It wasn’t a friendship at all. It’s just a casual relationship between two students who happened to have the same subject this semester, classmates who were complete strangers to each other. They met twice a week, shared a few blanks glances, but never talked to each other.
This is how I would describe the connection between me and Cris Mendez. If you are a student of the University of the Philippines or updated with current events, you know where I’m driving at. But for the benefit of all, Cris is the latest victim of frat-related violence, particularly hazing. Although investigations are still ongoing and hazing is but a vague idea in the news, as of this writing, here in the UP community such assertions are pretty easy to verify and almost out in the sunshine with evidences just floating around the campus.
When I read about Cris’ death on the newspaper, I hardly gave it a moment’s notice thinking it was just one of those campus crimes focusing on the gory details for the sake of human interest. It was only during our long exam, five days after the incident, that the news sunk in. All of a sudden, I realized that the person on the headlines was Cris, my classmate in Geography, the friendly guy with the generous smiles, a natural leader in and out of the classroom. His face kept flashing in my mind while taking the test. I was disturbed. I did not get the solution right in the problem solving.
Hazing is a traitor. It serves as a bridge to the other side of the mountain but is hanging by a thread. Unfortunately for Cris, his comrades made it to the other side safely, except for him when the bridge finally snapped. I can’t imagine how he, with his skin and bone figure, suffered in the hands of those who tortured him. I’ve watched films showing how initiation rites were conducted, but the thought of experiencing those by someone you knew was spine-chilling. Though Cris wasn’t the first to be victimized by such cruel acts, he gave me the impression that people would breach any barrier, even if it meant gambling their lives, just so they could belong.
Under R.A. 8049, hazing and any other forms of initiation rites in fraternities, sororities, or organizations are strictly prohibited and punishable by reclusion perpetua or life imprisonment. But even this law is toothless, since everything forbidden here is very much prevalent in places where tribes thrive. Come to think of it, how could it probably have teeth if having a fraternity or sorority is a prerequisite to entering a law school? I don’t know the statistics but many law students, if not all, in UP belong to one backing them up. Ninoy Aquino and Ferdinand Marcos, two great lawyers in Philippine history, used to be brods in the same fraternity. What else could we draw from this if that was the case? Go figure.
Maybe it was one of Cris’ plans to become a lawyer someday, knowing he was a Public Administration student. I would not really know. What is certain is that to be great, one must first have a group to belong to. History proves what I’m saying is true: Ninoy and Macoy is one. Jose Rizal had La Liga Filipina. Andres Bonifacio had the Katipunan. Adolf Hitler had the Nazis. Mother Teresa had her Missionaries of Charity. Jesus Christ had his apostles (and disciples) with him. Even fictional characters have it. Ali Baba had his Forty Thieves. Voldemort and Dumbledore in the Harry Potter series had their Death Eaters and Order of the Phoenix respectively.
I am not trying to sensationalize the issue. It’s just that Cris either wanted greatness or he wanted to belong, or both. And I could not blame him for that—not especially now that he is gone. I believe it is instinctive for a human being to have inkling for greatness, more so for a sense of belongingness. Only some of us don’t get these things easily. Like Cris and other icons in history, some have to sacrifice a lot, sometimes even with their lives.
Every time I look at Cris’ face, in my mind or in his photographs over the news, I can’t help but feel sorry for him. He is the same age as I am. Both of us are graduating students. We both want to be responsible leaders someday. It is so frustrating to have lost somebody who had huge potentials in becoming great in the future. If somebody like me, who is not related to him at all, could feel so low this much, what about his friends and his family?
Though distressing enough, I can still bear to see images of Cris. But, please, don’t let me have to look, even at a glance, at his mother’s face.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Renewed
Writer's Note: This is the edited version of "The White Man's Expectations" (see article below) as published in the Philippine Daily Inquirer on 28 June 2007
My friends and i experienced a spiritual renewal during the last summer vacation. We all agreed to attend a three-day retreat for the youth in a nearby town one week before the start of classes. The retreat was sponsored by a church organization in our parish.
Since the retreat came free of charge, I did not expect too much from it. I knew more or less why and how retreats are conducted.
When the day came for the start of the retreat, all the preconceptions I had were shattered in an instant. I came prepared to endure less than comfortable accommodations, but I was totally surprised when I saw the other participants. Most of them were younger than me, and I was worried that the difference in our ages would cause conflict among us. Most of them were out-of-school youths, and I wondered about the quality of their participation in the scheduled activities, given their low educational attainment. And since they were out-of-school youths, I knew they came from the lower socioeconomic strata and I was afraid they would behave as shabbily as their shanties looked.
With all these fears and prejudices entering my mind, I actually considered backing out of the spiritual retreat instead of spending three days and two nights in such company. If not for my friends, who were themselves secretly feeling what I felt, I would have packed up my things and returned to the comfort of our home.
But then I remembered that God has a plan for everything and I thought this was His way of testing and teaching me. I decided to stay.
The three days of the retreat quickly passed and before I knew it I had experienced an amazing renewal. I did not feel the spiritual growth I was expecting, but something of greater significance took place: I matured as a person and as a child of God.
My transformation began right on the first day of the retreat. After introducing ourselves, I realized that I was as immature and as silly as they were. I may be older by a year or two, but our love for fun, for learning and for love itself were the same. After all, my generation is also their generation.
We talked a lot, shared a lot. I learned things I would never have learned in my undergraduate studies or even in graduate school. I discovered the resiliency and resourcefulness of the Filipino people in them as well as their sorrows and their joys. I witnessed how they really had fun doing simple things like singing and dancing and how they could laugh together about almost anything.
We ate at one table and slept in one room. I realized that most of the satisfaction we get from having our basic needs fulfilled comes from the affection of the hand that provides them and the people we share them with. Yes I can eat and sleep alone. I can have a feast and rest in my own room if I want to. But these are just byproducts of the love that worked to provide them.
I had come to believe that I was not expecting too much from the things that came my way. But deep inside me, the norms, standards and principles were present even if I refused to acknowledge their existence. Because I was so used to living with them, they became a natural part of me, almost like instincts.
I have another question: How many people in this planet think like me before I stepped into the retreat house? How do I share this lesson with others? And will they learn just by reading or hearing this? Must everyone “suffer” to gain sight of the harsh but beautiful reality? Am I maturing or am I simply getting old when I say these things?
For the time being, I will leave these questions unanswered because there is another thing that disturbs me: Is it instinctive also for a civilized or, at least, an educated person to bear this burden? Right now I strongly feel I should reach out to others, especially those who are poor, and somehow help lift them out of their sad situation. But the bigger question is: How do you help someone who is not asking for help?
I guess I should not expect too much from myself lest I lose sight of reality.
My friends and i experienced a spiritual renewal during the last summer vacation. We all agreed to attend a three-day retreat for the youth in a nearby town one week before the start of classes. The retreat was sponsored by a church organization in our parish.
Since the retreat came free of charge, I did not expect too much from it. I knew more or less why and how retreats are conducted.
When the day came for the start of the retreat, all the preconceptions I had were shattered in an instant. I came prepared to endure less than comfortable accommodations, but I was totally surprised when I saw the other participants. Most of them were younger than me, and I was worried that the difference in our ages would cause conflict among us. Most of them were out-of-school youths, and I wondered about the quality of their participation in the scheduled activities, given their low educational attainment. And since they were out-of-school youths, I knew they came from the lower socioeconomic strata and I was afraid they would behave as shabbily as their shanties looked.
With all these fears and prejudices entering my mind, I actually considered backing out of the spiritual retreat instead of spending three days and two nights in such company. If not for my friends, who were themselves secretly feeling what I felt, I would have packed up my things and returned to the comfort of our home.
But then I remembered that God has a plan for everything and I thought this was His way of testing and teaching me. I decided to stay.
The three days of the retreat quickly passed and before I knew it I had experienced an amazing renewal. I did not feel the spiritual growth I was expecting, but something of greater significance took place: I matured as a person and as a child of God.
My transformation began right on the first day of the retreat. After introducing ourselves, I realized that I was as immature and as silly as they were. I may be older by a year or two, but our love for fun, for learning and for love itself were the same. After all, my generation is also their generation.
We talked a lot, shared a lot. I learned things I would never have learned in my undergraduate studies or even in graduate school. I discovered the resiliency and resourcefulness of the Filipino people in them as well as their sorrows and their joys. I witnessed how they really had fun doing simple things like singing and dancing and how they could laugh together about almost anything.
We ate at one table and slept in one room. I realized that most of the satisfaction we get from having our basic needs fulfilled comes from the affection of the hand that provides them and the people we share them with. Yes I can eat and sleep alone. I can have a feast and rest in my own room if I want to. But these are just byproducts of the love that worked to provide them.
I had come to believe that I was not expecting too much from the things that came my way. But deep inside me, the norms, standards and principles were present even if I refused to acknowledge their existence. Because I was so used to living with them, they became a natural part of me, almost like instincts.
I have another question: How many people in this planet think like me before I stepped into the retreat house? How do I share this lesson with others? And will they learn just by reading or hearing this? Must everyone “suffer” to gain sight of the harsh but beautiful reality? Am I maturing or am I simply getting old when I say these things?
For the time being, I will leave these questions unanswered because there is another thing that disturbs me: Is it instinctive also for a civilized or, at least, an educated person to bear this burden? Right now I strongly feel I should reach out to others, especially those who are poor, and somehow help lift them out of their sad situation. But the bigger question is: How do you help someone who is not asking for help?
I guess I should not expect too much from myself lest I lose sight of reality.
Saturday, June 16, 2007
The “White Man’s” Expectations
One rule to be happy: Thou shall not expect.
My friends and I decided to have a spiritual renewal as part of our summer vacation this year, so we all agreed to attend a three-day retreat for the youth in a nearby town a week before the start of our classes. The retreat was sponsored by a church organization in our parish, which leaves us nothing to spare except our time.
Since it was free of charge, I did not expect too much from the event. Though in my heart, I knew, more or less, how and why retreats should be conducted. The day came and, to my surprise, all the preconceptions I had were shattered in an instance. I was ready to see a not-so-pleasant accommodation. But I was unarmed to see who the other participants were.
Most of my retreat-mates were younger than me. I feared that the differences in our age would result in conflict with our interests. Most of them too were out-of-school youth. I worried that with their educational attainment, the level of participation with regard to the pending activities would tend to be below my known standards. And since they are out-of-school, it showed that they belong to the lower socioeconomic strata. Here I feared that their demeanor would not be too far from how their shanties look like.
So much of my unconscious stereotypes and prejudices, I thought of actually retreating (to back out, that is) instead of staying there with them for three days and two nights. If not for my friends, who were secretly feeling what I feel, I would have packed my things up and headed back to the comfort of my home. I also held in my mind that God has a plan for everything and was using the moment to test and to teach me. So I conceded.
The days of the retreat passed and the amazing renewal set forth. I did not feel the spiritual growth I was expecting, but something of greater significance to my maturity as a person and as a child of God took place. My unexpected expectations during my first day were vanished right in front of me.
After introducing ourselves to each other, I figured I am just as immature and silly as they are. I may be older by a year or two but our love for fun, for learning, and for love itself remain the same. After all, my generation is still our generation.
Then we talked a lot, shared a lot. I learned things in life I would never have learned in any undergraduate degree or even at the top of any graduate school. I discovered the resiliency and resourcefulness of the Filipino people in them, their sorrows and their happiness too. I even saw the joy in simple things like singing and dancing and laughing together no matter how superficial the subjects are.
And we ate in one table and slept in one room. I realized that most of the satisfaction we get from our basic need comes from the affection of the hand that prepares it and the people we share it with. Yes I can eat and sleep alone. I can have a feast and rest in my own room if I want to. But these are just byproducts of the love that came and worked beforehand.
I was made to believe that I was not expecting too much from the things that come my way. But deep inside me, the norms, standards, and principles are present even if I refuse to acknowledge their existence. Because I was so used to living with them, they became a natural part of me, almost like instincts.
Now I have another problem. How many people in the planet still think like me before I stepped into the retreat house? How do I share this wisdom to others? And will they learn just by reading or hearing this? Must everyone ‘suffer’ just to gain sight of the harsh but beautiful reality? Am I maturing or am I simply getting old by saying these things? For the time being, I leave these questions in the limbo of my mind, because there is another thing that disturbs me:
Is it instinctive also for a civilized or, at least, an educated person to carry out the “white man’s burden?”
Because right now I strongly feel that I should reach out to others, especially the ‘poor,’ and somehow elevate them from their abysmal situation. But the bigger question is: How do you help someone who is not asking for help?
I guess I should not expect so much from me for fear of losing sight of the essence of reality.
My friends and I decided to have a spiritual renewal as part of our summer vacation this year, so we all agreed to attend a three-day retreat for the youth in a nearby town a week before the start of our classes. The retreat was sponsored by a church organization in our parish, which leaves us nothing to spare except our time.
Since it was free of charge, I did not expect too much from the event. Though in my heart, I knew, more or less, how and why retreats should be conducted. The day came and, to my surprise, all the preconceptions I had were shattered in an instance. I was ready to see a not-so-pleasant accommodation. But I was unarmed to see who the other participants were.
Most of my retreat-mates were younger than me. I feared that the differences in our age would result in conflict with our interests. Most of them too were out-of-school youth. I worried that with their educational attainment, the level of participation with regard to the pending activities would tend to be below my known standards. And since they are out-of-school, it showed that they belong to the lower socioeconomic strata. Here I feared that their demeanor would not be too far from how their shanties look like.
So much of my unconscious stereotypes and prejudices, I thought of actually retreating (to back out, that is) instead of staying there with them for three days and two nights. If not for my friends, who were secretly feeling what I feel, I would have packed my things up and headed back to the comfort of my home. I also held in my mind that God has a plan for everything and was using the moment to test and to teach me. So I conceded.
The days of the retreat passed and the amazing renewal set forth. I did not feel the spiritual growth I was expecting, but something of greater significance to my maturity as a person and as a child of God took place. My unexpected expectations during my first day were vanished right in front of me.
After introducing ourselves to each other, I figured I am just as immature and silly as they are. I may be older by a year or two but our love for fun, for learning, and for love itself remain the same. After all, my generation is still our generation.
Then we talked a lot, shared a lot. I learned things in life I would never have learned in any undergraduate degree or even at the top of any graduate school. I discovered the resiliency and resourcefulness of the Filipino people in them, their sorrows and their happiness too. I even saw the joy in simple things like singing and dancing and laughing together no matter how superficial the subjects are.
And we ate in one table and slept in one room. I realized that most of the satisfaction we get from our basic need comes from the affection of the hand that prepares it and the people we share it with. Yes I can eat and sleep alone. I can have a feast and rest in my own room if I want to. But these are just byproducts of the love that came and worked beforehand.
I was made to believe that I was not expecting too much from the things that come my way. But deep inside me, the norms, standards, and principles are present even if I refuse to acknowledge their existence. Because I was so used to living with them, they became a natural part of me, almost like instincts.
Now I have another problem. How many people in the planet still think like me before I stepped into the retreat house? How do I share this wisdom to others? And will they learn just by reading or hearing this? Must everyone ‘suffer’ just to gain sight of the harsh but beautiful reality? Am I maturing or am I simply getting old by saying these things? For the time being, I leave these questions in the limbo of my mind, because there is another thing that disturbs me:
Is it instinctive also for a civilized or, at least, an educated person to carry out the “white man’s burden?”
Because right now I strongly feel that I should reach out to others, especially the ‘poor,’ and somehow elevate them from their abysmal situation. But the bigger question is: How do you help someone who is not asking for help?
I guess I should not expect so much from me for fear of losing sight of the essence of reality.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Sa MRT
Napatunayan ko ang mga laws of Physics sa pagsakay sa MRT.
Naranasan ko ang mga pinag-aralan nina Newton at Einstein sa MRT.
Higit sa lahat, natuto ako ng maraming bagay sa pagsakay sa MRT.
Dito sa MRT kahit di ka gumalaw, mapapa-Tango o Boogie o Cancancan ka.
Subukan mong salubungin ang mga nasa likod mo at siguradong babalikan ka nila ng yakap (at halik) na tila baga kay tagal mo na silang hindi nakikita.
Daig pa ang mga nagmamahalang nagtatagpo sa airport matapos ang ilang taong pagkakahiwalay.
Kapag nakadaupang-palad mo na ang ibang pasahero sa MRT, madarama mo ang close family ties ng mga Filipino... close talaga tayo.
Sa MRT marami akong kwentong narinig.
Mas marami at mas magaganda kumpara sa kwentuhang jeepney o kwentong barbero.
Normal na ang kwentuhang barkada o magkakatrabaho. Pero may ilang kwentong-MRT na talagang hindi ko malilimutan.
Doon ko narinig ang ilang makabagbag-damdaming kwento na kung tutuusin ay pupwedeng ipalabas sa MMK o Magpakailanman.
Minsan narinig ko ang isang ama na nagkukwento sa katabi. Hindi ko alam kung katrabaho niya yung isang mama o kung kilala ba nya sya. Basta nagkwento sya.
Narinig ko na lang ang madramang buhay ng kadikit na mama nang ibahagi nya sa katabi na gustung-gusto nyang makasama ang kanyang pamilya. Gusto nyang makapag-bakasyon sila at makalabas ng Maynila kahit panandalian lamang.
Walang iniintinding problema. Walang cellphone na mang-aabala sa pagsasaya nila. Walang trabaho na mambubwisit sa kanila. Walang panggulo.
Maraming buhay ang dinadala ng MRT sa araw-araw... at nakasama ako roon.
Sa sobrang dami ay halos iisa na kami sa loob. Magkakadikit. Magkakapahirang-pawis. Magkakaramay sa init at lamig, sa pagka-stranded, sa pagtutulakan at paggigitgitan, at sa mabilis at maluwag na byahe--umaga man o gabi.
Sa MRT ko lalong nadama ang pagiging isa ko sa masa, bukod syempre sa pagsakay sa iba pang public utility vehicle gaya ng ordinary bus ng Baliwag Transit.
Nakita ko ang pagka-sosyal ng mga nagtatrabaho sa Makati ngunit kumakain sa jollijeep.
Nakita ko ang yaman ng mga college graduates ng bansa na alam mong may probinsyang pinanggalingan dahil sa punto ng pagsasalita.
Nakita ko ang kakaibang atmospera ng Pilipinas sa mga taong nakasakay ko na at talagang hindi mo maipagkakailang Pinoy ito at Pinoy nga!
Sa MRT, maraming kwento, maraming karanasan.
Kahit paulit-ulit, hindi nakakasawa.
Kahit hirap, may sarap din naman sa dulo ng mga riles o sa pagdating sa destinasyon.
Kahit alam mong may patutunguhan ka, hindi mo naman sigurado kung hanggang kailan ka sa loob.
Kahit masikip sa kadalasan, isa ka naman sa mga kauri at kababayan mo.
Kahit pilit, alam mong andyan ka. Nakasakay na at papalapit na sa iyong pupuntahan.
Sa MRT, sakay na.
Naranasan ko ang mga pinag-aralan nina Newton at Einstein sa MRT.
Higit sa lahat, natuto ako ng maraming bagay sa pagsakay sa MRT.
Dito sa MRT kahit di ka gumalaw, mapapa-Tango o Boogie o Cancancan ka.
Subukan mong salubungin ang mga nasa likod mo at siguradong babalikan ka nila ng yakap (at halik) na tila baga kay tagal mo na silang hindi nakikita.
Daig pa ang mga nagmamahalang nagtatagpo sa airport matapos ang ilang taong pagkakahiwalay.
Kapag nakadaupang-palad mo na ang ibang pasahero sa MRT, madarama mo ang close family ties ng mga Filipino... close talaga tayo.
Sa MRT marami akong kwentong narinig.
Mas marami at mas magaganda kumpara sa kwentuhang jeepney o kwentong barbero.
Normal na ang kwentuhang barkada o magkakatrabaho. Pero may ilang kwentong-MRT na talagang hindi ko malilimutan.
Doon ko narinig ang ilang makabagbag-damdaming kwento na kung tutuusin ay pupwedeng ipalabas sa MMK o Magpakailanman.
Minsan narinig ko ang isang ama na nagkukwento sa katabi. Hindi ko alam kung katrabaho niya yung isang mama o kung kilala ba nya sya. Basta nagkwento sya.
Narinig ko na lang ang madramang buhay ng kadikit na mama nang ibahagi nya sa katabi na gustung-gusto nyang makasama ang kanyang pamilya. Gusto nyang makapag-bakasyon sila at makalabas ng Maynila kahit panandalian lamang.
Walang iniintinding problema. Walang cellphone na mang-aabala sa pagsasaya nila. Walang trabaho na mambubwisit sa kanila. Walang panggulo.
Maraming buhay ang dinadala ng MRT sa araw-araw... at nakasama ako roon.
Sa sobrang dami ay halos iisa na kami sa loob. Magkakadikit. Magkakapahirang-pawis. Magkakaramay sa init at lamig, sa pagka-stranded, sa pagtutulakan at paggigitgitan, at sa mabilis at maluwag na byahe--umaga man o gabi.
Sa MRT ko lalong nadama ang pagiging isa ko sa masa, bukod syempre sa pagsakay sa iba pang public utility vehicle gaya ng ordinary bus ng Baliwag Transit.
Nakita ko ang pagka-sosyal ng mga nagtatrabaho sa Makati ngunit kumakain sa jollijeep.
Nakita ko ang yaman ng mga college graduates ng bansa na alam mong may probinsyang pinanggalingan dahil sa punto ng pagsasalita.
Nakita ko ang kakaibang atmospera ng Pilipinas sa mga taong nakasakay ko na at talagang hindi mo maipagkakailang Pinoy ito at Pinoy nga!
Sa MRT, maraming kwento, maraming karanasan.
Kahit paulit-ulit, hindi nakakasawa.
Kahit hirap, may sarap din naman sa dulo ng mga riles o sa pagdating sa destinasyon.
Kahit alam mong may patutunguhan ka, hindi mo naman sigurado kung hanggang kailan ka sa loob.
Kahit masikip sa kadalasan, isa ka naman sa mga kauri at kababayan mo.
Kahit pilit, alam mong andyan ka. Nakasakay na at papalapit na sa iyong pupuntahan.
Sa MRT, sakay na.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
Feeling nice about forgetfulness
Ngayon ko lang nalaman (o naalala) na may blog nga pala ako. At nadiskubre ko pa ito sa mismong oras ng trabaho ko sa Center for Media Freedom and Responsibility (CMFR) bilang intern ngayong 2007.
Grabe!
Ganun talaga!
Nakakatuwa na dahil sa pagkaulyanin ko ay mas nagalak ako sa pagkakitang muli sa aking blog. Ang saya ko talaga. Mas nararamdaman ko ngayon ang sarap at saya ng pagsusulat at pagiging isang mag-aaral ng peryodismo sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas sa Diliman, Quezon City.
Mabuti na lamang at napalilibutan ako ng mga taong may tunay at malalim na pagmamahal sa propesyon ng pagsusulat. Mabuti na lang.
Sandali lang. Trabaho na ulit. May mali raw sa ipinasa naming trabaho kahapon. Dagdag pahirap na naman. Pero ayos lang. Alam kong may magandang dahilan kung bakit ako pinapahirapan nang ganito.
Hay! Wala lang. Trabaho muna.
Welcome back, Isang Snap Lang!
Grabe!
Ganun talaga!
Nakakatuwa na dahil sa pagkaulyanin ko ay mas nagalak ako sa pagkakitang muli sa aking blog. Ang saya ko talaga. Mas nararamdaman ko ngayon ang sarap at saya ng pagsusulat at pagiging isang mag-aaral ng peryodismo sa Unibersidad ng Pilipinas sa Diliman, Quezon City.
Mabuti na lamang at napalilibutan ako ng mga taong may tunay at malalim na pagmamahal sa propesyon ng pagsusulat. Mabuti na lang.
Sandali lang. Trabaho na ulit. May mali raw sa ipinasa naming trabaho kahapon. Dagdag pahirap na naman. Pero ayos lang. Alam kong may magandang dahilan kung bakit ako pinapahirapan nang ganito.
Hay! Wala lang. Trabaho muna.
Welcome back, Isang Snap Lang!
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