A Valentine Experiment

For the Times

by: Julsitos

For the times you worry at what hour I would come home,
I shall cherish the wrinkles on your forehead.
For the times you never stopped searching when I was gone,
I shall guide you through your blindness.
For the times you cooked for us even when you were already fast asleep,
I shall soothe you crooked fingers.
For the times you comforted me when I was wrong,
I shall look forward to your embrace.
For the times you advised me what is true,
I shall never forget your voice.
For the times you never stopped loving me inspite of my indifference
I shall forever love you more.

Happy Advance Valentine's Day everyone!

Word for the Day # 2

Floods, fires, disasters and earthquakes are great devastating events which usually shake the senses of a whole generation prompting it to immortalize it in its vocabulary. Here's my take on the most recent and worst disaster known to man in recent history.

Tsunami: Japanese. /choo'-nuhhh-meee/

Noun:
1. A series of unfortunate events happening so fast you need not blink twice
e.g. Malaking tsunami naganap sa jeep nung nilabas ng kawatan ang baril.

Verb:
1. To be inundated with dead, floating, rotting, unnecessary details
e.g. Please clean your room kasi mukhang natsunami dito.
e.g. Na-extend ang board meeting kasi mahilig magtsunami ang presentor.

2. To become the bearer of devastating news which one cannot go back to status quo after
e.g. Nung nalaman ni Celia na may kabit si mister, tsinunami na ito.

Manong's Balls

Manong, penge naman ng balls mo!

Sometimes if the wards are not that busy, my co-interns and residents would go down and exit the Emergency Room so as to take a 10-minute break from the hustle and bustle of hospital life. Confident that the patients we left are not that "tigokable" (our term for critically ill patients), we hurry down the elevators and pass the chaos of ER and walk across the asphalt road to this rickety orange cart where one can indulge in a Hepa-A infested treat. "Manong" (the generic term for all Manila ambulant vendors) was happy to see us for he immediately took out his half-empty plastic bag of fishballs and chickenballs and drop these to the hot oil.

I believe business was going well for Manong because if you stand under the fierce heat of the sun just to stir the oil while perspiration dripping down from your chin and no one is buying, then you are plain crazy or plain stupid, or even plain desperate. Wait, prolonged sun exposure can actually make people crazy, but not this time though.

So, armed nothing but recycled barbecue sticks, we began to prod and probe those little balls of paradise bobbing up and down in the sizzling oil. The aroma wafting from the wok was intoxicating. Our salivary glands were pumping full time. We waited and waited until those pieces become turgid, i mean inflated. You're not satisfied with turgid? Then, plump will do. I can almost hear my co-intern say "Uy, tumatambok na ang balls mo manong!" Wehehehe. We kept turning those fishballs and chickenballs until they have achieved a golden crispy color indicating that these are ready to eat.

Heaven knows where these balls made first contact. Can you imagine if his hands that cook the balls are the same hands that that handle his bacteria-laden coins, his sweaty forehead and equally sweaty handtowel, or even his snotty nose? How about if he has crabs (pubic lice) and continually scratches his groin and behind while handling the balls? The results are two-fold. One, you can thank the guy for a free extra flavoring, and you can expect to develop indigestion while performing a cholecystectomy later on. (A gall bladder operation can leave you standing on the operating table for at least 2 hours!- the longest I assisted was 6 hours.) But the worst thing one can get from eating his all-Pinoy grub is not diarrhea but Hepatitis A. Was the Hepa A outbreak in UST during the 90s due to fish-ball eating? I don't know. But I know seeing people in different degrees of jaundice has expanded my definition for the word yellow, which now includes the words teal, lemon, chartreuse, ochre and tangerine.

After waiting what seemed like eternity, we proceeded to jab ruthlessly onto the hapless balls. Sadistic streaks manifest momentarily as we enjoyed sticking each ball into the next stringing them in perfect array. Manong, satisfied that many came to poke his balls, began to open his sauces for which our "spoils of war" shall be dunked. There are three types of sauces which Pinoys know by heart: 1) sweet, 2) spiced vinegar, 3) sweet spicy. As to the ingredients, heaven knows what mysterious flavors and spices go into it. Some older folks say, the sweat from the Manong makes the sauces more piquant thereby delivering a distinct flavor from the rest of the commercially sold sauces. And the vinegar one...well, let's just say, it's homemade. And why is the sauce brown? Who know? Most probably, Manong never dared replace the whole batch of sauces from the start, for he may just replenish it everyday making the batch more flavorful, thick and dark knowing that all the residual sauces from the previous years are still there.

So, I settled for the sweet-spicy one while my friends and residents went to the classic sweet. With the sauce lathered on every corner of my chickenballs, I started chomping them down piece by piece with nary a care if Hepa A will strike or not. And my co-doctors agree too. Even if we know eating in this type of eatery is never free from bacteria and disease, we still are confident that contracting food poisoning is far from happening, besides, a lot of people (students, nuns, nurses, passers-by) have been making "tusok-tusok" in Manong's wok long before we entered the fray. So, in a sense, we are just part of the statistics.

And so after enjoying a respite from the daily grind, we realized that it's back to work. Not without a take-out first.

A Very Long Disengagement

It has been more than two weeks since I last blogged. And there has been a substantial blacklog of entries that I should have been working on, not that there's any pressure or anything (hehehe... who are we kidding?), but new ideas need fertile grounds to grow, hence the need to write.

Connecting People
I would like to thank all the people who went to the 1st Pinoyblog EB. It was a blast. The demographics of the party was certainly varied cutting through all social circles. I'm amazed that people from all walks of life and from different professions enjoy writing and blogging. I realized that there is no particular group of people who can claim they monopolize the writing arena. No literati or stuck-up wierdo author there. There were yuppies and professionals, singles and couples, young and not-so-old who came to enjoy the night. First at Cabalen, and then at Starbucks. Considering that there was no common denominator except for blogging, I am happy that we still get to know each other and to discover new things, new professions and new people. You guys are really great. I don't want to mention names cuz for one, I am terrible in memorizing names and secondly, I don't want to miss anyone out. It was my first EB in my entire existence and I enjoyed it. I believe a repeat is needed.

Intern from Hell
This January, we had an intern whose reputation is far from great. Being an intern, one is expected to have certain attitude and values in order to keep the whole co-internship machinery going and if one becomes the pasaway, then it creates a bad impression for you and for your future interns. Ever since she started with us, everything has gone awry.

One, she absents herself from going to "duty" (that 29-hour duty) for the flimsiest reasons. First, she contracted German measles (a 3-day fever became a 1-week vacation), then fever (dahil sa measles pa daw) and low back pain (due to assisting in surgical retraction.) The result is other interns who just came from duty yesterday will be pulled out for duty today, which does piss anyone.

Second, patients complain that her skills in wound car (which consist of only pouring sterile water into the wound and leaving it be) are far from the norm which consists of taking away dead tissue, putting in betadine and gauze.

Third, instead of helping out others who are "toxic" or lightening up the workload by volunteering, she avoids it and goes into a lengthy discussion ala Rene Saguisag pointing out that it's not her job description, it's not her obligation, so on and so forth. This really gets my goat. She won't help in the patients' rounds because she's an ENT intern (which still falls inside the jurisdiction of Surgery) contrary to what everyone has been doing so as to lighten the load. I returned her the favor too when we switched places. Instead of assisting in a surgical operation because of a lack of manpower, she begs off telling us that she's duty and duties are last in line to assist in the OR ...so on and so forth.

Last, because she rubs in our faces that she's the "apo" of the hospital director, she usually gets scotfree with many things including going home earlier than the designated cut-off time or making a fuss about doing medical abstracts. But thing she does best is sleeping (10pm) on the ward beds while her resident is still doing patients' rounds, answering calls and checking up on toxic patients. For most of us, the opposite is true: interns let their residents sleep by answering calls and toxic patients until the next morning. Now, everone knows her by her nickname, "Lady Lard."

A Social Amputation
Rationally speaking, losing one's cellphone is not a bigdeal. It's just a replaceable thing. Simply get another one. Considering the cost, I have no budget yet. Considering the numbers lost, priceless. Considering the sentimental value, who cares, I don't give a horse's ass. It's the functionality of the phone I'm concerned about. How can I contact my family? My friends? How can I be contacted for important stuff like reports, meetings, outings? With people becoming more and more dependent on using the cellphone, losing it (because someone stole it from my coatpocket inside the hospital ward) becomes more heart-breaking. AAAAARRRGHH!! Have to get one... have to get one... have to get one.... *thud* *thud* *thud* (sound of my head banging the table)

Movies to Watch
1. A Very Long Engagement - starring Audrey Tatou. Another masterpiece from Jean-Pierre Jeunet in the tradition of Amelie. Looking forward to its color-saturated cinematography. Out on theaters Feb.2.

2. Phantom of the Opera - Just like Evita, this Andrew Lloyd Weber favorite is going to be this year's "Chicago". God bless its director. I heard there's a bed scene between Christine and the Phantom... just kidding! Out on theaters by Feb 9.

Word For the Day

It's funny to note when some person, particularly an icon like Imelda, has spawned a new word of its own. Take for example the word Imeldific which may mean extravagance to the point of madness, or may mean something gawdy and ostentatious that it already defies justification. With the recent demise of Ronnie Allan Poe, I hereby give tribute to his fame by spawning another neologism.

FPJ: [efff-'puhheeee-'dzhay]

Verb
1. to collapse into the ground and suddenly die due to excessive drinking of alcoholic beverages while indulging in artery-clogging lechon.
e.g. Don't eat too much pork during the Christmas season because baka ma-FPJ ka.

2. to be hospitalized in St. Luke's Hospital with all the media cameras anticipating your every pulse and breath.
e.g. Kris Aquino was relieved that she was not FPJayed when she was diagnosed to have Chlamydia thanks to Tito Joey Marquez.

3. to be adulated and idolized posthumously solely based on your movie persona
e.g. I don't think ma-FPJ din si Lito Lapid since he has been in hiatus with the movie industry.

Adjective
1. pertaining to being uber-rich and famous yet still keeping a low profile
e.g. The Gokongweis are very FPJ ever since the recent spate of kidnappings in Binondo.

2. to have the quality of a dead fish
e.g. Na-FPJ na yang ulam mo kasi amoy bulok na.

Cheers! Happy Holidays!

You Better Not Cry...

This is the season where everyone, whether dead or alive, in sickness or in health, in hope or despair, must force themselves to smile and be joyous. It's sickening to note that because of cultural evolution, materialism has forced this Christmas holiday to be filled with pasted smiles and empty wallets. Well, not all of us lead a perfect sitcom life.

Good for those who have their families to count on- with daddy dearest, mother dearest, sis, bro and inday, to share in the happiness. Good for those whose grandfathers spawn a whole town of relatives whom they cherish for they are their source of security, comfort and companionship. Good for those who have unlimited wads of cash (think politicos) who can just spend their vacations in the white beaches of Boracay doing nothing but write lifestyle articles for the Inquirer. (think: wierd Tim Yap and wierder Tessa Prito-Valdes) Good for those whose jobs are not defined by 29 hour toxic duties. Count you blessings they say!

What about those who have been struck by the death of a loved one like the families of FPJ (God bless his soul) or KC de Venecia? What about those whose homes were turned upside down by typhoons like those in Real, Quezon, or those whose houses are in constant risk of being swept away like those shanties beneath some Manila bridges? What about those who are all alone this Christmas because of work or studies living in a small cold apartment or dormitory? How about those who shall work on this special occassion reminding themselves not to think about all those memories they're going to miss with their families? And what about those who were robbed, were snatched, were jailed, or were confined in the hospital? Surely, the only smile they can muster is if they're at home in the warm embrace of their children and spouses. ***Sigh. Life. Yeah, life is a bitch! When life gives you lemons, drink Cuervo! Connection? I absolutely have no f*%!^$ clue.

So, with such a load unburdened, I can feel my shoulders lightening, my muscles unknotting knowing that in this situation, I'm more fortunate than Mr. Speaker or Susan Roces regardless of the upcoming duty in the hospital come December 25th.

By the way, a great film this Christmas is Satoshi Kon's Tokyo Godfathers! It's a blast. Sporadically available at your nearest Muslim DVD vendor.

Deliver Us Some Evil

First, there was the Bangladesh-like flooding in Quezon. Then, FPJ dies of a stroke which was followed by mass hysteria. Next, the youngest daughter JDV was burnt to a crisp right inside their "mansion." After that, what else? Another earthquake?

When has December, the month of joy and hope, became the season of anguish and despair? Is this God's punishment on us? Or was this the result of man's folly? Perhaps they are indeed. The tragedy in Real, Quezon reminds us of man vs. nature wherein we have exceeded our abuses against Mother Nature the very which she tries to prevent in the first place. Second, the FPJ fracas reminds me of man vs. himself when we abuse ourselves by enriching our health with fat-laden calorific food coupled by a daily diet of alcohol to the point where our bodies can not compensate anymore, hence, pop goes the basilar artery. The third tragedy shows man vs. fate which means that even when we are insulated in the protection of our homes and "mansions" right inside one of the most exclusive snotty villages in urban Makati, it does not rule out that we might not die a tragic death. It's like that movie "Final Destination" wherein everyone dies a horrific death through the hands of Fate. In this case, a bit of extravagance might have done Kristina de Venecia in. If you have been reading the news, the culprit for her death was the Christmas lights that were never turned off (even in brightness of day.) So, with a little spark, grilled up bathroom windows, and no one in the house except the household help, it became the perfect recipe for death.

I empathize with those who have been close with FPJ or Ms. de Venecia for they truly are affected by the loss of a loved one. The bond has now been broken. But to see all those "fans" in hysterics over the death of FPJ is very amusing indeed. I admit Da King has a soft and humble heart to those he had helped and I admire him for that but what has he done for the public besides his B-movies, that merits acclaim and adulation? Was he as holy and ala peace-maker like the pope? Was he as vocal by current injustices like Chino Roces and Ninoy? Was he great in nation building like Magsaysay? Poe was a good man, but not a great man.

And as for JDV's daughter, she might have been one of those coño brats whose brains are made exclusively with shopping lists, charge slips, and gimmick lists and whose concept of Manila is limited by the bounderies of Glorietta, Rockwell and Greenbelt. Or she might have been that unreachable Starbucks-addict who only goes to art schools, ballet schools, who plays only with expensive dolls with daddy's bodyguards or with her IS classmates, who goes to HK or LA every weekend with Daddy dearest (or to Paris to meet up with KC Concepcion), and whose idea of the Philippines are limited to the news she sees in CNN. Or she may be just another you and me- rugged, cowboy, non-descript and level-headed. I don't know her, and she does not know me. All I know, the media is going ga-ga over her untimely death. The death of a politico's daughter. The death of "Manay" Gina's youngest. And as if putting her in the headlines for one week would make people stop and cry over it. What about some uknown beggar that was run over by a ten-wheeler last night? Doesn't it deserve the same attention as this brat?

These headline hoggers are just one in a hundred deaths that occur in our beleagered nation everyday. My patient died today in the wards and no GMA crew was there to record his demise. It just so happened that they were famous and we're not. And so the whole world weeps with them as if the globe has stopped turning on its axis. The sheer absurdity of it. Just like Princess Diana. You can just "admire" the veneration of countless fans who wept and laid flowers on the streets. At least Princess Di has something to prove to the world like campaigning against eating disorders and land mines. What about them? What have they proven? That alcohol must be taken in moderation? That Christmas lights should be turned off during the day? Perhaps only after their burial will the air become more still and calm.

After these terrible incidents, what next? The only thing I'm looking forward to is the death of a dwarfish character called Stitch sitting on a highchair in Malacañang Palace cackling in her seat thinking that the attention has somewhat shifted away from her poor performance. I keep my fingers crossed.

Tres Marias

Boil, boil and cauldron bubble...

I met up with three of my old batchmates at Friday's one weekend afternoon. The sky was overcast and yet perhaps the heat of the the trapped Manila air was able to penetrate their skulls, hence, their spinster-like attitude. All of them are physicians in the own right for one is into pre-res in Pediatrics and another has just started her internship at JP, and the other is taking pre-res in an unrecalled health facility.

We were planning actually to eat at Cabalen so we could avail of their P75 merienda eat-all-you-can buffet (more like "carbo-all-you-want") but of course, they are ladies whose innate navigational compasses seem to be located at their lips and not in their eyes making them unable to find the restaurant. So they made me to settle for Friday's which I had to accept.

The prices in this themed restaurant was astronomical. I felt they converted dollars into pesos which is why per dish seems to cost about $6-8. I said to them to ditch this place, but of course, etiquette dictates that when presented a menu, the diner has sealed his or her fate in ordering a dish or two in that house. This is probably why some up-market restos (think Greenbelt) have their menus displayed near the door so the diner can peruse and cringe at the figures before making a huge embarrassment inside. But of course, the kitchen sink can always use another hand or two.

We ordered a big plate of Chicken carbonara and Cesar salad so the four of us could enjoy the afternoon. The talk revolved around work and the prospects of leaving this horrid country behind. I just realized that many of my original batchmates who passed the medical boards are taking KAPLAN and are persuing a career abroad. But fortunately, many too, are taking their residencies here in Manila which means there will be an ample supply of doctors in the near future. I hope this is true. It seems everyone who is taking a health-allied course, be it a doctor, nurse, med-tech, or pt, is planning to use his career as a one-way ticket out of the country. For me, seeing doctors opting to go nursing is an act of desperation especially for a race proud of their educational status. And most are reluctantly swallowing their pride just so they can attain a salary commensurate to their level.

I have junior anesthesiologist friend who is studying nursing and he says that many of his colleagues who had jumped ship have somewhat achieved their dreams of having big houses, cars and easier workloads. I can't help but empathize because if one works here for 29 hours per duty and only take about $40, you'll feel envious knowing your friends are working as nurse anesthetists there for just 8 hours while earning $80 an hour sans overtime. I can't blame him for taking the easier road. It's only in Catholic children's books and Filipino soap operas where everyone is a martyr of a lost cause. And in reality, being a martyr won't bring more people to your funeral nor bring more food to the table.

As we finished our luncheon and paid our separate bills, it dawned on me that if I was earning like $80 an hour abroad, paying food at Friday's won't be such a terrible experience. It won't make a big dent on one's wallet either. And with it, I have made my decision.

The Elevator

A few days ago, I wouldn't have believed it. The nurses were full of it. There were hushed stories about the elevator in our building being haunted. One of them even told us that one time while her friend was waiting on her floor, the elevator doors opened and in it were doctors and nurses doing the CPR on their carried patient- the trouble is, all of them were headless.

My friend, who thankfully is not a psychic, told me that a few weeks ago, she got the fright of her life. One evening, she, already tired from the fracas at the ER, was on her way to the department office in the 3rd floor when upon going towards the elevator (there were two), one of the units was descending to the ground floor and when it stopped, the doors opened and a tall dark man in a white shirt clutching a plastic bag walked out. The man spoke to her entreating her to use the elevator since he'll be going out. It was 1 am to begin with. She politely declined the invitation but the man kept entreating her to use the left-side elevator. The man eventually left. My friend seeing that the elevator which the man left was dark, unlit and remained open. That panel which tells if that elevator is in use was off. The other elevator which was running that time eventually reached my friend and ferried her off to her floor. The next day, she inquired to the elevator operator why somebody was able to used the other elevator indicating that both elevators were in use even in the witching hour. The operator who was then surprised told my friend that they routinely have only one unit in use for the evening so it was impossible that both elevators were in use because he personally locked the left-sided elevator. She insisted that there was a man who used it and she proceeded to describe him in detail, which the operator (who turned white) said that there was a ghost who fit that description. Yikes!

As for my case, last duty at around 2 am, I was at the 4th floor and I wanted to get to the 2nd floor so I could finish making chart rounds. I entered the elevator and pressed "2". Unfortunately the elevator, instead of going down, went up to the 5th floor. The 5th floor is where the meeting rooms are, so no one's there and the lights were off. It opened to my horror!!! My heart was pounding in anticipation of a "ringu" style apparition and I was looking for my rosary just in case another Sadako was on the loose. I panicly pressed the close button so I dont have to endure this excruciating experience. And instead of going down, it went up still to the 6th floor. This is were the gym is located and also no one is here since the lights were already off. My heart was racing for life and every second seems like eternity. It opened slowly and my hand was already stucked to the close button. I was praying like crazy. Sweat was forming in my forehead and my hands were clammy from fear. The door soon closed and thank God, it went immediately to the 2nd floor.

After what happened, I don't want to think about it, I want that damn memory to be buried into the deep recesses of my Hippocampus. I just pray that that was the last time that horrific experience will happen to me.

A Rainy Day Fantasy

Sometimes it takes a storm to remind me of the things I'm missing in this Manila hellhole. I keep seeing people with long harried faces always hurrying to go home or get to work; looking at the same greyish concrete roads and buildings and urban decay marinated in a thick brown polluted haze; inhaling the same polluted exhaust fumes and rancid body odors of sweaty people here; feeling the claustrophobic heat which one cannot escape wherever one hides; hearing the same jeepneys honking their horns while simultaneously blaring some idiotic Filipino crap-song like "Bulaklak"; and eating the same bland calorific fast food. It's really a life unjustified.

With that, I want to imagine just for once, that I was back at home- home in the province where life is languid and stress-free. I want to see myself relaxing in our butaka chair at the lanai only in shorts and sando looking out to the garden outfront listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops hitting the ara-al stones and the bromeliads wetting the limestone floor of the garden. I can see the moss green and glossy from the dampness of the afternoon shower and the ceramic chimes clanging itself a melodious tune. I can feel the stubby coat of Kitty (my mini-pinscher) as she curls herself in my lap lulling herself to sleep while I rub her back. I can hear the peals of laughter and shrieks of our driver's children as they streak naked into the rain playing hide-&-seek among my mom's orchid plants. I can smell the hot batchoy that had just arrived in a big tupperware from our suki- the aroma of toasted garlic and the broth, very exhilariting. Moments later, I can hear the footsteps of my mom and dad as they descended the stairs fully refreshed from their siesta. I can taste the batchoy, hot and savory, accompanied with crisp buttered toast which I dunk into the broth, and finished off with a ice-cold Coke. Ahhh....

But such a fantasy may never be repeated again for the only thing constant in the universe is change. And such a change is certainly now a rude awakening.

Just Shoot Me!

Last night, our whole building (where the service wards and the department offices are located) were all agog over the stirrings that were happening in the Holistic center building fronting ours. Because of the clear glass walls, we were treated to a night of pure entertainment. For the plebian in us, watching this was like viewing the bombing of the World Trade up close, we became witnesses to something out of the blue, to something surreal.


Kristala in the flesh.;

What was it? It was the episode shooting of Kristala starring Judy Ann and her ilk. Yes, it's that same plump actress in metallic cape and bra who sports an unwashed wavy hair and a quasi Angelina Jolie pout. (On the side note, studies say that the more pouty a girl's mouth is, the more pouty is her *******.) And there was the sando-clad pot-bellied director who shooed us away from the balcony cuz we might ruin his take. Imagine if we wound up as far away "extras" in this episode. And there were countless (say, 50?) propmen, prompters, assistants, alalays, and fluffers who helped finish the job.

My spidy sense told me that this plebian activity of "star-watching" was merely a waste of time, but because of the novelty of the event, I stayed on. I was shoulder-to-shoulder with nurses, orderlies, patient's bantays, and my fellow intern craning our necks to get a better view. An orderly waved in her direction as she glanced towards us. Naturally, I should have waved too, but nevertheless, I gave the guy the Homer Simpson slap-in-the-forehead sign without the Doh!. Oh, he had Kleenex for his drool.

I gave up because I still have rounds to do and I realized there and then that the interval between takes is an hour or so. It's excruciating watching them doing nothing but preparing to do a take. It was like waiting for Godot. When I last peeked out of our office window like about 3 am, they were still filming.

So I left everyone and went inside to make rounds with the service patients. If there was a chase and bang-bang-aaagh!!, perhaps I would stick around. If Juday, confident of her aerodynamic prowess, jumped off from the balcony without any harness or safety cable thinking she will fly, I might linger on. If fire shoots out from her mouth, then, I will stay and finish the shooting. Since it was just only Juday romping around the hospital stairs and chasing starch-faced villains, I decided to let it go. I don't want nightmares when I doze off later on. Or maybe this was already "the" nightmare. I can't decide.

Where Have All the Cambios Gone?

Ever since the Asian financial crisis hit our shores last 1997, our monetary value has been spiraling into the drain. Well, it has been that way since... yes... the 1997 financial crisis. But besides that, I have noticed that as the years go by, the variety of monetary denominations of our country is getting a bit slim.

Long time ago, you can use 2P with that Cocos nucifera reverse, 50c with the Babalus mindorensis reverse, and so forth. There were a lot of combinations and shapes that the BSP decided to stop it once in for all. Good thing if they standardized the sizes of the loose change but no, they bastardized the whole concept by limiting our purchasing power to 25c, 1P and 5P. So, instead of having the convenience to pay only the lowest number of coins, we have to make do with assembling a coin collection just so the payment is just right. This goes too for our cambio (Ilonggo for barya) which means that instead of having a lighter load in your pocket, you have to be contented by having saddlebags full of coins because the cashier only has 25c in her care.

In another light, have you noticed as our crummy money gets crummier, the lowest value in paper has been gradually replaced by a non-descript washer called coins as seen in the P5 and P10 units. I miss that paper money with Aquino and the declaration of independence in the back. And now, I'm beginning to miss the Barasoain church on the P10 where everyone knows there's a "Where's Waldo?" in that picture. "Where's Waldo?" is a book of puzzles where one has to find Waldo or a specific object of interest hidden in the picture. In other words, it's finding a needle in a haystack, and in this case of the P10, it a *** in the roof of the church. But alas, now, the only thing great about the new coin is its durability.

What will they sacrifice next? The P20? P100? Who knows?

Tempus Fugit

Hmmm. Tempus Fugit. Time flies. I feel I am in a race with an invisible enemy who holds the shots in either extending or crunching my available minutes. It's as if Father Time is dangling his stop watch in front of my face like that carrot on a stick routine reassuring me that I have still 5 minutes but actually I'm already late. Procastination sucks terribly I hate to admit.

Others call it lack of time management, but when you can already feel that there's some form of cosmic conspiracy for you not to be on time, then, it's something else. This time, it's not the Filipino factor of being perennially late, but perhaps more of a collaboration of all the Murphisms in the universe conspired that moment of your morning to make sure you will never arrive on your "expected time of arrival."

Most of us in this hellhole called Manila blame traffic as the number one cause of tardiness. For instance, I left my apartment about 25 minutes before endorsements thinking that I have made an effort to be on time, but alas, the whole stretch of Roxas boulevard was closed by the MMDA (Manila's Most Dysfunctional Authority) just so that a few pesky pot-bellied joggers can make an oblation run through the strip. It's irritating to note that your effort has been shot down like a hot potato. So I arrived at the office without a credible excuse except a quick haggard response of, "the joggers did it!"

I thank God that my current department is not a stickler for punctuality because for them, as long as the job gets done without encountering trouble either for the department or to the consultants or to the operations, then all is well. But then the fact remains that I am late. No amount of excuse can change that. This is somewhat shameful on my part, but what must I do to avoid such eventuality? Hmmm... simple time management? Ohhh.. yeah... Why haven't I thought of that? Doh! Well, I tried and still try to get up but if your bed is as comfortable as your future coffin, then it's really really difficult to open your eyes.

Oh well, back to square one.

Bushwhacked

PDI's Nov.6 editorial by Jess Abrera.

Jess Abrera's editorial cartoon last November 6 really got my goat. Why? For all the unjustified invasion of Iraq and America's arrogance to the world, Dubious Dubya still was painted as a savior of deteriorating moral values in the States. This theory that the American evangelicals (composed of right-leaning White males and Born-agains) was the big electoral chunk that propelled Bush to the White house is mere speculation. Anyone can claim to be a born-again bible-thumping moralist for goodness sake.

What I cannot understand is why the cartoonist, Jess Abrera, has to be so blind as to solely portray the Great Satan as a last savior for moral values. Well, as we all know, Lucifer was indeed an angel prior to his fall. I agree with moral values and respect for the family, but with Bush's record of treachery, stupidity and uncreativity, those two issues seem to be off-tangent with his agenda. It's either he has seen the light on his way to Damascus (Saul's conversion) or this is just a mean cheap trick to further bait the right-leaning hill-billiesque still-stuck-in-the-70s Midwest. In fact, it's absurd to see how "faithful" and "church-going" he is while knowing that he has no qualms as to how many Iraqis have been blown up or killed. The sheer hypocrisy!

Again, back to Abrera... It's also ironic that he painted Bush as such while discounting all the misery and arrogance Bush paraded through his previous four-year term. And what's with all the crap like that Filipino family in the background jumping for joy as if Bush is our messiah. The one who drew this is a moralist Pharisaical pig whose views are so blatantly partial and right-leaning that it has come to the point that it's already disgusting, especially in a daily broadsheet. This cartoonist is a sycophant of Medieval "moral views" regardless of all the human rights it has stepped upon. If I am not mistaken, he will gladly paint Torquemada of the torturous Spanish Inquisition fame as the saint who saved Spain from heresy!! And of course he'll just sweep under the rug all those Moriscos (Spanish moors) and those Jews who have been tortured and killed during that period.

Editorial cartoons should be sarcastic to government policies and world views as a means of criticism in the hope of change, but not being a mouthpiece to right-wing bible-thumping propagandists whose agenda are left to be desired. Patriotic editorials are great because we really need it, but so-called "Christian" tripe is certainly (for me) not for editorial consumption because: one, not everyone shares the same view since morality is relative; second, other religions comprise 10% of our population; third, there's the separation of church & state (which is virtually non-existent here anyway).

I am not a moralist, but I know when sheer hypocrisy is being shoved into my face in the form of an editorial cartoon. I don't need that crap in the morning. And certainly never while I'm taking my morning coffee.

Arafat Is Dead

At last, the great old lion bows,
its eyes now bleak and gray
its jaws shut tight, saliva drooling,
still as the hot desert day.

Farewell, farewell, old warrior
whose flame has burnt its oil
but tis a light in the darkest night
that painted red your Arab soil.

And David's sons shall never sleep
til the night of your last embrace,
no olive branch, no requiem,
for only death has earned their praise.

But worry not, your passing's not
the curtain of your people's peace.
Ideals true, its seeds now borne
the fury of your liberty increase.

And with God's grace, your destiny
that Palestine be soon restored
for all good things are possible
through the blessing of the sword.

Hiram

Can you still remember the last time somebody borrowed from you? Did you not feel a bit reluctant to part away with your possession knowing that in our culture, when you say "borrow" it's already the equivalent of asking for that object. It's like saying good-bye already to your precioussss. Perhaps it's our "polite" way of asking that such has become a euphimism for "can I have it?" And since we're a people who have a hard time saying "no", "borrowing" always do the trick.

I mean, it's OK to borrow because that person might really need it, as in really really need it. Books I can understand, Cds can tolerate but DVD players and other non-essentials I consider it taboo. For me, borrowing is not a problem just as long you tell me when you shall return that object in question. That's because the mere fact that one is borrowing means that that person needs it only for a limited span of time, so he or she doesn't need it for eternity. Keeping it forever is indicative of theft and betreyal of trust.

This is where all problems arise. Filipinos are not very good in returning things. You have to prod them incessantly just to return some of your stuff that you may have forgotten already. Stuff like tupperware, kitchenware, cds, programs, books and clothes make the bulk. And sometimes, when they return it, they sport an indignant harrassed look as if you have made a huge social faux pas in asking them to return what they have borrowed. Does it mean that when asked to return our borrowed objects, we tend to lose face? I don't think so. It's a natural tendency to actively retrieve our possessions back- especially from those whose reputation are not that bright in the "return" department.

So, what have you borrowed lately?

Mass Starvation

Unidentified Feeding Objects

The unevitable happened. The only sound I was able to hear at this point was, "Chomp! Chomp! Gobble Gobble! Mmmm... Slurp! Slurp!" as the OB residents were wolfing down the spaghetti Nana cooked for them. It was a babel of gastronomic onomatopeic grunts of oohs and ahhs. The tupperware was raped to no end by spoons and forks penetrating its very core. I can't help but think how banal our pleasures have become- especially for those whose forte are in the cerebellar fields of medicine. To think that all those technical procedures and esoteric medical terms can be easily trumped up by the mere sight of food.

In the world of internship, there's an unspoken rule which is handed down from generation to generation whereby any merit or incentive given to an intern (whether be it a complicated case or a procedure), such must be reciprocated in terms of gastronomic treats. Think of the carrot-on-the-stick principle. So, I was given a case, hence, I must deliver the goods. My two other partners already delivered theirs, so I was next on the list. In any event that such an intern fails to dole out his share, the residents of that department will pester the poor soul to no end. So, to quote Bush, this is what I call, "preemptive strike"

And so, I expected that with three large tupperwares of creamy spaghetti and garlic bread the supply will last the day, but alas, it was not to be. After the morning endorsement, only one-half of the third container was left and by noon, it was all gone. All were satisfied and contented that they were wary of going down to the E.R. or to the labor room.

And with a smile, I thought, that if I was vindictive enough, I could have infused several brands of rat powder to the food and no one will know. And probably none will live to tell the tale. Isn't that food for thought?

The Sea of Smiles

Today I watched the Masskara Festival on Channel 23 for an hour before my infernal friend texted me that she needed me to meet her at Robinson's the soonest so that she can have her dinner- a dinner at 4:30 p.m. Who the hell eats dinner that early? Eskimos? Though I promised her that we'll enjoy a nice meal together after dusk, I wasn't counting on the fact that her colon which breeds eight species of anacondas would demand to be fed at that very moment. And so I missed the rest of the show. Demmit.


Where have all the smiles gone?

The gist of the festival is this: a mardigras inspired festival full of colorful smiling papier mache masks celebrating man's resilience over adversity and hope against despair. It was borne out of the misery Bacolod was in during 1980 where there were the MV Don Juan disaster, plummeting of world sugar prices, the widespread famine in Negros and the NPA insurgency in the hinterlands. No one really thought that there would be light at the end of the tunnel. But fortunately, some of the artist-friends in Bacolod (like Peque Gallaga and Mayor Bing Leonardia) decided that there should be a celebration to give the people something to hope for even in that time of economic and social desperation. Thus, Masskara came to be.

It's not like one of those run-off-the-mill idol-worshipping, faux-ethnic, historically-unconnected, street parades that characterize every no-name town festival in this archipelago.

Rather, it's a true celebration of life, the living for the moment, to remind us of our strength against overwhelming odds. It is why Masskara continues to be one of the main crowd drawer among Philippine celebrations. It is also why it is the perpetual poster-boy for all tourist brochures and advertisements. It encapsulates the essence of being a Filipino: "full of life."

What Masskara means is fun, fun, fun. At the event itself, it means eating all those Chicken Inasals at Manokan Country, watching the parade, watching the people you know, mingling with the natural odors of everyone, watching those COD-like floats pass by, watch how stupid the contestants are in the Q&A portion of the Miss Masskara pageant, or going to the "perya-han" in slippers with it's leaning Ferris wheel and small-time gambling tents. After soaking up the culture, we usually end up meeting up with long lost high school barkada, going to bars all night long, getting drunk till dawn at a bar in the middle of a sugarcane field, food tripping from Dampa-like Pala-pala to nostalgic Bob's, joy riding through the city, and much more. Ahhh, the memories.

And this whole shebang is something the whole country must take notice. Why? We must emulate what the Negrenses have been doing for the past 25 years, and that is taking every adversity with a smile. It is not merely sugar-coating reality or being deluded to a fool's paradise, but rather this Masskara shows us that we can choose not to be pulled down by the heavy weight of the current problems besetting our nation today. We cannot afford to lose our compass and our senses just because our economy is teetering to the brink of an Argentina-like disaster. We must still find the goodness in living and celebrate it with a festival like no other. What this gives us is optimism that there is hope for our country and countrymen.

Look at Negros 25 years since Masskara was first held. Just by looking how well the province has grown and developed, it's no wonder why people still celebrate Masskara full of pride and fervor. Like a Phoenix, it has risen from the ashes and will continue to fly high towards greater glory.

Fahrenhype 9/11

After watching a crisp original copy of Michael Moore's Fahrenheit 9/11 on pirated DVD, I am now convinced that Bush used all he can to protect his oil businesses which the Bin Ladens are major investors, and that his horrific occupation of Iraq has brought more misery and headaches rather than liberation. Also, I come to the conclusion that he is one lazy president using his time pre-9/11 on vacations on his Texas ranch and when asked what was he doing there, his simple reply was :"You know, doing stuff." If we lambast GMA for her wily shrewd "trapo" tactics, Bush deserves to be condemned and criticized more for his stupidity and collusion in bringing the whole world into a "siege mentality"

The video is well shot, full of archival footages, interviews (that didn't make it to the news) and incriminating evidences that connects everyone (from Foxx news, to Dick Cheney to Condyloma Rice) in a grand conspiracy to justify the Iraq war. Though I know we are not directly involved into the Iraq thing, we have now become complicit allies for Bush's experiment as seen in our willing (more like salivating) participation in the coalition of the willing.

As for the features, everything you can think of is there. From the previews, to more archival footages like the one where Condyloma Rice admitted to the investigative committee that they have indeed received a specific report on the planned 9/11 attack but chose to ignore it because "the title was not specific." Duh! How stupid can she get. Well, obviously she has been prepared to do damage control for this administration.

The question now is, "Will this video sway the undecided voters away from Bush?" Well, I do hope so.

**This video is now available at your nearest Muslim dvd hawker.

Tonsillitis

Why must we suffer because this vestigial organ gets infected? It's nothing more but lymphoid tissue acting as a sentinel for our trachea and esophagus. But once it gets infected (usually by the strep family), damn, your entire day and entire mood has gone down the drain. Its constellation of symptoms which can range from body malaise, to loss of appetite or easy fatiguability really gets into one's nerves.

I went home from the hospital with only one thing in mind: to sleep. My body's well being was preparing to shut down, my eyes were heavy and my throat felt as if Vesuvius was scratching its walls. When I reached my room, time and space became a blur as I dozed off into la-la-land.

But the good thing is, Azithromycin is there to save the day. I took my first dose already. Although the effects are not primarily for tonsillitis, its effects are really astounding. You only need to take in one tablet once a day for three days. And that's it. Instant cure! Many of my co-interns take it, and it really is a life-saver, because if you work in a profession where it's "Bawal magkasakit" having this drug at hand is really a must.