Point of Reflection

This passage caught my attention and buoyed my spirits after a daunting day at work:

The warrior of the light sometimes behaves like water, flowing around the many obstacles he encounters.

At certain times, resistance means to be destroyed. At such times, he adapts to circumstances. He accepts, without complaint, that the rocks along the way forge his path down the mountains.

Such is the force of water: it can never be broken by a hammer, or wounded by a knife. The most powerful sword in the world is incapable of leaving a scar on its surface.

The water of a river adapts to the path which is possible, without forgetting its objective: the sea. Fragile at its spring, it gradually acquires the strength of the other rivers it encounters.

And, after a while, its power is absolute.

                                           ~P. Coelho, Reflections of the Warrior of the Light

                            

A Peruvian priest’s sermon

In the book “The Alchemist” by Paulo Coelho, the young shepherd Santiago meets an old man in the town square. He is searching for a treasure, but does not know how to reach it. The old man starts up a conversation with him:

“How many sheep have you got?”
“Enough,” answers Santiago.
“Then we have a problem. I can’t help if you think you have enough sheep.”


Based on this extract, the Peruvian priest Clemente Sobrado wrote an interesting piece, which Paulo Coelho transcribe below:

One of the biggest problems that we drag around with us all our life is to want to believe we have “enough sheep”. We are surrounded by certainties, and nobody wants someone showing up to propose something new. If we could only suspect that we don’t have everything, and that we aren’t all that we could be!
Maybe we are all faced with a very serious problem, namely that although we have the opportunity to help one another, the truth is that few people let themselves be helped.
Why is that? Because they think they have “enough sheep”. They already know everything, they are always right, they feel comfortable in their lives.

Almost all of us are like that: we have many things but few aspirations. We have many ideas already sorted out, and we don’t want to give them up. Our life scheme is already organized and we don’t need someone trying to make changes.

We’ve done enough praying, practiced charity, read the lives of the saints, gone to Mass, taken communion. A friend of mine once said: “I don’t know why I come to visit you, father. I am already a good Christian.”
On that day I could not help answering:
“Then don’t come to visit me, because there are a lot of people waiting to see me and they are all full of doubts. But one thing you ought to know: You aren’t bad enough to be bad, nor good enough to be good, nor holy enough to work miracles.
“You are just a Christian satisfied with what you have achieved. And all those who are satisfied have in fact renounced the ideal of always improving. Let’s talk about this some other time, all right?”
Ever since then, whenever we speak on the telephone he starts by saying: “this person who is calling hasn’t yet grown up as much as he could”.

Lord, give us always a dissatisfied heart.
Give us a heart where the questions that we never want to ask can be voiced.
Deliver us from our conformism.
Make us able to enjoy what we have, but let us understand that this is not everything.

Let us appreciate that we are good people.
But above all, make us always ask ourselves how we can become better people.
Because if we ask, then it is quite possible that You will come and show us horizons that we couldn’t see before.

Private School Woes


Why I Hate Colegiala Party Girls

By Midge K. Manlapig      

 

I hate colegialas, those convent-bred denizens of high society who tend to overwhelm the brown-skinned majority with their Castilian features and porcelain-like skin. The same girls you see in the party-hopping photo spreads of all the upbeat/upmarket fashion rags. The same girls who announce that they have come of age in the society pages of the most reputable broadsheets. The same girls who get to skim off the cream of the Top Ten Most Eligible Bachelors’ List. The same girls who get invited to become Ms. So-and-So 199X. 

 

I don’t like them because there’s always something that rings so false about them, as if most of them are trying to hide behind smokescreens of elegance to hide the awkward and insipid girls beneath all the powder and perfume. With their affected manners and fractured English, it’s enough to make a real member of the gentry lose his lunch in the gutter because of the cloying sweetness with which these gestures and words are delivered.

      

In my case, my general contempt for these faux aristocrats began when my parents moved me from the academic sanity of JASMS along Indiana in Manila to the social-climbing hell that was a monk-run institution in Alabang. At the tender age of nine and in third grade, some of my classmates were already beginning to act like princess-bitches on a smaller scale. I noticed almost immediately that I was definitely not going to fit in with the crowd: I did a lot of reading while everyone else compared notes about new Barbie doll fashions and the latest additions to their Sanrio collections. I could tolerate the Sanrio stuff (my ancestry’s part-Japanese, so cute anthropomorphics are in my blood), but the Barbie dolls just didn’t cut it with me. Besides, I was a new kid from a school they had never heard of. (Jeez, how provincial can you get?) Therefore, they said I had to prove myself worthy of their respect. I told them to forget it because I was not going to let myself get turned into anyone’s patsy. The end result was that they made me cry a lot more often than normal that I had to go into psychological counseling (much to may parents’ annoyance, naturally), and I was an absolute mess until I was about sixteen. (I still am now, but that’s another story.) 

 

Under ordinary circumstances, maybe I would’ve become one of the Vicious Ones in high school. However, the fact that I wore very thick eyeglasses and I was in the library a lot branded me as a square and not worth letting into the sacrosanct (to them!) society of the high, the beautiful, and the mighty.

      

The girls I had to study with in grade school had blossomed into the typical pert and powder-pretty cheerleader types you used to see in such shows as Beverly Hills 90210 and Saved by the Bell. And, like their fictional television counterparts (or can I say role models?), they had money to burn, boys to flirt with, clothes to choose from, and parties galore to attend. They also began to learn how to polish their mean streaks in order to chastise us lesser beings into absolute submission. Their tongues grew sharp, their eyebrows were always uneven (one, after all, being raised higher than the other in obvious condescension of the people around them), and their lips forever curled in tacky sneers that they thought were cute but the rest of us thought annoying. As if things weren’t bad enough, they began to speak in fractured English in high-pitched voices and to giggle in a pitch that almost sounded like a flock of shrieking imps from the lowest regions of hell itself. 

 

If you think that we had some respite from all this during our annual retreats, forget it! The dorm often rang with unholy laughter even in the wee hours of dawn when we were supposed to be meditating on whatever transgressions we had done. (Come to think of it, I don’t think the stereotypical colegiala psyche even has a notion of the existence of a conscience.)

      

To make a long story short, the princess-bitches ruled the roost on campus, forcing us uncool types to play Dungeons and Dragons off campus without fear of rebuke (“Yuck! You’re so baduy, ha? Di ba for the boys lang the game na ‘yan?”), to go into our shells, to hang out at the library where we knew none of them would hang out because it would damage their reputations (“So grabe ka naman! You’re gonna make tambay na at the libe? Corny mo, ha?”), and – for those who couldn’t take the pressure anymore – to suicide. 

 

The colegiala crowd eventually went wild when we all moved to college. After all, college meant more freedom and, to them, it meant more freedom to go to parties till the break of dawn, shop till they dropped, and flirt around with gorgeous college boys. Of course, we lesser ones had our revenge when the time finally came. We became the top dogs, not them. We won all the slots in the Student Council, ran all the organizations, organized all the fun activities, represented the school at debates, athletics, and just about everything else.

      

From my safe perch at a fine women’s institution along Taft Avenue where I took up communication arts instead of the ultimate try-too-hard-colegiala dream course, medicine, I saw the princess-bitches of my batch fall from their pedestals one by one. Some married as soon as they reached the legal age. Some got pregnant without the benefit of matrimony. Some slept around and lived in with whoever rich preppy boy (or dirty ol’ miser) they could wrap their legs around. Some got addicted to alcohol or soporifics. Some did the most scandalous things (smoking was one of them) women aren’t supposed to do in public and got the ire of the manangs of society in the process. Some dropped out of school because they couldn’t take the pressure. And some went mad or just put themselves out of their misery. 

 

The few who did manage to survive the rigors of collegiate life eventually stopped being so bitchy and grew so level-headed that you would hardly believe that they were once hot-blooded ninnies, painting the town red on a Saturday night.

   

A friend of mine explained that colegialas were like the just-as-jaded flapper girls of the Roaring Twenties: live fast, burn out before your prime. I couldn’t help but feel vindicated by that; it only served them right for all the pain they caused us because they wanted everyone to be just like them when we all knew we couldn’t. They thought they were special. The real world proved them wrong.

                                                 ---------------------------

Comment:

I wonder if this experience written by Midge is shared by most brown-skinned pinays who studied in private schools. I'm also quite uncertain if there is a great cultural disparity that exists among public and private schools in the Philippines. I haven't come across sociological/educational researches conducted by pinoy sociologists regarding skin color, teen angst, etc.


If such discriminating culture is generally existent, then I'm glad I didn't study in private schools. I  probably would have kicked a lot of asses. I'm proud of my public school roots and I had a great time for the most part of my student life (except for one bully who made my grade 4 life miserable because he pestered me incessantly during reading class). I wonder if that jerk is still alive or  dead. ~ESP


Inogolo.com on the rescue

This is a useful website for people who wish to have a pronounciation guide to names of people, places and things. I guess this would be very useful to some "bisdaks" who often interchange their "F's from "P's" "I's" from "E's" and "IS" from "S".

Here are some examples starting with author's names:

Paulo Coelhopaw-LU ko-wel-YU

Chuck Palahniukchuhk PALL-uh-nik

Ayn Randine rand

Roland Barthesroll-AH(NG) bart

J.R.R Tolkien“TOLL”-keen

Ivan Illichih-VAHN IH-lich

Jodi PicoultJOE-dee PEE-koe

Marcel Proustmar-SELL proost

Kathy ReichsKA-thee ryks

Jon Scieszkajahn SHESS-kuh

Fyodor Mikhailovich DostoevskyFYOE-dur mih-HY-loe-vich dahs-tuh-YEF-skee

J K Rowling—”rolling
 

Then artists:

Jan van Eyckyahn fuhn ike

Caravaggiokar-uh-VAHJ-o

RembrandtREM-brant

Eugene Delacroixuu-ZHEHN deh-lah-krwah

Edgar DegasED-gar duh-GAH

Claude Monetkload moe-nay

Paul Gauguinpall go-GA

Jean-Auguste Ingreszhahn-o-gust angg


Designers (from the the budget fashionista):

Giorgio Armani: Jor-ji-o Ar-ma-nee
Manolo Blahnik: Muh-no-low blah- nick
Andre Courreges: AN-Dre Courreges
Balenciaga: Bal-en-see-AH-gah
Bottega Veneta: Bo-TAY-ga Ve-NE-tah
Roberto Cavalli: RO-ber-to Ka-VA-lee
Chanel: Sha-nel
Chloé: KLO-ee
Comme des Garcons: KUM de Gar-SOHN
Christian Dior: KRE-shtaan DEE-or
Dolce and Gabbana: DOL-chay and Gab-BAH-nah
Ellen Tracy: EL-lin TRAY-see
Salvatore Ferragamo: Sal- va- tor Ferr-A-ga-mo
Gianfranco Ferre: Gee-an-fran-ko Ferr-ay
John Galliano: Gall-lee-a-no
Givenchy: Gee-von-she
Halston: Hall-stun
Hermes: Air-mez
Hugo Boss: He-you-go Bo-s
Imitation of Christ: Em-ma-ta-shun of Cry-st
Marc Jacobs: Ma-rk Jay-kob-s
Betsey Johnson: BET-see JON-sun
Calvin Klein: CAL-vin KLYIN
Donna Karan (DKNY): Don-NAH KA-ran
Michael Kors: My-kal Ko-ors
Karl Lagerfeld: Ka-ral La-ger-fell-d
Helmut Lang: Hell- Mut Lay-ng
Jeanne Lanvin: John La- vin
Ralph Lauren: LORE-in
Nanette Lepore: Na-net LA-pour
Christian Louboutin: KRI-shtaan Lu-bu-TAHN
Louis Vuitton: Lu-wee Vee-tuhhh
Catherine Malandrino: KATH-er-in Mal-an-DREE-no
Alexander McQueen: Al-ex-AHN-der Mac-KWEEN
Isaac Mizrahi: Eye-zak Miz-ra-hee
Issey Miyake: E-say Me-ya-kay
Zac Posen: Zak Poo-zen
Proenza Schouler: pro-en-za skool-er
Emilio Pucci: E-MEE-lee-o POH-chee
Tracy Reese: TRAY- cee Ree-s
Elsa Schiaparelli: EL-sa She-a-pa-REHL-lee
Anna Sui: AN-na SOO-ee
Gianni Versace: Gee-a-nee Verr-sha-chie
Diane Von Furstenberg: DY-an Von FUR-sten-berg
Vera Wang: Veer- ra Way-ng

                                     -----------------------------------------------

A thank you to my brilliant grade one English teacher Ms. Bethel Jane Bugayong (nee Lim) for honing my language skills early in life. Thank you ma'am for sharing the gift of gab. It truly made a difference.

thinking differently

Little Johnny was sitting in class doing math problems when his teacher picked him to answer a question,

"Johnny, if there were five birds sitting on a fence and you shot one with your gun, how many would be left?"

"None," replied Johnny, "cause the rest would fly away."

"Well, the answer is four," said the teacher, "but I like the way you're thinking."

Little Johnny says, "I have a question for you. If there were three women eating ice cream cones in a shop, one was licking her cone, the second was biting her cone and the third was sucking her cone, which one is married?"

"Well," said the teacher nervously, "I guess the one sucking the cone."

"No," said Little Johnny, "the one with the wedding ring on her finger, but I like the way you're thinking."

thoughts to live by

"I am content with nothing, restless and ambitious...and I despise myself the vanity which formed half the stimulus to my exertions."

"The truth is cruel, but it can be loved, and it makes free those who have loved it."

"One may understand the cosmos, but never the ego; the self is more distant than any star."

"I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived."

"One of life's quiet excitements is to stand somewhat apart from yourself and watch yourself softly becoming the author of something beautiful, even if it is only a floating ash."

"If your daily life seems poor, do not blame it; blame yourself that you are not poet enough to call forth its riches; for the Creator, there is no poverty and no indifferent place."

"I'm not a conformist, but I'm not a non-conformist either. I go where I want, regardless of who did, or didn't, go before me. The world is too amazing to just focus on one thing, so my interests dance around. I want to understand everything, starting with myself."

"God writes in a straight line in crooked strokes."

" A life lived in fear, is a life half-lived."

“A man should hear a little music, read a little poetry, and see a fine picture every day of his life, in order that worldly cares may not obliterate the sense of the beautiful implanted in the human soul.” --Johann Wolfgang Goethe

"Is a cabbage in pain when a goat munches on it?" - Kenzaburo Oe

"I don't get people."- Gil Grissom

"Don't be dismayed by good-byes. A farewell is necessary before you can meet again. And meeting again after moments or a lifetime is certain for those who are friends". -Richard Bach

"Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.."

"Human is beautiful.. Perfect is boring."

"your game. your rules.. but i ain't playin'.."

"One sad thing about this world is that the acts that take the most out of you are usually the ones that people will never know about." -Anne Tyler


"Love- and I mean true love, real love- can cripple us. It can make us miserable, and even dangerous to those we love. It can make us jealous, clingy, overprotective, guilt-ridden, and even vengeful. But appreciation is pure. It's the kind of love that can let us step away, and even watch a loved one suffer, when suffering is what they need." - Dan Baker


"When I was a young man, I wanted to change the world. I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change my nation. When I found I couldn't change the nation, I began to focus on my town. I couldn't change the town and as an older man, I tried to change my family. Now, as an old man, I realize the only thing I can change is myself, and suddenly I realize that if long ago I had changed myself, I could have made an impact on my family. My family and I could have made an impact on our town. Their impact could have changed the nation and I could indeed have changed the world." - Author Unknown

"You don't 'have' a soul. You 'are' a Soul. You 'have' a body."  -CS Lewis

"Happiness is that state of consciousness which proceeds from the achievement of one's values." - Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged


"My internal experience can be quite intense to the person's problems or need to show affection toward me, I think I just keep it very contained. Even when I'm crying or sad I don't want hugs because I'm afraid a wellspring of emotion will spring forth from me and never be contained again." - Sturgeon48, Enneagram Institute Forum


"The primary cause of disorder in ourselves is the seeking of reality promised by another ... It is a most extraordinary thing that although most of us are opposed to political tyranny and dictatorship, we inwardly accept the authority, the tyranny, of another to twist our minds and our way of life." - J. Krishnamurti, spiritual philosopher.


"All of us failed to match our dreams of perfection. So I rate us on the basis of our splendid failure to do the impossible." - William Faulkner
 

"I love to see a young girl go out and grab the world by the labels. Life's a bitch. You've got to go out and kick ass."- Maya Angelou

"Physical pleasure is a sensual experience no different from pure seeing or the pure sensation with which a fine fruit fills the tongue; it is a great unending experience, which is given us, a knowing of the world, the fullness and the glory of all knowing. And not our acceptance of it is bad; the bad thing is that most people misuse and squander this experience and apply it as a stimulant at the tired spots of their lives and as distraction instead of a rallying toward exalted moments."- Rainier Maria Rilke

Para ni sa mga taga-bukid!

Kaamulan_2008_1

Magbinisaya sa ko karon kay nibati ko ug pagka-noypi karong panahona. Para ni sa akong mga amigo ug amiga sa friendster nga tu-a na sa laing planeta ug mga lagyong parte sa kalibotan, labi na gyud tong mga taga-bukid sama nako. Tan-awa nalang ninyo ning pinaka-bag-o nga mga litrato sa kaamulan. Ako ra ning gi-harbat sa flickr Chada noh?  forever proud to be taga-bukid. Mingaw mo sa bukid noh? :)

click for more pics: Bukidnon Kaamulan Festival 2008 

 






Things I didn't Know I Loved.

it's 1962 March 28th
I'm sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
night is falling
I never knew I liked
night descending like a tired bird on a smoky wet plain
I don't like
comparing nightfall to a tired bird

I didn't know I loved the earth
can someone who hasn't worked the earth love it
I've never worked the earth
it must be my only Platonic love

and here I've loved rivers all this time
whether motionless like this they curl skirting the hills
European hills crowned with chateaus
or whether stretched out flat as far as the eye can see
I know you can't wash in the same river even once
I know the river will bring new lights you'll never see
I know we live slightly longer than a horse but not nearly as long as a crow
I know this has troubled people before
and will trouble those after me
I know all this has been said a thousand times before
and will be said after me

I didn't know I loved the sky
cloudy or clear
the blue vault Andrei studied on his back at Borodino
in prison I translated both volumes of War and Peace into Turkish
I hear voices
not from the blue vault but from the yard
the guards are beating someone again
I didn't know I loved trees
bare beeches near Moscow in Peredelkino
they come upon me in winter noble and modest
beeches are Russian the way poplars are Turkish
"the poplars of Izmir
losing their leaves. . .
they call me The Knife. . .
lover like a young tree. . .
I blow stately mansions sky-high"
in the Ilgaz woods in 1920 I tied an embroidered linen handkerchief
to a pine bough for luck

I never knew I loved roads
even the asphalt kind
Vera's behind the wheel we're driving from Moscow to the Crimea Koktebele
formerly "Goktepé ili" in Turkish
the two of us inside a closed box
the world flows past on both sides distant and mute
I was never so close to anyone in my life
bandits stopped me on the red road between Bolu and Geredé
when I was eighteen
apart from my life I didn't have anything in the wagon they could take
and at eighteen our lives are what we value least
I've written this somewhere before
wading through a dark muddy street I'm going to the shadow play
Ramazan night
a paper lantern leading the way
maybe nothing like this ever happened
maybe I read it somewhere an eight-year-old boy
going to the shadow play
Ramazan night in Istanbul holding his grandfather's hand
his grandfather has on a fez and is wearing the fur coat
with a sable collar over his robe
and there's a lantern in the servant's hand
and I can't contain myself for joy
flowers come to mind for some reason
poppies cactuses jonquils
in the jonquil garden in Kadikoy Istanbul I kissed Marika
fresh almonds on her breath
I was seventeen
my heart on a swing touched the sky
I didn't know I loved flowers
friends sent me three red carnations in prison

I just remembered the stars
I love them too
whether I'm floored watching them from below
or whether I'm flying at their side

I have some questions for the cosmonauts
were the stars much bigger
did they look like huge jewels on black velvet
or apricots on orange
did you feel proud to get closer to the stars
I saw color photos of the cosmos in Ogonek magazine now don't
be upset comrades but nonfigurative shall we say or abstract
well some of them looked just like such paintings which is to
say they were terribly figurative and concrete
my heart was in my mouth looking at them
they are our endless desire to grasp things
seeing them I could even think of death and not feel at all sad
I never knew I loved the cosmos

snow flashes in front of my eyes
both heavy wet steady snow and the dry whirling kind
I didn't know I liked snow

I never knew I loved the sun
even when setting cherry-red as now
in Istanbul too it sometimes sets in postcard colors
but you aren't about to paint it that way
I didn't know I loved the sea
except the Sea of Azov
or how much

I didn't know I loved clouds
whether I'm under or up above them
whether they look like giants or shaggy white beasts

moonlight the falsest the most languid the most petit-bourgeois
strikes me
I like it

I didn't know I liked rain
whether it falls like a fine net or splatters against the glass my
heart leaves me tangled up in a net or trapped inside a drop 
and takes off for uncharted countries I didn't know I loved
rain but why did I suddenly discover all these passions sitting
by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
is it because I lit my sixth cigarette
one alone could kill me
is it because I'm half dead from thinking about someone back in Moscow
her hair straw-blond eyelashes blue

the train plunges on through the pitch-black night
I never knew I liked the night pitch-black
sparks fly from the engine
I didn't know I loved sparks
I didn't know I loved so many things and I had to wait until sixty
to find it out sitting by the window on the Prague-Berlin train
watching the world disappear as if on a journey of no return

Nazim Hikmet
Moscow,19 April 1962