Hoping for a hitler

Watching an old movie - The rise of Evil - a movie that chronicles the life of Adolf Hitler, I could not stop my self from wishing... i wish someone strong like Hitler would rise on our troubled nation.

Why Hitler? Nah.. I don't know, I just thought that my country need a strong hand. I am too tired and too frustrated on putting my faith on the administrators, politicians, power players, and "religious" clowns that litters our government. What we need is someone new, someone who has strong passion of raising our country from shit. And only a Hitler would fill the shoe.

Then let's have civil war... wow, exciting... i'll volunteer to attack the senate first, then congress, and perhaps the palace. Hmm… don’t forget those nasty newsmen who earns their living by poisoning the mind of the innocent with their bias, twisted and sensationalized reporting.

Spare Max Soliven. He’s my favorite.. hehehe.

Bored

Am bored... simply bored with what I am doing.

I travelled far places, seen and meet people, enjoyed the company of many friends, and keep up with the challenges of life, yet... I am bored.

Huh!

Falling in love? Duh.. done that, done this.. it but didn't really swept my heart away. Am not saying... i don't enjoy the feeling, i would be a hypocrite if i do that, because almost all the time i am in love.

Career...? Hmm... been on the top of my league but never really enjoyed being there. Nobody was with me and all I can have was the camaraderie of that person name "loneliness". I've tried diversity, though. I jump ship and swam on that "ocean" of technical specialist, failing to realized I don't how to "swim" with technology, for I had been enjoying the past ten years of my career "cruising" on that ship called management. I am still surviving, if you ask!
But... now, I don't know what to do and where to go.

Am bored... simply bored with what I am doing.

Bordeaux Boys... Reynaldo

I never excel in class not even won any special award for extra-curricular activities. Most of the time, I avoided joining class activities – too afraid that I may fail their expectations. I would rather keep quiet and watch, than be humiliated. I am just an ordinary boy, below average pupil… I told myself.

Yet lady luck smiled on me. I passed the USAID scholarship program and gave me free high school education in my old alma mater, Notre Dame School for Boys!

How did I made it? Hmm… I don’t know, I just took the exam and that was it. I didn’t even bother to study prior to the exam. I could remember my father looked at me on disbelief, saying “how did you do it… you even barely pass regular quizzes?” I just grin and replied, “Stroke of genius”. I also remember my uncle “smart” Chockoy used to throw nasty joke on me, implying that I got my scholarship because my grandmother was a school head teacher. Of course, I strongly protested and said that USAID scholarship was a private matter and certainly, my lola had no power to influence the result. I was furious with him. Good thing, I had a supportive Uncle Jimmy who told me to go on take the scholarship and enjoy the privilege.


* * * * * *

Nevertheless, I had to admit, I had a hard time during my 1st year in high school. Everything in the school were written and spoken in English. That was new! In my grade school, we seldom use the language and even our teacher, they communicate to us in Visayan dialect. Tsk.. tsk.. tsk! Patay na ako!

Every morning, I had to ask my seatmate to interpret for me what our principal - Bro. Manuel de Leon - was saying during the flag ceremony. At first, this young man was attentive and supportive but eventually, he got tired and started to shun me. I was so embarrassed that I forced myself to crash course in English. I made it a point that I arrive early so I may have more time in the library and whenever there are chances I skipped PE classes just to sneak in the library. It was hard and I could not see any progress with my endeavor – I am still stuck with my problem in English – but I didn’t give up.

Then one day, we had a surprise Unit Exam in Mathematics. Every one was surprised of course – including me – and we all the reason to be, because the coverage was never discussed in class. As the test went on, I look around and notice my classmates staring at the ceiling, some were praying to their “little gods”, some secretly scan their books, while other tried to imitate elastic man stretching their neck just to peek on their neighbor’s answers. My beloved seatmate was one of them.

I look at him in the eyes and said, “Go ahead… copy!”

Surprisingly, I found the exam easy… and guess what? When the teacher announced the result of the test, only one passed, and not just passed but also had a perfect score! Do I need to mention who the guy was? Hehehe… it was me! My seatmate had 49 over 100, which was the second highest score.

The next day, I followed my seatmate in the canteen during recess time. Without hesitation, I asked him to buy me a banana cue and an ice cream. He looked at me for a moment, argued, but eventually gave me what I wanted. I was very glad. Then everyday, I asked my classmate to buy me a snack – in short I was picking on him. I guess, he was feed up with me and that one day, he started to fight back. We almost had a fistfight.

I know it was my mistake, so I strike a bargain with him. He teaches me English, and in return, I will teach him Mathematics. That started our friendship.

Reynaldo Bautista became my 4th friend.

Bordeaux Boys... Harold

My new life in Kidapawan Pilot Elementary School, a public school, was full of adventure and realities in life.

I saw several new faces – literally different faces – and I was a bit afraid. Gone are the pupils sporting beautiful bags, well-combed hair, and clean shorts & polo. Only few pupils ever wear uniform and most of them belong to first sections. Unluckily for me, since I was a transferee - a late transferee, I was stuck in section 2. My seatmate was wearing no shoes at all and even had mud between his toes. Worse, the boy on my back was wearing an over used shorts with large holes on it (oh... I can see his dangling balls… hehehe). And the girls? Gee, they are big, burly and dark skinned. I saw them run on the big oval ground like jackals and... one of them, I heard, was a slugger (ugh!).

At first I thought, I was thrown in a wrong grade level and in a wrong room because most of my classmates are “old”. But oh my horrors, I was mistaken. When the teacher came and announced, “Class welcome to grade three”, I almost fainted. Indeed those burly girls, ugly looking boys were my classmates. "This is it", I murmured, “Welcome to Creepshow”.
Months passed, I never found a classmate whom I could claim my friend – not that I was choosy – I just found it hard to blend in to their style. Most of them had a very different interest and experiences in life. There were more mature and I they have different outlook in life. When they talk, they share what they were doing in the farm, their “job” with their parents, and how exciting it was to ride in a Carabao. Wow! I though, that must exciting and I was impressed. However, on their pensive modes, most of them confide to me that... in reality, their life was miserable and hard. They go to school in a hope that someday, they could rise above their poverty.

At that moment, I realized that I was still lucky. Though I was enrolled in a free elementary school, I had a good pair of shoes, 4 notebooks, 1 pencil, 1 pen, 1 bundle of rubber band as eraser, and a hands-me down bag from my Uncle Jimmy. Those were my treasure and I guarded it with my life, in fear that someone would steal any of it.


* * * * *

Months passed and turned to years yet I still have no friend.

One day on my 5th Grade, our teacher introduced us to a new pupil, a transferee from another public school. Just looking at him from a distance, I suddenly felt that this boy would bring trouble on me. Indeed, I was right! Everyday in the next succeeding months, this boy named Harold pick on me, make jokes on me, and borrow things without returning it. I despise every time he came to my side and do bad things on me. To make matter worse, he swap places with my seatmate.

That night, I cried so hard that made my eyes swollen. The following day, I beg my grandmother, who was then a teacher in the school, to transfer Harold to another seat. And I got lucky. Not only I got a new seatmate… I was transferred to another room, to a higher section.

A year later, I was in 6th Grade, Harold crossed my path once more. He was promoted to section 1, my section, and as expected he opted to take the seat beside me. He was smiling like a Hyena when the seat plan was finally announced.

Contrary to my expectations, Harold never picked on me again. He was supportive, kind, and understanding. Almost every afternoon, we would walk together on our way home. He trained me how to “steal” without being caught on the sidewalk vendors, use the sling shot effectively, and taught me so many street lingo that I never knew. He also shared me his life, introduced me to his family, his friends, and immersed me to his environment. Only then, I learn to know Harold personally, and begin to understand why he was a bully. I really admire his friendship with me. He would take a fight when someone else bullies on me.
Harold was my 3rd friend and he showed me the real life… at the very early age.

Bordeaux Boys... James

Victor and I had been good friends since the 1st grade, and I took pleasure of our friendship because I learn a lot from him. Victor was smart, he was neat, prim and proper, and most of all, I enjoy reading his children’s books.

On our 2nd grade, Victor’s audiences grow and he already had his regular “customers”. I remember, one time I tried to count them but failed to number them all because I run short of fingers and toes.

Then one day, I notice a skinny tall boy - who was a bit aloof from the rest of us – watching us from afar. He never joined our group nor did he show interest with the stories that Victor said. I asked him to join, free of charge, but I was surprise when he replied, “I knew more stories than that”.

The boy was Laser James Galang, a son of a prominent family in our town. He was very polite, behave, also prim and proper, good looking, and smart. I guess he was smarter than Victor was but he just did not have the audacity of Victor. Yet, James was an interesting boy. He shared me no fairy tale stories, but told me stories about Superman, Batman, and Six Million Dollar Man. This was indeed different and more exciting.

To make the story short, James became my friend.

* * *

That was the 70’s. When insurgency erupted in Central Mindanao, it took a toll on our finances. My parents made a painful decision of moving us to a public school, and I had no choice, I left my two friends and started a new life in an unknown territory - the Kidapawan Pilot Elementary School.

Bordeaux Boys... Victor

Now the memories had been flowing into my mind like newly opened dam. Huh! I even dream some of it at night, and would you believe, I sometime got streams of flashbacks when I am resting? This all started when my old friend James send an email to me. Gee, this is weird.

Anyway, I relish the idea of reminiscing my high school days.

How did the Bordeaux Boys started, you may ask? Hmm… a long time ago, during my 1st grade in Notre Dame of Kidapawan Grade School, I had this seat mate Victor who amazes me with his stories about magic, kings, queens, witches, and more.

Every recess time, he would gather a handful of his classmates and share a fairy tale story. For a young boy like me who never had a chance to hear stories like that, it was a very fascinating experience. For that, I was willing to barter my snack pack for a 15-minute story. Victor would gladly take my offer and gleefully munch on my sandwich, pausing between bite, then slowly share a story. After several months, I had suspected that Victor had run out of story, and that he opted to add version to his previous stories just to make it look new. Well, I could not blame him – he was enjoying the treat that he received from us.

Some of the boys complained but I did not. Instead, I befriend him and eventually won his trust. One Friday afternoon, he invited me to his house. He showed me several volumes of children’s books and some of his toys. And more than that, he allowed me to scan on those books and to take time to read. Only then, I realized that those stories that he shared to us were taken from the Children’s books. I kept his secret with me. He still share stories to the rest of our classmates in exchange for their snack pack, while me?... hehehe.. I was already exempted. All have to do is visit Victor on weekend and enjoy myself with the books.

That started our friendship – me and Victor.

The bordeaux boys

Out of the blue, I stumbled upon this email that raised my eyebrow. I never expected to receive a message from a long lost friend. He is not just an ordinary friend... this one knows me... he knew who I was and certainly knew what "stupid" things I have done before.

Laser James Galang, whom we fondly call Jembong, is one of the original five members of the Bordeaux Boys? A what? Bordeaux? Huh! it sounds corny not to mention it's a name of a wine but that's how we label our group.

During my high school days, we were proud to associate ourselves to something or someone that defines our style, our taste, and our personality. And the famous groups at that time were Bagets and Menudo. Well for us, I remember we had one whole Saturday brainstorming for the name of our group; picking words from the dictionary, combining the initials of our name, pseudo-name a famous pinoy band Hiyas, but eventually ends up with Harold's choice - Bordeaux.

Oh, I almost forgot. The other three were the bully Harold Gallego, the smart-ass Victor Marte, and the ever slowmo-man Reynaldo Bautista. Yeah, I put names to my friend, and you may ask... what is my name tag? James was the handsome good boy... and Jorge was the dancer-ous.

We used to hang out at Jembong's place, our favorite hole, because we can spend whole the day playing Atari for free, watch Conan the Barbarian in a Betamax over and over without getting bored, tag along with James while learning the piano, and if we get tired... we simply go down in the ground floor and play bowling or billiard. Yeah, that's how rich my friend was. James' family owns the only recreational center in our town and needless to say, having him as our friend is like having a unlimited access to the best toys in town. Hehehe... those were our good ole days.

Sad to say, I didn't hear from my friends after graduation. We were like young Alexander over eager to conquer the world when our parents unleashed us to the real world. Harold went to Iloilo city for college, Victor went to some unknown place to try his luck with technical courses, Rey went to Davao to take up Chemical Engineering and at the same time work part time at Venee's Hotel, James joined his siblings in Manila to take up Engineering, and... me... I really never had any plans yet because I know my parents cannot afford to send me to higher education.

But.. on the fateful day of May 4, 1985, I got a chance to change my life... forever. Well, i just received a blessing - three scholarship for college. Hehehe..!


Twenty year! See how fast time fly?

Hmm... are you asking what was the message of James to me? Nah, I will not share it with you. It's private... sorry. But don't worry, someday... i'll publish it in my blog.

Ms Bikini

I remember I did promised to write about the Ms Bikini competition held at Wet Wet Wild theme park but honestly I had thought of skipping it. Why? I am afraid there nothing to write!

Okay, I went there together with Arjie - my photo buddy - to join with some of the photonski team who were already ahead of us. I was even excited by the thought of shooting sexy girls in bikini. And did you know that last night? I charged all my batteries and emptied all my CF cards just to make sure there's no surprises today. I even clean the ccd sensor of my camera and the filters of my new lens!

But to my horror, I was very frustrated when I saw the girls who will be competing.
I couldn't believe these were the contestants because I have seen so many pretty and sexy locals along the beaches of Siloso & Palawan which was far far more qualified - and these contentants were just wannabes. Given they got plenty of guts and nice bodies, but talent? Huh, that's another story. I have to reminisce those moments that I have to bow down my head because I was ashamed for a contestant who was dancing a "pinoy Sisa" - tsekwa version.

Save for two or three pretty girls who has the "K" (forgive them with their singing voice that sounds like a crying poodle), I couldn't pick anyone else.

And my choice? contestant #13

My new home theater

My smile was touching my ears as I sat on my couch watching a DVD movie. Each beat of the sound that emanates from my sound system was simply fantastic. I feel good… so good and relax that I had stretched my legs while munching a basketful of sweet green grapes.



I was just lucky to hit a super bargain unit LG model LH-T6540 for $99. Hehehe… I had a beautiful brand new home theater!

A what? Republic of...?

I was browsing for good articles in the online news in the Philstar when I run across very interesting news from the Visayas. I thought, I read it wrong but a second look confirms that ... majority of the local government officials in Visayas are contemplating of creating a Republic of Visayas. Well, the way the papers reported, it is no longer in theory but work is already in progress to create a general framework for a new government.

Huh! I pause for a moment and look at the ceiling, thinking… what will happen to my beloved Philippines should this happen?

Yeah, I read the rest of the news and the reporter was articulating that the premise of this move is if Gloria is ousted through extra-constitutional means. Blah... blah... blah… what ever


That was morning!

Later after lunch, I went back online and browse more articles related to federalism, separate republics, and etc. I was shock to realize that the move for a Visayas Republic is not an isolated issue but rather a growing feeling of disappointment of what they call “breaking away from Imperial Manila”.

An opinion writer revealed that Chavit Singson had floated the idea of creating a separate state in the north and would call it Ilokoslovakia. What a nice name, indeed, hehehe. Well, the strong man in Mindanao – Davao Mayor Duterte - was way ahead of them and had promised (take note promised!) to “move” the people of Mindanao to create a separate republic. And what else? A possibility of a Bicolandia is certain.

Sus, what would I call myself then? No longer a Pinoy for sure, but what? Hmmm… I will have many choices though: my mother was hailed from Ilokos, my father from Batangas, and I was born in Davao. Tsk.. tsk.. tsk.. I cannot wait to see that day happen. Hehehe.


Evening!

Seriously, I am saddened with what is happening in my country. Few years back, my colleagues at work were asking about my nationality of which I was very proud to say “I am a Filipino”. I don’t know now, if I can still say the same words with pride.

Worst, I am afraid that one of these days I may say “I am a Mindanaoan”

Angst of a Middle Class Worker

My last blog entry expresses my disappointment on what's happening out there in my home, my country, the beloved Philippines. I thought, I had posted something that is uncharacteristic of being an nationalistic Pinoy.

But to my surprise, I received a comment telling me that I was not alone. I even got an attachment article about a Middle Class worker who expresses his angst!

Here's the attachment:

My Philippines

Have you ever been a spectator of a game that was so exciting and it fires your belly to join? Yet you hold your horses because ... basically you don't know how to play the game? And that left you staying on the sideline, wishing you had the skill and talent that could turn the game to your favor.

I am at the sideline right now, and I am not watching just a game but... I am watching the "play" that would define the destiny of my country. Yeah, am talking about the political game in the Philippines that is so exciting and colorful, it attracts attention to almost everyone.
Hey, before you ever made a conclusion... I never wish to join the "game".

I am just worried though. Lately, my colleagues had been asking me about that “circus” in my country and I don’t know, I just had this strange feeling of… how do we call it?… a bit ashamed of being a Pinoy. I never felt this before. I had been proud of my color, my race, and my Nationality and will always be.

How about you? How do you feel being a Pinoy?

London and my aching foot

My foot aches! and argh… it hurts every time I tried to walk fast.
And what a good timing indeed!

This morning, I was afraid that I might just have to cancel my plans of going to the Splanade tonight. You know, my friends had been talking that David Beckham may loiter in the area. And I have a good reason to believe they may be right. The International Olympic Committee will announce the winning city who bids for the 30th Olympics on 2012, and Beckham is one of several personalities who will grace the occasion. Should I miss to catch a sight of the famous England Football Captain, well am sure I can find some sports personalities of lesser caliber. If not, I may just have to enjoy watching beautiful girls. Oh… I heard, there are over a thousand tourist in towns and most of them are French girls.. hehehhee

But my foot really aches!

Afternoon, I went out of the City Hall MRT Station and I tried to walk towards the Splanade. But walking was just not my forte today so I decided to proceed to the Raffles City Shopping Mall instead. I thought, I would just take my dinner there and after that… go home take a rest.

But to my surprise, I found out that there were so many people at the Activity Center waiting for the announcement of the winning city for Olympics 2012. There was a huge screen showing the activity of IOC at the Splanade. The people, mostly French and Britons, packed in front of the giant screen and were cheering for their respective city. I was simply mesmerized with the energy that emanates from these people.

I tried to squeeze in to one of the groups. I first went to the circle for Paris, take a closer look at the lovely French ladies… but decided to move away. I found them too noisy and too gaudy, always jumping and screaming for their city. Gee… there was so much energy with these people. Anyway, I decided to move to the next circle which is for New York. If Paris was boisterous, NY was the exact opposite. The people were too formal and too dry. Not one person was cheering for the city. Certainly, this is not the crowd where I wanted to stay. So, I moved again to the next circle which was for London.

My foot? Yeah… it is still aching but I had ignored it. I was more interested and was excited just to be in a middle of so many beautiful girls… English girls! Hehehehe I had forgotten the French girls

I was still trying to look around when the big screen came alive and started to air the IOC Announcement. Then a wild applause filled the air and the people started to press towards the center. I was there in the middle, caught between big people and could barely move. What was in my mind? …. My foot aches! Arghh!

When the name L O N D O N was announced as the winning city, everyone on my side screamed in jubilation. On my left, there was this towering athletic guy who was very happy and when i look up at him, he simply hugged me tight! Ugh, I did not see that coming. Good thing, he released me without doing damage to my bones. Then I moved towards the right, where I bumped to a big athletic, 5 foot 10 inches English lass. She looked at me with all the smiles in her face and then hugged me! Then came another large - I meant horizontally - girl who also hugged me, then another and another, finally ending up hugging a hairy smelly guy. Hehehe… I didn't see that coming! That was a good experience, though. Hey... not the guy thing! I meant the girl hugging thing.

Minutes later, the atmosphere started to calm down. The English had enough of their celebration, and on the far side I notice the French were crying. The New Yorkers looks gloomy, and who cares? They had been gloomy since the start anyway. Few Spaniard grouped together under a pole. They looked stunned but they were silent and relatively calm. The Moscovites? Oh where were they by the way? I did know where they were!

Arghh!! My foot still aches!

I guess, I had enough for the day. I slowly moved towards the Raffles City exit and looked for a taxi cab to bring me home. What a day, indeed! Even though my foot aches! And even if it hurts every time I tried to walk fast.

MRT Trains & Singaporeans

The MRT in Singapore is one of the busiest and crowded in the world.  On busy day, you could expect thousands of commuters moving quickly along lanes, escalators, going in and out of the trains.

Despite of the crowd and volume, there is one characteristic among Singaporeans that I admire most.  They always respect private space. If you are in the Philippines, you could expect people pushing, leaning, our touching you.  We normally wouldn't mind being "mangled" because we understand that it's just natural if your in crowded places. Not in Singapore.  Everyone make sure that you don't touch each other - even if it just the clothes - they would politely move towards the center of the train to evenly distribute the space.  What a commendable attitude, I proudly say.



Yet there are exception... and that happens every Sunday and only along Red Line particularly between Dhoby Ghaut and Orchard stations. And the reason?  A large volume of noisy Filipinos who would come in droves and they would usually clump with each other as if they magnets of opposite poles.

Alone.. but not lonely!

Alone, as usual, but not lonely. Huh!

It's been quite sometime since I went home to the Philippines. I miss my friends, I miss my family, and surely I miss my love ones. And I miss the most is my Jasmine Brielle

Musta na kaya sila...? Do they still think of me?