r a n d o m

A Costly Wrong Turn

2011-11-08T09:27:00.000-08:00

I recently designed a path of frugality and was on a steady course until I reached a crossroad over the weekend and made a wrong turn. I was impaired by my desire to spend a weekend away from home -- for a change. I have never been on an out-of-town trip in a while and the lure of free hotel room got me excited. As it turned out, I practically ended up coughing up six times the cost of the hotel room. The slot machines took more than what the hotel didn't. I blame no one but myself. It's an expensive lesson learned.

The Cash You Want Is Already In Your Hands

2011-11-03T11:53:00.000-07:00

I have decided to give Corporate America a little reason to frown about: I am reclaiming my pocket -- or at least the control over it.

Uncertainties that hover around my fiscal house provided a wakeup call to take a careful and serious look at my personal finances. How much am I paying -- or will end up paying -- my credit card providers in interests? What are my credit cards‘ APR? Am I paying too much? Is it time to consolidate?

I am not in the business of checking APR on credit card offers. I have always thought that if a credit card company is dangling a plastic in front of someone like me who has significantly less than stellar FICO score, the only sensible thing to do is grab the offer and swipe away. They make the offer even harder to resist with the promise of the new credit card helping you establish a better credit history.

It turns out that all they actually do is bury you deeper in debt. I recently filled out a pre-approved application for a credit card. When the plastic arrived in the mail, it came -- on a separate envelope -- with a bill for $79. The first thing I did was call the credit card provider and close the account. The hell will I keep a credit card that bills me even before I could even have it activated.

And all the while I thought my existing credit cards were doing me a huge favor by keeping some money readily accessible at times of need. Believe me, I have lots of times like that. Then I realized the only ones getting a favor were the credit card companies because they were charging me interests that practically buried me in debt up to my neck.

I applied for membership in a credit union and was eventually approved for a loan that allowed me to consolidate my money-making debts to a stress-relieving, low-interest loan. Now, my credit cards have been paid in full. The savings amount to about $200 a month in extra cash awesomely nestled in my pocket.

With Wells Fargo starting to charge $15 a month so I could keep my checking account, I am seriously toying with the idea of entirely banking with the credit union. That would translate to $180 a year ($15/month Wells Fargo fees) in extra cash staying in my account.

Add to that, the savings I’m making by modifying my wireless phone plan that would cost AT&T at least $10 a month. That would make my pocket $120 fatter. I’m also starting to pack lunch for work at least twice a week, which translates to a savings of $11 a week or roughly $44 a month.

This little OCCUPY MY POCKET movement will make me over $3,200 richer by end of the year. Sometimes, we're so engrossed with making more money without realizing that the money we want to make is already in our hands.

Your Loot Made My Eyes Turn Green

2011-10-19T08:42:00.000-07:00

Dear Empty Head,

Maybe it's the envy talking but my jaw dropped to my crotch when I saw the pictures of your collection of nice and expensive things that you posted on Facebook. I was arguing with myself when I laid eyes on the images; I couldn't decide whether I'd feel envious of or sorry for you.

You see, I know that those expensive things that you have in your so-called collection were borne out of unpaid credit card debts that you racked up, after which you filed for bankruptcy to legally excuse yourself from paying your financial obligations.

I was partly envious not just because I don't have such pretty, expensive collection but also because, damn I could have done the same! I mean, max out my credit cards and take refuge on Chapter 7.

I was feeling partly sorry for you because you're stupid enough to think that people don't know what you're trying to do here; hide your failures behind a collection of semi-wealth, which, let's face it, you have because you practically stole from credit card companies.

Your collection and how you built it would've been none of my lowlife business had you not dangled them on my face with the obvious purpose of making me feel bad for not owning the same.

Well, you have succeeded but not for long. Because you've made me jealous enough, now I will start telling people about the process by which you acquired all those nice, expensive things you've got in your loot, err, collection.

Sincerely,

Your Super Jealous FB Friend

That's Why It's Called The WORKplace!

2011-10-11T08:51:00.000-07:00

Dear Lazybones,

The place that we go to between 9am and 5pm is called the workplace. Majority of the people that go to the workplace -- myself included -- go there with a very specific mission, to get the job done. If yours is to simply clock in and clock out to accumulate hours so you can shamelessly cash a check every 15 days, please at least have the decency to conceal your irrepressible lack of shame, dignity and respect for others who value their job.

Sincerely,

Your Utterly Upset Co-Worker

Or

Sincerely,

An Upset Someone You See Monday-Friday During
Office Hours at the Place Where You Clock In and Out

Red Light! Camera! Action!

2011-10-05T14:21:00.000-07:00

Have you ever received a Traffic Violation Notice with four frame-by-frame pictures of your car (1) running a red light, (2) making a turn, (3) your car’s license plate, and (4) what appears to be you on the driver’s seat?

I have and boy did it shake the living hell out of me! After a few phone calls and text messages with friends whose driving history had been graced with the same picture not-perfect notice, I was fazed by an impending $600+ traffic ticket -- at a time when my fiscal house was one flick away from collapsing.

Clouded by desperation, I turned to my new BFF, Google, for help. Maybe, just a tad maybe, there’s a way to get out of it. Google directed me to www.highwayrobbery.net, which talked in length about traffic tickets in general and camera-captured red light violations in particular.

In California, it turned out, there are two Red Light Camera tickets: (1) the Snitch Ticket that practically tricks you into blowing the whistle on yourself or whoever’s driving your car at the time of the supposed violation; and (2) the Real Ticket that identifies you as the driver, the due date to respond and the name and address of the courthouse.

According to www.highwayrobbery.net, the Snitch Ticket usually asks for additional personal information such as your full name, driver’s license number, date of birth; it also asks that you acknowledge that you are the driver or name the driver at the time of the violation. Also, it asks you to NOT CONTACT THE COURT. It doesn’t have a due date, the amount you need to post bail, and where you can post bail.

The actual ticket contains the law-required NOTICE TO APPEAR phrase, the name of the courthouse, the due date and the bail amount.

The Highway Robbery Dot Net website offers ways you may take in relation to the snitch or actual Red Light Camera ticket you got in the mail. I have taken a cue from the website and here’s to hoping that I made the right move.

You Can't Make Me Cry Anymore!

2011-09-26T13:27:00.000-07:00

Dear Birthday,

I don’t know why you come every year. Nobody seems to like you but -- without missing a year -- you sneak like a thief in the night, reminding us that we’re a year closer to more wrinkles, sagging skin and arthritic pain … if not to biting the dust.

Others -- some lucky people and some greedy ones -- wait for you with anticipation because, to them, it means expensive presents, happy surprises, fun parties, and lots of food.

But not me. Every year in the past, I desperately dug up my memory bank hoping to unearth one “normal” birthday. One that others are used to having. One that’s graced by the presence of gifts, happy surprises and fun parties. Hey, I’d settle for even just some birthday food.

I found none.

I’m done hoping for a birthday surprise because at this point, any birthday surprise is not going to be a happy surprise. I have reached the time in my life when birthdays have become no more than just a grim reminder of a step closer to the grave, or in my near-future case, the urn.

So Dear Birthday, feel free to once again embrace me on the twenty-eighth of the ninth month. This year, however, the emptiness of your embrace will no longer come with a feeling of sadness … of longing … of desperately hoping that this year may be different.

You can envelope me with your presence all you want but I swear I won’t feel a thing. I don’t care about you anymore. You have already numbed me. And I’m telling you Birthday, your days are numbered!

Sincerely,

Aldo

Dear Mr. Martini

2011-09-03T21:43:00.000-07:00

The days leading to our decision to let go was painful but nothing can describe the agony of seeing you live in misery. You’ve held on. Your desire to spend more time with us, for a time, prevailed over what obviously was a lingering pain and discomfort.

I died each time I saw you drag your frail body around. But although you could hardly walk, you never – not even once – failed to greet me at the door and follow me around. It was almost impossible for you to jump up the bed to spend the night and cuddle with me but not one night did you fail to come up … or at least tried to … no matter how painful it was ... just to reassure me that you’ll always want to be beside me.

You slept with me… woke up with me… lived a joyful life with me for six years. You’ve always loved me unconditionally despite my imperfections. You loved me and cared about me even during those times when my rage caused you to shiver and hide — in terror. You gave me nothing but love, forgiveness, patience and understanding even in my moments of selfishness, petulance and apathy.

You saw nothing but the good in me. You looked past my flaws. You have lived your life every single day in the past six years to purposely fill me with every joy you’ve got. In the hours before you went, you looked at me and asked me to take you in my arms … to feel you and hear you purr — one last time.

My dear Mr. Martini, I love you. I always will. Till we meet again…

Not for the reason-impaired

2011-09-02T14:38:00.000-07:00

Time and again, I warn people that many of my Facebook status updates and comments are not for the faint of heart and the reason-impaired.

Time and again, though, they just can't contain themselves. Not even the strongest of self-control can apparently stop some people from looking through my FB profile, reading every status update and comment I post.

They end up passionately hating me when, with a dash of hint, they feel that something they read was meant for them.

I am unperturbed. Unfazed. I simply could care less, if I care at all. I will continue speaking my mind. I won't stop verbalizing my thoughts. My fingers won't get tired nibbling my computer keyboard just because some reason-impaired, wisdom-challenged nitwit is hurt by what I say.

As Dr. Seuss aptly put it, those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind. Which one are you?

Magpatulog Ka Naman

2011-09-01T23:21:00.000-07:00

Dear Sleep: I think it's about time that you put in an extra effort to be in sync with my schedule. You are such an inconsiderate, stubborn uncle-effer. You come when I need you to be away and you stay the hell away when I need you around.

Para kang pera, walang pakisama! Madamot!

Kuya Hearts You

2011-08-26T09:16:00.000-07:00

I can’t say I have been the most dependable Kuya because I’m not. A lot of times, you’re the one I run to -- the first person I come home to -- when I feel the world is conniving to pin me down. You don’t always have the right words to tell me but you never -- not once -- turned your back on me. Your hands are the first to reach out to me every time I drown in the deepest of miseries.

It’s been years ago but I still feel awful whenever my grade school graduation memory comes flashing back. You got the worst beating of your life from Mame because you left home to watch Kuya walk up the stage.

The heart-break from watching you get hurt was more unbearable than coming home from my graduation ceremonies as if it was just one of those days. Some other time, though, I look back at it with a smile on my face. You wanting to watch Kuya graduate is probably the only good thing about that day.

I cherish the thought. I am never letting go of that memory. It’s embedded deep in my recollection bank.

It seemed that I was a better Kuya when we were younger. Remember those times when I would fight your fights for you? I didn’t care what other people would say about me, and they sure did. They called me names but that was the least of my concern. I promised myself that no one messes with my baby sister and I just couldn’t -- wouldn’t -- allow anything to break that promise.

Many years fast-forward, you have grown to become a better person than I will ever be. You’re someone with a kinder, more generous heart … someone who reaches out without being asked.

Not even the most ostentatious adjectives in the dictionary could define the woman that you’ve become. A giving sister. A thoughtful daughter. A generous aunt. A doting mother. A loving wife. You have played your roles splendidly -- with hardly any dash of objection.

I will never be the perfect Kuya to the almost-perfect sister. Although sometimes it just doesn’t show, you know I want nothing but the best for you. I promise I am ready as always to take bullets for you. No one hurts my sister; anybody who tries would have to hurt me first.

Never doubt it a bit, Kuya loves you. Happy Birthday!

Love At First Sight

2011-05-07T09:57:00.000-07:00

I never really believed in love at first sight; love is something I was sure develops through time. For me, everything that becomes apparent at first glance is merely attraction … something that lasts no more than just a couple of weeks or three months tops.

Not until I first laid eyes on you. I heard music humming in my ears the first time I saw you. There was magic. Faster than the wink of an eye, I told myself you are — without a doubt — made it to my most beautiful shortlist. You are simply exquisite.

I so wanted to be close to you since then but fate wasn’t as facilitative. I used to glance at your perfection more than three times a day although all I could do was stare at your beauty, worship your splendor, and wish that one day, your magnificence comes within reach. For a lesser mortal like me, being near you was like chasing rainbows.

I stopped at nothing, however, until I come close to you. I stopped at nothing to push myself beyond just staring at your beauty and worshipping your splendor. I was determined to make you and me to be one — someday. You may be a star but even stars sometimes bow down to the power of us mortals.

The picture of your allure safely kept in my mind greeted my every good morning, and the same picture wished me good night as I anticipated our day of being one — the day when I can finally touch you and say that, once upon a time, I was yours and you were mine.

Our time came in the summer of 1997. Your beauty becomes more apparent as I sailed closer to you. I remember my heart beating fast it felt like it was going to explode. And there you were, sitting splendidly as if you were a princess waiting for your prince. I was right. You are more beautiful up close … so serene … so inviting … simply breathtaking.

It was magical when my skin touched yours. I looked around and was not at all surprised when I realized I wasn’t the only one marveling at your perfection. Your charm is more than just captivating. It is enchanting. It has attracted swarms of people like me who hunger for beauty and thirst for something that's undoubtedly heaven-sent.

We sat there, the sun danced and as the clouds frolicked, enjoying the scene of beautiful corals. Not so far away, schools of fish flip their fins and sway their tails in harmony.

In a sea of splendor and magnificence, your beauty stands out. You are an oasis. That’s why it didn’t surprise me at all when I heard the news that you have been recognized as one of the world’s most beautiful.

It’s been years since I last saw you … it feels like forever since the last time I was with you but thoughts of you linger in my mind. I miss you and I promise that, one day, I will come to you to be one with you again.

I loved you the first time I saw you, Boracay. And believe me, I still do.

A Letter for Sofia

2011-04-30T20:20:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom,

I know that life hasn’t been all good to you. And I know I had been equally bad. I’ve given you heartaches more than you can bear. God knows how much I’d also hurt each time I made you cry. I told you things that I never should have. I’ve done things that more than just crushed your heart. I have probably pained you to death too many times but you never stopped from being there for me.

I refused to acknowledge your sacrifices. I pretended that I didn’t see the tears that rolled down your cheeks when I didn’t get the party I wanted for my 21st birthday. I hated you for that, not knowing that the money you gave me to treat my friends out could have been used to get you a new pair of glasses.

I went to an out of town vacation while you were bed-ridden with flu. I know now that I should’ve stayed by your side instead. I should have been there with you just like the countless times that you had been — and still are — there for me.

I am sorry, Mom. I truly am sorry for all the things that I have said and for everything that I have done and didn’t do that crushed your heart.

If I could only turn back time, I would have you get those pair of eyeglasses instead of me having senseless fun out with my so-called friends; I would take care of you that day when you could hardly stand. I regret not being there for you when all in the world you needed was for me to be there with you.

You always listen to what I won’t let myself say to you. You keep on talking to me even if I refused to take notice. You always believed that one day, I just will.

I didn’t see the value of those times when you would wipe my nose and dry my tears. I ignored the sense of pride you generously gave me when you handed me that greeting card for my grade school graduation. I deliberately stopped myself from thinking about you and caring for you. I made myself believe that I don’t need you. I sailed away each time you tried to reach out to me.

I have realized now how foolish I was to have not seen it all. I need you. I miss you more than I ever thought possible. I’m thankful that you never left my life. You never gave up on me the way I had given up on you. You never stopped being my Mom when, all those years, I stopped being your son.

All those years with you when I thought I was having the worst of times, truth is I was having the best.

Mom, I love you and, from now on, I promise to make each day of your life a Happy Mother’s Day.

Kotabol Kowt

2011-04-12T07:32:00.000-07:00

"Could have" is just the saddest phrase; filled and coated with bitterness. Every failure is an opportunity to learn what we could do right next time; not a reason for us to sulk on what we could have done right in moments past.

- Odla Odrajaf

Tell His Lordship - NOW!

2011-04-11T07:34:00.000-07:00

If with displeasure you are viewing any work a man is doing,

If you don't like him or hate him, tell him now;

Don't withhold your criticism, give full your disgust.

If you think some animadversion is due him,

now is the time to give it to him

For he cannot feel your disgust when he is gone.

More than fame and more than money is honesty, brazen and candid;

The ingenuous disapproval from your scrupulous, truthful heart

Jerks His Lordship that helps him snap out of delusions so grand;

As His Lordship earns your disapproval bestow it;

if you dislike him, let him know it

Let the words of true deterrent be said;

Do not wait until life is over; do not wait until we see

another Jan-Jan and again weep over people

getting killed in rout over a TV show handout.

Do not wait until it is too late.

NOTE: This is a parody of the poem "Tell Him Now" ...

An Open Letter to Lord of Doucheville

2011-04-08T10:28:00.000-07:00

Dear Sir:

Your latest so-called speech, proclaiming yourself as a hero of the poor, undoubtedly catapulted you to the lordship of a place let’s know call Doucheville. I have not much say to you Lord Douche but that I admire your unparalleled arrogance. I have never came across anyone obviously so self-centered yet uncompromisingly, desperately, pathetically trying to pass himself as a hero to the needy. You, Sir, are a real gem. I can’t imagine someone else possessing such grand delusions. Not in the past. Not in this lifetime. Not even beyond this lifetime.

I admit, I was guilty of intermittently watching your now resting-in-peace noontime show. You have the ability to carry a show; make people laugh. I’ll give you credit for that. But your head had swollen beyond imagination. Your fame and fortune - gifted to you by the poor whose needs you religiously exploit in your TV show - has blown too much air into you head it blurred your impression of what’s real and what’s just a figment of your low-life imagination.

It’s OK to defend yourself from your critics. It’s your right and your responsibility to yourself, your friends and family, and your supporters. What’s not right, My Lord, is when in the process of defending yourself, you’re belting out more low-life tirades against those who are courageous enough to stand for what they think is right.

It’s utterly unacceptable when your defense centers on insulting someone’s sexuality and another’s child-bearing ability. Let me point this out, Sir, Aiza Seguerra is more of a man than you will ever be and Agot Isidro is more of a parent than you could ever hope to be.

I don’t think there’s a need to enumerate the contributions and honors brought by Lea Salonga, Jim Paredes and Leah Navarro to the country. No amount of money your show gives out to your exploited and ridiculed contestants could ever equal what Ms. Salonga, Ms. Navarro and Mr. Paredes have done for the Philippines.

I am done worrying about seeing more Filipinos skip work and school to sell their sob stories and honor for a handout at a TV show. It’s as wrong as your continued existence on Philippine TV. Give yourself, your family, friends and supporters some respect. Bow out before getting pushed out.

I urge His Lordship to let the curtains down. Let that be your greatest contribution to your country and your people.

Mid-Life Dream: Can It Happen?

2011-04-07T11:33:00.000-07:00

My sister kinda egged me about leaving my pursuit of the American Dream behind and just return home. That, or pursue my dreams some place else like Australia. I would be lying if I said I didn’t give the idea some deep thoughts. I’ve had desires of going back to newspaper writing in my native Philippines; entertained the thought of doing so in Guam or Saipan. I have toyed with the idea of working as a bellhop in Hawaii’s tourism industry.

I can’t make up my mind about what I really want to do with my life. When I was younger in the not too distant past, I’ve had my dreams and how to make all of them come to life clearly planned out. I just wanted to be a journalist. Live a journalist. Die a journalist.

I’ve done that -- except the dying part. I feel like I’ve reached my childhood dreams. I’ve reached the peak -- I believe -- of the profession of my dreams. Now that traces of my young life are gone, so are the dreams I felt I have already lived. I am scrambling to dream new dreams but writing remains my passion. I can’t imagine myself doing something else and be happy about it.

I am honestly not happy with the work I do now but it pays the bill. (No offense meant to my employer, who knows I have consistently delivered.) I just thought I should continue writing through this blog to provide the joys auditing health records can’t. Until when? Not for long, I hope.

Living What Dream?

2011-04-04T13:44:00.000-07:00

Not a few people are hoping and praying to live the American life, practically turning the United States into the most popular destination for immigrants from countries throughout the world, especially where poverty is not an unusual situation. The Philippines included.

People come to the US with high hopes of living the American Dream, which, in some but not isolated cases, turns out to be an American Nightmare. Whoever said that America is the land of milk and honey is right. But America could also be the land of never-ending struggles, hardships and trials.

I am a living testimony to the difficulties of adjusting from a very relaxed island life to a rat race in the Big City. Mine may not be a nightmare but it wasn’t a sweet dream either although everything turned out well — eventually.

My experience, though, is just a microscopic fraction of the stories that can be told about immigrants in the US — from the biggest successes to the most difficult failures, which are aggravated by abusive practices of some corrupt employers who prey on the sorry condition of undocumented workers here.

Case in point is Sienna who entered the US with her daughter on a tourist visa. Both of them were given a maximum of six months that expired in December 2003. They are still here, with Sienna working as an office clerk. Her boss knows she doesn’t have the proper documents to work so they gave her a salary that is below the minimum wage in the United States — and rock bottom lower than the prevailing wage in Sienna’s job category. Without the legal work permit, she practically has no option but to take whatever‘s handed her, which, she said, is already a gigantic help to keep her and her 10- year-old daughter out of the streets.

But why stick it out here? The same question is asked to thousands of other illegal workers in the United States and they all have one answer: Here in the US, they only have one problem, and that’s exploitation. In the Philippines, they are confronted with three problems called Breakfast, Lunch and Dinner.

Their “underground” life in the US is far better than their mainstream life in the Philippines. That, coupled with the hopes of eventually gaining lawful residence here.

Meantime, they resiliently face unimaginable hardships and hurdle mounting difficulties knowing in their hearts that they will soon wake up from what they believe is a temporary American Nightmare. Here they apparently found an eternal spring of hope. …That one day, they too will see their American Dream come to life.

As for me, the next best thing is pursuing the dream that matters most, that of finding my way back home. … that of living the Filipino Dream.

Don't Blame China For Our Own Inefficiency

2011-03-31T09:58:00.000-07:00

I support those who pray for the families of the three Filipinos who were executed in China for drug trafficking but I can’t force myself to condemn China for upholding its laws. Whatever the circumstances were prior to them getting caught by Chinese authorities, they still tried to sneak drugs into the country as far as China is concerned.

Instead of denouncing China, I think it’s better that we take a closer look at our own system first. Just how the heck were they able to get through the supposedly tight security screening at the Ninoy Aquino International Airport? Aren’t we supposed to have detected the drugs even before they and their luggage get to the plane?

Yeah, let’s all run after drug traffickers. In the meantime, while them drug lords and their minions are doing their trade under our nose and - to some extent - with the blessing of some of our most revered police officials and government leaders, don’t expect Villanueva, Credo and Batain to be the last of our countrymen to suffer the same fate.

Well, not until we clean up and shake the heck up the Philippines’ airport security screening system. I think it’s about time some heads roll. Our own airport security screeners apparently slept on their job, resulting in the execution of three kababayans in a foreign land where they, ironically, hoped to make a living.

Boycott The Gasbag's Advertisers

2011-03-28T22:36:00.000-07:00

TV host and certified gasbag Willie Revillame has been a regular subject of complaints. He has endured suspensions, lawsuits -- even a stampede that left people dead. But ever wondered what makes him tick? It's the group of advertisers that wittingly supports and encourages arrogance ... a group of advertisers that turn a blind eye on the public exploitation of the indigent Filipinos.

Here are the Willing Willie advertisers that rightfully deserve a boycott. Yes, maybe a boycott of his advertisers' products is the only way to end the national arrogance that is Willie Revillame...

CDO Karne Norte - (Argentina corned beef tastes better) 
Pepsodent - (Colgate and CloseUp are better products) 
Islander Sandals - (Spartan lasts longer) 
Camella Homes - (Hardly a home ...) 
Cignal HD - (Why trust a company that can't even spell signal correct? Lol!) 
Cebuana Lhuillier - (Tambunting na lang) 
Pau Liniment - (Omega or Salonpas Liniment mas OK) 
Smart Wireless Telecom - (Globe is a classier choice) 
Belo Medical Group - (Mukhang buhay na bangkay ang may-ari) 
Oishi - (Dangerous to health ang sodium content) 
Vaseline - (Aveeno or Jergens) 
Bench Daily Scent - (Ewww!) 
Bench Wil Cologne - (Double Ewww!) 
Wil Tower Mall - (Bahay ng kwago!) 
Techno Marine - (Brand ng pseudo rich yan!) 
Surf - (Tide!) 
UFC Ketchup - (Mas gusto ko Jufran!) 
Smart C Juice Drink - (May sasarap pa ba sa Zesto?!)

Here's to hoping that Jan-Jan is the nail in the gasbag's coffin ... that Jan-Jan's is the last case of child abuse and humiliation on Philippines TV, particularly that perpetrated by the National Airhead (Pambansang Hambog).

Want. To. Be. Home.

2011-03-25T10:03:00.000-07:00

I am going through a dilemma many immigrants experience at least once in their living-abroad life: the need to be home -- but can’t -- to be there for a problematic loved one not to utterly solve the problem but to help alleviate its pains.

I’ve been having this nagging desire to fly back to the Philippines, hoping that my physically being there would bring some needed warmth to a freezing situation. Regular phone calls, text messaging and Facebook e-mailing just don’t cut the deal. They help in their own little ways but they hardly convey real emotions, lacking the required personal connection that provides the needed affection.

Heaven knows I so want to be home now to give someone I care about a big hug. It’s just that work gets in the way, like it always does!

Reproductive Itch? Coat it!

2011-03-19T20:35:00.000-07:00

The Philippines, as of 2010, is the 12th most populated country in the world with 99.9 million people, and a huge percentage of them belong to the lowest income group. Long story short, majority of my kababayans are financially-strapped. That doesn't mean, however, that we're miserable. Resilience is inherent among us Filipinos. We readily adopt different forms of survival patterns to endure whatever natural or man-made crisis we face, including extreme poverty.

When needed, one in every two financially-disadvantaged Filipino families say they're ready to change eating patterns. And whenever possible, the Filipino family is also always ready to lend a hand with one-fifth of poor families reporting to have received assistance from friends or relatives at times of personal crisis.

What's interesting to note, however, is that the more financially-disadvantaged Filipinos have bigger families than those with better fiscal foundation. The family size of impoverished Filipinos is bigger at an average of 6 per household than their affluent counterpart's 4.9.

The United Nations Population Fund blames this on the limited access of people from the lover income group to the government's family planning programs. This probably explains why people who are less likely to afford their own personal needs are the same people who reproduce the fastest. There's a difference of at least 81 percent between the rich and the poor in terms if access to family planning services and in terms of practicing it.

Only about 10 percent of families in the lowest income group have couples practicing family planning. No condoms or birth-control pills? They're free at public health centers but the Catholic Church is getting in the way!

Nevertheless, limited access to family planning programs and religion should not be an excuse. I say, if you're not sure about being able to give your would-be kids a good future, just stop dropping your pants! Keep your fly securely zipped and your belt tightly fastened. But if you can't contain your reproductive itch, don't listen to what your priest tells you and just COAT IT!

If all else fails, blame the Catholic Church, which, ironically only allows moneyed Filipino kids in many of its financially-restrictive exclusive schools! As for the impoverished kids whose folks the Church stopped from being responsible parents, the Catholic Church at least allows you to sell sampaguita in front of its churches.

Surfing In A Sea of Fiscal Mess

2011-03-18T15:10:00.000-07:00

Today, I’ve decided that it’s time I re-evaluate my life to determine what I have been doing wrong and reinforce where I’m right. It just seems like I have been making the same mistakes since I stepped into adulthood. There are aspects of my life that are considerably on track, but there are some that are more than just disturbing. There’s a pattern of misdeeds that I subconsciously wittingly follow -- it seems. It’s probably way too personal to blog (Read: Blab) about; way too personal to share with anyone who comes across this little corner I have in the dotcom world. But I’m just gonna put it out there, anyways.

It’s something I am not proud of but I don’t hold any reservations about admitting it: I am no financial guru. No matter how hard I try, I always find myself rolled over and slouched in a mud of financial mess. Not that I am short; I just don’t know where my financial priorities are. However, I make sure I’m taken cared of … that I am able to do the things I want to do and buy the things I want to have. What happens after is I end up scrambling for funds to pay for the things that I need. The stress kicks in and I start feeling sick … thinking, worrying about how to get out.

I am currently swimming in the sea of money-mess that’s my own doing. I can’t blame anyone but myself. Today, however, I have decided to do something about it. And I’ll start with taking care of the things I need first, and put the things I want in the backseat. So that batch of Abercrombie shirts arriving next week will be the last to show on my front door in a very long while.

An Appeal to Gaia

2011-03-17T17:17:00.000-07:00

We have been recently deluged with End-of-the-World talks, immediately preceding the 9.0 magnitude earthquake and the 30-foot tsunami in Japan. The quake literally shook the earth, pushing Japan 8-12 inches closer to the United States, while the tsunami defied distance as it caused millions of dollars in damage to at least four California counties, as well as Hawaii.

Reports say the twin disaster claimed the lives of at least 10,000 people in Japan; thousands more in the North Asian country are now at risk due to nuclear meltdown. Now, sketchy reports say that with the current wind direction, radiation plume is expected to reach the US West Coast -- although the level of radiation that will fan toward the US pose extremely minimal health risks, according to experts. Some say the US is way too far from Japan so there’s no cause for alarm.

I echo calls for people to not panic. That doesn’t mean, however, that we shouldn’t be prepared either. It’s not bad to have an emergency supply of everything -- water, food and other basic needs. Because like what happened in Japan, we never know when Gaia will unleash her wrath on us, especially now that experts are saying that California is due for the Big One.

Consider this an appeal Mother Nature. Please, pretty please, don’t bring it on.

Isang Kahig. Isang Tuka.

2011-03-16T10:24:00.000-07:00

Isang kahig. Isang tuka. This aptly describes the indigent Filipino, one who lives from paycheck to paycheck. At times two paychecks aren’t even enough to pay for half a pay period’s basic necessities. If you think such a situation is cramped within the borders of the Philippines’ 7,107 islands, you’re grossly mistaken.

Overseas Filipinos — us who work and live abroad supposedly toiling greener pastures — are not free from the shackles of “isang kahig, isang tuka”. Most of the time, we actually have to plow two farms to get by not because we’re consumed by our burning desire for wealth but because we’re actually toiling for bigger needs back home.

So if you’re someone who has a loved one working abroad, think twice before spending that hundred-peso bill or showing off your perceived wealth — yes, that thing you either picked up from or delivered by a remittance company. Chances are, every cent of it was borne out of an overseas loved one’s blood and sweat … nights consumed working instead of dozing off … times spent lonesome thousands of miles away instead of watching TV over dinner with the family.

I’m not writing this based on personal experience because I don’t send money to the Philippines. In fact, my family sends me money from the Philippines because I am one indigent California immigrant who lives from paycheck to paycheck. I’m writing this piece because I witnessed how some families of overseas workers fritter away their supposedly loved ones sweat and blood — the very bottom-line of their relative’s sacrifices abroad.

Many families of overseas Filipinos back home show off as if they’re born with eternal spring of financial resources, not realizing that the loved ones who send them regular money spends 16 hours a day changing old people’s diapers. The kind of work is beside the point. The real issue is they work unimaginably hard to be able to provide the things their family needs. It would be nice if all of you back home spend their remittances conscientiously.

Stop crowing because, truth is, the only thing you’re showing off is what kind of cold-blooded gasbag you are.

First I Was Afraid. I Was Petrified.

2011-03-15T19:59:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about fear lately. It's not that I'm seriously afraid of anything in particular. In fact, I live a pretty fearless life practically devoid of thrills and risks. The time I spend on the road is probably one of the very few things I'm worried about because even if I drive defensively, everyone around me doesn't -- it seems. I am also concerned about the fact that my health is failing ... I think ... although I'm hoping it's just the hypochondriac bastard in me talking.

There's no harm in being concerned about our safety, though. It's good to allow fear to take refuge inside us once in a while. Fear is good. It heightens our senses and sharpens our mind when real danger is near. Try being scared for a while. First, go through your day and think about what makes you afraid ... what are the things you avoid saying or doing and what would be the realistic consequences.

I never talked about death. Just the thought of it used to scare me to the core. Lately, though, I've been talking to friends about what I want them to do when I die: No one should see me dead so my body should go straight to the crematorium after I heaved the last breath. Only "Bohemian Rhapsody" and "Another One Bites the Dust" should be played at my funeral/memorial service. No black clothing...

I faced my fear ... got scared. It makes me feel a tad braver now. So go ahead. Be scared. Maybe only then will we be able to live a little -- without fear.