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Bedtime stories

Tonight, when you tuck your little darlings

Dear friends

Make them drink their warm milk

And sing them lullabies

About thick chocolates dripping

From magical ladles held

By kind witches who live

In candy colored huts.

Kiss them lightly as they drift

To peaceful slumber.

While we, well, we have children too.

And we tell them tales as well

To send them off

To sleep

We tell our children stories about politicians

Who eat on top of laden tables

As well as under.

Of landlords who own vast lands

But whose manicured nails have never caressed the soil.

We show them pictures of rich capitalists

Who grease their hair and expensive toys

But never their elbows.

Such are the bedtime stories we tell our children.

When our children tire of stories

About our rich kings

We tell them stories about the queen’s warriors.

Soldiers who are well-drilled

In shooting unarmed peasants

Or defenseless workers

Mercenaries whose shield is the civilian populace

Whose generals are foreign.

Such are the tales we tell our children.

But when our own darlings are too afraid

To hear more horror stories

We regale them with the exploits

Of the night warriors

Who tread lightly around newly planted rice

Who are welcomed not by angry barks

But by the wagging tails of neighborhood dogs.

Soldiers whose main weapons are their enlightened minds

Whose shields are the people’s hearts.

Soldiers who are loved and not feared

Warriors whose guns are trained only on the wicked

Whose well-aimed bullets bring hope.

Such are the legends we tell our children.

                                                -9:20 pm                                                
                                                November 29, 2005
                                                Quezon City  

Literally speaking

In memory of the Palo (Leyte) 10

The Good Book says: “From dust to dust.”

But the government troops did not have to be

Literal.

The Palo peasants said: “Balik-uma!” (Back to the land!)

But the government troops did not have to be

Literal.

The farmers said: “Let us enrich the soil once more.”

But the government troops did not have to be

Literal.

The people say: “We want lasting peace.”

But the government troops do not have to be

Literal.

       

                                     -9:28 pm
                                   November 29, 2005
                                   Quezon City

 

Literal

Sa alaala ng Sampu ng Palo

Ang sabi ng Mabuting Salita: “Mula sa lupa tungo sa lupa.”

Subalit ang mga sundalo’y hindi kinailangan

Maging literal.

Ang sabi ng mga magbubukid ng Palo: “Balik-uma!”

Subalit ang mga sundalo’y hindi kinailangan

Maging literal.

Ang sabi ng mga magsasaka: “Atin muling pagyamanin ang lupa!”

Subalit ang mga sundalo’y hindi kinailangan

Maging literal.

Ang hiling ng taumbayan: “Nais namin ng matagalang kapayapaan.”

Subalit ang mga sundalo’y hindi kailangang

Maging literal.

 

                                                                     -9:45 pm

                                                                     Nobyembre 29, 2005

                                                                     Lungsod Quezon

Birthdays schwerzdeys

My birthday must be near. Clara Garabiles already greeted me “Happy Birthday.”
        I’ll be 34 in a few days. Not really old or middle aged yet.
        But Paolo Oliveros cheekily asked me the other day if I was still in the YS movement when World Youth Day was held in Manila. He did not seem convinced when I said I was. Must be the beating he took when the CPR-deranged PNP dragged him along a good stretch of Recto. So I forgave him. (Pero subukan niyang ulitin at mag-e-MPT ako sa Trabajo Market and all I’ll be playing is his famous “Father Junie! Father Junie! Huwag mo akong iwanan!” near last words.)
        Anyway, napaisip tuloy ako. To be honest, I am approaching middle age-hood. And there are already signs to this. Here is a partial list of said signs. (Warning: list would be updated from time to time.)

Food:

1. I am trying to limit rice my intake (it is NOT easy!);

2. prefer coffee over soda;

3. choose diet soda over the regularly sweetened ones (with seven tablespoons of sugar);

4. like tomato-sauced pasta and hate banana ketchup-laced noodles; and

5. choose canned tuna over canned processed food.

 
Alcohol:

1. I prefer light beer over pale pilsen;

2. have four bottles instead of eight;

3. choose brandy over beer; and

4. pick wine over brandy (but I really can’t afford wine).

 Driving:

1. I no longer think I am the hottest driver on the road (rising costs of fuel has something to do with this as well--thank you, government!);

2. do less tailgating; and

3. make earlier and softer braking.

Habits:

1. I am more predictable; and

2. am generally asleep by 11 (especially when my wife beat me to the remote).

 
Disposition:

1. I am less rowdy and makulit;

3. Mas senti na raw magsulat (kaya ko nga pinipilit itong kornik article na ito e); and

4. easier to blow a gasket.

 
Health:

1. I am already with gout;

2. already with gall stones;

3. already wears glasses; and

4. hit 140 over 90 and 180 over 110 a coupla times already.

 
Looks:

1. I already have white hair;

2. white nose hair;

3. white facial hair;

4. white ______ hair;

5. thicker facial hair;

6. a near 40-inch waistline (what waistline?); and

7. mas gwapo!

Cars

Where we waited to flag down a minibus or jeepney to take us to Tuguegarao, I remember, was a waiting shed that did not allow us to see vehicles coming. It was (and still is) idiotically placed at the deep part of a sweeping bend. We always had our ears cocked to the sound of an approaching vehicle and when we hear something we crane our necks to see if it was a public transport.
       It was this curious audile practice that first got me interested in cars. And when I think which engine sound I liked best, it can only be the venerable VW Beetle. I mean, who could mistake the distinct sound it makes? Plus, it has the most unique of shapes that always made me jump up and point with unabashed glee whenever one passed by.
      I know I was not the only who got so enamoured by it. My friend Jayvee Benedicto owns a 1962 lovely that he raced against me one late and inebriated night along Libis. My dear uncle Humberto Bauza loved his dull red Beetle more than his books, which is saying quite a lot.  (Never mind the fact that it was Adolf Hitler who ordered Porsche to design and manufacture it. Even tyrants know a thing or two about beauty and functionality.  Look at Imelda.)
      When I was still a kid, VW introduced an ugly sibling to the Beetle. I forgot its name now but it had no window glass and curves whatsoever. Puro kanto. I still see one or two of those running in the provinces but that model proved to be not as popular nor as enduring as the world’s most popular car. Me, I loved it as well. It had the same engine sound. Plus, what’s not to love about a car that took pride in being the ugliest in history? I can only compare it to the late great Rene Requiestas whose butt-faced ugliness only complimented his formidable thespian skills.
     As a tyke, my Uncle Zoilo was my favorite driver. I called him Paspas Driver. He owned a Ford Escort, then the winningest rally car in the international circuit. Sadly, it went up in flames when a moron of a welder worked very close to its fuel tank.
      The car that I think was the most popular on Philippine streets was the Isuzu Gemini (relative to the number of cars running around in its heyday). Absolutely all taxis in the early 80s were “Gemi”. It was noisy, cramped and, in the days before air-conditioned taxis, hot. But it was the only diesel-powered car poor kids like me had the chance of riding. Then, as now, diesel-powered MBs and BMWs were only for the privileged in this semi-colonial, semi-feudal social set up we have.
      When I was attending college, a rich kid drove a Chevy BelAir to school. It had a condensada yellow paint trimmed with evaporada white which looked gorgeous on its Batman wings. It was chromed tastefully too. Hindi bastos like those on MTVs “Pimp My Ride”. Even today’s spoiler-burdened cars could not hold a candle to it. In the few times when rich classmates would invite me to cruise around with them at the then drag race central of Greenhills, there I would see the BelAir regally rolling and drawing all the attention to itself. However souped-up the Corollas, Sentras and the Lancers were, there simply was no better babe magnet on the horizon then.
     Yeah. I loved cars so much when I was a kid and when I was growing up. But being a son of a lowly and honest civil servant, there was simply no way I could be given a key to even just a second-hand car by my father. Like the great majority of poor boys, happy na ako sa aking iilang pirasong Matchboxes.
     When I became an activist, I pretty much gave up on owning a car. Full-time tibaks are not supposed to have any earning capacity, right? Yet, lo and behold, another activist virtually gave away the junk rotting in front of his house to me in 2001. Hence, my first and only car. (See my earlier entry “Batik” somewhere below.)
     I love this car. Even in the very remote possibility of me being able to afford another one soon (not necessarily a brand new set of wheels) I could not bear the thought of parting with this one. It’s a keeper.
    Today however I still dream of owning a new car. I have an eye on several, actually.
    While I will be keeping Batik as long as its is still being held up by its flaking paint and rust, it would do me well to drive a fuel miser of a subcompact in this age of privatized oil industry. A Kia Picanto? A Honda Jazz or City? A Toyota Vios? A Hyundai Getz? A Suzuki Swift? Heck! Even a ‘matic 600-cc Norkis Legacy double crew cab or a Suzuki Bravo (Super Carry) would do.
    Nangangarap na lang din naman, hindi masamang magkaroon ako ng all-wheel drive sa hinaharap. But I abhor those American-sized SUVs. Any Suzuki would be just fine, thank you. The bantam-sized Suzukis are perfect for our narrow and perennially choked streets and my perennially shallow pockets. A Jimny should be fun to drive, ‘no?
     Next, I dream of owning an Aston Martin for no other reason but its being the best car out there, bar none.
    But I am not holding my breath.

"You've Got To Do More Than That"

Of all CEGP officers in my time, Randy Felix P. Malayao was about the only officer who did not play coy when asked to sing.  One of the things I remember about him the most was his singing of this song.
       I still meet with him a few times .  In the meeting when he informed me of his wedding date I asked him to write down the lyrics of this song.  He said he first heard it sung when he attended an Asian Students Association conference in Jakarta.  Most probably, he said, it is Indonesian in origin.
       I do not know if the song is indeed Indonesian.  As far as I am concerned, it is Randy's song.  It is my song, too.  It is the song of the many CEGP alumni and many others who are doing more than just thinking, symphatizing and understanding.

YOU'VE GOT TO DO MORE THAN THAT

I.

I think when I see all those pictures about
The children without any food
How hard it must be for their mothers at home
Who just do not know what to do
With children so thin and their ribs sticking out
A terrible plea in their eyes
I tremble to think what starvation is like
But I do try to symphatize.

Chorus:

You've got to do more than that
You've got to do more than that
For symphathizing is all very well
But you've got to do more than that

II.

The men with the truncheons and helmets are out
They're trying to break up the mob
Of people whose skins are just colored a bit
And all they want is a job
It's only for whites, that's the sign they put up
And this is not even their land
I tremble to think what starvation is like
But I do try to understand

Chorus II:

You've got to do more than that
You've got to do more than that
For understanding is all very well
But you've got to do more than that

III.

How dreadful a sight Hiroshima became
With people all broken and maimed
And blinded and mad, so the broadcast announced
It will end all wars so they claimed
But why are they making some bigger bombs yet?
And what are they piling them for?
Should not someone know what the end of it all
But I try not to think of war

Chorus III.

You've got to do more than that
You've got to do more than that
Forgetting to think is all very well
But  you've got to do more than that

      

A pitch for an Intercollegiate Honesty League

My wife is a La Salle system alumna.  Kaya pasintabi sa kanya.
     I just don't understand why La Salle sounds so aggrieved when the UAAP board announced it wanted a deeper investigation than the in-house "investigation" DLSU made in regard to their fielding of ineligible players.
     Lalo namang hindi ko maintindihan why some sports columnists would write that La Salle has suffered enough already.
     Leche!
     If one cheated in a tournament, sanctions would have to be meted.  Returning throphies is not enough.  Suspension is not even enough punishment; expulsion is.
     Who these pindejos are trying to fool, I don't know  It is common knowledge naman that La Salle has been cheating--matagal na.  It actively pirates promising players from other schools and offers them not only scholarships but huge allowances, pads and cars as well.  Heck, some college ballplayers are getting paid much more than some players in the semi- and the pro leagues. 
    Nasabi ko na rin lang naman, ganun din ang Ateneo at iba pang schools sa UAAP at NCAA.  As far as I know, sa NCRAA lang walang bayaran at suhulan.   When I was an NCAA reporter, I heard that some NCAA schools (Intramuros-based) are fixing the referees.  Noong 1991 pa naman ito.  But what do you say, Mr. Go Teng Kok?
     For all their faults, not the least of which is being in long title droughts, the SBC and UP sports programs have never been involved in such shenanigans.  Mainam na bumuo sila ng bagong liga, along with NU, UE, FEU, JRU, PCU, MLQU, AU, UM, PUP, atbp.  Some of these schools may not be marquee pero an  Intercollegiate Honesty League  is not necessarily a bad idea, right?  At least, alam natin that their players are real students at hindi pampered hoopsters out to earn big bucks without putting in some class time man lang.
    I agree, a deeper investigation is needed.  Pero hindi lang sa La Salle kundi sa buong NCAA at UAAP din.
  Kung hindi, usapang ulol lang ang lahat ng ito.

Mananatili akong poor

My fault.  I should have said I can't do it the first time I was asked.
      Now that I know how much the offered gig would line my frayed and lonely pockets, I want to kick myself for asking.
      I was asked if I am interested in the editorship of a Hong Kong newspaper.  Urgent daw; ready to fly next week.
      Actually, I blame Rhea Veda "Maganda Daw" De Los Santos too.  Sabi niya, maganda siya.  Kaya sinagot ko rin siya ng pabiro.  I said that if they're offering 5k a month, then I'm good.
       Hindi naman ganun kalaki.  But what I would get as "allowance" in two years, I would get as a month's salary.  Not bad, di ba?
       It is really a case of bad timing.  Had it been offered to me less than half a year ago, I would have grabbed at the opportunity to earn real money.  The gig's perks include doing some "poltasks" pa rin naman.  Not a bad deal, huh?
       Pero, I am happy where I am.  And although I am swamped with too many tasks (that I think I am doing good at), I am fulfilled naman--hindi nga lang financially.
       Incidentally, I will be commemorating my 13th year as an "official" tibak come Monday , November 15, Teddy Casiño's birthday.  (Kasalanan mo, Vilma Santos!)
       I am tempted.  But I don't believe in the 13th year, or any other goddamn year, itch.  I must decline. 
       Damn!