Loremasters of Gryphon Hall

Don Wickham Triumphant

2012-03-24T09:30:00.000+11:00

If you can appreciate the situation that Sherlock found himself in during the Season 2 finale, then you can appreciate somewhat the situation, of sorts, I find myself in.

Damned if I do, damned if I don't... and there's the accusations of crab mentality and tall poppy syndrome if I ever did speak out. It's untrue, of course... he's not so much a tall poppy as an infant claiming to be taller than anyone while sitting on the shoulder of a giant. Not that there is anything wrong to the claim in itself, but what if that claim is used to justify taking on a job that required being tall?

Unfortunately, I often feel that if Pride and Prejudice was written by a Pinoy and set in the Philippines, Wickham would be the protagonist and will not only get the girl in the end but also Darcy's money. It's just the sort of thing that would make a proper Tagalog movie... I can just see the satisfaction in a lot of Pinoys' faces as they watch Darcy get thrown off his high horse and Wickham "cleaning up his act" after such a colourful career.

It doesn't help that there are hundreds of Pinoys who do try to rise out of mediocrity and do things the right way... but their collective efforts give credibility to those who achieve their accolades through very little and mediocre effort.

Woe to those who call evil good, and good evil; Who [n]substitute darkness for light and light for darkness; Who [o]substitute bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter! Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes And clever in their own sight! - Isaiah 5:20-21

My poor brother.

A Frustrating and Disappointing End to the Day

2011-12-01T19:37:00.000+11:00

The day started out full of joy and hope. Today, I shall finally hold my daughter in my arms. Finally, we can tell people the name we chose carefully for her so many months ago.

For yesterday we went in for her scheduled induction. Twice, she was given the prostaglandin gel. All was going like clockwork... except that the prostaglandin did not induce labor as we had hoped. We had wanted to avoid the IV drip being the one to induce labor, but it looks like that's not going to happen. My mother-in-law and I went home last night leaving her daughter (my wife) at the hospital. We were assured that early tomorrow morning, the IV drip will be administered and by midnight our daughter would be sleeping on the bassinet beside her mother.

Then, like that Rachel of Friends episode, other women started turning up, all already in labor with contractions. My wife had yet to show any contractions. Some of these women were induced just as my wife was, but readily started contracting; the others were being rushed in by friends or family, with their waters already broken and contracting all over the place.

Meanwhile, fetal monitoring assured us that the baby was happy and everything was normal but for the lack of contractions. The priority was clear: the birthing suites were for these other mothers. Every two hours, were were continually assured that we will be moved soon into a recently cleaned and prepped birthing suite, and 30 minutes later told that our birthing suite given to another woman. All day today we heard the cries of childbirth and hoped and hoped for them to give us a birthing suite—when we got one, the birth can be induced for real.

Instead, there was an IV drip hole with an IV drip attachment on my wife's wrist from 07:45 to now (almost twelve hours later) used for nothing but making my wife clumsy at using her hands. They had tried unsuccessfully to find a vein on her weaker hand and had found it necessary to use her dominant hand. With her left hand sore from puncture marks and her right hand with the attachment, things were obviously more difficult.

I find it necessary to defend the midwives at this point. They had been nothing but kind and accommodating and attentive to my wife's every need. But when 4 o'clock came and they said that they will start the real induction tomorrow instead, my wife wept. The doctors said that the day was almost gone, and they didn't want an midnight delivery. And with my wife "high risk", they'd want it to happen in the day when most medical professionals were around.

Don't get me wrong... I'd rather have all the medical professionals around when my wife gives birth. But what if tomorrow happens as today did, with hundreds of women coming in to push my high risk but low priority wife further and further down the queue?

Altogether a frustrating and disappointing end to the day.

Sometimes, I wish we had not agreed to this induction. My wife was controlling her gestational diabetes so well, but they assured us this was routine procedure. Thanks to today's shenanigans, I wish we just waited.

Of Whimsy and Verisimilitude

2011-06-19T17:49:00.002+10:00

It started with this very creative Pepsi ad linked by my friend, the Cleric on Facebook and our mailing list:

http://youtu.be/K4wR3OOemlM

It had all the amusing cliches of typical Pinoy action films: over-the-top action scenes, and melodramatic dialogue peppered generously with metaphor and simile. What was so cool about this clip was that everything was interpreted literally.

This brought on a lot of sentimental longing in The Cleric and some of my old friends back in the Philippines. We went on YouTube, looking for some of those old movies we loved to watch when we were younger—I went and looked for old Jun and Robin Aristorenas clips. I found it funny that what I saw as dead serious as a child are now, by today's standards, camp and overblown.

But, of course, this is retro and the way movies were made at that time not only in the Philippines but everywhere else. It was this very "retro-ness" that the Cleric said he missed: whimsical and entertaining action movies that are no longer being made.

There were some, however, who forget that these films are retro and compare Pinoy films from the 60's and 70's (which, even then, were lower budget than its counterparts in the US) to modern US action films. So, we found these responses on YouTube (where a lot of these old movie clips can be currently found), and I think they can be divided into two basic types: nostalgia and shame.

It was the latter kind of response that my friends found very annoying, and some of them made a point to 'answer' these responses.

Nevertheless, much as I would normally be as annoyed as they over these responses, I find that I cannot. While I do feel a certain bit of nostalgia I find that, unlike the Cleric and some others, there also is a fair bit of shame... or, rather, cultural cringe. The truth is, while I do not agree with every point of argument that the naysayers present in the comments section of these YouTube clips, I do not want films like these to be produced anymore... except in special circumstances. Whimsical is good, I like watching it, and I have nothing against it, but I feel it is not where the future of Pinoy action films lie.

It is in verisimilitude that I feel that Pinoy action cinema can truly blossom, and this is why.

A Digression: Whimsy versus Verisimilitude

Richard Donner rescued the cinematic superhero. He not only rescued it, but made the cinematic superhero possible and, more importantly, profitable.

On the other hand, Joel Schumacher (with the best of intentions) not only almost killed the cinematic superhero but made the profitability of such future ventures doubtful.

The difference between the two is a balance between whimsy (lighthearted and amusing) on the one hand and verisimilitude ('realistic') on the other. The latter word was a sign found hanging in Richard Donner's office when he directed the movies Superman and Superman II.

Verisimilitude

Donner wanted Superman grounded in verisimilitude, or 'having the quality of realism', in order to make the character and the story relatable. This was because he did not like the original script as it evolved from the original treatment made by Mario Puzo (of The Godfather fame)... he actually had the script re-written from scratch. Donner thought that the script, while admitting that it was well-written (it was written by Puzo, after all), was campy, unrealistic and ridiculous. For instance, one of the original scenes was that Superman would swoop down on who he thought was Lex Luthor and finds out that he had actually found Telly Savalas.^{1, 2}

So, he had the script changed to be less campy, more realistic and less ridiculous—and history was made. This film helped establish the superhero movie as a respected film genre. Donner's Superman was so successful that even decades later people still think of Christopher Reeve as the quintessential Superman.

Whimsy

Of course, the Salkinds (who were producers of Superman) eventually got rid of Donner and, eventually, realised their original vision of a campy Superman in several sequels (even getting a comedian to share precious screen time). None of the sequels, however, were as highly regarded as the first two films that was Donner's vision.

When Tim Burton's Batman first came into the scene, it was what some hailed as, finally, the Batman movie to stand up to Donner's Superman... and, for all intents and purposes, it was. It rescued Batman from decades of Adam West's camp rendition and returned Batman to his roots—a man so damaged by the murder of his parents that he dresses up like a bat to mercilessly beat up bad guys (how did the Adam West Batman ever maintain his camp with such a burden?).

But, not everyone was happy with it. People only remembered the ba-ba-ba-ba-batman tv series and reacted negatively to this film and the Burton-directed sequel. Roger Ebert believed that while Batman Returns was not a bad movie, he still gave it a negative review because "superheroes and film noir don't go together", reasoning that "the very essence of noir is that there are no more heroes."³

As much as I respect Ebert, I think here he misses the point.

Nevertheless, too many people believed in Ebert and others, resulting in pressuring Schumacher (who, in fairness, originally wanted to film an adaptation of Frank Miller's Batman: Year One, but was rejected by the studio—I had initially believed that the only Batman Schumacher knew was the Adam West one) to make the film series more mainstream, and (with tragic consequences) marketable and "toyetic".

Critics enjoyed the film. It sold more toys than its predecessors. It was a triumph for whimsy and entertainment. It was a triumph for compromise.

Of course, Schumacher's reputation was tainted. More importantly, the sequels eventually disappointed fans and critics alike and almost killed the franchise. Superhero films, as a genre, became, once again, just another product of whimsy.

Years later, Christopher Nolan would take inspiration from the Donner treatment to imbue new life, respectability and, ultimately, marketability into the rebooted Batman film franchise.¹

A whimsical character imbued with verisimilitude not only works, it works well.

If only Bryan Singer also realised this.

"Whimsy" in Pinoy Cinema

I do not believe that most of the classic Pinoy action films were intentionally and deliberately products of whimsy. They just ended up that way because the templates they based these action films on were from a more whimsical and optimistic age, an age when cinematic techniques and movie special effects technology did not and, in some cases, cannot replicate real life. Because of these, just like theatre, audiences had to suspend their disbelief a bit more than their more contemporary counterparts.

Pinoy films (just like most films of other countries in the same region), because of a perpetually lower budget and other factors, had to keep to this sort of movie-making longer than their western counterpart. This part of the formula, I understand.

But while elsewhere others were experimenting in story-telling techniques that can produce a greater degree of verisimilitude than ever, Pinoy films would, on the whole, stagnate. While elsewhere, films similar in plot to "Little Lord Fauntleroy" and "Princess Sara" became a passing trend, Pinoys would fall in love with this formula—as well as other formulae from the golden age of cinema—and would make them staples not only of movies but, later television shows.

Basically, while the world went more and more towards verisimilitude (developing techniques, with various levels of success, to present the whimsical in as realistic way as possible), Philippine cinema would nurture the whimsical beyond its natural lifespan until it is now a shuffling, drooling horror.

Most of this is a reactionism due to misplaced nationalism. Why, pundits would ask, should we pattern ourselves again on the "imperialistic west" and the "mapanakop na dayuhan"? They forget, quite conveniently, that the formulae they are defending originally came from the west.

All across the board, in various degrees, we have this openly reactionist suspicion of what is imported while becoming consumers of it. So we import foreign movies and tv series (not all from the imperialistic Americans, mind you—we also love our Latin Americans and fellow Asians) while loudly defending our "culture". We have become two-faced lovers, like a man protesting loudly that he loves his wife and his family while having a prostitute on his lap.

But, of course, we still eventually imitate, if for no other reason than to remain relevant. Some attempts at imitating foreign storytelling techniques have left me proud, like the biopics of Jose Rizal and Macario Sakay, high drama on the high seas like Muro Ami (which preserves whimsy without wallowing in it) and, recently, RPG: Metanoia.

But the addiction to the whimsical still ruins even almost point-by-point imitation: "Kailangan Ko Ikaw", an almost exact copy of "Notting Hill", was ruined because they tried to make it more lighthearted than it already was. What could have been a classic is just another tragic example of the triumph of camp, portraying a Senator (who, ironically, appeared to have the best acting in the movie) who misappropriates public resources and law enforcers just to set up a totally bogus "happy ending". It was worse than Deux Ex Machina.

I can go on about how great shows like Mulawin and Encantadia were eventually ruined in the same fashion, but why beat a dead horse?

In Defense of Whimsy and Entertainment

Nevertheless, there are occasions when whimsy, not verisimilitude, is what is needed. Just as there are times when intrinsically whimsical subjects (like superheroes and fantasy) have to have verisimilitude applied to them, those which are too real and too stark are often improved with the application of whimsy.

But by no means do I intend to assert that only a balance between the two is right and proper. There are certain treatments that must mutually exclude the other... but also treatments when we should just make up our minds to be entertained. Even Shakespeare, who wrote Hamlet, Macbeth and King Lear, wrote "pure" hilarity in his comedies untempered by "verisimilitude".

So while I bemoan plenty of current cinematic essays that hanker to whimsy (not just in Pinoy cinema, but elsewhere as well), there are some that I admit will suffer under too heavy an application of verisimilitude.

The best example that comes to mind is the recent treatment of The Green Hornet. At first, there was the knee-jerk reaction of incredulity—using a comedian to portray a contemporary of Batman? Shouldn't this story be more serious? I initially agreed with the critics and pundits that this was not going to be good... and in some way, they are right.

But there was guilty pleasure there when I watched it (the certain sort of pleasure, I suppose, that so many have in watching other more whimsical offerings of Pinoy cinema)... the sort of guilty pleasure I get when browsing through all the old Aristorenas and Lito Lapid movies.

I am unsure why I enjoyed this movie when others of its kind (the Schumacher Batman, for instance) drive me away? I can intellectualise about how this movie, in a more serious treatment, would have made the character of Kato even more subservient and would have presented numerous problems. I could argue that a serious origin story would fall flat and will not explain too much, and would make the action too plodding.

But the real truth is that with Batman verisimilitude works, but I felt (and, I have to admit that I might be mistaken here) in Green Hornet it is whimsy that seems to work.

In the end, I realise that the point is not so much that only one kind of movie or the other should exist—both have their place. I also realise that the reason why I can readily accept such whimsical treatments now is because, at least, it is an option and not the norm.

It is just like our reaction to shows like Master Chef and Heston's Feasts: yes, it is well and good that we have such gourmet offerings and an educated palate is to be striven for. But there is a place for appreciation of even plain food.

My objection to Pinoy cinema's infatuation with whimsy is that we are given very limited options: it's all just McMovies.

Missed Opportunities

Elsewhere, for instance, it is a tragedy if an actor is ever typecast in a role, no matter how beloved and endearing the role is. Being typecast means a limitation of the actor, and considered a watering down of not only the art of acting but also the abilities of the actor. Actors who embrace typecasting are almost universally derided (with some reason).

In the Philippines, finally being typecast is considered the pinnacle of success. Having one's name associated with either being only Maldita, or only kontrabida, or being one or the other of [blank] King or Queen is seen as something to be desired. Who cares, for instance, that Roderick Paulate is such a great actor, recognised abroad as a versatile actor who can realistically portray emotions... no, he will always be variations of the over-the-top gay man he has been typecast in.

Who cares for the subtle acting of Cesar Montano in his various movies, when one can have the howling histrionics of the "institutions of Philippine cinema" in whatever Mano Po sequel that is out there?

Because while Pinoy cinema was just like all cinematic treatments in the past, everywhere else experimentation and a moving forward was seen as a good thing to prevent stagnation. The Philippine movie industry is based on just preserving the formula.

When Jose Rizal fist came out after such movies like Sakay and other small, independent films that combined subtle acting with great story-telling, we thought that finally we are going to catch up to the rest of the world and have movies that is watchable not only locally but everywhere else.

It did not happen that way, of course, mostly because too many people who matter still have their head in the sand.

Do we really, then, blame those Pinoys (or part Pinoys) who feel a certain frustration that we cannot even pass off our cinematic attempts the same way Indians can be proud of certain Bollywood offerings?

And even the good Pinoy movies are nowhere to be seen. We have all those endearing but ultimately ridiculous Pinoy action clips on YouTube, but where is Salamangkero? Where is the original Igorota? I look for Pinoy art, all I'm offered is Pinoy arte.

It isn't because the Philippines do not have talent. I have watched too many Repertory Philippines and Trumpets productions to conclude this, and my friends are doing their part in writing better Pinoy literature beyond the "labas-masok" variety. I have also seen that a lot of Pinoys are talented film makers and musicians that we can be proud of... but those who matter (those in charge and who have "influence") would rather peddle crap.

All is not lost...

So in the end, I suppose it is a bit laughable that we accuse them of "loving Hollywood" too much, because they can accuse us of "loving Mother Lily" (or whatever nickname we can give the Pinoy film industry) too much too. We are missing the point—there will always be bad films on both sides of the Pacific.

The point is this: they have a bad film, and they call it thus and try to fix it (stumbling and groping all the way, yes, but they try). We have a bad film... and we justify it. K'se nga naman, ang arte mo naman... p'wede na 'yan. Sus!

But all is not lost. There are still courageous film makers out there who do not look at merely selling movies but actually making them. RPG: Metanoia is my recent favourite. It is whimsical. It is escapist. But they grounded it in verisimilitude that it made such a whimsical premise work well. There is no condescension, there is no dumbing down for the masses to understand. Yet it is a very Filipino work, from the way their "guild" interacts, to where they play and how even the very flaw of the hero's machine saves the day.

It is one of those movies which I have no hesitation to show my friends here.

And, thankfully, such films are becoming more common (despite Enteng Kabisote still existing). Yes, there is hope.

Pinoys, accents, and double standards

2011-05-05T21:31:00.003+10:00

Heard through the grapevine that Pinoys took serious offense at Lee Da Hae's portrayal of a Pinoy speaking in English... that is, she appeared to portray the Pinoy accent as something funny.

http://youtu.be/hXH9fOyN8ss

I find this really hypocritical, considering that Pinoys just looooooove to make fun of the accents of other nationalities—it is a staple of the sort of cringeworthy jokes the "batikan" comedians would always do when they made fun of Chinese accents ("Oy, ako punta Cainta pala tulo laway!"), Japanese ("Ugh! Ai rub yoo beri machi! HAI!"), German ("Oh, my kalbonen is so pakentaben and so spakenhaiten! Heil!"), and even homegrown probinsyano accents (just look at all the Bisayan, Kapampangan, Ilocano, etc. etc. jokes that still abound). Bubble Gang does it all the time.

Even the accents of those whose language IS English do not escape the ridicule of Pinoys (this video, for instance: http://youtu.be/ojpIEnuZLB8).

Pero, as most Pinoys would reason, katuwaan lang naman. Katuwaan if it is the Pinoy who is being racist and xenophobic... but beware the naive foreigner who mistakenly believes that most Pinoys would appreciate a joke seemingly made at their expense.

I never did see why this would be something that will reach the evening news in the Philippines. I cannot imagine it ever happening here: an apology demanded, or a lobbying that the "perpetrator" be labeled "personal non grata", for a comedy act on accents (like this video).

http://youtu.be/KpBYnL5fAXE

http://youtu.be/sxHTPNjAnsE

I find it sad that the worst thing Pinoys can threaten a naive foreigner is being labeled "persona non grata". I find it the greatest irony that a people who pride themselves on being very welcoming, very accommodating and always smiling are actually known here as being standoffish and petty (http://www.theage.com.au/national/bureaucrats-back-down-in-kiki-hooha-20110420-1dnze.html).

And solicitous, too. A friend of ours once took offense when a Pinay told her she had "chinky" eyes (she's Chinese)... and another time when a fellow Pinoy interrogated Æ on how regular her periods are. Pinoys can be very offensive... pero katuwaan lang naman, right?

Even more sad was that a lot of Pinoys actually felt more offended by this little jest on the Pinoy accent than what Willie did to Jan-Jan.

When in Oz...Ærynn and I, together with our good friend The Grey Fox, were able to get tickets to watch Danny Bhoy during the Melbourne Comedy Festival. Here is a sample of his act: http://youtu.be/1uOEMJSPE0I

Bampira sa Kapilya — Do I, actually, hate God?

2011-04-27T01:42:00.008+10:00

What can men do against such reckless hate? - King Theoden, The Two Towers (film)

If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen? - I John 4:20 (KJV)

It had been a very stressful trip. We had to leave immediately after midnight, Melbourne time (9 pm Philippine time) on 12 December and we touched down at Kuala Lumpur at almost 7 am local time (also 7 am Philippine time). It meant we traveled almost 9 hours instead of the expected 8 hours, because the turbulence was dreadful.

The entire time, we couldn't sleep. Not because of the flight—I can sleep anywhere even on a turbulent flight. But for some reason Malaysian Airlines thought it was fun waking us up regularly to feed us meals in the wee hours of the morning.

In Kuala Lumpur, our next flight should have left at 10 am. It, instead, left at just passed 2 o'clock (the time when we should have touched down in Manila). While we were there, we used the free Wi-Fi to Skype to everyone, her family and mine, that our flight was rescheduled two times and that we had to get a lunch voucher from the airlines so we can be fed. We tried sleeping, Ærynn and I, but couldn't, as we had to be alert to any changes to our assigned gate. Imagine being up from 7 am to 2 pm after almost no sleep.

We finally arrived around 5 pm. Of course, there was the customs and all the other stuff one must do before finally being able to get out. Then one must contend with the airport staff falling all over themselves to do you a "service", all in the hopes of getting a generous tip.

By the time we had gone out it was almost 6 pm. Ærynn and I were deeply concerned. We had another flight tomorrow that would require us to wake up at 4 am (we were flying to Negros Oriental for a few days stay)—we were not so concerned about ourselves so much but about how we were now hours late to pick up my mother (who was going with us). It was just our luck that we now have to contend with the Manila late afternoon rush hour and we had to drive all the way to Batasan.

When we met Ærynn's mum, we found that she hadn't gotten the message from home that we would be this delayed and had been waiting for us since 2 pm. She was happy to see us, however, and was only dreading the long drive again through Manila traffic. Unfortunately we had no choice.

A month ago, we had distributed a spreadsheet of our (ideal) itinerary to everyone: Ærynn's parents and sister, and my brothers. Weeks ago, F- said that he wouldn't be there to meet us since he would have commitments that day, so our plans was just to be fetched by Æ's mom and pick up my mom; F-had, at almost the last moment however, cancelled his commitments so he can prepare a meet up with us that afternoon and we were now four hours late.

But, as already observed, we had no choice and had to go on ahead. We can only pick mum up, as we had to repack when we got to Æ's old home for only a few days stay (we can't bring the entire 3 week stuff with us to Siaton in Negros Oriental, of course) and we had to do it early in the evening so we can wake up early enough to not be late for the flight.

Did we mention that we had just had a very terrible travel experience so far? We were tired, feeling ill because of the air and we had another flight ahead of us. Surely F- would understand us merely picking our mum up now. Surely he can understand since he, too, had been on international flights. Surely he can understand how tired Æ's mom is by now. Surely he can see how there just isn't any more time through no fault of our own. It is only reasonable.

Apparently, at least to F-, it wasn't.

While we were away in Negros, away from any internet connection whatsoever, away trying to relax in what was our first vacation home in almost 6 years (the two prior times we had been back were not so much vacations as visits because of unhappy circumstance: my father's illness, at first, then my father's death), this gem was written by F- on his Facebook wall:

We discovered this little "gem" weeks later, after we had already gone home to Melbourne with my mom to visit us here. I have, of course, blurred the names out to protect the supposedly innocent. I have colour-coded the individuals, however: F- is the red box, with the various individuals as unique colours. I do not trust myself to translate any of this into English—my distress and outrage might not allow me to give them a fair go. I also sat on this for months, hoping the distress would go away... hoping that, maybe, now that F- has thought it over he will set the matter straight with his friends.

He, as of this writing, has not.

It was actually Æ who discovered this. She had had a good time with F- and his family, especially his two daughters. She was amazed at how smart and precocious they were, especially becoming close to the youngest for she had said to Æ: "Why do you live so far away? I wish you were here all the time because I like you both." Æ had been trawling through all of F-'s old FB wall posts, trying to find how the youngest's name is spelled, and stumbled on this.

Her first reaction was that, surely, he could not have meant us. But the date and time of posting it were clear, and this terribly shocked her—she had never encountered anybody being like this to her personally. In soap operas, yes, but not in real life.

When I saw this, my heart had sunk. My wife had had dealings with him for years and did not have a high opinion of him, and for years afterward I had been trying to rehabilitate his image to her... even going so far as to say to her "Please love him, for my sake... he is my brother." All this, of course, was despite the severe trouble in my heart—F- had never missed an opportunity to humiliate me in front of his friends or my friends, quick to take credit for anything and always putting me down. So many times, as well, has he let not only me but our family down. I knew him, in short, only too well.

I had hoped to rehabilitate his image to my wife because I wanted to rehabilitate it also to me. Why? Because of that verse, I John 4:20: "If a man say, I love God, and hateth his brother, he is a liar: for he that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom he hath not seen?"

That is a very clear injunction: one cannot love God, whom one has not met, talked to and lived with, if one cannot love a brother one has lived with, talked to and argued with. There are also those things that Christ said about how if one has anything against a brother, it should be patched up before offering any sacrifice.

But is not as simple as having to love a brother because of duty... I wanted to love him because he was my brother. When he was small, I made him toys out of clothes pins, cooked him food when he was hungry... later giving him a percentage of my income for a time because he had no work. I had also given him his start as a professional voice talent—whenever such opportunities presented themselves to me (for me on numerous occasions) I always insisted that they bring F- along, too.

I wanted to love my brother, but because of his behaviour to me and others, it was so easy to hate him; but when Christ commanded us to love, he did not say we love only those who are worthy of it.

But this last one? Granted, he did not name us specifically in this public post, but he implied that he will divulge identities in private messages. In his first post, he strung us up to dry! He even had the gall to show that he was the injured one. Like Darcy regarding Wickham, I have never had the happy talent of being able to make as many happy followers as he, focusing instead on keeping the quality of what few friendships and acquaintances I had... but I had never had to feel that somewhere someone was poisoning the well and tarnishing our reputations without us having the opportunity to present our side.

But this was what happened.

I ask you, if somebody had been telling you for weeks that they will be too busy to meet up with you then suddenly changing their minds at nearly the last minute after other plans have been made... and those other plans go awry and none of the plans go ahead as scheduled, would you feel the other person was justified in holding it against you?

But that's what F- did: he even said to "yellow box" that he wished he had not given us the time of day considering we were like "vampires entering a chapel" who couldn't wait to leave. We knew he had other commitments, and planned otherwise... when he changed them, we would have gone ahead and met with him if we could... but that's the key word here: we couldn't.

We couldn't defend ourselves either: "orange box", "pink box" and "black box" were not friends of ours on FB, "yellow box" was a friend, but like Mrs. Bennet with Wickham she thinks the world of F-... I mean, really, what could I have said, the poisoned well, to them? "Pink box" already has pre-judged us without knowing us, saying we behave as if we are rock stars (which F- is quick to point out, untruthfully, as how we see ourselves). "Black box", who was a brief acquaintance of mine whom I don't know well, claims he knows me and my wife well enough to feel for F-.

Even if we had seen this immediately (which we didn't) our protestations would not have been seen as setting the record straight as much as indicting us of the very accusation brought up... not like we could have written to comment since I found, weeks later during F-'s birthday, that I had been blocked from writing on his wall at all—I only wanted to greet him a Happy Birthday.

But I had hoped that, eventually, F- would set the record straight as publicly as he demonized us: on his FB wall. I mean, surely, Mom would have explained to him? Surely he—having had to go to Singapore (a one hour flight), found that he was too tired to even make it to his out-of-the-way home and had to stay for a little while at his in-laws—surely he would understand by now that it was no deliberate slight and would tell those same, patronising friends how mistaken he was about our intentions.

Yet, he hasn't. More than three months later, he hasn't. Even after my mother had gone home, he hasn't.
When in Oz... During the Holy Week, the big events would be the Holy Communion on the night of Maundy Thursday (so named because it was the night Christ gave the Mandatum Novum, or the New Commandment to love one another) and the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday morning (even for Protestants).This contrasts with how in the Philippines and a lot of Pinoy congregations here, it is the Seven Last Words that is the main event.

We sat on this for so long. We live, after all, in Australia now. We have left all that behind. Most of that "joy fellowship" he so plainly said he would have rather been with are actually unknown to us and do not know us. So what if they thought we were these snobbish people?

But the hate and the guilt remains... I do not want to hate, but I do. And God, watching always, knows this. How do I make it right when I have tried so hard, so often, so long? I have no witnesses, of course, since I disagree that airing such family troubles to friends is not the way to go (until tonight, obviously)... but I have. I have tried to be a good brother and uncle, but I keep failing. How can I not hate the more worse sinner nearby but do my own flesh and blood, even if I have every reason to hate but every incentive not to hate?

As I said, I sat on this for so long, as it concerned only me. But, after chatting with my twin just tonight and comparing notes, I found that he, too, had undergone numerous little humiliations (easily passable as jokes or just fooling around). More cause to hate, but what can I do? I know I have written this post with an obvious bias towards ourselves, but really, what other point-of-view would I have? I cannot understand why F- just won't understand.

How can I love God if I hate my brother so, despite my every intention of loving him? Tonight, I don't have any answers, only hate... but, still, a little yearning to have true, unconditional love.

What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? - Romans 7:24 (KJV)

And so, the Filipinos "voted" — the Philippine Political Cycle

2010-05-11T08:08:00.000+10:00

How nice... my countrymen voted yesterday for their president. You know how it goes: we vote them in like they were the most wonderful people on earth, like they were the sort of people who would think that we were worth dying for. Then we find ways to hate them a little. Then they find ways to hate us a little... perhaps kill a few of us in a few massacres that nobody would remember in a few months after the event. Then they try to remain in power longer, or at least do all they can to "reward" all the people na pinagkakautangan nila ng loob.

And, of course, put their faces all over the place and claim credit for every good that is happening in the country.

Then it becomes "sobra na, tama na, palitan na" and we try to exercise our "right" to people power... or, at least, the right of Manileños to do it. Woe to any group of provincianos who try to march to EDSA and do the same thing: they're fomenting unrest, putting the country in a state of rebellion and are barred from entering the capital (yes, Virginia, there is no right to assembly in the Philippines if you're not from Manila). Did I mention that provincianos are actually killed? And that the provincianos run and duck for cover, pretending they were just minding their business, after proclaiming loudly na hanggang kamatayan kuno?

In the event that we do succeed in "toppling" another bad person (wow, from hero to zero, eh?) we find ways to try and bring 'em back and they're saintly again. And the cycle continues.

When in Oz... Politics isn't perfect... but at least you get the strong impression that politicians are held accountable to the bungles they commit... and punished accordingly.

And you don't see people "taking to the streets" just in case they don't like the results of an election. Also, Pinoys don't really vote who they feel they would make a good president (or everyone down the line, for that matter). No. They are encouraged NOT to "waste" their votes by voting their conscience but rather voting for the lesser evil that is perceived of having the best possible chance to win. "'Wag mong iboto yan! 'Wag mong sayangin boto mo! Walang ibang boboto diyan! Kay ___________ na lang! At least may chance manalo!"

Holy circular argument, Batman!

So in the end, this is my question: akala ko ba "Never again"?

How to renew your Philippine Passport in Australia, prologue

2010-04-12T16:29:00.004+10:00

I was sick today and, it being a Monday, one of the only days when one can contact the Philippine Consulate in Victoria without having to make an appointment, I decided to find out how I'm going to renew my Philippine passport. I have a few reasons for this, foremost of which is that Ærynn and I are planning to visit home this Christmas.

Ærynn is already an Australian citizen, and getting her passport is rather straightforward. I am, however, a Philippine citizen... but I was hoping that the information for renewing my Philippine passport (which expired last month) would be as straightforward.

Again, I was reminded of inefficient processes which still remain in place despite such great examples elsewhere, and only because it is kinagisnan na.

My first step was, of course, to go to the website of the Philippine Consulate in Victoria—I did not directly to the Philippine Embassy website because I live in Melbourne while the embassy itself is in Canberra: a state away.

I saw this:

Two years ago, when I got my permanent, as opposed to probationary, permanent residency, I looked at this website in case I need to renew my passport in the near future. And the website I saw then was similar, if not the same, as the one I saw today. > click > click > click... I mean, really? Still under construction?

I can just hear what was going on in the mind of whoever is in-charge of this somewhere in the consulate: Pwede na yan! Sus! Anong gusto nila? Spoon-fed natin ang information? Okey na yan!

While my wife has a form with instructions on not only how to answer the form, what to do with the form, where to send it and what to expect, I get this on my first step... and it's not much.

But, wait! Maybe the actual embassy website will have better information. Hindi naman siguro lahat ng Pinoy mga pwede-na-yan-freaks. So I go. Oh, yeah baby! I see an entire section devoted just passports! Yay! Proudly Pinoy!

I saw this:

What got me worried at first was the amount of white space. I mean, this is it? This is the information I need? I mean, hang on. I have to be fair. All I need is to renew my passport... apply for the first timers. So, even without going to any website, I do know that I have to fill out a form, submit photos, etc. The information that I wanted, that is, the information that I don't already know was on where to send the application form, and what else is expected of me.

This "information" did not exactly expand on my knowledge... until I got to the part I highlighted.

In view of the need to incorporate biometrics in the passport and due to the highly technical specifications, all applicants are required to appear in person when filing their application with the Embassy in Canberra.

What?! What exactly did that mean? Do I have to go to Canberra to "appear in person"? This is the distance from where I live, point A, and Canberra, point B.

That's 700 kilometers away. People usually take flights to Canberra from Melbourne. And that site seems to be asking me to do this just to have my passport renewed. As a reference, Baguio City is just 250 kilometers north away from Manila, Cebu is 600 kilometers away. Yes, that far.

I ask around. First, I ask my wife, because back when she was still a Philippine citizen had to have her passport renewed. Her experience with it wasn't so good, she felt they made her go through the hoops, but at least, she said, she only needed to do it here in Victoria. Ditto a lot of other Pinoys, at least those who still have their citizenships.
When in Oz...

Most Australians, particularly the older generation, are generally vocal about their suspicion of new technology and new ways of doing things. "That's an American thing," they would say.
But most Aussie services give information through a variety of means: online, forums, millions of printed pamphlets and people (volunteers or no) who are ready to answer questions... and answer them not only in face-to-face and telephone situations, but also online (forums, VoIP, etc.).

But we technology-crazy Asians just love our red-tape. It is tradition, after all. And, syiempre, suwerte ang pula.
But when did they get theirs done? Ah, long before July 2007. Anybody you know did theirs after that and never had to leave Victoria? A friend of a friend and, in some cases, of a friend of a friend of a friend. Uh-huh... not looking good. So, perhaps before July 2007, it was perfectly acceptable to renew a passport in the State you live in but what if things have changed?

And if things haven't changed, shouldn't it have been stated clearly and unambiguously on the official website? I can hear the masang noypis jeering now: Ang arte mo naman, p're... kailangan pa bang i-step-by-step ka diyan?

Yes, kailangan... especially if one is talking about sending an application and then finding out I needed to go to Canberra or, worse, going to Canberra and finding out that just mailing it would do. Why doesn't the site tell me ho I should do it?

It has only these links:

The application requirements tells me what I should send, yes... but where to send it, it does not.

The downloadable forms were straightforward enough... I had filled it in before so I know... but compared to the several pages affair of the Australian form (with instructions to make sure that nobody fills them in incorrectly) this 1-page form would only be just sufficient for a first timer.

Passport fees tell me how much they are going to cost... but not how to pay for it (check? money order? online e-payment? what?).

But I guess they expect you to call... okay, I'll try that.

I call the Pinoy consul in Victoria first. Someone with an Aussie accent answers (Pinoy na laki na dito or a "true-blue" Aussie, I don't know) and gives me some startling facts:

No, I don't have to travel to the embassy in Canberra (what a relief)
No, I don't even have to go to the consulate in Melbourne (oh, really? where does it say that in anything I've read so far?)
You just mail the form, with the photo and other requirements, including payment and then later they call me to appear just for the signature and the thumbprint... and that's for the new machine-readable passport

That last one was what I was actually expecting when I began all this and before any of the vague information from the official sites went and confused me ('ta mo, p're... ikaw 'yung confused). What the nice man cannot tell me is how much and where exactly to send it because the information is, supposedly, in the official site. Man! How delicious to cheap if only! (Ang sarap mag-mura sana!)

So, right, I am no longer confused by the process, having the process which I thought I was going to go through anyway, but I still don't have the address to send it to (send it to the embassy in Canberra, or to the consulate in Victoria?)

Haaaaay...

But my phone call to the consulate made me confident to call up the embassy. I was sure I will get another nice, well-spoken person who will set me straight. You can just see the set up a mile away, can't you?

Well, I made a mistake: I called at 12:08 pm. So I got a recording telling me that office hours did not include 12:00-1:00 pm. I shrugged that off. Makes sense. But Ærynn said that that was silly. What if I had not been sick and home today, a Monday? When will be the only time I can make personal calls? My lunch break.

And most services in Melbourne have acknowledged that fact, making sure there was staff during what they now see is the crucial lunch break hour when people conduct personal business.

But apparently, not the Philippine Embassy. Still Pinoy... it's tradition after all. But that's a minor inconvenience. I also work in the services industry and I understand if people are out to lunch.

When I got my call through hours later (not surprisingly, the line was mostly busy immediately after 1 pm), I got someone who sounded like she wasn't sure of the information she was giving me. But she gave me the following information:

Send a money order of $120 (not $90, as the fees section on the official site says it should be)
Send it to an embassy address

But I don't see the embassy address, I say. In an annoyed voice, she told me that the address can be found in the home page. I tell her I was on the home page, and I saw nothing. She told me to scroll down... further... further... further... okay, and click on the link that says "Contact us". That's the address.

When I was applying for my permanent residency, all the information was context sensitive. Not only does it tell me that there are stuff that I should send, where to send it, and how much, it was there with the other information. Crucial information like telephone numbers, costs, form numbers and addresses were repeated where they needed to appear... or, if they didn't, there was a link to that information.

On the official site, it does not tell me at all, with whatever is there as mere filler. No links to the contextual information. All of it assumes that people go to the site already having the information (supplied by gossip and word-of-mouth, as is traditional Pinoy).

So now, it's 4:30 pm... and I have only just finished getting the info I need... and I began at 10:00 am.

Wish ko lang talaga is that Pinoys would actually start thinking these through. And yes, alam ko maraming Pinoy diyan ang nanggagala-iti na sa galit na may Pinoy na merong colonial mentality (notwithstanding that the Aussies never colonized the Philippines) na hindi kinakampihan ang sariling atin. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hindi uunlad ang Pinoy kung ang palaging iniisip nila ay "Pwede na 'yan, 'wag ng magreklamo... mag-People Power na lang tayo for just any reason". And yes, I admit I'm Pinoy and that I, myself, am not perfect. But if children and fools can point out that the Emperor is butt nekid, I think I have the right to point out where Pinoys screw up.

My next post, "How to renew your Philippine Passport in Australia, instructions" will cover the actual process after I've gone through it, so I can be sure that it is the right one.

2009-02-16T10:43:00.005+11:00

What has happened to us? Ærynn and I used to be so optimistic. We used to revel so much in our "freedom", rejoicing in the fact that we are living away from our parents and our family. So happy that we don't have to deal with Pinoy busy-bodiness...

... and then my father died.

He's been dead for a year now... and we have not gone out for the trips we were so proud of being able to do so freely. We don't go out in the weekends anymore. We stay at home.

It was very presumptuous of us to have assumed that we can go out and have fun while everyone back home would have remained as they were, ready to be for us what we want them to be when we got home. We didn't think that they, too, have the right to change.

I will never be able to drive my Dad along the Great Ocean Road. I will never experience the loveliness of showing him around the libraries here. I will never be able to show him how sophisticated we have become. It is the badly itching toe of a foot long amputated.

Life sucks. Death sucks.

Ærynn and I have promised to attempt to recover this year.

Why I am terrified of having kids

2008-08-04T10:13:00.005+10:00

All of us have experienced being outmaneuvered by a younger, more favored sibling. One event in my life was when I was minding my own business, eating my noodle soup, with a glass of orange juice on the side. F-, my younger brother, feeling a bit malicious at the time, then takes my orange juice, pours it into my soup, and starts laughing. We were very young then.

I do not tell my mom, who was sitting just close by but who did not see the incident. After so many "incidents" like this, I have learned to keep my trap shut—it will always begin with me making an "accusation" that F- will vehemently deny, progressing to my strong insistence to prove that the incident happened and that F- was responsible, with F- going on to say that maybe I did that to myself, seeing as there was no sense to him doing it, finally my Mom (or Dad) refusing to see the "evidence" and getting mad.

In the end, I just throw the soup away when Mom isn't looking and try to find some other food elsewhere. Meanwhile, F- has his fun and I have my peace.

When I was in the Philippines, a nation of double standards when it came to religious faith and practice, I must say I was still shielded from the gross disbelief of people. While atheists and agnostics were the faceless enemy, I frequently waged war on them in forums and on the writing of article. I was sure of the rightness of my cause and confident that, once everyone can see things with an unbiased eye, people will see that, truly, there is a God, that God revealed himself ultimately in Jesus, and that He gave His life to save many.

Moving to Australia was a shock. I already knew that Australia was an atheist nation and I had my doubts about living there. From my last few posts, you can see that my reaction to Australia was overwhelmingly positive. But it was still a shock to suddenly be confronted with the divide between atheism and Christianity here.

Atheists are no longer the faceless, wicked enemy I so casually battled with on the forums online. They are still wicked, true, but they are also people. Some have become my friends. However, they have assumed the role that F- used to fill, that of favored child that can harass with impunity, display contradictory behavior and moral "standards" (what they call "standards" anyway, which is actually just a vague pastiche of various political views and dietary convictions) and still hold the moral high ground (at least in their eyes). At last I know what homosexuals and communists felt so many decades before—having to hide their true self, their true beliefs and their true convictions because they do not want to be rejected... and hurting at the same time. It is a blessed relief to be able to go home and be able to join hands with Ærynn and pray over a meal. I watch, silently, as my friends at work make fun and jeer at Jesus (yes, actually make fun of Him, as if He was some ridiculous figure of the same mold as George W. Bush) and refer to Christians as backward, stupid and foolish. I feel guilty over the nickname they bestowed on me, The Professor, over my perceived smarts and genius... I feel guilty because I know that once I admit that I actually believe in the Bible and put my faith in it over technology (not Science, mind you; it is a mistake that everyone makes, to equate technology and Science), they will start condescendingly thinking of me as backward, stupid and foolish.

And Christians... oh, Christians! They are so aware that they are a chosen group of people stuck in the middle of an unbelieving world. They are so aware of it, in fact, that while their theologians and church leaders are rapidly changing their catechisms and statements of faith into something far from biblical, they have set themselves so much apart from the world as to make them look like a laughingstock. One mother, for instance, forbade any of her daughters to listen to the radio... rrrright. Such a victim mentality and a sense of "us against the world"... while they glibly and flippantly take the Lord's name in vain—by prophesying things that don't come to pass (such prophets were supposed to be considered false... these ones, apparently, are exempt) or by long prayers (specifically discouraged by Jesus) and by long, repetitive singing with wild gesticulations (specifically discouraged by Paul, so that non-believers cannot happen into a worship service and think Christians were crazy).

And, in the end, not much feeding.

The trend? Most of the youth, all the cool kids, all the smart kids... all these are made to feel that, if they value their freedom and intellects, they are not supposed to be religious, and therefore they aren't. Most of the old people, especially the intractible ones, the bigots, the bogans, and the non-cool kids (or at least those who have been parent-pressured)... those are the ones in the churches. There is, of course, some overlap... lots of overlap. And the churches have a disproportionately large amount of migrants from countries like the Philippines, filled with people seeking the religion they grew up on, and making do with what they have.

But if you want to say "here's a typical example," that is it. I never understood Jesus' animosity towards the "religious" crowd, yet still be who He was, and yet, on top of that, make friends with the "sinners"... until now. Most of the friends Ærynn and I have are not Christian, while most of the Christians who should have been our friends have basically turned us off (except for one married couple). We really hated the combination of "holier-than-thou" (while extremely conscious that, when I say that, I am also being "holier-than-thou, a position I find uncomfortable) and victim mentality.

At the same time, Ærynn and I cannot show our real selves (as Christians who truly believe) to our non-Christian "friends".

When in Oz...

It is hip to make fun of Jesus and Christians if you're an atheist or agnostic, and to be paranoid, holier-than-thou teetotallers and pronounce that everyone else is predestined to Hell if you're a Christian.

I'd rather not be hip.
Now, what does this have to do with having kids? I desperately want to be a father. I desperately want to have a beautiful daughter. I desperately want to have a capable son. But what happens if I have my kids here? Will I slowly watch as my children, deprived of a proper church upbringing that this country cannot give, begin to think that a belief in global warming is more important than the forgiveness of sins? Will I watch when my kids would feel that it is more evil to eat meat than to engage in premature and premarital sex? Shall I watch them eventually identify more with their footy team, guzzle beer and smoke... than with their backward, stupid and foolish parents? Shall my wife and I be one of those old people, holding hands alone in church?

And even if my kids grow up well, shall I watch their choices of a life partner be limited to the very people I didn't want them to become?

I know I shouldn't try to control the destinies of my children, but I have to admit that I am terrified of having kids because of these.

The Fairy Alphabet

2006-10-29T19:24:00.000+11:00

Ifinally found a copy of the "Fairy Alphabet" from Sesame Street which I loved when I was a child. I thought I would never see this again.

When in Oz...

Ærynn and I love to cook, and in order to cook, one must have ingredients. So, we didn't think that it would be difficult to find those ingredients. We are living in an English-speaking and yet multi-cultural country after all.

Until we discovered that there are just so many names for even common ingredients that we didn't know about until too late. For instance, we had to put up with thin soups and crumbly chicken before we realized what Aussies called corn starch—corn "flour".

Below is just a short list of other ingredients:

Bell pepper="Capsicum"
Egg plant="Aubergine"
Chicken="Chooks"
Sandwich="Sanger"

A trip to the Melbourne Aquarium

2006-06-11T22:41:00.001+10:00

For the longest time, I pestered Ærynn to take me to the Melbourne Aquarium. Finally, being financially independent myself, I took her instead. Here are our pics, on the Sunday before the Queen's birthday (12 June). There aren't much of them, since we still don't have a real digital camera and all these pictures have been taken with my mobile phone (which doesn't have that much memory, so we had to be picky with our shots).

Little Pasig in a corner of the Yarra on the way to the Aquarium

The Melbourne Aquarium, as it looks like when approached from the waterfront

"Here there be dragons"—a really nifty Sea Dragon was one of the creatures we first saw

The Melbourne Museum isn't just a place filled with tanks of water that happen to contain aquatic life-forms, there are permanent learning kiosks as well...

... this particular one shows you the different electrical charges certain fish and eels make compared to your own (which you determine by placing your hands on some electrical sensors shaped like palms)

This is just an example of a sort of "question-and-answer" type gadget; read the question/riddle/puzzle...

... and then flip to get the answer/solution. These are not the only gadgets around there; others are actually more ingenious, but these are the ones that fit on the view-finder.

Ærynn looking over a man-made billabong^[1]. There were creatures living in it, too.

One of the main attractions of the Melbourne Aquarium—the "Shark Tank" (which actually has not only sharks but rays and other large sea-creaturs)

There were some signs that said that because of the curvature of the glass in the observation deck, the creatures would actually appear smaller than they really are. Later we got an idea of just how big when some divers were also in the tank to provide a comparison in actual size. That shark in the background was really huge! Crikey!

Ærynn took this picture as I stood on one of the observation decks.

This lady giving a little talk about sharks as divers prepared to get into the tank to feed the sharks and the rays.

Jellyfish...

... more jellyfish...

... and then this particularly magnificent one (tentacles as long as a person's height and that umbrella the size of a salad bowl).

But the most magnificent of them all is the display of a real (but dead) giant squid frozen in ice. I couldn't get a decent picture using my mobile phone, so I just downloaded this one from Wikipedia. To get an idea of the size of this small specimen: that entire block of ice is as long as a small car. Giant squid, by the way, have already been photograped alive in the wild.^{[2] [3] [4]}

When in Oz...

There is a way to have a guided tour around Melbourne for free—ride the City Circle Tram. After we left the Aquarium, we decided to take a ride on this special tram (which, unlike the other modern trams, is one of the older ones made of wood, makes lots of noise, and has an automated voice script for each of the tram stops, explaining the sights) and we had a wonderful time. (We took the tram at night, so I'm showing another Wikipedia picture below.)

Now that the "holy grail" of finding a live giant squid is out of the way, I find out that there is an even larger squid out there. What does one call a squid even larger than the giant squid? "Colossal Squid."^{[5] [6] [7]} Figures. I took this comparison chart from this squid article on BBC.

A Foggy Day in Melbourne Town

2006-05-28T17:08:00.000+10:00

One of the things that one doesn't get very often in the Philippines anymore is real fog.View from our balcony on a normal day. . . I used to experience fog in the Philippines when I was a young boy, during the early mornings in Baguio or in Cavite. It has been a long time since I actually had the pleasure of real fog.

But one of the glorious things I am experiencing now is real, almost tangible fog. Winter is setting in and it is getting cold, but fog does not usually form. However, over the last two weeks, there have been at least one day that there has been fog, and I find it wonderful.

Oh, I am aware that fog is dangerous and hazardous. Ærynn tells me that fog only seems wonderful if one isn't driving around in one's own car but instead riding a train to the city.. . . the same view during a foggy day. I also know that it may not be very healthy to have too much fog. But it is still the most wonderful fog I ever experienced, not dissipating when one comes too close and with one's breath actually adding to it. Here, too, one's breath actually "smokes" even when one is merely talking. Still, I find the fog really nice.

There are times when I try to awaken the "creepiness" when I walk through the fog, because this is very much like the sort of atmospheric quality of the game and movie called "Silent Hill" but one thing that is absent in Silent Hill but present in Heidelberg are the noises and the colors. One cannot feel creepy. I feel, rather, that this is just one aspect of Lothlörien: dangerous but wonderful at the same time.

I took all these pictures with my camera in my mobile phone when Ærynn and I were on our way to the train station to go to work. As she had mentioned in the previous entry, I now have a job. For the first week while we underwent what is known as "induction" I also got to ride the train in the morning and walk from the station to the street where the main office was. Incidentally, it was just a block away from where Ærynn worked, but we've only had lunch together once—we were that busy. A bit about the differences between what Pinoys and Aussies mean about induction. To the Pinoy, induction is a ceremony where some new manager or big-shot is welcomed to work. To the Aussie, it is at the very least a three-day orientation program (ours lasted about a week) that is meant to have us up and ready to work: we are introduced to everybody and their functions (no long and arduous trial-and-error methods of finding things out through assimilation), we are shown what our duties are, and we are given a trial run where we are allowed to make mistakes. How about that.

The bowling lane just on the
other side of our streetAfter the induction, I was given the option of working from home. There are, of course, several advantages, primary of which is that I don't have to wear my suit very often. It's not that I don't like wearing the suit because I am glad for the excuse to dress up. It's just that I only have one suit and I can't afford to have something happen to that suit. Suits here are expensive (costing around $200 to $500) and having the suits dry-cleaned (a must) is also expensive ($11, while a good meal already costs $6).

That's another reason why I am in no hurry to go to the city for work, much as I want to. We've so far been living off Ærynn's salaray and even if we aren't destitute, having another mouth to feed has reduced us to living hand-to-mouth. Of course, this is not as bad as living hand-to-mouth as it is back in the Philippines, but being able to cut corners until I start having a much more regular salary is a good idea. And one way to cut corners is to prepare lunches from home without having to spend on public transportation or on a restaurant. In fact, I even make lunches for Ærynn to take in the morning.

The Heidelberg train station across
the street enshrouded in mistAnd so I work from home and, technically, we are allowed to keep our own hours. Practically, those of us who work from home need to keep basically the same hours as our office-bound brethren. For one thing, our team leader and Lead Instructional Designer, ð–, should always find a way to contact us and vice-versa. So we were instructed to install Skype into our computers so that we can always call each other if we need to. It was just like going to the office after all, except that I can be dressed in my flannel pyjamas and gusset slippers (which I was dressed in when we were having our weekly meeting via phone conference).

There are few things that I miss from the Philippines and which Australia does not have. One of the most important is true unlimited DSL Broadband. I believe a lot of people take it for granted that Pinoys pay a pittance for DSL service that allows unlimited downloads. In Australia, we are limited to a monthly allowance. The cheapest is around 300MB per month. If all you do is check your email, then 300 megabytes a month isn't all that bad.The Hurstbridge to Flinders Street train
coming out of the mist
But if you chat and use VoIP, you are in big trouble. For the unfortunates, their ISP would start charging them for every extra megabyte they download above their monthly allowance. The fortunates (like us) merely have their download speeds limited, from 512Kbps to only 28Kbps and no extra charges. Of course, it means snail pace internet access slower than even the dial-up in the Philippines.

So, even when we now have Skype (for free calls over the internet to our family back in the Philippines) and even a web cam (given to us by GM from Fairview Park), we can't use it. We've used up all of our data allowance and the only time we can use it freely would be today, the first billing day of the month where everything is reset. At least Ærynn had enough foresight to get the package that allowed us to download 2 Gigabytes a month, but even that wasn't enough. We're thinking of upgrading our account to 7 GB a month, but at the cost of an extra $11 to the monthly bill. We will pace ourselves instead.
When in Oz...

Ærynn was asked how it felt like to be a "dink"—of course, she had no clue what that means. DINK, it appears, stands for "Double-income, no kids" and she was asked that because I already had a job too. Finding that out, Ærynn had to truthfully answer that she didn't feel like a dink yet, since my first paycheck comes a month later.
All in all, God has been faithful and active in our lives in such a powerful way. It sounds clichéd, I know. . . like the sort of things that false prophets (televangelists) get people to say on their TV shows to get even more people to give them more money. But God really has. I cannot say I didn't expect God helping and blessing us—it was as expected as when people who love us give us help. But it is as wonderful and tangible as the fog that was wafting around Heidelberg that morning. People were taking that fog for granted in the same way that a lot of people take God's blessings for granted, which isn't always a bad thing. What is a bad thing is when we stop being thankful for those blessings and, instead, feel that we are entitled to them. I know that I am not entitled to what God has given us now, but I am glad and thankful that He blessed us anyway.

My Grass is Green

2006-04-21T09:22:00.000+10:00

It always comes as a shock and a revelation whenever one finds something new about oneself. Or rather, when one realizes that one actually has some attitudes that one never expected. I never expected that I would be one of those Pinoys that was subconsciously assuming that 'the grass is greener on the other side'. When I touched down here, I was smitten by the same sort of fever I once observed in Ærynn, the sort of fever that constantly 'realizes' just how much better Oz is over the Philippines.

I also realized that, inspite of all this, I am still very much a Pinoy. I still catch myself saying 'sana ganyan din sa atin,' as if 'atin' was still the Philippines. Ærynn is already well on her way down the road of becoming a Melbourne citizen (identifying with Melbourne whenever it is held in comparison with Sydney, for example) and feeling that Victoria is her state. I think I am fortunate that I don't feel terribly homesick or experiencing the debilitating type of culture shock (I mean, I still have it, but not to a debilitating degree) because I came here with a 'home' waiting for me. But, as I said, I am still so much the Pinoy in that I always wish and, indeed, insist that some of the wonderful things I find here should also be found in the Philippines. It was only a bit later that I realized that Oz and the Philippines maybe different, but not really 'worlds apart' different.

Take the self discipline, for instance. In the Pinas, I got used to long, unorderly queues to the MRT/LRT with security checking everything and almost everything banned on the train. The train stations are basically sealed off. But here security is so lax. It's relatively easy to board a train and step off without a ticket. I've even seen people bring along dogs, bicycles and into the trains. I've been told that times when security is heightened is when there are terror threats or big events like the last Commonwealth Games. But, in the main, it seems, Aussies are perfectly willing to obey rules without having to be told all the time by someone else. And so, no one eternally having to check your pockets and look into your bags.

Apparently a self-regulating country is a much free-er country than one that needs too much 'maintenance' and 'regulation.'

Yet, inspite of all the self-discipline, I am beginning to find that one of the things that Pinoys and Aussies will share is that there will be some people who are thoughtless and rude. Public transport passengers whinge (complain) through MX (a free afternoon newspaper) about the rudeness of people along their train line—people jostling old people aside, or not allowing passengers to get down first before boarding, among other complaints. When I read about that, I actually said aloud 'Ah. . . parang Pinas din pala.' I'm sure that there are certain places in Manila and Quezon City, or even the Philippines that have their well-mannered communities (up until the late 90's, I would have said Baguio City every time). But although Manila has a much denser population than Melbourne I found more polite, helpful people here than back there. Perhaps the added stress of living so closely to too many people is detrimental to manners.

So, whenever I hear an Aussie complain about Melbourne 'losing the Melbourne spirit that we had during the Commonwealth Games' (the spirit so akin to the mythical bayanihan spirit we Pinoys supposedly have) I smile inwardly a little bit. With Pinoy attitudes and manners still fresh in my mind, I still think that Aussies are better off. But that isn't very fair. It is, after all, a matter of relativity. Maybe someday, when I get to know Aussies better, maybe I, too, shall think that things can still be better.

One other thing that I didn't know that I didn't think I would see in Melbourne is poverty and unemployment. I mean, this is the country of opportunity! This is the country that actually gave me my Tax File Number, my Medicare number, and help in finding work within my first month here. I mean, there are actually systems already in place to help people like me find not just work but the sort of work that is suited to me. For free. While the universities in the Pinas would do its level best to make you go through the motions of education (not caring whether you actually learn skills or not as long as you end up with 'a degree'), they cast you adrift as soon as you graduate. Then you find that all those years of tuition was wasted on acquiring outdated skills or knowledge, that you have to undergo more training to make you fit for the workplace. So I am pleasantly surprised that the Aussies actually put a premium on what you are actually able to do.

Yet there still is poverty. There still is unemployment. Right here. Right now. Homeless people stand out anywhere, and especially here.

Still, it seems that Aussies accept that poverty and unemployment are a large enough problems in Oz that they created those very systems that are helping me now just to stem the tide. Apparently, even if we have a highly educated and literate society it doesn't necessarily mean an end to poverty (as Pinoy politicians believe with so much faith). I have been told, in fact, in one of those free employment seeking seminars that the phrase 'it isn't what you know but who you know' is as true in Oz as it is in the Philippines. What d'ya know? May palakasan pa rin.

The difference is that those who are unemployed here are those who haven't gone to 'Uni' (that is, the University, or college), or have very few skills, or started out too poor to go to school and get those skills or are migrants. On the occassion that they are Uni graduates and still unemployed, it's because the job market is saturated and therefore has become competitive. Which is all very nice and logical anyway. Of course, these may very well turn out to be generalisations and I may be proven wrong at a later date.

In the Pinas, however, where people claim University education as a right, and therefore all should have it, every job is saturated with people who are, in theory, over-qualified. High school students here can find jobs whereas in the Pinas if you are a high-school graduate you might as well be a 'no read, no write' person (which, I sadly observe, may not be very far from the truth) and no job other than the really low-paying ones are open to you.

But the Philippines does not hold the monopoly on the 'dumbing down' of education. Just this morning I was watching the Sunrise program on Seven (which is their version of Unang Hirit, which is coincidentally shown on GMA 7) and there was a report on the 'dumbing down' of English courses to make it easier for students to pass. Sounds familiar, since in the Philippines, it is being done for decades. The younger generation (apparently worldwide) are less able to read and write than their predecessors. It is a slow descent into entropy. So far, the Aussies are trying to fight it, as opposed to the Pinoy way of justifying it. At any rate, the Prime Minister (John Howard) seems to be demanding the inclusion of more classics on the reading list to improve matters (imagine Tita Glo, may she leave office, trying to convince the already lazy Pinoy students to read more books—it might be what finally topples her from power).

I also altruistically believed that teachers in Oz may be better off than teachers in the Philippines. Then I remembered this old article I wrote about an article written for The Age some time ago, and I'm not in such a hurry to become a teacher here after all.

As my wife Ærynn puts it, one only truly realizes that the Philippines is a 'third-world country' only when one is living in a more developed country. Yeah, humans are humans everywhere, and the same flaws in Pinoys can als be found When in Oz...

Whingers are those who whinge or complain too much (seems to have come from 'whine' but is pronounced to rhyme with 'hinge'). Looks like I've done a bit of whinging myself. in Aussies, but here I find a basic truth resonating again and again but which people everywhere do not want to admit: there is more freedom when there are limits. Pinoys do whatever they want, and are allowed to do whatever they want because of widespread and endemic corruption down to the grass-roots level, and so they have to contend with security guards everywhere and not so efficient systems. It is what they have foisted on themselves and it is what they deserve. Aussies, too, are prone to the same follies, but they have a set of strict rules which actually gives greater freedom.

It is a major controversy now that the police are pushing to have the law changed that will allow parents to be held responsible for the wrong-doings of their errant children. If this becomes a reality soon, maybe Australia will become a better place to raise kids after all.

But, these are the words of one who's only been here less than a month, and I'm only calling it as I now see it. I shall keep watching, and we shall see. In the meantime, my grass is green.

Someone once told me
The grass is much greener
On the other side
And I paid a visit
(Well, it's possible I missed it)
It seemed different,
Yet exactly the same

'Til further notice,
I'm in-between
From where I'm standing,
My grass is green

(Someone once told me
The grass is much greener
On the other side)(theme song from As Told by Ginger)

Burgundy Street

2006-04-03T17:29:00.000+10:00

Gryphon Hall014.jpg
Originally uploaded by Gryphon Hall

This is Burgundy Street, supposedly the heart of historic Heidelberg. I had to walk down this street to purchase a few things we needed around the house. This was the first time I went downtown on my own without my wife accompanying me.

It was ok, I guess.

A New Honeymoon: The First Week

2006-03-28T21:55:00.001+11:00

It has been an exciting week. Ærynn has convinced me to make regular posts on my first few days here; she notes that a lot of people eventually take everything lovely in Oz for granted and stop being thankful. She says, and I agree, that if there was some record of what, at first blush, seems real and good, it can stave off what the Commission on Filipinos Overseas told us was an epidemic amongst Pinoy migrants: clinical depression.

But first, a rundown on the past week:

24 March—Last Day in the Philippines

I did not sleep the entire night and most of that last morning. I hate cramming, but I found myself cramming to finish packing in the wee hours of the morning. The night before were the last two despidida parties thrown for me, one on top of the other, the very last one where my brother F— smuggled me to because otherwise I wouldn't even have been able to meet with my barkada from The Good Samaritan. Then, when I got back home, another of my friends was waiting for me to say some final good-byes. With all of these keeping me busy for the last week, I had done too much packing. Too much packing, that is, I was packing much more than the 40-kilo limit allowed me. I know I had to be thankful,
since typically one is only allowed 20 kilograms, even for new migrants like me. God blessed me by allowing a friend from our choir in Fairview Park UMC (http://fpumc.blogspot.com) to get me in touch with somebody who found me a travel agency that had a promo allowing me to travel with twice the baggage allowance.

Still, I was packing too much, and I had to decide which were essential and which were "merely" sentimental. The decision was so difficult.

Eventually, I did finish packing properly, with piece of luggage just lighter than 20 kilograms and the other just slightly heavier than 20 kilos. My carry-on luggage was exactly 7 kilograms. I was shell-shocked, and I badly needed sleep. I slept. . . so soundly slept for about three hours before being awakened to have my lunch and get dressed in my carefully prepared travel clothes (a collared shirt and sweater, a custom-made pair of cargo pants with ten pockets total, and the trenchcoat my mother-in-law bought for me). It was just 12:00, my flight leaves at 20:00 and I was supposed to check in, at the earliest, around 16:00. Yet I was already being hurried through lunch and the final moments of preparation by high noon and we were set to leave by 12:30. F—, who was supposed to accompany all of us, was late, giving me some time to relax.

I slept during most of the ride to NAIA terminal 2, but we arrived around 14:30. It was too early. But we were all paranoid. My Dad and I had been hearing horror stories of people barely making their flights, or being left behind altogether. In our minds it was better to be hours early to check in rather than do the stressful rushing through the check-in, immigration and boarding rituals. Just the same, we were too early and there was nothing to do in that hot, right-under-the-sun lounge area where my family was allowed to wait with me (Dad, Mom, E— and F—). We went to an air-conditioned restaurant to and made a token attempt to order some food before my poor family bid me good-bye earlier than they wanted to.

I had checked in my luggage as soon as we arrived, so I wasn't lugging it around while we were in that restaurant. The scale didn't ping or anything and I was left feeling regret that I didn't stuff in a few more of my beloved stuff; but better safe than sorry, right? Right. . . I went through immigration: simple enough. Went through the final x-ray rituals: not very inconvenient. And then, the long, long wait in a lounge area of which the air conditioning was off-line. I was sleepy and tired, but too keyed up to doze or relax. Arrgh, it is such a chore even remembering all this, but I know I can go on and on just describing everything that happened during those last four hours of waiting.

Finally, I got on the plane, met a nice Pinoy lady seating next to me (whom I realized later owned a Aussie passport), experienced the exhiliration of take-off, sampled what I thought was really tasty airplane food (at that point, I didn't even know why so many people didn't like airplane food; the braised beef that PAL served was steaming hot, very tender and tasty), tried watching the on-board entertainment (finally settling on the classical and later jazz music channels they were offering) before finally turning in to go to sleep. I do not know exactly when we passed the equator or when we made the transition into the next day but I count this day ended when I finally put on the sleep blinds and fell asleep.

25 March—Familiar yet Strange

We were gently woken up to be told that there was only about two hours left in the journey and, during that time, we will be served breakfast. I had forgotten to mention that because of the entire week I had been going through my stuff and packing, I had been suffering from a very severe bout of allergic rhinitis, and while on that very cold, inhumid plane, I still did. I controlled it with some Decolgen forte that a doctor friend of mine gave me after finding out that I had allergic rhinitis. But during the entire flight, I had been asking for more servings of juice than any of the other passengers. And they delivered it with a smile, too.

I wanted to "use" the facilities on-board, truth to tell, but I didn't feel the "urge." Too bad; some other time then. I was nervous about the touch down. When I first flew, I thought that I remembered that plane landings were worse than plane take-offs. Somehow, this plane landing was uneventful: I didn't feel like falling down or anything. The landing angle was probably so gradual that I didn't notice anything extra-ordinary. I just saw the ground meet us, a little bump, and then we were already slowing down. I was on Australian soil, and I arrived much earlier than expected.

I was supposed to have arrived after 07:00 +11GMT, but instead we had touched down around 06:35. There had been a strong tail wind. So far, so good. However Ærynn wouldn't around for another 2o minutes. So what? Gives me an excuse to take things easy. I was, after all, already in Australia. I probably would spend lots of time going through immigration and customs anyway.

Which I didn't. Immigration took less than a minute. Waiting for my checked-in luggage a mere ten minutes, and going through Customs didn't even reach a minute either. I spent more time queing up than actually being serviced. I am not complaining, of course. The service was great and they were all very, very polite. And around 07:00, I was done and cooling my heels in a lounge area that actually had more than enough seats for even someone like me.

Still, I was excited and keyed up, in new, very foreign yet very pleasant surroundings with the air filled with voices in very fetching accents. I had a few Aussie dollars courtesy of my mother-in-law. I had about fifty US dollars courtesy of my folks and a few thoughtful ladies from church. And I had a VISA Electron debit card that can be used anywhere in the world. I was very confident, and so decided to make a phone-call to Ærynn and surprise her.

There's just one problem. I had her phone number, alright. But I didn't know how to dial it. I sounds so simple, right? But I had her number in international format. I know the country code was 61, but how do I dial the other numbers. I knew some of them was the area code, but how do I know which ones they were? Were there any number prefixes I don't know about?

Ah, of course! The helpful Information Desk! So I wheeled my 47 kilos of stuff to the Information Desk to ask how to dial the numbers and received even more welcome news. I had forgotten to mention that before I left the Philippines, I set my mobile phone to roam, but SMART's roaming feature only allows SMS roaming, meaning I can't call. But I arrived on the second to the last day of the Commonwealth Games, and Vodafone had this wonderful promo: they are giving free 3-minute calls for people who had just arrived from an internation flight. So what's a guy to do when one is feeling confident and a man-of-the-world? Walk confidently up to the red-clad Vodafone girl and ask for my 3 minutes.

The Vodafone girl dialed the number for me then handed her phone to me. But Ærynn was not answering her mobile. The Vodafone girl gave me another chance, and we called up the apartment phone. I got the answering machine. I was getting embarrassed. The nice Vodafone girl let me call one more time, and I tried the mobile again. Oh, joy! Ærynn answers the phone! They were just looking for some parking space. They had thought that they were going to wait for me and told me to go through Customs in the meantime. I told them that I had gone through Customs and was all done, just waiting for them. Pleasantly surprised, they went to where I was.

My wife came bringing a bouquet of flowers. What? For me? You shouldn't have. I mean, really. . . you shouldn't have. After some small talk, I finally convinced her to carry the flowers for me. She looked better with it than I would anyway. But I appreciate the gesture (it came from Ærynn's friends at work). It was so very sweet.

My wife arrived with her aunt, N², who drover our car because she had more experience driving on freeways and Ærynn was too excited and keyed up to drive. We were supposed to have gone straight our flat, but we decided to visit her aunt's place first. There, I was treated to a traditional Pinoy breakfast. It was the first bit of food I had on Aussie soil.

After that, Ærynn took the wheel and drove us, well, not home yet, but to a "small" grocery store to purchase some needed stuff. Leo's, the "small" grocery store, makes a lot of grocery stores in the Philippines look like convenience stores. (I can just see the Pinoys in my mind's eye reading this getting steamed up over my "putting down" our country further; but my wife is right. One doesn't realize that the Philippines is a third-world country until you live in a first-world country. There should be no shame in admitting it, as admission is, I believe, the first step in curing the country's ills. But that is a discussion for another day.)

I was tired and very eager to catch up on some sleep. But everything was so exciting and everything was so beautiful, all combining two of the most beloved places in the Philippines that I loved and miss: Baguio City (where I was born) and Cavite (where I grew up). It was like Baguio because of the climate when I arrived. It was cold and windy, and the sky looked very much like that. My wife and her aunt thought that the morning was rather hot, but I was feeling cold. It was only later as more of the sun came up that I realized the truth that my wife would keep writing to me about: it can be hotter in Oz than in the Philippines.

It was also like Cavite. Going through the freeway seemed so familiar. It looked like the North and South Diversion roads. It was also lined with trees and there was a fresh, probinsya smell in the air. When we entered the suburbs, I fell in love with it. After being so used to roads that have been arbitrarily built and placed, it was a pleasant surprise to see every road, every intersection and every house looking like I was inside an exclusive "village" like the Corinthian Gardens or even Filinvest. Except that it was the entire town that looked like it. I daresay that in some parts of Australia there will be roads that are not as well kept or houses so picturesque, but in the suburbs of Melbourne, it all seemed like something out of a dream at the time.

Near our flat were wooded walks and lovely well-trimmed lawns (some of them for lawn bowling, which was free-of-charge to join). We were situated on the 2nd floor, and we have a lovely balcony that faces a little west and shows a lovely view and a large portion of the sky. The bedroom was large with built-in wardrobes; the bed was softer than the one we had in the hotel during our honeymoon. It wasn't perfect, but as close to perfect as I could want (I knew, of course, that my wife had to work hard and would have paid through the nose if we didn't have a nurse friend sub-let the other bedroom).

At this point, I haven't met the nurse friend yet. I didn't mind so much, though, since my wife was keeping me busy with some champagne and chocolate truffles that some officemates of my wife's gave us. We had bought strawberries and there already were some grapes in the fridge. So, as soon as we got home and settled down, my wife brought all these out and we had a "picnic" on the carpet. It was the first time alone with my wife since the morning. I don't usually drink alcohol, but we imbibed a lot of champagne (by our standards) because it went well with the chocolates and the strawberries.

At this point, I didn't know if I wanted to go out or not. Everything was so exciting, and I hadn't had any time to really rest. But Ærynn and her nurse friend (our housemate) usually attended a Bible Study every fortnight (that means every two weeks) and it so happened that it fell on this particular night. Would I want to go? Well, why not? We left after 19:00, and it was very difficult to drive because the sun was setting and it was getting into our eyes, and it was difficult to see the road and the incoming cars. I hadn't yet gotten used to the fact that the cars were not driving on the right side of the road but instead on the "wrong" side, that is, the left side. Despite all expectations to the contrary, my wife was a particularly bold driver after all.

Ærynn was a cunning one. She had planned so very carefully and kept mum for the last three weeks about my getting the long-awaited visa and that I was arriving that day. She wanted to surprise her friends who had, for months and months, been praying with her that I can join her soon. One can imagine the pleasant surprise that everyone got, a surprise they did not begrudge Ærynn her little trick.

Our Bible study that night was on the 2nd chapter of Ruth, and we discussed it thoughtfully and vigorously, with plenty of reasonable digressions, tasty home-made food and such. It was wonderful.

As we all trooped out of the house with the final goodbyes and all, I casually looked up at the clear night sky and was flabbergasted by what I saw. Or, rather, what I didn't see. I didn't know this sky at all. I had subconsciously expected to see the same sky that I always see back in the Philippines in the Northern hemisphere. These skies were strange skies with unfamiliar constellations except one, which was, of course, the Southern Cross. The enormity of it really hit me. I was not in the Philippines anymore, even if it felt familiar. But, strange as it was, it was home. My home. I am home. I know I will feel homesick for the Philippines soon, but that night, the feeling of homecoming was palpable. My lovely wife was beside me in the cool night air, with the Southern Cross shining brightly above us there outside Airship's home and later, out there on our very own balcony. Home. I am finally home.

We ended the day watching a little bit of the Commonwealth Games (very much like the Olympic Games, except the only ones allowed to join are those former British colonies that did not revolt) before finally turning in and indulging in the incomparable sensations of falling asleep beside the wife one loves.

26 March—Feeling Out-of-place

It was Sunday morning and, of course, we had to go to church. In the Philippines, my wife and I were United Methodists, but we were going to a sort of "Pentecostal" church instead (long story; some other time). It's name is Northside Christian Church (www.northsidecc.org.au) and we were late for the second service (which starts at 10:55). We made it just in time to see some people get baptized, to sing a few songs of preparation as led by the "choir" before the sermon was finally delivered. It was about Christians having a bad day, that Christians were not immune to having a bad day, that having a bad day didn't necessarily mean that you did something wrong, but that having a bad day can, if one is not careful, lead to doing something not only wrong but terrible. It was basically the lesson in the book study of Job that I was conducting back in the Phlippines (another discussion worthy of a post for another time).

All throughout, I experienced being around friendly people of diverse cultural backgrounds. There were Anglo-saxons, Indians, Chinese and plenty of Pinoys. I felt at ease at once.

That Sunday was also A—'s birthday (A— being the nurse friend who lives with us) and so after church we headed over to a place called Rivers Garden & Home, & Rivers Café to celebrate. It was long, hot road, but it was eye-candy when we got there. There were home and gardening supplies everywhere. There was even a Duck Feeding Platform (which, as I pointed out to some of our compatriots, sounded funny if it was read as a sentence). But the café was marvelous. Yummy was the word.

Now, up until this time I had been very well at ease. Then, something suddenly reared up and bit me and made me feel suddenly self-conscious and out-of-place. It wasn't the nice and polite waittresses that served us and didn't lose tempers when some of us wanted to change our orders. It wasn't A— and Ærynn's circle of friends, who derived from different cultures but were so nice and warm, or rather, not exactly.

It was the fact that all that time I was the only male in what was essentially a singles club of girls. Yikes. I tried to be as debonaire as I could, but I was too conscious of the fact that I was so obviously overweight and obviously married. It was amusing to see the numerous little faux pas going around due to the cultural misunderstandings, which did not make anyone feel uncomfortable anyway since all were friends; it was not amusing to know that one cannot giggle and 'gossip' around with them. Dang. I was having too much fun that time, but at lunch I became so self-conscious that I committed what was, to Ærynn, the unpardonable sin: I became so corny. I don't know how much I embarrassed my wife at that first presentation of her husband, and maybe I don't want to know.

My wife and I had planned to go to the city to watch the fireworks of the closing ceremony of the Commonwealth Games. We cannot attend the closing ceremony itself, since a ticket comes at $200; no way we can afford that. What we had planned was to just watch the fireworks along the Yarra River. But those plans went up in smoke when we arrived at our flat, lay down on our beds, and started mutually snoring away our exhaustion.

We only woke up to eat dinner and watch the closing ceremony on TV instead, definitely much more entertaining than just seeing the fireworks go off and not knowing the context of why they went off. I think I cooked dinner that night. After that, it was back to bed.

27 March—The Map, The Library and A Mall

My wife took the day off today so that certain needful things that needed to be done can be done. The very first of which was an appointment with an old lady about the library.

My wife had volunteered for the library to take books, CDs and videos up to people who are not mobile enough to go the library to borrow the stuff themselves. Ærynn had volunteered to bring libary materials to one particular lady, who turned out to be an interesting, spirited character who had plenty of stories to tell.

Next stop was the libary, so that we can return a book and borrow a few of our own. The nice thing about the libraries here in Melbourne is that it is free to join and free to borrow not just books but, as I said earlier, audio and video discs and/or tapes. Who needs a video rental store when you can borrow one for free from the library if it's available? Of course, the catalogue isn't comprehensive, but one is sure of getting only the worthy ones here. I borrowed a few books on World War II for me to read.

Then we went to a shopping mall and department store to some more shopping that we didn't do last Saturday. We first had some lunch at a place called Nandos, were they served really spicy chicken that even I, in that cold weather, couldn't stand. We also went and bought me a new SIM for my phone from Optus (all this time I had the roaming feature of SMART on, but it was too expensive and inconvenient to maintain). We had a lot of fun just shopping: it was a husband and wife sort of thing to do and it was probably the first time we are doing it together as husband and wife.

We had planned to go the laundromat later, but we were too tired and there was too much to do. I bought some stuff to wash the car with, but that didn't happen either. There was some bad news at the start of the week. Not really bad news. Ærynn and A— had just moved in from their previous flat and had to re-apply for a phone and internet access (as described here). Well, the modem should have been delivered to her at the office, but they didn't. However, we still had their original modem, so I set that up instead. We turned in rather early to have the pleasure of reading our borrowed books by the light of the bedside lamp, before finally going to sleep in each other's arms once again.

28 March—A day without Ærynn

Of course she had to go back to work sooner or later. Life isn't a vacation, and even though we are virtually celebrating our honeymoon again, jobs, like life, must and should go on. I was under no delusions: I knew that as soon as she was away I would be stuck at home, unwilling to explore and leave the flat. I also knew that this was going to be a temporary feeling, and so I offered to make Ærynn some breakfast and accompany her to the train station. She works in 'the city' and we live in the 'suburbs'. Instead of driving all the way to work, it was cheaper to just take the train.

Trains in Oz are driven by schedules as exact as the schedules of plane trips. They can even print out train schedules and people can rely on it leaving on time and arriving on time. Just the way a train should be after all.

Now things get a little fuzzy. I knew I did some chores, like clean around the house and stuff. I knew I read the books I had. Australian day TV is boring. But I was home and I didn't feel like doing anything else but wait for the time to fetch my wife from the train station.

Later than night, Ærynn tried to get some of her homework for school done but wasn't able to do much before turning in.

29 March—Really beginning to feel like home

Well, same old same old so quickly now—a sure sign of things finally settling down. I would dearly love to go around and explore, but I don't want to rush things. Instead I did a few more chores, that included vacuum cleaning the carpet and all that. Stuff that seemed momentous and 'this-is-my-house' type of jobs are so boring to relate. It was great knowing that this beautiful flat is my home, and my wife is here.

I learned that Aussie bathrooms have only two drains: in the shower and in the tub. If, for some reason, the floor gets wet (as it did when, as I tried out the tub, some water splashed on the floor), the only way to get rid of the water is to have a mop handy to absorb the water and pour them elsewhere. Only one problem: we don't have a mop. Bother.

There are also numerous logistical kinks that have to be straightened out. Our toilet, for instance, has to be repaired and is being held together with packing tape. It is a good toilet. Definitely more 'hi-tech' and ergonomic (for men, at least) than the ones I knew in the Philippines. But ours was damaged, and no matter how good it is, if it is damaged, it is only little good. Don't get me wrong. This flat is still better than any I've lived in back in the Pinas.

My wife tried to pull an all-nighter this particular night. She had lots to do but it was onerous and not very interesting. I stayed up with her while reading Band of Brothers, keeping her company before finally turning in at 02:00 the next day. I am really enjoying the companionship I am experiencing with my wife, but I feel that sometimes I become to corny even for her.

30 March—Ah, blogging at last

Thursday. Just one more day and I would be here a full week. Over the last few days I have cooked some food and realized that the two ladies I live with have a severe left-over problem. Food can just collect inside our refrigerator and I found that I can 'recycle' some of them to create other dishes. Most of the time I spend alone so nobody really minds. Things are different here, not better different, not worse different. Just different. Another paradigm. I find that I can mix well with Americans because I spoke like them, but feel self-conscious amongst Aussies because of the same accent (discussion for another time).

Anyway, I didn't do any chores today, but finally started blogging since I had arrived. I look back so far and see that, even though this post is already unbearably long, it only records a thought in a hundred, and the numerous little events that will doubtless later be important in retrospect are not even recorded. Oh, well. . . it wasn't originally my intention to be comprehensive anyway. At the beginning, I said 'only a rundown'. . . not a very brief rundown at all. Oh well. There are other days to discuss other stuff, like Yakult and lamb meat and all.

I hadn't blogged or done anything with computers since this became available. For one thing, what I'm using is not our computer. It is borrowed. It's A—'s laptop. Ærynn and I trying to work for our own PC, but we are all starting from scratch and it is difficult.

I stop in the meantime, at 19:12. The sun is setting. I haven't prepared dinner. A— will be out tonight, Ærynn is in school tonight after work, and back in the Philippines my folks will be attending the Thursday Group Bible Study.

More later.

Three days left. . . be still my heart

2006-03-22T14:42:00.000+11:00

Iam used to moving. I have been moving for as long as I can remember. I used to like to think of myself as an expert in moving. But there is a difference between walking a tightrope 3 feet off the ground and walking the same tightrope several stories up. I can say that I prepared for a move with no fear whatsoever just because of the very "correctability" of the move. I would move from Quezon City to Tarlac City to Novaliches in a heartbeat and not have any problems because of the very real fact that even if I screw it up or even if I left things behind,
This is my "countdown" to how many days I have left until
the flight, which, of course, will reflect that there are
no days left if I'm actually with her already.
I can always come back to either get my stuff, whether it were with my folks or in my former apartment.

But thanks to the sheer "uncorrectability" of the move to Oz is promising to be, I am (shamefully) at my wit's end. There's the weight restriction, for one. And then there's the stuff I'm not allowed to bring (my cherished heirloom sword). These are all severely limiting to someone who is sentimental and loves his stuff. I just extracted a promise from my mother to box up all the stuff I leave behind. For what? I'm not coming back for them, am I? The sort of rationalizations that play in my head is the possible scenarios of my kids poring over my old stuff and finding out what their old man is like. Possible, but probably improbable. Why am I like that? And why am I like that only when it is this particular move? I have gotten rid of stuff that had had "sentimental value" before with no ill effects; why now?

My wife asks me the same question everytime baggage of another kind would occassionally crop up in our conversation. It is so easy to leave hang-ups when the move seems to be "small-scale" but "large-scale" (perhaps I should have used the term "larger-scale" instead) moves show me clinging stubbornly and desperately to those same hang-ups? Why am I like that?

Fortunately, these same limitations may be the very things that will help me let go. Perhaps the very transitoryness of a Pastor's Kid's life has taught me to let go. Maybe what I felt was "small-scale" and "large-scale" is not so much a matter of degree but merely impression. When my hard disk crashed and I lost my portable camcorder, I was bothered but now I rarely miss them—I survived and went on.

Of course, when I talk about one particular emotion for the sake of the unity of a post there is a danger that the reader will assume that that is the only emotion I am feeling and not have an accurate picture of the "me-as-I-am". It isn't. What I've just written down is just the small, nagging itch amidst the torrent of joy and giddiness I am floating in with the thought that I shall be joining Ærynn soon. As I write this, the Daisy Chain above says "3 days until we are together." This is happiness. This is joy. After so many times of having to adjust the Daisy Chain, finally it is going to remain as it is and to let the countdown continue. This is happiness. This is joy. And maybe coming just as I am and leaving all those other things that seem to be so important right now doesn't even count as a price to pay to be with my wife.

And, maybe someday much later, I will have to think of leaving more behind to be in more glorified surroundings.

In search of Battlestar Galactica

2006-03-09T06:35:00.000+11:00

I may have several drafts of possible posts waiting to be finished, but I am too lazy right now to actually write something that makes sense. So, instead, I'm listing down a link to an interesting article I came across while I was trying to find out more about the new Battlestar Galactica. I hope that my wife and I would watch this series together someday.

Piracy is Good?
How Battlestar Galactica Killed Broadcast TV

You can also download (using BitTorrent, of course) the live presentation of "Piracy Is Good?", delivered by Mark Pesce on May 6th, 2005 at the Australian Film Television and Radio School in Sydney. (200MB) Very, very interesting, to say the least.

Who would have guessed? They actually made a classic series better. I wish somebody someday can do the same for Mulawin and Encantadia.

Resolved: I shall be constructing an hPAA

2006-02-19T01:48:00.000+11:00

This week has been unexpectedly busy for me. Since last week I had been involved in an internet debate and I have been having a rum time trying to organize my data. I have also been assigned to give the mid-week sermon last Wednesday (February 15), which meant even more organization of data. I have also had to give assistance to one of my brothers in researching a good enough PDA phone to replace his excellent but suddenly not as "useful" Nokia. Later in the week, I've had to visit the family of a poor guy who was murdered for his cellphone, and then make the tedious trip back to my former employer to get my back pay and put it in the bank.

My youngest brother had been taking his post-graduate studies finally this year and, I am happy to report, doing well. However, he is suddenly finding that having a job and studying in the evening is taxing and time-consuming. To cut a long story short: even if he has a PC at home and access to a laptop that his job is allowing him to use, he finds that both are still too inconvenient for him. He needs, for instance, access to several Bible versions and a few resources that would have had him lugging around big books, or else, copious notes. There are, of course, eBook versions of these that are normally readable on the PC or a laptop, but as I said these are very inconvenient to bring. The obvious solution is, of course, a PDA.

Since he cannot afford something brand new, he has had to trade in his Nokia and get something second-hand. If I might say so myself, the O₂ XDA II PDA we got last Wednesday was a good bargain. It had the original box with complete original accessories with it, including the important installation CD. By the next day, I had already installed a lot of free resources (like several Bible versions, including one in Tagalog, and some other references) and he was able to copy his report (in MS Word Doc format) onto it for him to easily modify later for his class.

It took almost the entire day on Wednesday to find him a good bargain, and I had barely enough time to prepare my sermon. I wasn't in the mood to use the lectionary and I had wanted to give a sermon on "Love" since it was February after all. But I found that having too much to say is as much a disadvantage as having too little. In the end, I merely listed down some facts that I do know about love (including the four divisions that C.S. Lewis made) and several Bible verses about why we should love and what cold love is a symptom of. I used the "Compose" feature of Gmail to write my sermon so that I don't have to open MS Word or WordPerfect. I wrote only an almost bare outline and decided to wing it later than night.

In the end, if the congregation is to be believed, they thought it was the best sermon I have given yet (I've preached a total of two to this particular group of parishoners), and one of the pastors listening even told me that he was touched to the heart. It was a personal success for me, but I must admit that it almost ended in disaster.

If there is one thing that ties in all of these is that, despite having a PDA myself (an aging Palm m130) I am still having difficulty organizing data. Oh, I am very happy with my Palm device for data of a digital matter; but I mostly use it as a portable digital library of eBooks I have either obtained or digitized myself. I rarely use the "To Do" function. About the only other function that I extensively use is the "Calendar" function (as a glorified alarm clock to remind me of important events like birthdays and tv program schedules) and the "Address Book" function (for storing phone numbers and other details). But the one thing that I had hoped I could use it for, that of a personal database, is the one thing that I have not used it for lately.

It's not entirely my fault. I had in previous times used it as such, using Documents To Go as a digital "tickler" notebook. But I have since worn out the touch screen with my incessant note-taking that it is no longer reliable for that purpose. The touch screen works well enough for me to access my eLibrary, but little else.

I can, of course, purchase a folding keyboard, but that kinda defeats the purpose of it being a "portable" digital notebook. In the end, it spends more time sitting pretty in it's neophrene holster as a glorified digital Library and newspaper (using AvantGo, I'd been downloading the Daily Inquirer and other news sites) that I can read in the dark.

But with this on-g0ing online debate, I really need a notebook for taking notes and organizing my thoughts. I had always used tickler notebooks before, but inspite of their working well for its purpose, they aren't versatile enough.

Then, several things happened at once. I remembered that back in college we used notecards instead of notebooks (basically, they are index cards used for the purpose of taking quotations and properly referencing them). Before I started using my wife's m130, I always had a pack of them in my pocket for taking down notes. They were easy to organize, but also easy to lose track of.

Then, while reading about Internet Phenomena on Wikipedia, I came across this article on the Hipster PDA, and it seemed to be the answer I was looking for. I quote the entire article below:

The Hipster PDA is a paper-based personal organizer popularised, if not invented, by San Francisco writer Merlin Mann. Originally a tongue-in-cheek reaction to the increasing expense and complexity of personal digital assistants, the Hipster PDA (said to stand for 'Parietal Disgorgement Aid') simply comprises a sheaf of index cards
Hipster PDAheld together with a binder clip. Following widespread coverage in the media and blogs, the Hipster PDA (abbreviated 'hPDA') has become a popular personal management tool particularly with geeks and followers of David Allen's Getting Things Done methodology and users of the Fisher Space Pen.

Advocates of the hPDA claim that it is a cheap, lightweight, free-form organiser which doesn't need batteries and is unlikely to be stolen. Critics cite the lack of integration with desktop PC productivity software and point out that there is no easy way to back up the often critical information stored in an hPDA.

Although it began as a joke, or perhaps a statement about technology fetishism, the Hipster PDA has rapidly gained a population of serious users, with hundreds posting pictures of their customised hPDAs on photo sharing sites and exchanging tips on Internet mailing lists. Enthusiasts also design and share index card-size printable templates for storing contacts, to-do lists, calendars, notes, project plans, and so on.

The Hipster PDA (perhaps so named because it is a pocket device, or as an allusion to hipster culture) has become something of an Internet phenomenon, gaining popularity primarily among young, technology-literate people especially IT workers. It represents a 'back-to-basics' or Zen attitude to personal management.

The answer has been obvious all along. In my most recent job, I had used index cards more often than tablets they gave us; I had even written my entire presentation on it. Of course, the term is a misnomer, since PDA stands for Personal Digital Assistant, but this "PDA" is not digital. It's analog. Of course, according to the article above and the site that "instructs" you how to "construct" one (43Folders), it's supposed to mean "Parietal Disgorgement Aid," whatever that means. I guess they need to keep the PDA acronym to preserve its "geek" factor; calling it merely a "sheaf of index cards" isn't cool.

I will be constructing one, because I need it (especially on that online debate on the mailing list), but I will be calling it hPAA, short for Hipster Personal Analogue Assistant. It will be pronounced as hi-pah (with the glottal stop) so that it can benefit from the assonance with iPAQ. In my mind are numerous "hacks" to make my hPAA more "gadget-like" (like constructing a cardboard wallet with pockets for Post-it flags and a pen), but I guess I'll try to keep it simple for now and use a binding clip in the meantime.

I must remind myself that I am construcing a hPAA not to play around with it, but to use it as a tool.

Anyway, I'm intrigued by this and I will give an update as to how it works. I can't wait to make one tomorrow!

Fleeting Precious Things and Forlorn Hopes

2006-02-10T02:48:00.000+11:00

One of the really good things about a really good book or a really good movie is that they have the potential to last. A movie I enjoyed when I was young I can reasonably hope would also be enjoyed by my progeny, if a copy of that movie still exists. A book is even easier—as long as I, myself, have a copy of a book that means a lot to me, the possibility of sharing it to my children in the future is a joy to me.

Still, there are certain things which are so precious and yet so fleeting that one can almost despair that anybody else can share it with you. People have felt this when there is a particular play or cantata or musical which was magical, but with a magic that lasts only through the night and only imperfectly in one's memories. So many people, for instance, point to Christopher Plummer's performance as Cyrano de Bergerac as his best performance in his entire career. I wouldn't know. I didn't watch it; and I will always have the feeling of having been excluded from such a wonderful experience.

Nevertheless, cantatas can be performed again. Plays have scripts that can be published and enjoyed. Musicals that one hasn't ever watched can be remade as films (the way the Broadway musical of the Phantom of the Opera has been) and be enjoyed by new generations. So, even here there is potentially some hope that one can feel that one isn't alone in enjoying these treasures, no matter how different they are.

The same cannot be said of computer games. One of the things that my wife and I shared even as best friends were computer games. Before even a hint of romance between us, we were already close trading secrets and strategies of the games of WarCraft and MYST. As we became closer and closer to each other, there was Final Fantasy VII. WarCraft and MYST both have novels written for them and complete histories that will satisfy the cravings of knowledge; but this is not the same as actually "living" the games. Of course, there still is a WarCraft game out there, and several MYST sequels, but as memorable as these games are to me, to my wife and countless others, they will be forgotten by the next generation. Not because they aren't worth remembering but because there is no way for them to exist once the technologies they are based on becomes obsolete. I find this very sad.

It is even worse with Final Fantasy VII. This game was designed for a console that is no longer being manufactured, and the discs that I saved for and bought are no longer in good condition, even if I am able to preserve the PSOne console for my children. Even when I tried downloading a PC version of it, hoping to relive some of the joy and happiness of playing it, it has problems even working on Windows XP. It is sad, because the story of Final Fantasy VII is one of the best that I have ever lived through. "Lived" because, unlike even the best books, role-playing games such as these allow you to actually live out the characters, even if the story-line is linear. Someday, I can hope to have my kids read Pride and Prejudice when they are old enough, probably watch a DVD of the BBC version; I cannot hope for the same with Final Fantasy VII. True, there is one anime "prequel" and a movie "sequel" to the games, but none of these hold any meaning apart from the game. These movies mean something because we played the game.

Sometimes I wish somebody would write a novel concerning the game, but I realize now that that is a fool's hope. The printed word vs the audio-visual journey are very different things. Notwithstanding issues of canon, putting "the game" down into words will kill the game. How does one translate all the possible materia combinations, the different strategies for defeating the Weapons, the side quests or even Chocobo raising, training and racing into the written word without making it long, tedious, boring and irrelevant?

Prequels and sequels are okay, like they did for the MYST franchise, but even the creators realized that they shouldn't novelize the actual games itself. It shouldn't be done for Final Fantasy VII either.

So, sometimes I wish that Square-Enix had the resources to "re-publish" their "titles" for each succeeding generation, or at least find some way to preserve it so that it can still be enjoyed. I know I am not alone in hoping that Square-Enix would "remake" Final Fantasies I-VII, at least, one last time for the Playstation 3. I know that, unlike good books, good games cannot be republished ad infinitum; but it still is a wish. Then maybe, as all forlorn hopes are, there is a potential for the joy of being in connection still with the next generation, a connection with something that had meant a lot to us while we, too, had been young.

Some Quiz results—wala lang

2006-02-03T17:49:00.000+11:00

As Dumbledore, you are talented, intelligent and powerful! You may prefer to be in a leadership position, and always uphold what is right. You set trends with your crazy beard.

Pacelbel's Canon in D—Rock Guitar version

2006-01-29T22:28:00.000+11:00

Man! This guy is amazing! Makes Canon in D totally rock! Wow!

English Vocabulary in the Philippines—A Private Peeve

2006-01-29T20:02:00.000+11:00

Iknow, on an intellectual level, that English, like any language anywhere in the world, will evolve somehow depending on the local situation. Elizabethan English is different from modern English in that regard. It is with that acceptance that I hope that Tagalog can also evolve someday into something more useful and convenient for communication and instruction.

Still, I find that there are certain idiosyncrasies in the Pinoy dialect of English that I find very annoying. It is not to say that I don't approve of local modifications, because I do. Locally coined words (the word "Tambayan" for instance) enrich the vocabulary. But there are times when words are added to the vocabulary based on mistakes. Some of these mistakes are unintentional, but in others they are not only intentional but deliberate. Over the years I have come across a lot of these, but I will only mention two right now.

Iam quite sure the local meaning for the word "salvage" did not exist until at the very earliest the 70's. I am sure because I still remember when the word "salvage" was still used in its original meaning of either "to save" or "to redeem" when I was in early grade school. I still remember when teachers and visiting nuns would talk about salvaging an unruly student. Things, of course, changed because of People's Journal.

Well, People's Journal didn't use the word "salvage" to mean brutally murdered initially. But during the early to mid 80's brutal murders happened frequently enough that it made the news. These bodies were often disposed of in garbage dumps or in the river Pasig. So, whenever these bodies were recovered, the headlines will, of course, say "Dead man/woman/etc. was salvaged last night from Pasig/Smoky Mountain/etc."—"salvaged" here meaning that it was fished out and recovered by authorities. People say the same things when they "salvage" useable junk.

Now, it seems natural that Pinoys would make the association between the word "salvage" with "brutal murder". . . it is natural (even considering the fact that English teachers nationwide should have nipped this one at the bud). What annoys me most is that, by and large, Pinoys have forgotten how and why this happened and insists on silly explanations.

A few years back a major daily attempted to explain why we have a different meaning for "salvage." I read it with eagerness. At last, I said to myself, somebody can set it straight. Instead, I had several different implausible theories, the most plausible of which is that "salvage" is just our corruption of the word "savage." I can still remember the approximate wording of the explanation: "In America, when somebody wants to murder someone, they usually say 'Savage him!' and Pinoys [supposedly] merely added the 'l'." There are a number of problems with this explanation, the most obvious of which is that I have never heard of any American expression like that. Savage him indeed; "savage" means something else entirely in the USA, if I am not mistaken.

In the meantime, Pinoys continue to use the word with the local meaning. And we sound idiotic as a result. Nowhere else in the world does the phrase "salvage victim" mean victim of brutal murder. Even though Pinoys have since been briefed on its true meaning, we still use it. So what? some ask. How would we feel if some other culture used the word "iniibig kita" to mean "I want to rape you"? Normal word coinage (even gay lingo) does not bother me because I see that as legitimate word evolution. If we all gave private local meanings to foreign words, why even learn the words in the first place?

This other instance is a constant, almost weekly annoyance. For years, the proper term for somebody celebrating one's birthday was birthday celebrant, and it still is. However, in the last decade, Pinoys have decided that the proper term now is birthday celebrator, and every time I hear it mentioned, I gnash my teeth.

Of course, the word "celebrator" does exist in the English Language. It means "one who celebrates" so it should make sense that that is the right term, but it isn't. The celebrant is the person who is the reason for the celebration, and the celebrators are those who celebrate with that person. For instance, in a birthday party, there is the celebrant (celebrants in the case of multiple births or those with the same birthday) and the rest of those who actually sing "Happy Birthday to You" (and take the pictures, eat the food, the cake and the ice cream) are the celebrators—the people who celebrate with the celebrant.

Let me use another example which Pinoys, thankfully, never made any mistake on. In any school contest, those actually competing in the contest are called participants. Of course, those students who are not competing but should still "participate" in the school activity by watching the school contest are called participators. See? Makes sense here in this sense, why not in the sense of "celebration."

Yet almost nobody I met who has heard this explanation would rather still call the celebrant a celebrator instead. One person once remarked to me "Well, the TV personalities use it. So do reporters. So, it must be the right usage." This annoys me the most.

This is just two of many instances. But what connects all these instances is one very Pinoy trait which fuels all of this: the anong-paki-'mo attitude. I know that there are lots of exceptions in our country, but the usual impression I get when Pinoys justify errors, mistakes, cheating and any other objectionable or annoying stuff, they would also snap something like "mind your own business." Because of that, too many Pinoys would rather be mediocre than take the steps to "salvage" themselves in the eyes of many.

Magic Box Trick

2006-01-23T06:48:00.000+11:00

How was this done? I still can't figure it out. Wow.

As seen on Break.com

2006-01-21T00:11:00.000+11:00

My wife and I were having fun about a Naruto "love compatibility test" to see which Naruto character was our "true love." Katuwaan lang. But when Ærynn and I took our individual "tests" we ended up with the characters that were being paired together. All that on our first try. Wow. And she wasn't so hot about who she picked at first, because the guy was a chain smoking shinobi. Anyway, find out more about the Naruto series and these characters here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Naruto_manga and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Characters_of_Naruto.

Anyway, here are our results:

Sarutobi Asuma

Compulsive smoker, jounin from the Leaf, youe one true love : Sarutobi Asuma

Rivals :
- Yuuhi Kurenai. Then again, it might just be a rumour that Kakashi is spreading so go get him!

Yuuhi Kurenai

Rookie Jounin, genjutsu user, your one true love : Yuuhi Kurenai

Rivals :
- Sarutobi Asuma. Then again, it might just be a rumour that Kakashi is spreading so go get her!

The Naruto anime series have recently jumped the shark, mainly because it is no longer following the manga it was based on initially but consists, instead, of a season of "filler" episodes until it can catch up with the manga. I don't know why I'm still watching it. I guess I'm hoping it gets better once it starts following the manga again.

I will always hate loud music

2006-01-11T16:51:00.000+11:00

Ihave very distinct musical tastes. For the longest time, I have appreciated Baroque and Classical Music, a smattering of some old "classics" from the early to mid-2oth century, some 70's music, and the music they used to play in the early Sesame Street. I also have been listening to Enya for quite some time now. I know I am not a music connoisseur, but I am definitely a music afficionado and I can hear, in my mind's ear, the music I so love. People have called me names ranging from freak to anti-social for my musical preferences, the tamest (I think) was that I was accused of being boring. I didn't mind... I enjoyed my music.

Now, a few years ago, I was introduced to several sources of unwanted loud noise/music of which I had no control or choice over. The first source are the blaring music of public transportation vehicles. The second source are the blaring boom boxes and "mobiles" of peers. The third, and most damaging (later, I will explain why) was when I had a stint teaching high-school kids. The thing with the first two sources was that they either don't last very long (the former) or that I can choose to stop my ears or leave the place (the latter), and so later, when I returned home, I can listen again to my "boring" music and hear what I remember hearing.

But those nasty, inconsiderate kids whom I tried to teach would not let up with their noise. I frequently had to raise my voice just to be heard because, in keeping with the current trend of unruly students of "heroically" defying their teachers, they did their best to maintain conversations and not keep quiet. No threats scared them—they know I can get fired for corporal punishment (funny how I can suddenly wish for something I used to be bitterly against when confronted with a bunch of idiots who deserved it) and they didn't care if they got minuses from their grades (they had their parents who can fight for the "unfairness" of grading their kids' "intelligence" based on how talkative they are; they can even convince the principal that talkativeness is merely their way of showing smarts).

At any rate, they were noisy enough to keep my ears ringing long after I got home. But, what choice have I got? I needed to keep not only my eyes but ears peeled when it came to students. What kind of teacher would I be if I didn't pay attention to them?

During that time, the only "music" I got to hear were Back Street Boys and those other loud whatchamacallits that are only worth listening to because they were currently "in" at the time. But one Christmas, I tried listening to a bit of Ray Conniff to ease my nerves. Imagine my shock when the only voices I heard clearly were the men.

So I frantically dug up my Enya CDs and other classical/baroque music and listened to them, and I fairly panicked when they all sounded different from when I remembered. I can no longer hear the lilting high notes in Enya, or enjoy the flutes of Mozart (I can't hear them), or the loveliness of Handel's Messiah. I tried to convince myself that my speakers were busted... yeah! Those speakers were ancient. I bought a brand new pair—still the same result. I borrowed high-quality ear-phones—nada! I had to accept the fact that my hearing was now impaired.

The reason why I am remembering all this now is that, two years after I resigned from that hazardous job, and listening only to real music at their proper volumes, I realized that I can enjoy Enya again. I can, once again, hear those lilting high notes in her songs, and I can enjoy the interweaving melodies of a cappella recordings again. But, it still isn't the same as it was before: I have regained some of my hearing, but not all of it.

Idespise all those people who think that all their loud music is "the way to go" (including kids who think that ears ringing is "cool") and scorn the sort of music I like. For the longest time, I cannot defend my preference, since they themselves cannot see anything "special" about my music. For years, I knew why—their music is damaging their hearing and their ability to appreciate real music; but I didn't have any proof beyond my assertions.

The day has finally arrived. People are now finally accepting that loud music is bad. Here is just a smattering of the links I found that supports my view, including one hypocritical account of a drummer of a band claiming that his hearing loss is not due to the loud music he plays but rather because he used studio headphones.

In the meantime, I will enjoy my Baroque music, thank you very much, while I try to train myself (in the spirit of Christian charity) not to gloat in the next few decades when those who are fans of loud boy band music and gangsta "rap" will find that they cannot even hear the music that destroyed their ears... while I admire the nuances of different versions of the same Baroque or Rennaisance song.