You're not alone. I was laughing and I keep on smiling whenever I read your posts. At least you have company to laugh with. Mas mairap so onelek no bokbokor mo ed arap na computer. Singa ka natatapis! I hope I won't be joining the legion of Romy Macau, Joseng Bagsak and Emong ya Labarias. Tan si Paping ya inggaton.

Mon remembered the name of the Lord of the Flies - Magdalena. Not Galban but Gaban. That girl was really funny without having to act like one. One time she told us about how she was able to hear his sister doing something intimately with her husband or boyfriend. And yes, she keeps on rocking our desk. Lanang ya mangki-kingking.

I think "swarm" is the collective noun for it. Swarm of flies? Speaking of which, if you happen to visit the meat section in the market back then, be sure not to bump the suspended hook used to hang the meat. Or you will be swarmed by flies who used the rope as rest area. Yes, flies too need a siesta! Amumunggol ira. Singara lomboy ya aneket. I grew up with them...in the market. We used to sell vegetables in the market. It was in the market where I frequently saw thing young boy of my age who delivers chunks or blocks of ice to fish and halo-halo vendors. That young kid as you well know, is now the millionaire who administers our yahoo groups.

Growing up in the market is fun. It was in the market where I developed my skills in the four basic operations of Math. I saw the evolution of monetary notes. Did you know that there was a one-peso and two-peso notes back then? Coins are so big. Walay tibukel ya pesetas!

I also saw the transition of units of measurement. Meat, fish, fruits and vegetables used to be measured not by the kilo. "Inggaton" that's how it was called.

Rice was sold by the ganta not by the kilo. Plastic bags were not used back then. We used "supot" recycled from the bags of cement. When Martial Law was proclaimed in 1972, everything has changed. We adopted the SI unit of measurement. Good bye to "inggaton", hello por kilo!

Ah.,,Martial Law, September 21, 1972...we were all in Grade 2. Back then, I thought about Martial Law was a person who kills anyone who does not follow government orders. I heard about this person who was shot by a firing squad.

It was during Martial Law when flag ceremony became a long overture of "Perlas ng Silangan" "May Bagong Silang", "Ang Bayan Kong May Dangal". "Mabuhay, Mahubay". And of course the recitation of "Panatang Makabayan" and the "Prayer for the Nation". We also have the morning calisthenics sychronized by the beating of an improvised drum. Actually the drum was the trash can enjoying the beating of a piece of wood from either Ms. Armas or Mrs. Pena.

It was also in 1972 when they scrapped all our books and text books written in Pangasinan dialect. "Diad Abong tan Kaliber-liber" for Grade 1; "Diad Iskuwelaan tan Kaliber-liber for Grade 2. And who could forget Ador, that young boy in our reading book who gathers firewood and found a mango along the way. "Agi walay kiyew ko, walay manggak! Yehey, yehey, yehey!"

Elementary days are equally nostalgic. There was this distinct scent of an elementary classroom. And I smelled it again when I was taking my Grade 3 daughter to her classroom in one public school in Manila. The same smell -- a combination of pencil, pad paper, eraser, crayons, sweating pupils, etc - was like a time machine taking me back to my elementary years.

I sure have more vivid memories of the past but I won't punish you that much, reading them in one sitting. I have decided to post it by installment. Mon, promised a dollar for each post which will eventualy go to the reunion fund. Hehehehe!

Sards

Grace is ROF while LOL

Hey Sargs,

I love your detailed description on these events of our wonder years. Mon and I laughed so hard; we were practically rolling on the floor joined by our kids begging us to stop.(ha!ha!ha!). I am not sure what, stop rolling or stop laughing, probably both. Ahhh, we were kids once again.

Good thing the person who brought the sack is not "oosing an unas" or else there could have been an......, what do you call such group of flies, you know like army is for ants, flock is for birds, a pride is for the lions, school is for fish, etc. :). Before we gross out everybody, we better stop.

OK. Our next topic is.... What I did for love..... no, no, no, wrong class, "What I did during Summer Vacation", or to get ahead, "How I spent All Saint's Day and All Soul's Day" or maybe "Cinderella"? Pick.... I know a lot of us remember these topics/play. Join us.

It was truly fun, captivating, reading yours, Mon and Jevie's notes on and about LIFE. Someday, we can all sit together (our batch), talk about serious matter and plan to make a difference.

Truly,
Grace

Sards prefers Thin Crust!

Now I can't let this one pass...nice piece from you Grace.

I couldn't help but laugh...The thicker the better huh!

For us who had to walk to and from the school everyday, we prefer thin crust! The drier the better.

Palurey mo ta'y agtuen mo sakey sakon tae na duweg tan baka. Ompawil ka ni ta kailangan duwara!

I can't remember the name but someone brought a sackful of cow dung so heavy and so wet. Hehehehehe! Mannelnab so sako tan tutumboken na apangat!

It was so fun gathering cow dung then because of the competition on who fills his or her sack first. Makapalek ta pansasamsaman tayo'y tae!

But on a serious note, I now realize that Mr. Revine Fernandez (may his soul rest in peace), our Gardening teacher in Grade 5, had a noble project in that compost pit because he introduced us to "sustainable agriculture". Never mind if he was so strict that I bet not one of us boys can claim to have escaped his "lewet ya bislak". I myself had it once or twice. On one occassion, I had it coming because I did not clean my plot. On another occassion, I was not able to bring my project.

Of course, the term sustainable agriculture was not even coined at that time yet. Now it has become a jargon. I wonder if the same subject or curriculum is still being offered.

And then there was also this competition on who grows the best pechay. I think Bonnie Espinoza was sooo good in gardening. His plot was one of the best and admired. The dikes were so delicately hand-shaped, the soil diligently tended and the plants regularly watered. His pechay was much coveted that one day somebody mischevously placed "cutters" (a beetle worm) right at the root of the green and leafy pechay. The poor pechay wilted the next day.

Eusebio Beltran's plot is the exact opposite. He rarely seldom tended his plot. I know it because our plots were adjoined. We were already in the middle of the school year but his plot remains untended and raw. It was "captured" by another pupil who eventually had to give it up. It was so hard and barren that the pick and shovel gave in. Needless to say, Eusebio is a regular pupil in the queue for the "lewet ya bislak".

And then, I still remember the regular meet. I never figured out why they call the sporting event in Central a "meet". But it was really an exciting event because not only were the classes suspended. We also had the chance to watch the games. I love the track and field. Our favorites then were "Balite" and "Dampay". Actually they were track and field competitors who got their monicker from the barrio they represent. I still remember, Salvador Roque ( Rod), mimicking the running style of "Balite". Central's best bet was always Amalia Rovillos (asawa nen Tat-toy), who dominated the 100-meter dash.

The track field used to be so wide and verdant green. On some lazy afternoon, after the game of "pasitan" or "dagi-an" we would just laze around or lie down gazing at the blue sky and wondered what could be lying beyond there! We rolled and frolicked on the grass until we feel the itch from the cuts of their thin blades.

Hey this is supposed to be about cow dung!

Ahh..memories, memories!

Grace's field of dreams....

Through thick and thin…….. The thicker the better.

Remember those dreaded years in elementary school when we were required to
bring a minimum of two sacks of cow pie to complete and pass the grade and
be marked cleared for the school year? We hauled like tons of cow dung for
Gardening class! Thinking back, why was this even a requirement? There was
no concern for safety, no instructions on proper handling (at the very least
we should have been encouraged to wear gloves!). That's not even counting
potential sunburn, dehydration, tetanus, dog bites, etc.. And what about
those manag-alay-ugaw people? Now, we'll say yikes and NO WAY!, but before
it was carefree fun.

Remembering those years, it was only fun when my friend (yes, that is you,
Marites) asked me to join her to pick up cow pie pooh. I only went because
she made it fun to run around the field and look for the biggest and
thickest ones so we can fill the sack right away __ "the thicker the better"
as we say. We considered ourselves lucky because we got the field (of
dreams) to ourselves. After a long afternoon in the field, we treated
ourselves to cool drinks and Cheese Curls. Who knows and who cares if we
even washed our hands before eating (YIKES!).

Aside from looking around for the pooh, we made it fun when we engaged in
day-dreaming. Dreaming the life of becoming rich…..we have become rich in
experience, rich in family and friends, rich in God’s given life.
To Life,

Cheers.
Grace

A Shipful of Gems from Jevie

Hi Mon,

Thanks for inviting me to join the blog.I was just busy starting an exploration project here in Indonesia after a day off in the Philippines. It is a real hectic schedule that I have to attend to. After completing the biggest 3D oil exploration project in Vietnam as a Consultant, I have to go back home to have a glimpse on my kids and my wife and here I go again on another job. But this time, it is a short job. I had to accept this job to fit my schedule for Christmas holidays and to enjoy a qaulity time with my kids and my wife on Christmas - hoping there will be no more emergency job which I could not refuse comes Christmas season. So hectic.

I just read the news headline yesterday stating "RP Inflation hits 12.5% in August". Oh no not another bad news. I might be lucky that I am steering my own ship very well on top of these inflations but I still have to worry on how others will steer their ships. I need to worry that other ships might bump on me and will destroy my ship or will I heed for the SOS call of my neighbouring sinking ships? I know I can steer my own ship but I know that I also have the social responsibility to rescue the other sinking ships. I know I can but I'd rather teach them how to build a better ships rather than getting them all aboard my ship for my ship might sink if overloaded. I believe in social reponsibility and I am a firm believer of education is a way out of poverty.

It is very apalling why the time I felt secured then that's time I start to be concerned on the economic woes of other people. Is it because of my belief that "No Man Is An Island" ? That regardless of how you are blessed we still need others to live and to share the resources that this world can offer?

When we were kids, I did no't have to worry much about my own small ship. Little knowledge, little worry and little concern and life was so simple. I am just satisfied of who I was and how poor I was as long as I survive the hardships. But despite the hard life, I was just so lucky and blessed to have friends and classmates who shared their blessings. I still remember when I was short of paper for a quiz and somebody just gave me what I needed. Yes, I remember the names who shared me writing pads. it was Grace and Marites - good Samaritans. If you do not remember me saying Thanks then let me say Thank you again. Those are very little things that until now I still do remember how blessed I was to have classmates like them. The sharing of bikes I mentioned before and the friendship regardless of our status. I am so lucky to have classmates like that. Thanks to their parents who taught them the morals of genorosity.

Those good deeds are still all inside of me that I learn how to give back to others the good deeds that was shown to me by my good classmates. It is not only reminiscing but it was also a learning experience from the past. I always believe that it is our past that made us who we are today.

So keep sharing .....

Cheers,
Jevie

Keep this up guys!

I'm keeping this journal to stay connected. My hope is to keep in touch with everyone beyond the email notes that all of us can exchange from time to time. If you care to submit a blog here, please email me by clicking on the envelope to the left. I'll add you as an author and you can publish in this site your journal, your day's experiences, your ideas, ideals and hopes.

It's to be expected that the initial interest in the yahoogroup will wane; everyone was excited to have something new as late as a week ago. The postings have tapered off a bit, likely because the group moderator (Jevie) is otherwise engaged. In fact, given all our adult duties, intermittent postings is perhaps all we can hope for. I am a long time journal keeper so I always find time to write, hence I'm here to egg everyone to keep writing.

As previously stated, this blog is sent to only 10 people (part of it has to do with Blogger.com restrictions). It has a hyperlink in the batch-81 yahoogroup for anyone to click and read so it's actually accessible to anybody in the group. I can even attach IM functionality if anyone cares for that, but I enjoin you to strive towards continuity. We're already taking pride in the fact that the batch is tight and strong; don't you think it will be a great legacy to our children to demonstrate how good friendships last regardless of time and distance? This day and age, we're all resigned to nagsi-nagsi and don't stop to appreciate our existing bonds. We'll never be small again but the world is smaller because of technology so stay on board the web express and stay CONNECTED!

Mon

Great one from Sards

Hi Mon! Thanks for posting here what you've got in your blog. I only have one service provider here at my jobsite. And it's company-owned. Access to many sites is restricted even the yahoo mail which is why I am thankful to Jebong for adding this new email in the yahoo groups. I'd surely enjoy the mental ejaculation process from posting in your blog given unhampered access.

If you think this piece is worth pasting in your blog, be my guest!

On Weight Loss and Weight Gain:

One day I was tying my shoes and wondered if my legs have grown longer. I could hardly reach the shoes the way I used to tie it during high school and college days. Or even during early life as adult. Damn why do I have to pant after the simple ritual. Why has tying shoes become an ordeal? If only I could tuck or push aside what's keeping me from reaching my toes. But damn that's my tummy! I used to laugh at people who had bulging stomach and I am afraid the joke is on me now. I hate to think of the day when I have to look through the mirror to check "manoy" is doing fine down there. Hehehehe! So far we still see each other eye to eye!

Of Small Boats and Big Ships

I like your analogy of our lives to small boats and big ships. Ironically, we were eager to become a big ship when we were just a small boat only to realize that we long to be a small boat again. We want our individual freedom back, our carefree lives, acting and behaving as we liked unmindful of the consequences. After all we only worry about being scolded by our parents if we mess up. Not with what we are now. So many lives depend on us. Big ship, big cargo. Sail on!

Another trip down the memory lane...

We were in Grade Six. Boys from our section and yours decided to go to Lagsan, to take a dip in Ano creek. Regino Solis's house was nearby. I can't remember all the names of those who went but I remember you, Regino, Raul Macaranas, Severino Reyes, Renator Mondares and Bonnie Espinoza. We were frolicking in the silty waters of the creek. Nakikilot so danum no si Raul lay ontab-bog. We were all laughing. Bonnie kept teasing you. He even challenged you to test who can stay longer underwater. You never accepted defeat so you took the challenge. But Bonnie had another plan. At the count of three you were both supposed to be under water. But not Bonnie. He allowed you to go down first and just when you were about to come out did he only go underwater. You were so piqued when you found out about the cheating that you slapped him. Of course cooler heads prevailed. We all went home at past 5 pm then. On our way home we tried to invent excuses on why we came home late, hair wet and eyes red.


I started working on this last night but wasn't able to finish it. I thought it would be better to continue the next day but I got another of this email from Grace this morning with the same message, so I decided to send what I've got so far. More to come...

Sards Glosardo "Reden" S. Sarmiento,
C.E.Assistant Site ManagerFluor Government Group
CETAC II Task Order 17FOB
Warrior - KirkukOffice: 703.621.1263Iraqna: 0790-193-5627
reden.solis@fluor.com

Nostalgia

The weigh-scale brought me good news today; it tipped at 196.5 lbs., my best sub-200 weight this year. I consider it an accomplishment given that I have been watching what I put through the piehole, have allowed myself to be dragged out of bed by Grace in the morning or be made to miss Jeopardy in the evening to go on four to six mile walks by the river twice or three times a week. It's the first of September and if I loose 4.5 more pounds by months end, I would be at my ideal weight according to the BMI table (age-gender-height formula ek-ek by some number crunching nutritionist/physiologist/nutjob authorities on the "best" ratios for us inflatable humans).

These types of perspective ruin being a grown-up, you know. The lack of care or awareness of consequences is what made being young so delightful to reminisce. We were all like small boats that turned and tumbled on the waters surface, enjoying every bump, reacting to the now, savoring the wind and sunshine, disregarding the scratches and pain. Adulthood happens and we move like big ships; plan every turn, anticipate obstacles, finding reasons why not rather than acting on impulse.

Remember that expression about seeing the world through the eyes of a child? It's cliche'd to death but that's why we're all thrilled with SARDS' annecdotes and JEVIE's childhood vignettes. They open windows for those childhood eyes to see how we all were once. The forays to the forbidden BROWN-BLACK BEACH, the KALITS that went on until you can't even see the cashew nuts in the dark, the GENG-GENG hunts after the rain so we can make them fight to death on a cocunut stick, the MABOLOS, SAMPIREWAN, SLUMBOOKS (old-school Facebook/Friendster), KUNDILINGS, GREEN-REVOLUTION, PERLA/BULAWIT Christmas Trees, BAWET, IGAR, SILAG/SINAMIT, SANITARY CORNER.......etc. If these don't trigger nostalgia, you never had a Malasiqui childhood.

Our longing for those times is actually enhanced by fear and worry of the present. Issues of safety, family security, health, child care, quality time and freedom have distanced us from those blissful events of our youth, and we imagine them to be better than they actually were.

But I resolve to stop thinking like an old man. Now is tomorrows subject of nostalgia. I'll enjoy the present so I can romanticize its memory tomorrow. Dieting is fun, sunrise/sunset walks are rejuvenating, writing blogs is cleansing, etc....

And tomorrow I'll try to enjoy thinking about my kids' college education!

Hail to imagination! (delusion?)


Mon