The Reading Habits of Goldfishes 2

When one reads non-mainstream non-bestselling book for fun, does it make him or her an elitist? Well, that is so far from the truth mainly because there is no fine line between popular fiction and literature.

What may be popular fiction now can become high literature in the distant future. So, I don't think it's logical for critics to be dishing out "elitist" comments just because their cerebral hemispheres can only accommodate works by Mitch Albom, for what they're reading can become tomorrow's Steinbeck and Faulkner. This shows that there is no point really in comparing today's bestsellers in favor of ancient tomes or non-mainstream books, because both of them are literature in their own right. Both of them should be read without prejudice against the other.

Although Da Vinci Code, Lemony Sicket's, Sandman series (Hugo Prize winner) and Harry Potter have yet to win any major book award, suffice to say that they don't need awards to prove that they are great pieces of literature. Public acclaim and glowing reviews say it all. On the other hand, it doesn't mean that award-winning works are dust-covered has-beens that no one ever cared to open and that only stuffy bespectacled professors enjoyed reading. Even if some of them are way too cerebral for my taste, most are really good reads with rich complicated plots. A few of them are: Groyon's "Sky over Dimas" (2003? Palanca Prize Winner), Martel's "Life of Pi" (Booker Prize Winner), and Steinbeck's "Grapes of Wrath" (Pulitzer Prize Winner.) And yes, their equally-glowing reviews are as extensive as that of Harry Potter's. If only we give them a chance, then perhaps they will become bestsellers soon. Oprah did her share by choosing the "Grapes of Wrath" for her Book Club hence, resurrecting an old classic to the light.

Besides that point, just because one enjoys reading popular fiction (Dan Brown, Danielle Steele) does not mean he or she is incapable of enjoying literature by Victor Hugo or Alexander Dumas. While it is God-given freedom in choosing to remain stagnant in the popular fiction section, there is joy to discover the non-popular works of the classical authors (Boccaccio to Hemingway) and critically-acclaimed writers (Coatzee to Ishiguro.) And one is never handicapped to savor the richness of the classics. If one does enjoy reading the classics which only a few cared to take a second look, does it make you an elitist? A non-conformist maybe, but an elitist? Never. Expanding one's horizon is never an elitist pastime, while the reverse may be true. By choosing to have a narrow shelf of reading material, one closes out on other genres of literature, thereby becoming a snob of popular fiction.

For those snobbish commentators who prefer to wallow in their Chickensoup world, I'd like to ask how many books (or genres) can one read so as not be labeled "elitist?" Probably in their case, just one. And the Bible doesn't count. It does not make anyone stupid by reading a single book all his life, but it certainly does not make that person smarter either. Reading is a matter of addition, of enriching one's brain, but never subtraction. Reading is a matter or repetition, tome after tome, and the more you read, the more is one's understanding of the world at large and of the human psyche. Conversely, by not choosing to read other works, stereotypes, biases and prejudices are formed and from ignorance, fear is born.

Last Sunday, I met a couple of high school friends for another of those "weekend" get togethers. As usual, Powerbooks in Greenbelt was the obvious choice- mainly because of the cool airconditioning and partially because one can spend the entire time reading their books. While browsing through their shelves, I spotted a curious volume. Marjane Satrapi's "Persepolis"** is a totally cool autobiographical graphic novel about the evolution of Iran's Islamic revolution and life under Ayatollah Khomeini. I was enthralled by the honesty of her work showing that not everyone in Iran supports the regime and that the revolution was well deserved. The point is, I wasn't aware that the ordinary Iranians hated the regime had it not for Persepolis. I thought that the shah was good and the Islamists bad (as what Clavell's "Whirlwind" and Western media like CNN wants us to believe.) I didn't buy the book but finished it in the cool confines of PowerBooks.

Check out Craig T. Fehrman's article, "Comfortable Books and Creative Reading". It explores the war between popular fiction and creative literature in America. And it talks about on how the Internet is affecting it all. A good article. Less inflammatory. Cheers!

**click on Persepolis link for an excerpt from the graphic novel.

Katrina On the Loose

It's Day 5 of the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina that blew into the Louisiana area devastating everything in its path. Here are some observations:

1. Eating their Humble Pie!
For years now, the USA has been a stumbling block to the Kyoto Protocol making the treaty impotent thus resulting to continued production of greenhouse gases by the world's largest producer. And with John Bolton railroading USA's butt into the upcoming UN reform report which forces Kofi Annan to water down the articles pertaining to global warming and greenhouse gases for the USA's benefit, George Bush has crystallized the perfect example of what greenhouse gases can bring- a Category 5 hurricane. By being a such an impediment to the reduction of these ozone-depleting gases, US has itself to blame for Mother Nature's fury, and frankly, they deserved every strength Katrina gave them.

2. The earth is flat!
Many residences in cities like New Orleans, Mobile and Biloxi have either been flattened, washed away, or have been blown to smithereens. Not one post have been left unsundered. But really, don't Americans use concrete for their houses? If those were in the Philippines, houses will still stay on their foundations mainly because we use concrete. Though it's flooding up to the second floor, but still, the house will survive. But unlike in the States where everything is taken cared for by insurance companies, here, we have to suffer the damage of every flood.

3. Whiny Americans!
Unlike resilient and self-sufficient Filipinos who have endured decades of government neglect, these whiny American flood victims do nothing to help their situation. They sit on their assess whining why their government hasn't sent them their foil-covered, steaming fried-chicken-and-fries meal and woolen blankets. They were so comfortable in their American-dream kind of living that they have forgotten how to survive. They just sit their on their cots complaining for the lack of aid and food supplies, and how they are racially discriminated blah-blah-blah. A total load of bull.

Did we hear people dying due to starvation and dehydration during the floods in Quezon? None, only dysentery. But to hear Americans (who live in their first-world utopia where an unfinished meal gets wastefully dumped in the trash) whine about not getting food and water is simply ironic. Here, a land of plenty stripped bare of its comfort zone sadly reveals a career-driven population clueless on how to survive. Weren't they able to stock canned goods in their houses prior to the hurricane? Didn't they brought with them at least some food knowing that there will be a lack of it? They depend too much on George W. Bush for their toilet paper.
They must be too confident that in America no storm will ever blow their house away. Well, it's too late to find out.

4. Waiting for Godot.
When 9/11 struck, G.W. Bush was seen staring into blank space while holding a children's book during a Florida photo-op. When Katrina struck, G.W. Bush "instead of flying to Louisiana, flew to San Diego to party with his business peeps." That's according to Michael Moore. It's already five days and it's only now that aid has arrived- in America at that!! Were the authorities still in shock that it took them several days to realize that people were dying in New Orleans? Soon, people will criticize that the Bush administration has done "too little, too late."

The Reading Habits of Goldfishes (Part 1)

I went to meet a friend at Glorietta a few days ago just to unwind from the daily grind. It was somewhat turning into a routine... well, a routine I'm beginning to enjoy- meeting at a bookstore preferably Powerbooks, eating a light dinner at one of the restaurants in the Makati area, and lounge around a bit.

Before I walked over to our rendezvous, I took a short side trip to National Bookstore to scour for books from the sale bins. It's not everyday that this bookstore shells out 20% mark down on books, or better yet, 50% discounts on selected items. I headed to the bargain bins and started looking for choice titles while shoving my elbows against fellow bibliophiles on the prowl for sale items. I found two for half the price. They were Arturo Perez-Reverte's "Flanders Panel" and James Hilton's "Lost Horizon." I was glad to have found those, because normally, those books are priced way above my literary budget. Observing my surroundings, I was gladden to see fellow Filipinos browsing through shelves and bins for good reads- books by Ayn Rand to C.S. Lewis, Isabel Allende to Dan Brown.

I remembered a comment from my previous entry wherein I said that Filipinos have a "narrow sense of reading preference" where only mass-marketed books like Dan Brown, Sidney Sheldon, Mitch Albom, Paulo Coelho, or Michael Crichton were appreciated and patronized by many. That person reacted by saying that to choose what titles to read is a matter of personal choice and I agree with her whole-heartedly. It's anyone's choice whether to read tomes as simple as Saint-Exupery's The Little Prince or as complicated as Dante's Divine Comedy, as popular as Dan Brown's Da Vinci Code or as obscure as Ananta Toer's Buru Quartet. It's all up to the reader what he or she likes to read. Period.

Some have a narrow reading range, while others have broader ones. It's indeed a matter of choice. It's also a choice whether to stay within your literary comfort zone (comprising the works of a single author or genre) or learn to discover other good works by different authors. It's OK I guess to stay loyal to the collection of Mary Higgins Clark and James Patterson, but wouldn't it be richer and enlightening to try the stuff others wrote? Not sounding too sanctimonious about it, what is there to fear by trying out other novels and non-fictions? One may or may not like it, but at least you tried to like it.

When I was in Elementary School, every one of my classmates was feverishly reading The Hardy Boys and Choose Your Own Adventures. I rented one Hardy Boys novel from the library and unfortunately, I can hardly finish the book. I returned the book half-read and went back instead on reading Herge's Adventures of Tintin and Steiger's History of the Orient (a 1920's book owned by my father.) It was probably the first and the last Hardy Boys novel I have ever read.

Several years later, I began reading the other novels that were tucked among the shelves on the foyer of our house. I picked up Clavell's Gaijin and surprisingly it was an enjoyable read, much to the delight of my dad. From there on I was hooked, and began to look for the rest of his Asian saga- King Rat, Shogun, Taipan, then Noble House. I began reading Agatha Christie's Hercule Poirot series (thanks to the library) to which I derived great pleasure in guessing who the murderer was.

When College rolled by, I was introduced to the glory that was Booksale, Powerbooks and National Bookstore. It was sheer enjoyment whenever their month-long sale arrive- scouring under those pile of books for good reads. There were several "lemons" which I thought were interesting enough but ended up as shallow and convoluted pieces of trash. There were fortunate ones like David Davidar's "House of Blue Mangoes" (P250), Eco's "Name of the Rose" (P100), Toer's "Child of All Mankind" (P75), and Saunders' "Pastoralia" (P70).

There are several books bearing Oprah's seal which I constantly see among Booksale "below P100" items (Midwives, Vinegar Hill, Poisonwood Bible, etc.), and I know that they are good heart-warming tales extolling the human spirit. They are good picks but they'll have to take a rain-check because I for one have developed an allergy for All-American apple-pie eating, Dixieland accented, angst-ridden, politically correct novels. For me, it's more exciting to read those books situated in exotic Asia or in historically-rich Europe, or in adventure-laden Africa, than in bland, pimple-ridden whiny whiny suburban white America. But then again, I might just eat those comments later on if this Dave Eggers' "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius"(P50)novel in front of me proves to be a very fulfilling read. So far I have finished James Hilton's "Lost Horizon" (P90) which was an uber-classic; an atmospheric Shangri-La for cold mid-afternoon readings.

The problem with Filipinos' "reading range" lies not in the slim variety of the works, but in the willfulness of choosing other books. There are lots and lots of cheap good books out there and they are crammed into bargain bins and Booksale shelves. And there are also expensive shrink-wrapped books up on display at Powerbooks and National Bookstore. So, there's no reason to complain why one cannot find another good title besides Five People You'll Meet In Heaven, unless it's Five People You'll Meet In Hell.

The commentator then followed up with an Ad Hominem saying that reading non-mainstream, non-bestselling books is an elitist pastime. Ah, ok, that my friend will be dissected on the next installment.

SONA 2004: A Rejoinder

Last August 2004, I commented on the insipid and statistic-laden SONA of GMA by writing an alternative one below. How relevent is this still remains to be seen. Things were a bit clearer and level-headed last year than what it is today, but I'll let you be the one to decide.

Actually, the SONA of President Arroyo was not the original speech she intended to deliver. It was a hastily written draft made by Dinky Soliman replacing my speech. Damn, that Dinky! She must have sensed that what I've written can capsize this administration. Capsize my foot! So, she crumpled and threw away my 11"x8" piece into the paper shredder, and with an evil glint in her eyes, she mocked, "Now, your nefarious plan, whatever it is, will never ever happen." The last thing I remembered was her elephant feet tramping away from the Office of the President.

This was the jist of my original SONA, since I didn't save any drafts:

1. To curb the unbridled population rate, we shall adopt a 4 children policy in which a parent or parents can have a maximum of only 4 children regardless of custody. For which after the fourth child has been delivered, attending physicians are hereby authorized and deputized to ligate the mother's fallopian tubes so as to prevent unnecessary pregnancies in the future. This will be with consent signed by the husband and by the mother-in-law.

Should the couple have more than four children on or after the promulgation of this bill, the parents of the unfortunate spawn can have two options:
a. put the child into adoption
b. the family can raise the child with a proviso for payment of an annual Nuisance Child Tax which amounts to 10 times the parents combined income taxes.
c. the family who cannot comply with the Nuisance Child Tax for a maximum of three years, will force the child to commit seppuku with Dinky Soliman acting as a "second" and such ritual will be placed under the auspices of the DSWD.

2. All public utility vehicles including but not exclusive to jeepneys, taxis, buses, FXs, calesas, Tricycles, Trisikads, etc., will be confiscated. Sixty percent of which will be nationalized and refranchised for public use while the rest will be disassembled and smelted into recycled steel by the National Steel Corporation.

3. All police officers and personnel shall undergo 2-months physical and skills retraining at specified military installations in compliance with the 32-inch waist line memorandum. Certification from such retraining is obligatory for reentry into the police service. All police officers and personnel shall have a tamper-proof portable electronic BlackBox to record all apprehensions of law violators. This device shall be turned over to an NBI representive who will electronically feed it into the NBI database for future reference.

4. All residents of Mindanao with Muslim descent shall be transmigrated to designated cities and municipalites all over the Philippines, with the provision of land parcels of equivalent land values of their former residences. Farms, buildings and other Mindanao-based assets shall be confiscated and recompensated by means of high-yielding government bonds of equivalent market value. Each city and town must not have a Muslim population more than 15% of its total population. This act shall be made under the authority of the AFP.

Non-compliance to the act shall be deemed subversive, therefore, subject to forfeiture of any civil liberty and protection of justice. Liquidation shall be executed through the modus operandi of the newly deputized Davao Death Squad.

Muslim Lands and assets remaining in Mindanao shall be put up at a nation-wide public auction under the auspices of Christie's and Southeby's. Proceeds shall go to government agencies, specifically the DPWH, DOH, DSWD and DAR. Mosques shall be transformed into Christian churches pending auction by the Iglesia ni Christo, Mormons and by the Catholic Church.

5. There will be a creation of a body for the shift from presidential form of government to a federal type. A federal state is currently defined as a state comprising of not less than 3 provinces sharing enthnolinguistic similarities and can generate enough revenue for self-sustainment. Rules and regulations on this matter are still pending.

Current nominations for federal states are:
a. State of Ilocandia (Region I + Batanes, Cagayan, Isabela, Kalinga-Apayao, Ifugao)
b. State of Bicolandia (Region V + Northern Samar)
c. Ilonggo Republic (Region 6 + Palawan, Romblon)
d. Republic of Cebu (Region 7 & 8)

Thank you My dear Filipinos. Good Morning.

Logic of Discounts

Filipinos just love bargain shopping whether it be clothes, food, pirated dvds or books. In these wallet-bleeding times, finding good discounts among the sale items are doubly rewarding. It gives one a feeling of euphoria just like when one hits the lotto albeit in degrees far lower, or when one hoodwinks another person. Of course, shelling out half of what you should normally pay increases the "value" of that item two folds. Hmmm... I guess there is a mathematical proof as to why all those discount items we have found creates twice the excitement just like finding a cache of hidden treasure.

It follows that if: (pardon my algebraic ignorance)

v = intrinsic value of the desired object
p = retail price

[p = v]

... this means that at a certain price, a desired object has a corresponding base intrinsic value. For instance, a Rolex watch has a high retail price giving it a higher intrinsic and market value than other cheaper watches.

if p is ½, what is v?
[½p = v]
[(2/1)½p = v(2/1)]
[p = 2v]

Ergo, if the item on hand shall have a 50% discount, its intrinsic value doubles. That explains that mongoose instinct why people get giddy when they find some high-value item that has been marked down. And that partially explains why Ukay-ukays flourish everywhere despite the possibility of contracting a complete set of body lice, fungal infections and body odor. And also explains why weekend Madness Sales click with Filipinos nationwide even if it means risking horrendous traffic and a horrible shoulder-to-shoulder experience.

Nonetheless, as they say, the thrill is in the hunt.

Thank God for Lemonade!

Thank God for independent CDs like Orange and Lemons or else this country is on a direct collision course to the graveyard of bubblegum pop of Otso-otso. Ever since the demise of primo uber-kool band, the Eraserheads, the rock-pop arena stagnated into a cesspool of inane pop and OPM ballads lorded by South Bore...um... Border, Christian Baho...este... Bautista, or Sex Bum... i mean Bombs. Must be Tourette Syndrome kicking in. Some managed to become classics like Barbie's Cradle, but on a whole the music scene was on a plateau.

The music of this uber-kool indie band is likened to those of the British pop of the 60's and the Pinoy pop of the 80's with lots of electric guitars and percussions. Think of it as the Beatles crossed with the Eraserheads with a soupcon of Hotdogs. And amazingly, a lot of young people like it. Why? It's because their tunes are fresh and non-formulaic, and it does not grate in their ears. Pure pleasure. And as of this writing, the band has been making the rounds among Manila record shops and major malls, and a couple of their tracks have been making the airwaves for weeks already. And I hope more people get to hear them for the big reason that they're really a fantastic band.

Their 2nd CD entitled "Strike Whilst the Iron is Hot" speaks a lot about the album. Most if not all of their songs are eclectic, hankering to the tunes of the yesteryears yet the retaining their hip flavors and lyrics. All of the tracks are a keeper- with just one or two digestible audio fillers in between. The theme whirls around on opportunities lost and that pepetual problem of love, infatuation, courtship and break ups. My favorite tracks are Pabango ng 'Yong Mata because of the Eraserheads flavor of the music, Heaven Knows (This Angel has Flown) because of the emotional content of the song which perhaps the best in the lot, and The Nerve because it reminds me of something personal. Nonetheless, they're all good.

Chris Ramos of Yehey Entertainment site gives us a review of some of their tracks:

Their first single “Hanggang Kailan” sounds more like a great composition evoking the likes of Rey Valera and Hotdog than a pretty decent Wild Swans or Housemartins impression. There are only a few things that are
more distinctly Pinoy pop than the line “umuwi ka na beybeh.” Another impressive song is the epic 6-minute “Lihim,” which – you guess it – is about an illicit love affair and is flavored with impressive orchestral flourishes (just like
“Hanggang Kailan”). Give or take that there’s a New Wave purist or two who
thinks that Strike… is inferior compared to its predecessor and may have the
impression that Strike… is OnL’s “sell-out album.” Which is an idea with a lousy
pedigree because OnL are artistic songwriters who have every right to grow. And
grow as songwriters is exactly what they do here. For the most part, their songwriting craft and technical musicianship is unsullied and transcendent.
Two other standouts here include “Pabango Ng ‘Yong Mata”
(“luha, kusa na lang dumadaloy/sa mga pagkakataon/nagpapaalalang tayo’y tao
lamang”) and “Heaven Knows (This Angel Has Flown)” which
both deal with loss.

The price? P250 is not bad. In fact, it discourages piracy since it's quite affordable for most people who appreciate this non-syrupy British wannabe band. I believe if they will continue their spate of good tracks, they will become classics too- the way Eraserheads and Hotdogs have become.

CSI Payatas

Smaller and Smaller Circles
By F.H. Batacan
University of the Philippines Press, QC
2002
155 pages



Sometimes a rare gem of a novel like this comes along your way like a pigeon dropping guano on top of your head. For one, this tome was neatly tucked away among the different volumes of other Filipino novels that I could have missed this title if I had not browsed through thoroughly the Powerbooks shelves. More importantly, F. Batacan's work is a patently Filipino whodunit novel full of shady characters and CSI-inspired plots, which is rare enough these days because our masochistic literary shelves are already crammed with Spanish-abused Noli me wannabes, Martial Law desaparecidos, WWII comfort diaries, EDSA "me-&-4-million-other-usiseros-were-there" analyses and Jessica Zafra's constipated insanities. Most are angst ridden and emotionally rich stories to break and make your achey, achey little heart. Not this one.

Set in a highly wounded, straight-forward, no-nonsense, James Pattersonesque tone, F. H. Batacan's 1999 Carlos Palanca grand prize winner, Smaller and Smaller Circles is one gripping novel that you can finish in one or two sittings. It's one of the best gripping reads during a rainy day. If Agatha Christie lived here, she would have written the same novel.

PDI columnist Ruel de Vera wrote: "Dead, mutilated bodies of children are discovered in and around the Payatas area of Quezon City, with faces, hearts and genitals missing. It seems that a serial killer -- yes, a Pinoy serial killer -- is picking off a juvenile victim on the first Saturday of every month." This prompts Augusto Saenz, priest cum forensics anthropologist and Fr. Jerome Lucero, psychologist and side-kick, to sniff out the killer among the hidden garbage heap of Payatas.

Besides the priests investigating the skeletal clues left behind by the victims, there's a motley of characters which Batacan satirizes with sheer precision. One of which is Benjamin Arcinas, the NBI lawyer who is caricatured as corrupt, inept and who gets a confession by torturing the "suspect." No wonder most criminal cases are thrown out of courts because of lack of evidence. And Joanna Bonifacio, the pretty yet headstrong TV journalist who helps Saenz in the investigation looked like one of the Probe Team reporters. Jessica Soho she aint.

No need to divulge more details but it is suffice to say that there's lots of CSI investigative techniques applied there (by Saenz & not by the NBI) like cordoning off a crime scene (which is seldom done here because we prefer the cover-the-head-with-newspaper type of evidence gathering.) Also, there are enlightening and infuriating points in the novel showing that because of the stupidity of the NBI and the Police, serial killers can go on killing people with impunity. And yes, there are lots of mutilated bodies- with a gross factor of 8/10.

The novel stands by itself. It's a treat since only a few detective novels are set in the Philippines and it's a statement also for us Filipinos that serial killings can happen here too and not just in CSI:Miami. And the probability solving such crimes, heaven forbid, is infinitesimally slim. Smaller and Smaller Circles is a definite must-read.

"Smaller and Smaller Circles is sleekly written, slowly building up the tension, and painting its characters...in a vivid, compelling manner."
- Rina Jimenez-David, Philippine Daily Inquirer

PDI columnist Ruel de Vera has this to say about the book (which has a more comprehensive review than mine): http://www.inq7.net/lif/2003/may/05/lif_6-1.htm

Return To Sender (Part 1)

July 13, 2025

Dearest daughter,

Felicitations! How are your studies faring? I do hope all things are going your way- I mean from your grades, clubs and to your social life. As promised, I'll send you your allowance as soon as the cane harvest starts.

Anyway, you asked me last week the history of the recent Philippine Civil War and how it transformed modern Philippines. Is this really your topic for report or just another diversion to stimulate my dull brain here in Negros? This is what I can share:

It all started about 20 years ago when then President Arroyo was deposed by a group of disgruntled soldiers one fateful night. The atmosphere then was electrified. By then civil groups and leftists transferred their mammoth rallies from Makati to Mendiola. Most of the influential people were there- Cory, Ramos, Legarda and perhaps a million or so civilians. They were practically demanding for her resignation at the doorsteps of the palace. President Arroyo in haste announced on TV that martial law has been declared and that any civil disobedience will not be tolerated. That made the rallyists went amok shooting and hitting the police officers who were cordoning the area. They pressed against the lines further more using their bare bodies as steamrollers, and in minutes they were at the gates. Rembember the French Revolution when the women of Paris stormed the gates of Versailles with pitchforks demanding the head of Marie Antoinette? It was that and more.

Little did the president know then that in that tumultuous tempest, her palace guards were already springing a trap to assassinate her. The junior officers grabbed her and like Julius Caesar, they stabbed her many times in the torso and in the back. Even her patent mole was cut off. Not satisfied, they did what the friars did to Governor-general Bustamante during the early 18th century, they lynched her from the balustrade and with their service pistols, they made her into a target practice.

The rallyists were soon held back with bullets and tear gas. The late Mrs. Aquino was shot in the stomach wetting her yellow blouse with blood. She died minutes later after muttering to her daughter Kris, "This country is not worth fighting for!" As for Fidel Ramos, he was shot in the neck by a young officer who was then bludgeoned to death by the enraged mob. It was mayhem at its finest. There were at least a thousand dead bodies scattered around the palace reminicent of the Amritsar Massacre in India. As for ex-president Estrada, he too was assassinated in his cell. Even those who were thought to be presidentiables like Drilon, Villar and De Venecia were suddenly killed one by one by suspected army-backed militias. The police were nowhere in sight to stop this.

When the dust finally settled, the TV crackled with the sounds of General Abu, Bataoil and Cimatu calling those politicians who were killed traitors to the constitution and that this was how God intented to clean up the whole country- with blood and terror. Of course, the Catholic Church and every other religious authority were shocked by this horrible spectacle that they immediately denounced and excommunicated these military malcontents. What the AFP did to them was just like how Robespierre & Marat abolished the Church in Revolutionary France. They confiscated their assets and assassinated their top clerics just to make an example- Archbishop Cruz was bludgeoned to death by rifle butts, Archbishop Rosales was mauled to death by dogs from the K-9 unit, Eraño Manalo was knifed in the neck by soldiers posing as church members and Eli Soriano was shot at the mouth.

Their denouncements did not go unheeded. In just two days after Arroyo died, the provinces of Ilocos Norte, Cebu, Negros, Iloilo, Davao and Sulu announced that they will secede from the republic and any outside military interference will be met with equal ferocity. They each grouped according to their own ethnolinguistic background: the Ilocanos for a Federal Ilocandia, the Cebuanos for a Republic of Cebu, Mindanao for a Morolandia and so on. The military installations and soldiers who were trapped in those areas were given an ultimatum: to either fight for them or face the wrath of the people. Most defected easily but in Davao, the military tried to take hostage the Mayor and his family, but they found out late enough that Mayor Duterte has more firepower and private soldiers than they. Those who participated were killed, their genitals slashed and their corpses paraded in the public plaza in which the public took great pleasure in stoning the dead bodies.

With the separate republics hastily being put up, other provinces in the Visayas and Mindanao quickly joined them. Pampanga, Isabela, Bulacan and Batangas tried to declare independent but were quickly and brutally quashed by the military. In San Fernando, Pampanga, then Gov. Lapid was shot in the chest, his feet bound together and was hanged upsidedown at the provincial capitol. In Lipa, Batangas, Mayor Vilma Santos was gangraped by unknown soldiers and was shot several times through her private parts. In Isabela, the entire Dy family was locked inside a cellar and soldiers threw in Molotov bombs thus, roasting the entire clan. My dear daughter, what happened in Manila was worse- it was short of being called a genocide.


TO BE CONTINUED...

Macatagal-Arroyo's Mandate of Heaven

It seems now another People Power is in the offing. The withdrawal of support for a clinging leech in Malacañang is snowballing into a collective chorus from a population who is fed up with her ineptitude. From her cabinet members, to the allied parties, to the religious sects and to the business people, they are mouthing the same diatribe: Resign Gloria!

Really now, with only the Jueteng scandal and the Garci tapes to pin her down, do you think it is large and sufficient enough to have the heart to get rid of her? For me, NO! Ever since Erap was deposed from the palace, civil society (and politicos) have been tempered with a post-traumatic stress syndrome wherein small infractions and self-contrived scandals are for them, enough to depose a duly elected president. It would take the plundering of the national treasury to do that. Like Marcos. For me, it would take dozens of Erap-style scandals involving personal kick-backs, tax breaks for Lucio Tan, and corrupt cabinet members to make me want to impeach her. But because everyone has been brainwashed with the fact that such tapes are the only reason to undo her, then let it be so. Let her go down from her ivory throne.

The reason why Fate led her destiny to what it is now is because she failed to address these problems properly. Wrong tactic. Wrong timing. I feel if she showed lots of courage to mass prosecute and persecute those jueteng lords, or at least addressed the tapes while it was still a benign tumor, then, perhaps she won't be in this precarious situation. But no, she chose to deny that such illegal games exist and that there were no payoffs flowing to her fat corpulent husband's stomach. She chose to keep mum about the tapes for so long and only to fan the flames of protest when she said sorry (this in the hope that we "dumb" Filipinos will recognize it as another Clintonesque apology worthy of forgiveness.) Ha-ha-ha. It was too late and too little. The public (more like the Manila public) has lost trust in her presidency.

The question is: How to depose a president? Take note of the following:
A. Voluntary Resignation
1. She will resign, then good.
2. She will not, then:
a. go to (B) for constitutional means
b. go to (C) for unconstitutional means
c. Coup d'Etat if the military gets an idea from co-ASEAN member, Burma.
d. Compromise with Ramos for a parliamentary shift in government slated for next year.
e. She will develop acute stress gastritis and irritable bowel syndrome forcing her to (A.)

B. Impeachment
a. if pro-impeachment prevails, then good.
b. in anti-impeachment prevails, then go to (C).

C. People Power III

Ah, it seems that in this country, if you want to kick your leaders off their position, what you do is to pressure him or her by means of a mini-mass demonstration (only in Imperial Manila) and conclude it that it's the deep desire of the whole Philippines. Okay. People Power nowadays sets a very bad precedent because it implies that we as a people are quickly brainwashed by opportunistic politicians to use extra-constitutional means in toppling a government. What they're trying to say is this: "Forget impeachment. Let's use the psychological impact of another Edsa II to make her leave Malacañang! Let's do some rallies! Let's do civil disobedience! Maybe a couple of Molotov bombs will do the trick!" Are they forgeting that even criminals deserve due process? And in her case, an impeachment trial? Ooops! I forgot this is the Philippines where extra-judicial killings are the norm of justice.

The only reason why the Erap-Marcos opposition wants an extra constitutional way out of this is because they fear that they do not have the numbers in congress or the senate to push an impeachment trial. That may be so, but if they use their collective intelligence to convince the Arroyo-allied parties (like the Liberal Party) to defect to their cause, then, there might not be the need to do these CNN-like press conferences. But because they're bereft of any shred of IQ, their only recourse is to agitate the public with mass rallies, TV denouncements and self-perpetuating press conferences.

I feel we should stick to impeachment and let the law take its due course. Even if you can already feel that De Castro, Drilon, Pimentel, Imee Marcos, and especially Legarda have been salivating in their seats (more like frothing from their mouths), this is no reason to expedite justice by taking other means than through impeachment. Because if we do, then the law becomes a laughing-stock, a folly of sorts. We must not make a mockery of our constitution by giving in to the Marcos-Erap malcontents for if we really think hard about it, the alternative to Arroyo is equally as dismal as she. Can we hear people clamoring for Noli? or for Loren? If any of those clowns gets a hold of the presidency, then you can be sure that Erap will have his presidential pardon. You and I wouldn't like that, do you?

In Chinese history, the Mandate of Heaven is very important for its loss signals the end of a dynasty. In our case, heaven right now is not looking very well for Mrs. Macatagal. For how long, only time will tell.

Rated PG

It was Tina who started it all. If it wasn't for her, this wouldn't have happened in the first place. But perhaps what they say is true that, "Necessity is the mother of inventions." And it was necessary to brand this loathesome person as such if we want to discuss her underdealings without fear of retribution. I know it's shallow but boredom does strange things to people.

This person in mind is what people would call "PG" or "patay-gutom." She is our office secretary (let's call her Pat), an ugly, middle-aged malcontent who has taken root in our department since time immemorial. When God gave out smiles during creation, obviously she missed out during the distribution. She always sport that patent frown where her bucktooth is already protruding from her lips. Imagine her drooling. And Tina added that her new haircut was a terrible throwback to the Tina Turner of the 80s that she quipped that she must have been mistaken for a transvestite one time or another. Even her sly voice grates in our ears. I loathe her. We all do.

Perhaps this animosity for someone who should be our ally is unfounded. But from experience, she has proven to be a veritable caricature: a villain you would hate the most.

Why do we hate her? Let me count the ways...
1. Eating our share in the food canister every lunchtime.
All residents and interns have a food ration that's placed inside this 3-story Indian-style , detachable steel container for every lunch and dinner. And the ration is quite meager, like one chicken drumstick for one person. And other personnel like Pat is never included in the head count, hence, she doesn't have the right to swim in our food. The residents tolerate her because she was already secretary before their tenure, and with that, they turn a blind eye. And with that, she eats with impunity.

Well, if the food's a little late, she's the one to remind us that her intestinal anacondas are hankering for some chow. She's the first to shout at nobody in particular that she's hungry already insinuating that we have to fetch the canister. Sometimes, she would blatantly ask us to get the lunch food by saying, "Huy, kunin niyo na ang lunch. Alas-dose na." And when the food arrives, she's the first to dig in without inviting anyone to partake with her. And sometimes, the interns are left with only a piece or two of the viand. Ah, the injustice of it. Sigh.

2. Diverting the buffet food for her brood.
Frequently, medreps would treat the doctors in a certain department to a catered buffet in the hope of presenting a new product or reiterate the efficacy of their drug. And most of the time, the food is more than enough. So, sometimes if there are any leftovers, we would save it for dinnertime. But one some occasions, the food (after the presentation) is swept clean by some uknown force and we would attribute this to hungry late-comers.

But one time, a co-intern's observation has shed light on why the leftovers have left the coop. The reason? Pat took them all and placed them in large cellophane bags- the ones carinderias use to sell viands. And it's for a fact that those didn't end up in our office thereafter. Where they ended up is still a mystery to us all.

3. Being the most inept secretary.
We have three printers in our office that gets broken every month or so. At first, we used a photocopier-printer hybrid to print our census each morning. Two weeks after, the printer bogged down. Pat complained that it was because our endless usage, which we partially admit it is, since it's part of the job description. She forbade us to use it without even trying to find out what's wrong with it. She didn't call in the repairman to have it checked. My co-intern soon found out what the problem is: a pin in the printer feed has been gagging up the paper flow. My friend fixed it quickly and the next morning, Pat was happily surprised that the machine is now working.

Now, we are relegated to use the dot-matrix for our census. It takes an hour to print them all and due to continuous usage, the ribbon has been exhausted. And Pat who is already aware of this problem (since we pointed it out to her a week ago) hasn't lifted her fat ass to either exchange the ribbon or at least, rewind it. As of now, the ribbon has tears in the middle due to extensive printing on the same segment and if it were not for the stacked carbon papers, our census could be like the "Emperor's New Clothes" wherein there are just printer indentations without the ink. Sometimes, I'd like to slam the machine into her mouth in the hope of restoring her face or better yet, insert her face into the printer just to make a point about the ink.

Wait, gotta make the census pa.

Thanks to PinoyBlog

Thanks to http://www.pinoyblog.com/ for choosing this site as the Blog of the Week. Gad, I can feel my ears clapping!! It would be hypocritical on my part if I said, "Shucks! It wuz nuth'n!" But really, it cockles the heart and sends a wide smile to any blogista who has been chosen for the weekly spot. It's that euphoric bliss (even if it's just a 2-minute orgasmic ecstacy) one feels just like when he or she sees his or her name listed in the Inquirer as being one of have passed the Med Boards.

Heheheh... anyway, ego-gloating aside, I'd like to extend my warm gratitude and sincerest thanks to Yuga, Ate Sassy and all the people who make PinoyBlog a very viable and vibrant online community. Though we come from different backgrounds, creeds and point of views, we continue to keep in contact with one another- through emails, blog updates, blog greetings, tagboards and comments- all with an open mind to learn something new. And this strengthens the community further more. I just hope that this endeavor shall not be a victim of our "ningas cogon" mentality, but rather, a steadily progressing venture.

More power to PinoyBlog!

To Read or Not To Read

To Read...

Everytime when I linger at the book section of National Bookstore, I see droves of people inhabiting the aisles of novels and magazines. Some would squat down with heads buried in a tome or would scan stealthily pre-wrapped books in a hidden corner or would just solidly stand at the aisle reading the latest novel of a who's-who author oblivious to the congested alleyway he or she has created. Many go for the humor section where they can read "Pugad Baboy" or to the Spiritual section where they read books like "A Purpose Driven Life", or to the magazine section reading Time or FHM. Although only a handful of Filipinos go for avant-garde non-mass produced books (by publishers such as Random House and Modern Library or the classics, it's still heartening to note that many still thirst for the written word. In a country where senseless soap operas, stupid sitcoms and demeaning noon-time shows are the staple of the literate (and illiterate) masses, it has come to the point that books are fast becoming an endangered specie. For Filipinos, they would rather spend an afternoon oggling in front of the boob tube for Korean telenovelas than to relax and read a good novel about the Korean war.

Speaking of novels, why is it that Filipinos have a narrow sense of reading preference? It seems that we're stucked in reading mass-produced novels and non-fictions like Mitch Albom's "Five People You Will Meet In Heaven", or "Tuesdays With Morrie" where diabetic sweetness is the dictum of the day. Also, we tend to gravitate to spiritually uplifting materials be it a novel like Cuelho's "The Alchemist" or the non-fiction "Chicken Soup for A Hooker's Soul." And if you ask anyone or any celebrity at that, their choices are the same albeit in varying degrees of sappiness and we the proletariat tend to lap it up.

Take a look at all those Friendster profiles! Many place "The Alchemist" as their most favorite book as if it's the only book published that year. And it's the only book they'll place (insinuating that's the only fiction they ever read.) I mean that's all? One measly book just so people will say that you're interesting or witty.

Why do literate people venture not into other genres or lesser known titles such as Kazuo Ishiguro's Pulitzer prize-winning Remains of the Day? Why is it that the only novels that keep popping up in people's shelves are by Anne Rice, Dan Brown, Robert Ludlum, Mary Higgens Clark, Michael Crichton, Daniel Steele, etc. whereby though they are hugely popular, they have yet to earn a Pulitzer or any prize in the literary field? I don't demean them, but shouldn't we seek those works that were highly praised (and prized) by critics for their merits like those that have won the Palanca awards or the Pulitzer's? Why should we let ourselves stagnate in the pool of the mass-produced? Because... it would be immensely sad that if we shall reach a ripe age of 78 and your grandchild will ask what your most favorite book is, your ready answer would still be "The Alchemist."

...or Not to Read

It's sad that the country's premier bookstore is half-occupied by school supplies, calculators, gift wrappers, vcds, and novelty items. This, in full light, shows how Filipinos define a bookstore. Go to stores like Borders, Barnes&Noble or Brentano's in the US and they'll show you what a real bookstore should look like: 3-4 floors of books. Nothing but books.

Since we are race whose preferential mode of learning is via the television and live audiovisual entertainment just as our pre-Hispanic forefathers like the Igorots pass down their tales orally, reading then becomes the lame duck alternative that only a diligent few can relate with. Thus, it is not good for one's business (and one's own business sense) to stock every corner with works of Socrates, Dickens and Ludlum because if the majority would rather watch and listen to the shenanigans of Ethel Booba or the wailing of Kris Aquino instead of buying books from the shelves, then it is not only unprofitable to stick it in the mud but more importantly, it's very Quixotic. This is why National or Goodwill thought of the need for other materials to sell(school supplies, pens, cds, vcds, cards, giftwrappers, albums, Christmas decors, etc.) in order cover their overhead expenses. And this reflects the fact that the only way for a bookstore to flourish in this hell-hole of a nation is to "diversify" its contents even if it means sacrificing half the floorspace to non-literary items. Tsk... Tsk...

And hence, National bookstore, the unofficial barometer of our functional literacy, has shown how the Filipino race is not inclined to read. This shows why we tend to repeat history again and again and again- never learning its lessons. This explains why we are such in a whole lot of mess because the minds of our leaders are full of corrupted kamote instead of enlightened wisdom.

Book recommendations:
1. to GMA: The Purpose Driven Life (because for the past 5 years, her administration has showed no purpose or direction whatsoever...) & Orwell's Animal Farm (because little by little, she has shown herself to be like the PIGS in the story wherein they enslaved and oppressed the masses bit by bit...)

2. to Bayani Fernando: Sun Tzu's Art of War (because his stint at MMDA shows how primitive and futile his tactics are...)

3. to Kris Aquino & Boy Abubunda: Life of Pi (because I would like to see how those two will survive alone in a raft for seven months in the middle of the Pacific accompanied by a very very hungry 450-lbs Bengal tiger... )

Bulge

"Ay, sori po. Nag-bulge po kasi manipis ang ugat nyo." (Sorry Ma'am. It bulged because your veins are thin and collapsible.)

These things do happen. And it happened to me more than once. And I dread it.

The reasons why the staff at the nurses' station page us interns at unholy hours of the night are because of the following:
1. Skin test (determining if the test antibiotic is allergic to the patient prior to starting the dose)
2. IV push (pushing several cc's of medications via IV lasting as long as 30 minutes)
3. NGT insertion (inserting a plastic or silicone tube through the nose to the stomach)
4. Indwelling Foley Catheterization (placing a rubber catheter into the urethra of female/male patients to monitor urine output)
5. Straight Catheterization (inserting temporarily a rubber catheter into the urethra for urinalysis or bladder relief)
6. Medical Abstract (writing time-consuming clinical summaries for patients)
7. IV insertion (inserting a needle into the hands or arms so as to have an IV access)
8. Change of Dressing (cleaning and debriding wounds and changing the gauze for new ones)

These procedures have varied levels of grossness and nausea, with routine exposure to them made most of us jaded and callous with nary a tinge of malice to them. Most are easily and quickly done with a step-by-step operation.

Only the IV insertion proves to be the most challenging of the tasks. Ask any doctor. So, if the nurses can't do it, they'll call the interns. If the interns cannot do it, they'll call in the residents. And with such a totempole set-up, it is inevitable that the patient's hands have now turned into a dartboard of blotched IV insertions or an exploded minefield full of dark red and purple bruises. But most of the time, it's a one shot deal- so no complaints there.

Sometimes, the nurses coerce the interns to take the first plunge- especially if the veins at hand are hidden and difficult to ascertain, or if the patients have a terribly low threshold for pain, or if the relatives are a pain in the ass. The most dreaded patient to be inserted are the elderly (due to thin collapsible veins), fat people (because their veins are hidden inside those pads of fat), and children (because they and their mothers are so irritable that you want to suture their lips.) And if the patient's relatives would ask, "Magaling ka ba? Sharpshooter ka ba? Kailangan isang turok lang!," I'd tell them silently, "Ikaw na lang kaya mag-swero, you stupid ass!" Of course, I can't tell them that, so I would smile at them and would tell them that I'll try my best.

And so, sometimes you shoot, sometimes you don't. If you do shoot, it feels like as if a fishbone has been extracted from your throat. If not and it did bulge, I would always tell them that it's their veins' faults. It's their vein's fault that it's collapsible, that the vessels are deeply set, or that they do not stay in place. This is coupled with a distraught face, knotted eyebrows, a frustrated sigh and profusion of sorry's to ebb the tide of patient's anger for not shooting in one go. Doctors are human too.

The good thing is, most patients are very patient and understanding that they do not make a fuss or create a scandalous scene when they are entreated to another insertion. This should never be construed that we in the medical field are happy-go-lucky in inserting needles into patient's hands. We try our best to minimize it, but if it happens, we can only learn from it so that in the future, we can avoid it.

It's still a relief that here in the Philippines, there is no culture of lawsuits unlike the United States where a mere blotched IV insertion can be grounds of getting sued. But if the medical malpractice bills (3 already) will be passed, then doctors can be sued over this. If that's the case, then every nurse and doctor will pass this noble job of IV insertion to the Phlebotomist.

Dr. Rolour Garcia, a '92 graduate of West Visayas has this to say about traumatic IV insertion:

IV insertion is a skill that you don't acquire by practicing on a dummy, it's by doing it frequently over a span of time on real patients. You become good at it not because you graduated at the top of your class, it's simply because you have done a lot of it on a regular basis. The same is true for other procedures, whether minor or major as in surgical or obstretric cases (in procedures where a simple rookie mistake can mean life or death, newbies are always accompanied by seasoned veterans). Hitting a muscle instead of a vein is always possible if you are just starting and new to it. I would not even call it "practicing" because you have to start somewhere and beginners usually mess it up more than the veterans. Of course, there are other factors to why interns or doctors may not do it right the first time - like obese patients, collapsed veins (severe dehydration, Rolling Stones' Keith Richards) or simply, human error (sleep-deprived, too much caffeine). Having worked in a government hospital, I can say that most, if not all, patients understand that accidents or complications could occur, and without sounding impartial, doctors usually do a good job in explaining it to them. The problem here is when lawyers, legislators and insurance companies start "educating" the patients themselves that these are not just "accidents" but "negligence" that doctors should pay for with money and prison time. The government as well as the medical community may have failed in adequately educating the patient but that doesn't mean other sectors of society should take advantage of it.

As they say, practice makes perfect! So, during my current stay in IM, my IV insertion skill is being honed and polished thanks to the multitude of practice hands my patients have given me. My confidence (and thankfully, my success rate) have been progressively growing during these past weeks. At first, I dread when the nurses call for an insertion, but now, I treat it as a routine procedure. A little patient pep talk, lots of concentration, and presto! Shoot kaagad. Hopefully, it will stay way.

Curiousity Killed the Dog

Written by an autistic wannabe named Mark Haddon, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time (1993), is a very remarkable yet unadorned novel which anyone will have the utmost pleasure in reading. Some can even relate to the main character who is an autistic savant.

Roz Kaveney, a reviewer of Amazon.co.uk said this about the book:

Christopher is an intelligent youth who lives in the functional hinterland of autism--every day is an investigation for him because of all the aspects of human life that he does not quite get. When the dog next door is killed with a garden fork, Christopher becomes quietly persistent in his desire to find out what has happened and tugs away at the world around him until a lot of secrets unravel messily.

Haddon makes an intelligent stab at how it feels to, for example, not know how to read the faces of the people around you, to be perpetually spooked by certain colours and certain levels of noise, to hate being touched to the point of violent reaction. Life is difficult for the difficult and prickly Christopher in ways that he only partly understands; this avoids most of the obvious pitfalls of novels about disability because it demands that we respect--perhaps admire--him rather than pity him.

In a nutshell, the book picks up the life of Christopher as he interacts with the environment around him- from food, to family members, to pets, to strangers, to police and to numbers. You become an unwitting companion in his quest to find out who killed the neighbor's dog and he shares with you bit by bit the world and logic he lives in. When I read the book, I felt that Christopher lived in a glass bubble, transparent yet impenetrable, a world governed by his own unique set of rules and norms. He is quite the genius no one thought of and yet if you read this book, you will be soon enlightened that though this boy acts as if he was a retard and a complete unaffecting idiot, he really is intelligent albeit using a different set of logic. He has his reasons (some are partially qualified) as to why he does things and from the book's point of view, you won't feel frustrated or antipathic to the character (unlike if you meet a real autistic child and he caused trouble for no reason at all.) Well, if he was real, I'll make sure he'll be the one impaled on the pitchfork instead of the dog.

The book itself is fascinating to say the least and truthfully, it's unputdownable. You're curious who killed the dog and you're enthralled by the uniqueness of Christopher. You become captivated with how the mind works that even if bodily you are normal, the mind still controls every aspect of your existence. The book itself have several puzzles and "how-things-work" type of entries and reading them is a delight. Makes your mind more open to the inifinite possibilites of the uknown. Anyway, the book is a light read and definitely dedicated to those who have an IQ less than 90... and also to those who are above 90. A definite must-read.

Available at: National Bookstore & Powerbooks

Hotel Rwanda: Ramblings and Review

A few days ago, I watched Hotel Rwanda in exclusive pirated DVD at the comfort of my room. I was blown away. This film has to be one of the most haunting, terrifying and traumatic film I have laid my eyes upon. It's 2nd only to Schindler's List in the Top 10 Most Genocide-inducing Films Ever Made.

In a nutshell, the film is about the 1994 Rwandan Genocide and how one man tried his best to save the refugees huddled in his hotel, the Hotel Mille Collines, amidst the uncertainty of being chopped into pieces anytime and the frustration of how to escape hell before hell turns its eyes on them. The Rwandan Civil War cum Genocide, for us, has been obscured by media indifference and by the silence of the Western powers. Bill Clinton even signed an Executive act decreasing the number of American personnel deployed for international crisis. This was just after the killing started in April 1994.

The main reason why those gorill... i mean, Africans went amok and started killing their fellowmen was because of racial hatred. Yep, just like those fat obese rancid-smelling White trash Americans who discriminate any person whose skin is a bit darker than theirs. While in L'etat Rwandaise, the hate was vented on a more collective and orchestrated way. Think of the Ku Klux Klan gone national lynching and hanging anyone who is black.



Anyhow, the story goes that Rwanda was incorporated into the world of European colonies at the start of the 20th century, and they fell into the hands of the Belgians. Can you imagine that little snot-sized Belgium, the southern part of then defunct Spanish Netherlands, have the audacity to rule over the lands and peoples thousands of miles away? I mean, this was a country that was never a colonial superpower and back then, they had no vast resources or military might to speak about. They were the doormat of Europe during the bloody Napoleonic wars, WWI, and WWII. So, in a way, they have no inkling whatsoever how to diplomatically rule over a colonized race such as the Rwandans. They are not veterans in the imperial game, hence, Belgians were greedy and stupid enough to grab vast African territories without even thinking what to do with it. They weren't able to exploit the vast jungles of Zaire (former Belgian Congo) for the betterment of their country like the British in Canada or force their culture upon the natives like the Spanish in the Philippines. They employed cruder administration tactics than the Dutch in the Dutch East Indies (now Indonesia), British in India or the French in Indochina by pitting one peacefully existing tribe against another by means of racial parameters like nose sizes and height. They would say in florid French, "This girl is a Hutu since she has a nose the size of Lake Victoria!", or "This lady is a Tutsi because she's tall as the giraffes of the savannah!" Something like that. (I'm rambling, I know.)

Anyway, the Belgians separated the Tutsis and Hutus based on race, and during their rule, the elite Tutsis dominated almost all positions of government and civil society while the Hutus who were deemed inferior was said to be good only in planting kamote and passing wind. After WWII, Rwandans gained their independence and the Belgians left the reins of government to the already oppressed but majority Hutus. And that was when the Hutus thought of exacting revenge against the Tutsis. The Hutus killed many Tutsis in sporadic bursts of amok-ness (making them into Tutsi rolls) during the 60s and 70s prompting them to flee to neighboring Uganda and Tanzania. And during the 90s, rebel Tutsis (from outside) began to counter the Hutu rage, hence putting both tribes in a tightrope of racial tug-of-war. This is where Hotel Rwanda steps in.



Anyway, to put the story in perspective, the assassination of the Hutu president in 1994 sparked the grand genocide against the Tutsis. This was precipitated by hate broadcast in Radio Mille Collines aired by the Interahamwe (a Hutu militia trained by Hutu-dominated military to terrorize, torture and kill suspected Tutsis by means of machete knives.) They say that rebel Tutsis killed their "beloved" president and they must exact revenge on the accused by killing all the Tutsis they can find. And kill they did.



I can't even believe how a million Tutsis were killed by means of machete knives. They should have imported samurai swords from Japan instead of buying them from China. Anyway, it was more gruesome than Schindler's list. In the movie, I saw bodies litter the highway like flies, whole families lying on the ground face-down dead with their bungalow homes burning in the background, so many militia brandishing their machetes on the streets, naked Tutsi women being coralled in a chicken coop while being abused, and kneeling Hutus being hacked to death in just one blow ala Tiger Woods. It was already traumatic to see Jews being gassed to death, so much so that this movie is doubly traumatic because, fuck, the whole genocide happened just 10 years ago. It was a time when I was having a grand time in high school that this event took place halfway around the world.



It was not just I who was callous and ignorant and indifferent but the whole wide world herself. No one cared. No one gave a damn that a million Africans became Mah-ling in a span of three months. No one even gave a second look that over 40,000 floating bodies were fished out from Lake Victoria. Only Red Cross and other NGOs were brave enough to give a damn. You'll feel guilty watching this movie.



The movie (just a short review here) is spectacular and moving. The acting was superb and the flow of the movie was intense. You know that any minute now, they will all be hacked to death. You can feel the tension of being trapped with no hope whatsoever for these people (since the UN and the Western powers will not bring forces to quell the violence) just like during the Fall of Saigon when many Vietnamese tried to enter the American embassy. You know it's futile and you know it's not the end of the movie- it is the beginning... the beginning of hell. I cried when Rwandan schoolchildren were forcefully separated from their white teacher. One will have an idea that those black children will soon be killed by the militia. You will be riveted in your seat and you'll leave the room with a heavy guilty feeling. But don't worry, the movie is PG13, so no extended hacking sprees were included. You won't regret watching it. Read the reviews because most, if not all, say that Hotel Rwanda is one of the best films in 2004.

Today, the Mille Collines have opened its doors to tourists and the tourists themselves have been coming in droves again to Rwanda to see the black hairy Gorillas (sorry no racial pun intended) and the genocide sites. The government knows that covering that tragic event is futile, so it uses it as a tourist lure. And it's working.

Current genocide occuring in the world today (Yes! It's happening as you comfortably sit here reading this blog!): DARFUR, SUDAN (see pics below)

Twilight of the Gods

Last week, the fair gods of Mt. Olymp... i mean, Banahaw descended upon our humble hospital to do their celestial spectacle. It was our good fortune to witness with our eyes wide open their show. That stupid and insipid Filipino telenovela, "Hiram" shot their third to the last episode in the annex beside our building where the service wards are located. This means that through our glass wall, we were treated to a box office seat to their shooting. Curious enough, our residents were literally stuck at the glass wall trying to figure out who was who inside the annex.

It was already late, probably 8 p.m. when different glinting SUVs paraded in front of the annex and the ABS-CBN van parked its big rear in front of the back gate. We suspected a shooting was at the offing. They practically owned the street. A handful of tambays crowded the street along with their two-stroke tricycles jostling for space. Some our patients' bantays were all agog at our balcony where they witnessed first-hand how the teary-eyed Kris Aquino hugged the equally teary-eyed Dina Bonnevie. Why is it that unlike Korean telenovelas, ours is a continuous one-hour cryfest interjected with infinite permutations of scandal-inducing scenes like slapping, hair-pulling, and public shouting? Even actors cry for no apparent reason. It seems that we measure a celebrity's talent by how much tears, sipon and laway he or she can produce in front of the camera. A very mature way measuring it up.

There were only two takes and it went for like three hours. It was an excruciatingly slowwww process. There were crew members adjusting the lighting, the tomboy directress directing, some stars eating a light dinner in styro packs at the third floor balcony, and some actors milling around watching us eating dinner in our office. My female co-intern was floored that time because as she was making a phone call at the balcony, a male star (Aigenman was it?) waved at her while mimicking her call. She would hound me for the next hour with that diatribe.

After exhausting the initial excitement of seeing stars in the bare flesh, we sauntered back to the wards for our nightly rounds and patients' calls thinking that that was it. They were so far from our visual grasp which confirms the ugly truth that these stars like Kris are protected by an invisible bubble-wrap which no ordinary mortal can reach into. We had this mindset that the closest way you will ever see these stars was to watch them in the television, and not in front of where you're standing.

And also, it was surprising that these stars would start filming at a time when ordinary people are eating their dinners and getting ready to go to bed. It must be very tiring on their part to smile and pander at the camera when their bodies are in need of rest. Oh yeah, it's also tiring on our part to smile and be "patient" with patients when our bodies are equally in need of sleep.

So, at around 2 a.m., I walked to the admissions office to check and update our census if there are any new patients (and hopefully, to interview while they're awake.) I sensed a bit of wierdness that through the hallway, large black cables slithered like snakes in search for prey. I followed it and I was surprised to see a bright light at the end of the tunnel.

It was the feast for the senses. I saw Kris Aquino with two alalays fanning her and doling her with a half-full Starbucks frappucino while the Snow Queen was loudly talking in her natural Game Ka Na Ba accent to fellow stars like the quiet Dina Bonnevie. There were extras sitting by the wall- nurses, doctors, patients and relatives. I saw Heart Evangelista stood and took her cue. She lied down in an ER stretcher with ketchup blood in her stomach, just like Ann Curtis who was already lying down in hers. Obviously, in this episode both of the teen princesses will be fortunately shot at their entrails. In real life, that would be a blast.

I saw my partner at the end of the flood-lighted, cable-strewn hallway wherein I signaled her to come over my side so she could have a vantage point in observing these demigods. I just realized that these stars were real people, like you and me, made of skin and bones- not unreachable gods that TV project them to be. They actually sat on those bacteria-infested curved metallic chairs where the asses of patients and relatives once rested. They're not so special at all. And at 2 a.m. in the morning, it was unbelievable. They must be really tired now.

After they set up the flood lights (which heated the room to a microwavable level) and positioned those 70s cameras and after they prompted the extras in uniforms, the directress shouted "Action." Immediately, we saw the ER personnel hurriedly (leisurely to be more exact) brought the two bloodied stretchers into the Emergency room. And (ho-hum!) a teary eyed Kris went to this actress and Mr. Aigenman and hugged them. Instant tears! And cut! At one moment, she was clarifying her actions with her directress in a voice dripping with aristocracy and suddenly, she quickly changed into a crying and affecting victim.

At long last, we were able to pass the shoot so as to go to the Admitting Office. As we deviously passed by, I can't help but steal a long hungry glance at the stars. Dina Bonnevie was sexy as usual, I mean for a lady that old, she's still sexy. As for Queen Kris, I can see the fats of her cheeks were already sagging and a few stress lines furrowed at the edge of her temples. But she's still regal and pretty (for her age). And Heart was a waif-life creature exuding a warmth of the studio's floodlights. Mr. Aigenman was already teetering into dozing off. They were all human beings endowed with imperfections. It was a really nice epiphany.

And after getting an updated list (thankfully no one was added then), we returned to our office to retire- but not with a smile reminding us that we have witnessed something special and that we shall keep this fleeting memory in our hearts forever (yeah, right! Probably for a week!). A night with the gods was simply too much for mere mortals like us.

Skyflakes Over Dimas

It was perhaps a month ago when I finally got hold of Vicente Groyon's novel, The Sky Over Dimas. This novel won the 2002 Carlos Palanca Award for Literary Excellence in the English novel genre. Prestigious it may seem, this piece of work is virtually non-existent in major bookstores like National, Goodwill and Powerbooks. The only place one can get a hold of it is from the DLSU Press, and it's subject to availability. Nevertheless, this book deserves a bright place in the hall of fame of great Philippine novels in English along with the works of Nick Joaquin, Sionil Jose and Manuel Arguilla.

One word to describe Groyon's novel is this: GRIPPING. Like a good pulp fiction cum saga, the author managed to spin a huge entagling web of subplots, family skeletons and sketches of the decadent lifestyles of Bacolod. If you are from Bacolod, get this book! The language used in the book is masterful with great command of English, the words lyrical that it rolls in your tongue when you read it aloud, and the flow of his work GRIPPING. It is sentences like this which makes your mind heady with meaty delicious descriptions of Negros life: "He lunged, parried, thrust, and touch‚d through the smokers' arbor, harvesting white blossoms and leaves from the canopy of vines along the way." You cannot help but finish his novel in one sitting. You just have to find out what happened in the hacienda.

According to PDI contributor, Rosario Lucero wrote, "The novel's basic plot is a rescue mission that Negros haciendera Margie Jarabas Torrecarrion calls on her son Rafael to undertake. George, Margie's loony husband and therefore Rafael's father, has been holed up with a worker's daughter in the abandoned manor of Hacienda Dimas for three months now. It's the only kind of reason that would make Rafael, now living in Manila, break his resolve never to set foot in Negros ever again. He dutifully returns to Bacolod, spends a night there before driving to the hacienda located a few hours from the city, and takes his father back in an ambulance."

What happened in between is the meat of the novel. Groyon concocted a vast melange of high-strung free-wheeling Bacolod characters both from the Jarabas and the Torrecarion family trees with their haciendero lifestyles to the sacadas who cannot rise above their station due to the oppression of their masters. Most characters satirize the pretentiousness, superficiality, greed and clannishness of Negros society that is a class unto its own. Everything is laid out exposed under the garish light of public scrutiny- that under that veneer of aristocratic gentility lies wickedness (e.g. enough jelousy to commit murder just to cover up a an infidelity), insanity (e.g. going to a religious store just to shoplift cheap plastic medallions) and hypocrisy (e.g. whole Bacolod society gossips behind the family's back.)

Well, that's much like the Bacolod that I know. Still wicked, insane and the best hypocritical community one will ever know. But the good thing is, Groyon managed to encapsulate (but not distill) all the good and bad of my city into one gripping novel. As my friend one said, "Bacolod is a big city with a small town mentality." And how right he is.

Benedictus Maledictus

Isn't it funny that after the outpouring of emotions and tears over the death of beloved John Paul II, the world still expects to have a pope as fatherly and benign-looking as him. Instead, the College of Cardinals elected a man whose face can terrify any believer. His name is Joseph Ratzinger, a 78-year old German who headed the Doctrine of the Faith. His Germanic blood really shows. Strong. Aggressive. Uncompromising.

Well, he was a Hitler youth back then. And he has that heavy atmosphere around him which unlike that of JPII cannot ignite a spark of electrical spirituality or any mystical experience. I doubt it if one sees this man, you would jump up and down crying with tears flowing down your cheeks like rivulets. And if I see him kissing a baby, it might remind me of the Grinch. But it's still early to judge. Perhaps it is best to wait and see if his aura will rub on others- hopefully in the right way, that is.

Told the World of His Love

TOLD THE WORLD OF HIS LOVE
(to the tune of "Tell the World of His Love", the theme of World Youth Day 1995)

For God so loved the world
He gave us the greatest pope
John Paul II our father,
His most precious one.
He gave us a message of peace
and preached to those who'll hear
He brought the message to everyone
in a voice loud and clear.

Let us tell the world of his life,
the greatest pope the world has known.
He searched the world for those who
have not yet heard and led them home.
He filled the world's darkest corners
with his smile from up above
He walked every step, every mile, every road
and told the world,
Told the world of His love.

The reason why so many Catholics and non-Catholics loved and mourned the death of Pope John Paul II is because he gave the world what other popes and leaders had not- that is HOPE....

That's Entertainment!

DVD:
I stopped by Quiapo one weekend afternoon to see if there were any new films I can latch my fingers onto and, just like a reliable friend, there were gems tucked among shelves of Hollywood crapola. Well, most of the fare are promotional and un-released movies like the Aviator and Constantine but sometimes I would stumble upon a stack of obscure and not-so-obscure hard to find films which I know won't last for the next two days. Probably, this is the main driving force for my obsession to regularly visit that vile malodorous black hole- not so much for the regular fare but for the rare autre films. It's that mongoose-instinct you'll find while looking for dvds just like when you're in an antiquarian bookstore looking for a first edition of Tolkien's LOTR hidden among stacks of old books. (A first edition cost about P500,000) It's that same feeling people get when they rummage through the books at Booksale!

So far, I got a couple good selections during my last trip.

1. Battle Royale - Special Edition: This has to be the bloodiest Japanese film ever made. The gist of Kinji Fukusaku's movie is this: 42 problematic 15-year old students were forcibly placed in an island as a wierd government punishment where they have to kill each other off (or be killed) in a span of three days before being blasted to kingdom cum by a device in their um... you know. The remaining survivor gets to go home by the third day. It's so bloody yet it's immensely funny because you get to see how creative and stupid these nihilistic students were. It's like a Darwinian Lord of the Flies. And yes, the female students were very pretty (Kou Shibasaki and Aki Maeda) when they're dead much to the admiration of a friend of mine who recommended this film. Move over Columbine!!
(I guess what they did during WWII had a pent-up residual effect on current Japanese films.)


2. Phantom of the Opera: Yep, this is the same version as the one seen in the movies recently. But not the original 2-disc type, but rather the pirated featureless single disc. I was surprised because the clarity was the same as that of the original. The sound was superb, and the resolution, though promo copy, was fantastic. The only special feature included was the previews of upcoming releases. For P60- it was worth all the dancing and the singing. The pacing was slower and some of the lyrics were changed to suit "American" intelligence who do not understand high-falluting words. I somehow suspected that Gaston Leroux might have cut out a chapter or two from his original
novel wherein the Phantom might not have only penetrated Christine Daae's mind but also her you-know-twat.

TV:

If Monica Belluci had a cooking show, this would be it. Nigella Lawson of Nigella Bites has one of the most watched cooking show in the UK today. Eventhough she's not formally trained in whatever pretentious cooking school there is (much to the consternation of trained chefs), she still managed to put her show at the top of the line. Anyway, I really don't care what she cooks be it pork roast or honey semifreddo; it's more of how she cooks things- with passion, with gusto and with zest. I always enjoy eating an afternoon snack or a sandwich while watching her and her stove. I love hearing her sophisticated British accent which makes the way she explain things very sensual, not to mention the fact that she is in a constant state of lactation. Haven't you noticed British women seldom don on bras underneath those woolen sweaters? With Nigella, ahh... go see for yourself. Also, she eats her food with such rich succulence (like when she's eating her homemade ice cream where some dripped from the edges of her lips or when she sucked the juices from the pancetta [ham] rind) and comments about it profusely that your salivary glands churn automatically. Mmmm... I wonder why they named the show "Nigella Bites" when it should have read "Bite Nigella!"

If it wasn't for Star World, I wouldn't be able to know how immensely enjoyable British Comedy is. Apart from the Monty Python-esque movies like The Life of Brian and madcap Fawlty Towers (thank God for John Cleese), slapstick Mr. Bean, sarcastic Absolutely Fabulous (reminds me of my deranged hip middle-age party-mad cousin and her perenially side-lined daughter) and that favorite screwball & sleazy Benny Hill Show (chasing bikini-clad girls in the middle of winter), people tend to look at British comedies as boorish monologous trite whose lines are to be treated with a stiff upper lip. On the contrary, their comedy are in fact, more intelligent than their American counterparts. You just have to listen because their jokes are laced with situational sarcasms, social satire and irreverent insults. Not your usual Wayan brothers sexual one-liners. And yes, there are no "Yo momma's so fat" jokes either.

Anyway, there's this TV show being shown at Star World (every Saturday 11:30pm) called "Goodness Gracious Me" that comes after an equally funny sitcom called "The Kumars at No. 42" (Sat. 11pm) Both are Asian-Anglo comedy shows which mock culture clashes and social prejudices against Indians. Sometimes the jokes are so biting that they're already blatantly sexist, racist and blasphemous. And this makes it even funnier.



In one situation, in order to be more English, an Indian couple (the Kapoors) pretended to be Christians ; so they attended a mass service and upon recieving the host during communion, the husband (while kneeling on the pew) placed jam on the host and gobbled it up while the wife when she drank the wine got drunk and then she tried to sexually defrock the priest! In another situation, a passerby was invited by a Consumer TV hostess to have a taste test of two food products. She was revolted when she tried the first product and also cringed at the second one whereby after taste-testing, the hostess happily quipped, "So, which brand of catfood you think my cat would enjoy?" Wahahaha.

Music:

Thanks largely to the burgeoning coffee culture in our country, Bossa Nova, chill-out music, lounge music and latin jazz have been hits with the twenty-something yuppies. And these music genre are quite mood-setting. Right now, I'm into Bossa Nova because of its relaxing effect. One can appreciate the soft staccato rhythm blended with the warm strumming of guitars and the earthy latin female voices that sends one into a lull. Imagine, muted yellowish light casting a warm tangerine glow over your coffee mug while listening to Jazzanova. Mmmm... just like mine.

(Viva Jazzanova is available at the University Mall beside La Salle)

Next Post: Book Review on Vicente Groyon's Sky Over Dimas

Crammer vs. Crammer

"Nobody makes a greater mistake than he who does nothing because he could only do a little"
- Mahatma Ghandi

Procastination. I hate it. It's not because of the people around me doing it but because I have a most difficult time shaking off this terrible habit. I feel as if one of the seven cardinal sins called "Sloth" is really an invisible but real entity that sucks every ounce of motivation and enthusiasm from my blood leaving me lazy and wasted for the rest of the day. It's doubly terrible because I know this is wrong and no matter how I psyche myself, I still end up doing nothing. My Id is quite persuasive in convincing me to take things a bit slowly cocooning me in this artificial sense of false security.

I found out that this kind of behavior is typical for those who are passive-agressive in nature. I don't think there's a pill or a salve that you can just apply physically to take this disorder away. AAAArgh!! I could perhaps whack my head into the concrete wall just to shake up the fatty neuronal passivity of my brain but I think this would result more to a cerebral concussion rather than an epiphany of jumpstarting things up.

Because of this, I found out that I work rather best if only a little time is given wherein I am already panicking, my chest pounding, my frayed nerves disintegrating and my mood deteriorating. Mañana boy. The perennial crammer. **sigh. Is it just me? Are there others who share this kind of predicament for I feel I'm the only one who can't rise above the tide. I can only blame myself for these consequences. I keep saying to myself that this is not happening to me... My sisters do not have this problem! Why me??

So, as of the moment, I am finishing my case presentation for the interns' hour at this god-forsaken hour. The computer at the apartment was too distracting and the bed too tempting. The spirit is weak and the tempation to slack off too great. If I want to finish this, I have to get out of there. So I took a diskette and wrote my report in a 24-hour internet cafe nearby inspite of the impracticality of it all. The venti Double Espresso White Chocolate Frap seems to be kicking in. MMM....Damn Damn Damn!!! Gotta finish this! Gotta finish this!!