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!!

It's the End of the World As We Know It

Last February 13, Sister Lucia died in her convent in Portugal. Sister Lucia was the last remaining survivor of the trio who were given the secrets of Fatime by Mother Mary. Here's the interesting part: It was written (3rd Secret of Fatima?) that before she will pass away, she will first see a sign that the end of times has begun. And before she died, she has been ill for three months and that puts us back to December. And it was in December that the terrible Tsunami disaster struck southeast Asia. Can the tsunami be the sign of more things to come?

Also, it was also written during the time of John XXIII that there will be three more popes who will reign before the end of times, and John Paul II is the last of the three. I don't know if it's true. Perhaps, more research into this is needed.

And so what if it's the end of the world, I feel that living here in Manila is already the end of the world. More like Sodom and Gomorrah to me.

Care to visit this site:
CAUSE OF SEER'S DEATH IS DETAILED ALONG WITH HER WARNINGS OF BATTLE WITH DEVIL AND GREAT DARKNESS AMIDST PRIESTHOOD

The Reign of John Paul the Great

"You and I suffer for the realization of a universal divine plan. I wish you a speedy recovery. Now you have to confirm the Divine Truth that we are at the end of the world. This is the last generation of humanity on planet Earth. Only like this will God give you health and miraculous strength for the coming years."
-Turkish Assassin Ali Agca to Pope John Paul II, (Feb. 2005)

There has been quiet talk circulating in the Internet about conferring the title "the Great" to our present pope, John Paul II. Out of the 263 popes, only three were given this title: Pope Leo I, Pope Gregory I and Pope Nicholas I. Not a long list, is it? And soon, when our beloved pope will pass away, he might just get that title.

Taking into account that more than a third of the world's population is under 26, Pope John Paul's papacy is the only papacy these people have experienced, and this means that such a person has stamped his face and identity to the hearts of each one of them. He is already frail yet unbowed thanks to the dynamism of his 26 years in the papal throne. You can actually hear the poet Dylan Thomas read his poem "Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night" to Pope John Paul II where you can hear him say, "Rage, rage against the dying of the light..." Truly, the burdens he faces add more weight to the physical cross he currently bears.

Controversies concerning dogmatic inflexibility particularly on topics such as female priests, same-sex unions, abortions and contraception have been perrenial thorns to his reign always pricking his infallibility with questions of doubt and skepticism. But he stood his ground which I myself am proud of. Notwithstanding, his parishes have been rocked by scandals concerning pedophile priests and the "blind-eye" routine of the hierarchy. This made him looked bad in the eyes of many. These harrassments deserve justice but because of the silent stance of the Church towards this issue, they have unwittingly compounded (instead of cushioning) the impact. At least, the priests today do not torture civilians (by tying their hands on the back and hanging the poor native midair), impregnate native women, sire mestizo half-breeds (that's why those children whose fathers were priests carry the surnames of De los Santos or Del Rosario), collect taxes, or censor books (like the anally ultraconservative Dominicans of UST) unlike the Spanish friars who corrupted themselves into sin two centuries ago. The caricature of Padre Damaso and Salvi by Rizal says it all. Padre Damaso might even had sexual designs for Basilio and Crispin that might partially explain why Crispin died.

But through it all, Pope John Paul became the beacon of hope in today's cynical world. He has cannonized more saints than all his predecessors combined. He may have even named one of them as Patron of Cyberspace and Patron of Texters. He broke the yoke of communism by being the fulcrum of change, as seen in Lech Walesa's Solidarity movement in Poland. He is the most widely traveled pope in history. He is the first pope to enter a synagogue in Rome and to visit a Mosque in Damascus. Even controversial world leaders like Fidel Castro, Yasser Arafat and King George W. (Bush) were humbled by his presence. Even if the pope is the leader of the world's smallest state, his opinions and views affect more than a billion people around the globe. His current hospitalization has instant spawned prayer vigils all over the world. So if anything happens to him, you can be sure that the whole of humanity will mourn his death. The only question remains: When? I certainly hope not in this decade.

Do Not Go Gentle into That Good Night”
Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

The Good Life

I am in the process of "cleaning" and transferring files from my CPU to diskettes because the new CPU that my good sister sent home via a balikbayan box has arrived. Another person's trash is another person's treasure. So, if you want your relatives' used electronic goods sent to the Philippines, have them shipped in our patently Pinoy balikbayan box. Anyway, I was transferring files when I found this article. It was supposed to be sent to Young Blood but I wasn't sure if they were going to publish it. I sat on it, did not finish the entry and left it in the dustbins of my hard-disk. Since I don't have anything to post today, I thought this will suffice. Hehehehe... read on...

Bacolod. Such a word brings back nostalgic memories of the good and simple life
in this young city. Everything you need is within reach, everything is unhurried
and everything is carefree. It is not a bit like Manila- a decrepit decaying
morass of a black hole whose only existence is to justify suffering. It was only
when I transferred here to enter college that I learned to appreciate the charm
of my hometown and to be proud of its lifestyle.

Life in Negros is very laid back and unhurried. Schoolchildren go home during lunch breaks (either by commuting or being fetched by drivers) or eat at nearby eateries, and still be back inside the gates without even thinking of skipping classes. People don’t use street names, but rather, they use landmarks to define a location. For
instance, we would say that our rendezvous for a school project is at the back of this church, or two blocks after this restaurant, but never at so-and-so street unlike in Manila where everything can be located by street names like Sampaloc, Pedro Gil, EDSA, España, Ortigas, Buendia and Ayala.

Traffic in Bacolod is a joke- a far cry from the maddening race here in Manila. The wide roads, adequate sidewalks, good traffic coordination and concrete embankments make every joyride a pleasure. We have traffic lights but we decide to turn it off. On the commuting side, you shall neither see puffed-up sweating commuters packed like sardines in jeepneys nor queue at serpentine lines to buy MRT tickets. You won’t see distraught bus passengers being held up in the middle of EDSA in broad daylight or bus conductors barking for passengers while clogging the road. In Bacolod, traffic is defined by the three cars in front of you, and honking your horn to show impatience is rare. Jeeps are not that packed to the brim and airconditioned
taxis there never scrutinize your destination for everything in Bacolod is reachable within 30 minutes. No stress, no hassle. Less white hairs.

Many will testify that Bacolod is one of the safest cities in the country. There are virtually no muggings or street hold-ups, no high-chase bank robberies, no salvaging, no kidnappings or frat brawls, which can deter a tourist from venturing out. There, one can rarely find vagrants and infant-toting beggars knocking on your car’s windows. It’s fortunate that Bacoleños are spared from mulcting kotong cops unlike here where they are having a field day everyday. Every night past eight, the main street traffic thin out to a point that one can have a drag racing contest on the main artery. And sometimes they do.

One of the best memories any visitor can have in Bacolod is the food. Ilonggo food. Most are unreasonably cheap, delicious and worthy of an all-night pig-out. This brings to mind original Chicken House Inasal, Bailon’s piaya, Bongbong’s Barquillos & boat tarts, Sugarlandia’s squid rings galletas, El Ideal’s buko and guapple pies, Virgie’s mango tarts & butterscotch, Roli’s Napoleones, batchoy, Bob’s Sate Babe, Pala-pala seafood, Aboy’s Sinugba, and countless others too delicious to mention. Each restaurant has its own specialty, and when you’re accompanied by a Negrense, you’ll sure to have a tour of Bacolod’s food spots. And of course, what is Bacolod without the sweet goodies? They say, you will know if someone has arrived from Bacolod by the sheer number of pasalubong boxes he has brought.

Lastly, the thing that makes Bacolod worth the trip is the cleanliness of the city. The streets are free from hills of garbage or pools of urine, and there are lots of patches of green. The water does not have that metallic taste to it unlike in Cebu. And the air, that invigorating air! One can neither find the stench of fetid garbage there unlike Quiapo and Divisoria (well, carabao shit maybe) nor the heavy exhaust fumes like in the 5pm traffic along Taft. I can still remember years ago when the sugarmill operates at night where they churn all those sugar and molasses thus, perfuming the cool midnight air with the aroma of sugarcane. That really lulls you to sleep.

Now that I think about it, I sure miss Bacolod. Hmmmm... vacation, vacation, vacation.

The Japanese Holocaust

Last week, a series of articles describing the barbarity of the Japanese in their vain attempt to keep Manila left me with a sense of hatred for those slit-eyed buck-toothed race. Not that I hate them or their culture, I hate what they did during the war. It was no excuse. Just like the Nazis, the Japanese marines became bestial monsters killing all those refugees and civilians.



To set an example, PDI columnist Ramon Farolan wrote,

In the afternoon of Feb. 10, my father was at his desk at the PNRC offices on Isaac Peral (now UN Avenue) when Japanese marines with fixed bayonets burst into the building. A volunteer surgeon, Dr. German de Venecia, who was preparing two patients for surgery, was shot twice and died instantly. The two patients were bayoneted to death. The attending nurses were also attacked, but they survived the bayonet thrusts. On hearing the first shots, my father dove under his desk. A marine fired two shots at him; fortunately both missed their target. The attacker then turned on Mrs. Juan P. Juan, her daughter and a 10-day-old granddaughter. All three died. Believing he had accounted for everyone in the room, the marine left. This procedure was repeated throughout the building, room by room. My father would later testify, "From where we were, we could hear the victims in their death agony, the shrill cries of children and the sobs of dying mothers and girls."

I can just imagine myself in that room helpless and scared shitless hearing the cries and moans of people being killed from room to room. (When I read the article, my chest became heavy and my heart began to beat so fast as if I was reliving that horrible scene.) I can't imagine what has happened inside the convents where nuns were decapitated or in hospitals wherein patients were bayonetted in their beds. It's a scary thought, but like the Holocaust, these things must never be forgotten. These should be our reminders that these barbaric acts should never be repeated again.

On another light, one must read Iris Chang's book "The Rape of Nanking" where every inconceivable act of inhumanity was inflicted by the Japanese soldiers on the civilian population of Nanking during a 6-week period in 1937. An estimated 300,000 civilians were brutally butchered compared to our 100,000 dead. This is to show that Japanese agression was not limited to the Battle of Manila, but is also common throughout their occupation in east Asia. Can I say that their acts are not a fluke but rather an inherent trait for slaughter, gore and bestial monstrosity? I don't think so. Perhaps it's a trait shared by all human beings. Take for example our army's treatment for suspected NPA guerilla, or the fate of desaparecidos. Even during the Vietnam War, Cambodian genocide and Bosnia genocide, such acts keep repeating themselves over and over. I still remember a segment in National Geographic wherein they retold the story of the massacres in Bosnia wherein Muslim girls and mothers were herded into an abandoned warehouse and were killed when Serbian soldiers threw grenades in their direction. These equally brutal and heartless executions were not made by yellow-skinned slit-eyed pygmys but Filipinos, Serbs, Cambodians, etc. So, the only difference with us and the Japanese is the level of creativity and barbarity that these acts of murder were done.

Let these events be our reminders that history must not repeat itself.

Quiapo Underground: A Repost

The hidden location of the pirate's lair. Just go into Arlegui Street.;

In view of recent events concerning Edu's rampage towards hapless Muslims selling pirated dvds, I have decided to step up efforts in countering his measures by advocating and promoting piracy to Filipinos. The mecca for pirated vcds and dvds is obviously Quiapo. So, here's a repost for those who have not ventured in that surreal place:

Hmmm... And so the plot thickens. This is one of the entry points to the infamous Quiapo DVD market. From the Quiapo church, you have to cross the underpass to the other side of the avenue to Hidalgo street. Your landmarks are: Greenwich pizza along the boulevard, then head east until you see Jollibee on the next block, just go straight pass it until you see a MiniStop convenience store on the next block. It's situated on the fork of the road wherein if you go left, you'll see jeepneys from San Sebastian cathedral coming to your direction, and if you go RIGHT where you'll see an enormous crowd gathering in makeshift stalls. That my friend, is the jackpot. There, you can ask for directions or better yet just follow where most people are going.

Also, Arlegui street poses as one of the less crowded access to the fabled stuff. Just go straight. Do not panic if you see a cop because as far as anyone with an IQ higher than 90 knows, they are frequently batting a blind eye to this seemingly illegal trade. I think their philosophy is that as long no one is hurt, killed, maimed or kidnapped, then everything's well.

Caution: Do not bring lots of cash, or credit cards for that matter. Do not show off your cellphone in public, or use it in the streets. Do not wear expensive watches or jewelry for they can become targets for street pickpockets. Do not wear formal clothes because Muslim merchants are wary of giving discounts to coños. Furthermore, do not make any snide remarks ala GWBush about Muslims because you won't get any discount that way. (I was about to write "you won't be able to escape Quiapo alive if you do insult them.")


Inside one of the many alleys in DVD country;

There are lots of places to start. And you have to be discriminating with your choice of DVDs. Just don't take it as it is because if something is wrong with it, it can be very difficult to return it back for exchange. There are rows and rows of DVDs and with luck, you can stumble on rare titles (like the works of Paolo Pasolini & Kurosawa), or better copies of unreleased films. The DVDs are stack on shelves upon shelves extending from the floor to the ceiling. When they say DVD copy, it means it was copied from the original, but when they say "Clear copy," it means it's not worth buying the disc yet.

My routine:
1. Check for the titles.
**Tip: To know if the DVD you're holding is copied from the already released original one, check the spine. If you can see a code along the spine like this (DTS-9004), then more or less, it's from the real stuff. If there's none, chances are, it's just a clear copy or a promotional one.

2. Check for scratches and defects on the shiny side of the DVD.
3. Have you choice be tested on their DVD player.
4. Haggle. Currently, it's P60-65 ($1.20) per disc. If bundled into three purchases, you can get them for cheaper.
5. Make sure they stamp/mark the DVD title insert, so if you return them, you can argue that it was from their store that you've bought the disk from because if not, they can play that Shylock argument that you "might have bought it from other stalls."


An otaku shopping for anime;

There are lots of films to choose from. Just remember to have the presence of mind on what to buy and a limited budget for your trip, so that you won't indulge on impulse buying. It's difficult to control oneself once you're there, especially if you have been afflicted with the shopping bug.

Many of the films being peddled in Quiapo are:
1. Unreleased Hollywood films
a. copied from a promotional disc
b. copied inside a theater
2. Released Hollywood films (copied from the original DVD)
3. Classics (Hitchcock, Kurosawa, war movies, etc.)
4. Arthouse films (infrequent, scarce supply, rare titles) ex. Criterion collection
5. Asian foreign films (Korean, Japanese)

Raids are frequent in Quiapo. However, if Edu and his cohorts have a scheduled raid, more or less, the sellers have already been tipped off and are extremely vigilant during that particular day. You can see them talking about the impending raid, having boxes readied, and their supplies are not 100% displayed. Besides, if a raid ensues, the news spreads like wildfire and within a span of five minutes, all of the shops are closed. Should you encounter one such raid, then simply head to the nearest convenience store and take cover.

CAVEAT: Edu is itching to catch consumers (that's you and me) of pirated dvds and he threatened to imprison those who are caught buying stuff. He said they'll be charged with the anti-fencing law, which any lawyer will tell you will not hold up in court because the goods you're buying are not stolen goods (like cars) since they're made first hand albeit in violation of Intellectual Property Rights law ek-ek. So, go ahead and indulge.

So, be sure to send a postcard on your next trip to Quiapo.

In Want of a Phone

May the thief who stole it be infested by a thousand lice. I bought a second-hand phone today as a replacement for my stolen unit. Some people may cringe at how plebian that may sound, but in my current situation wherein I have yet to receive my first paycheck, any phone for that matter will do. Having no phone at first felt liberating, but as soon as the commitments and obligations pour in, one cannot stand idly by and watch his job and private life slip pass through him. And although I crave to have a MMS-supported celphone with the cameras, videos, MP3s and whatnots, I don't have the means to demand for it. Mom can procure one but at this age and time, demanding for such a unit is deemed ostentatious. It's like saying that the poor cannot eat three times a day, and yet they still have a budget for buying load.
So, no choice but to get a cheaper phone; at least my headache will not be as intense if this one gets stolen again.

And so I got a 2nd-hand 6210 that has neither been repaired, tinkered, nor reconditioned. I found out that older discontinued phones peddled by scam artists inside Greenhills, Robinson's malls, and tiangges have been opened and recondition to look like brand new. It is dangerous to buy one because, according to one of the stall owners, the signal becomes unpredictable. Perhaps that is the reason why its warranty covers for a year. These sellers are really devious, cunning and shrewd, just like Shylock the Jew in Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. In the Philippines' the bad rap for shrewdness goes to our fellow Muslims from the south. My experiences in DVD buying in their lairs in Downtown Quiapo affirms that sentiment.

Speaking of MMS phones, I really have to congratulate Globe, Smart and Sun companies for brainwashing the whole population in making them crave for higher-end phones, spawning pickpockets and hold-ups everywhere. Thanks for the colored ads in the Star and Inquirer where you placed celebrities brandishing and enjoying your latest model, hence, making us feel that we have to change phones every year so to keep up with the latest Nokia. Thank you also for making us feel that our phones are never good enough (or never functional enough) where in fact the only use for it is texting and calling up people. Thank you also for not reminding us that our phone's market value will drop half-fold by the end of the year thereby making us unaware of the wasted money we invested in such a "depreciable" unit. Take for instance the Nokia 6600: at first, it was being sold at P24,000, then after a year, P18,000, now, P16,000, and if one gets it at Buy&Sell it's P12,000. This is sad, really sad.

Now, who's more shrewd? Cellphone companies or the muslim sellers? Take your pick.

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.