Beyond classrooms and other lessons

This photo together with my SocSci batch mates was taken right after we presented our thesis proposals.
After that, we became 'remnants', and the rest, as they say, is history.

Earlier this day, I was evacuating old college files from sets of DVDs to my laptop computer when I unearthed not-so-old photos during my SocSci years in CLSU. I do not intend to reminisce about those turbulent years (LOL) of my life, but as I click through the rest of the album, I can not help but smile, and then laugh, at how those times came in a blur yet made an indelible impact as to who I am now. As I always like to say, CLSU have been my turning point, in every major detail of my life. And my years as social science student were really defining and life changing.
But one fact remain that made me laughing throughout my brief review of personal history; one word that described my college life: REMNANTS. It was actually a sort of notorious title given to students who stay in the university beyond their expected time of graduation. Not that they want to gain more knowledge, but I hoped so, really.

An extended college career? It was never in my dreams, not a part of my plans to get extended in college. Especially when the fact that people would make a real stigma out of that misfortune had brought me no comfort. When I graduated in high school at the top of my batch, all I wanted was to NOT let myself fail the expectations of people around me. I was too terrified of being not able to fulfill those expectations of me…expectations that seemed to be burdensome for me yet I was more than willing to adopt for myself. That’s why I was really so desperate to graduate on time. I even once considered not being able to graduate on time as a curse, that’s why all I ever wanted was to finish on time and on the right track, to get out of college with a wonderful exit, and then find a decent work and be happy in life.

 Yet that was before, when I do not yet consider myself to be made for something better than just the dreams of graduating on time, or of having a wonderful and colorful exit in college, or a grand entrance to the real world of profession and career.

That was before when my world was just made of other people’s expectations for me, when my security was just built on my dependence with other people and not from within. That was before when I simply went to classes to study lessons and get good grades. That was before when all I needed to do was to bury myself with just books and lessons and assignments and projects. That was before when I simply contented myself with the dorm-classroom-library-dorm routine and satisfied myself with just the lessons the professor taught me from the whiteboard that was rarely used, or in a black board that was in the first place not even really the color of black.

Things have greatly changed when I woke up one day and feeling tired of the usual routine that honestly did not give me any sense of fulfillment, or a sense of purpose. That was when I wanted to find a way to be somewhere else, or else I stink in the same place with nothing to give when the right time comes.

It took me a hard time figuring out what I really like doing, and I realize I've been denying myself of a lot of reasons to improve by keeping to myself my passion for something I was supposed to be putting into practice. And since my course, and later the CLSU Collegian (the university publication which I joined and eventually led) changed so much in me, all I could do was to find that something, that place somewhere, where I would be able to learn things beyond the scope of the four corners of the classroom.

And these are just few of what I found out:

a. Learn from life itself. I realized that nothing beats the lessons learned from the school of hard-knocks. You have to keep your mind open to the realities--even the harsh ones--of life and muster every courage you can to be undaunted by them. Life is unpredictable, that is a fact. But life is also a series of choices we make daily, so it definitely will not hurt if we make only the good ones. If we can't avoid the bad ones though, at least we try to bounce back and be willing to change for the better. Fair enough?

b. Be with people. Being a hard-core social science nurtured individual, my greatest capital should be a heart for people and the community. Irregardless of my introversion which thankfully my course and my experiences with it have liquidated, I must show up; I must commune with the people I am taught to love and serve. Being a social science person means I must embrace the community as my laboratory and growth zone; a soil upon which the seeds of learning that I gained from my education can be sown and will someday grown and bear fruit.

c. Loyalty to country. Yeah, come on! It seems that today nobody is talking about loyalty and love for country anymore. It seems that we have become a generation of people willing to leave country in exchange for another life somewhere, in a place we call 'greener pasture', wherever that is. If there's one thing I am grateful and proud about my chosen discipline, it is the lessons of valuing national history, culture, and identity. In my personal journey with the 'science of the social', I have found out that heroism can be as real to us as they appear on books and movies. Heroism and sacrifice are real, because the people I know who made these ideals true to their meaning have existed. And they left a legacy on which I am intent to emulate, or aspire for.

They say that the greatest lessons are not so much learned from the classrooms as they can be learned outside it. And as a student, I have subscribed to that idea. When I became a teacher myself, I couldn't agree more. It was the lessons of life--an application of what I gained from the classroom--that had the greatest impact every time I land a point.

It was the lessons from beyond the classrooms that makes greatness possible.

It has always been that way.

The defeat of Death

(Google image: Death is only a journey to infinity.)

It's that season of the year again when people gets to remember their beloved departed. There's just that fascinating notion that resonates out of this human tradition where we try to once again relieve the memories of people who have gone ahead of us, and make a subtle attempt at reconnecting with them in ways not seem cognizant of the fact that they're now in a different world entirely.

But we keep on doing this not because it is a time-honored tradition but perhaps it is our own way of sending message to the living that we want also to be remembered when it is already our time to go. Isn't that among our greatest fear, not death itself but to pass on to oblivion and have no one to remember us? What is more tragic about death is when everything we are, what we have worked for, our dreams and ambitions will soon be forgotten after we are gone? We want to be remembered, don't we? Or at least the memories we will leave behind. At least the mark that we have impressed on people. But what kind of memories, what kind of legacy we want other people to remember about us?

I remember the first tragic death in the family that left an indelible impression in me. Trauma to be exact. I was in grade four when my paternal grandfather was sent to the other side. Yes, he was taken from us in the most sudden and most painful way. He was murdered. It is still vivid in my memory what happened that night, the countless shots of the automatic rifle, what anguish and torment filled the air as we try to comprehend what had just happened. Being the observant boy as I was back then, my mind tried to absorb every detail of what was to become a major turning point in my life. I hated guns from then on. I had an aversion to politics which has grown to indifference and utter lack of interest. Although I later majored in Political Science, that is only to primarily understand politics in our culture--politics which has killed some people closest to me. 

The second death in the family was the death of my uncle on my mother's side. I was in my freshman year when his body succumbed to disease. His kidney failed him, and after some weeks of fighting with it, he eventually gave up to multiple organ failure. It was a blow to the family, he was the first to go. And he was very young. He was 35. He was deeply mourned by relatives, friends and many people who said he was such a good man he doesn't deserve to go just like that. He deserves to live a long and fruitful life as a reward for being a good friend, a good son, a good brother to his siblings and a good uncle to us. But he went anyway. And I prayed hard that God will show strength.

I later realized, who can say that we deserve how and when we have to go? Are we actually in control of the events in our life that we can dictate how we will leave this world? Or isn't it true that what we can control is how people will remember us after we've gone? Are these impossible questions?

When a person you love is taken from you, never to be seen again, you attempt to let his or her memories alive by clinging to the past, by recreating their pictures in the faded avenues of your memory lane. And from there, you connect with them. It gives a superficial feeling that they are still here. Alive in our hearts.

And six years ago exactly this day, a death that was to become a major story in my personal history had happened. It was a death that has literally and figuratively shaken me, and rendered every belief I held so firmly to near destruction. It was a death that later taught me to reevaluate the mystery of life and the brevity of existence; a death so sudden and heartbreaking it led me to a point of questioning everything. But I came through with it. I held on to God more after that tragic day, and all the more in the troubled days after that. 

Well, she’s not even a family or a relative, but in her death she captured our senses in ways I cannot describe. In her death, she taught me invaluable lessons that I wouldn’t acquire even if I spend all the time comprehending the grand questions about life. Her very brief time on earth has taught me to look at my own temporariness, my own fading and withering away. Her sudden demise reminded me that life can’t be predicted, that it is complicated in its own ways. I have already written a story about her in the past, but I think a remembrance will be enough for now. And again today, I remember her.

Death is inevitable. That itself is a blaring fact.

But what has death only ever accomplish except the deterioration of our physical bodies, our temporal dwelling. What has death ever accomplish except that it is a game changer and only another beginning. And yet, even in the grave, death is defeated, for our memories will not die, our legacy will live on, and people will remember us. And in the eternal view of things, we are immortal, and we will say with triumph in the end: death where is your victory, where is your sting?

Of this I’m sure: I am not just made for here. I am made to last. I am made to live forever with the King.

(I wrote the first part of this in my journal last November 1, the all Soul's Day. Today was a friend's 6th death anniversary. I'm not trying to be morbid here, just remembering old memories. Yes, memories are nice, especially if they teach you lessons. Here's to all our beloved departed...wherever they are...)

The privilege of RISK

A few days ago, I posted something about my NRYLI* experience during my final (and 5th) year in college. It was in December 2009. Since I consider that event as one of the most memorable college experiences I had, I also learned a lot of things from it that they keep coming back, now that I am in the process of reclaiming values from my crusading years as a "disgruntled" student who wanted to find his way into the world. So here's another not-so-distant reminiscence...

During my sophomore year and for a reason I do not know, I almost got the chance to attend NRYLI. As a demure student then, without having any involvement to claim except of course being a Social Sciences student, I didn’t expect my name to be included in the initial list of delegates. Not until I learned that Dr. Cuaresma, a faculty in the Social Sciences Department, was given the task of handling the CLSU delegation, and with his notion that the conference was only fit for Social Sciences students, has chosen only students from our course.

Of course I came to appreciate later Dr. Cuaresma’s esteem for our discipline—and there’s even a sense of academic boast in that—but the university administrators that time, has found his suggestion to be rather unpleasant and self-serving.

So, after an informal meeting at the Office of Students Affairs and after student council chairperson Francisco Pablo disapproved our petition asking for additional financial support from the Student Development Fund to accommodate all delegates— I was informed that I got chopped from the original list of participants which Dr. Cuaresma prepared. They cited protocols and regulations and what-have-yous to justify their decision.

I did not actually protest, but inside me, I was vehement. Not until I learn to appreciate healthy competition and delve deeply with the politics in CLSU that my vehemence turned into rage. How come that majority of CLSU students do not avail Development Funds which in fact they paid for and are intended for their development? How come that only those in the so-called student leadership positions can avail much of the SDF which is paid for by every single student of CLSU, except maybe for the scholars?

Of course my former notion did change when I already began to involve myself in student organizations, like when I finally joined the CLSU Collegian (the university student publication) to become a probationary writer, who patiently waited to rise from the ranks, got promoted, and eventually became the Editor-in-Chief and Junior Adviser.

(Google image)

My notion regarding the inequality in the university did actually change when I was finally given the privilege to attend conferences, leadership trainings, campus journalism seminars, press congresses and other related activities which the CLSU Collegian, and as being a student with a leadership position entitled me to attend.

It was when I found myself being asked with the same questions, and thus faced the burden of finding a sensible answer to them.

Archimedes Gapuz (aka Che-che) my senior roommate at the Dungon dormitory during my freshman year in CLSU, in trying to drive hard his point, argued and decried for many times that only those who are in the position were given the chance to avail the SDF. He said that student leaders even use their ‘authority’ to abuse the fund of the students to sustain their extracurricular “fancies”.

Though indirectly stated, he claimed that there is inequality in there, and he just can’t accept the fact that the money he pays for the SDF is being used by just some ‘students’ in the university.

And though I appreciate his being critical on these matters—yes, he was a Social Sciences student like me by the way—and he may be right in some arguments, but I still say that he was being overstated, and rather resentful in many ways.

I considered it for the first time, though I could also be wrong, that there is actually no inequality in there, just for the plain reason that opportunities in the university do not only come as a ‘right’ reserved for everyone, but is also a ‘privilege’ for those who wanted more than to just sit down with books and lessons and be contended to survive within the four walls of the classroom. Don’t get me wrong, I firmly believe that education is a right of every person. But that person must be responsible on how he gets that education, or what kind of education he gets while he can.

(Google image)

I defended that we who are in the student positions avail the SDF merely because it is our privilege, which not only comes to us as being in the ‘position’ but that which comes to us as being individuals, or ‘plain students’ who happens to have that desire to rise above mediocrity, and who wanted to explore with daring the horizon that is laid before each one of us.

It’s funny to think that before, you can’t help but question the system, but when you finally become part of that system that you find yourself in what others may consider a difficult spot, but for you is an awakening to the realities of life. If it needs to compromise your former belief systems to the blaring fact before you, the one that is real and illuminating, then that I think is the essence of being able to understand the meaning of things.

Of course I sounded to have justified the system that I admit was not perfect at all. But in justifying what we stood for during those times, I believe that obtaining privileges such as what ‘involved students’ get in the university is rightfully deserved by them, because as I’ve said, they took the step to become better than others.

I know that at that time there were even better students in the university than us; I know that there were better writers and student leaders and student journalists out there compared to us; I know that there were smarter and more creative individuals than us, but the difference—and the only thing that I say which made us better than the rest is that we ACT. The big difference was that we DO things. The great difference was that when the others were just there criticizing and just merely existing, we STAND to realize things, we WALK to carry our talk, and we CHANGE even if change was only a superficial fact for others.

The absolute difference was that we confronted our fears, we defied our reservations, we rebelled against our own indifference, we challenged our limitations, and we risked silence and simple life so that other people may come to realize that after all, our collective voices matter, that our voices were not only whispers in the dark, but voices that CAN effect change.

What I did when I already graduated from college and became a teacher in the university was to encourage my students to be involved in the university, to think not only as a student but a free individual that can do better than just read and study. Because it’s true, people are given life, and it’s also in their hand how life should be spent.

Again I remember Sir Ponti, my teacher in Philosophy of Man, regarding this. In one of our class sessions where he encouraged his students to ‘drop the bowlines and sail’, he exclaimed to those who have no involvements in the campus: “what a boring existence!” And there was no humiliation in that, just encouragement and a little prodding for the better. That’s why I love Sir Ponti. Boy, that man is legend.

Since then, I have used my teaching position to encourage other students to drop the bowlines and sail. I still do so now in my own, little ways, though I’m already out of the teaching profession. I am committed to do so because I also once dropped the bowlines and sailed and have found it very worth the risk. I still do.

And it's awesome…       

(Google image)

                              

*NRYLI, or National Rizal Youth Leadership Insitute under the Knights of Rizal (KoR), conducts this prestigious annual national youth leadership congress. It is attended by student leaders and writers from around the country. It is being held in honor of and to propagate the noble teachings of Dr. Jose Rizal)         

Semper Fidelis

My beloved Alma Matter: to whom I am thankful for so many things :)

True-blue CLSUan

CLSUan: [noun] (1) a student of Central Luzon State University; (2) breed of intelligent and talented students coming from different cultural settings and political leanings, and religious upbringings who are raised and nurtured in the 658-hectare CLSU campus—capable of surviving in the wild and during extreme conditions; (3) a daring, critically minded individual noted for great defiance to deteriorating system; (4) a rebel to apathy and societal indifference committed in changing the status quo—mild yet tolerant; (5) an absolute synonym to the Filipino proverb, “Pag-asa ng bayan.” (Marvin’s Personal Dictionary)

I have many stories to tell. But journalists, as they say, are not always given the right to begin their news stories with “once upon a time in a kingdom far away”, and end it with “and they live happily ever after…” But since this is not a news story; and I seldom consider myself as a serious journalist (perhaps in the future when I finally decide to pursue journalism instead), maybe this space could bear something like…

Once upon a time in a kingdom called CLSU…

C.L.S.U.

 Five long, happy, and turbulent years in this university has given me the chance to ponder at the immensity of those letters; too great to even describe how those four letters, when put together, can change someone else’s life—or destiny if you may. It changed mine. CLSU, for me, is not only a chain of letters which mean Central Luzon State University. Well, some people would agree with me that it goes further than that. It means more than that.

This is CLSU: you enter its gates the first time and see that it overwhelms you. The imposing environment reminds you that your carefree high school life has ended. You remember the first time you walk around the campus, marveling at the green surroundings and think for a second whether it was actually a park (a forest perhaps) or a school you’re in. Then you take a place at the dormitory because your uncle tells you that it is the best place to stay in the campus. You find out that your roommates were very different from you—from different places, with different upbringings, and with different attitudes. 

Then on your first night at the dorm, when you are on your bed alone—away from the comfort of your own home and family—you can’t help but feel distressed on what lies ahead. You feel restless throughout the night. You wake up agitated, and realize that it was still dawn, terrified at the coming of a new day.

Then on the first day of the class, you stand up and introduce yourself: “Hi! My name is….blah blah blah” Then you tell your story, hoping to get an audience. You begin to have friends from “the other world”. You smile at the person beside you and say, “Kamusta? Tiga-saan ka nga ulet?” as if you really mean it because in reality you are just trying to make an impression. Then you identify with the ones whom you feel more comfortable with, you begin to laugh with them. 

At the end of the day, you realize that these people are not really that much different from you—that you and “them” are just the same, somewhat interconnected. And you finally realize that you have that incomprehensible yet tangible thing in common, something which you can share together.

Then on the following night at the dorm, when you are there lying on your bed, away from the comfort of your own home and family, that you can not wait to greet another dawn, and welcome the start of a new day…. And by then you know that in every waking dawn in this kingdom far away called CLSU, that everyday can be as beautiful as you want it to be.

Welcome to college, boy, you murmur to yourself with a smile…

Not another fairytale story

That story above is something that I am familiar with. It’s my story after all. Years come and go, and I knew I can’t make a fairytale story out of life. Only because the plot was not always pleasant, the characters—the protagonists and the antagonists—are not always knitted together to help the hero “find himself”, like Sinbad who explored the Seven Seas come hell or high waters.

Truth is, we want a perfect story for our lives. But, to use a cliché, life is not a fairytale. I wonder how it feels to be a kid again. Free. Sincere. Hakuna matata, as Pumbaa the warthog in the Lion King exclaimed. It means no worry. But then you always need to wake up and see the real thing: gone are the days when the world was still young and was less perilous to live in. Now, the world has so much changed—or at least mine have never been the same way again.

You need to wake up, like the boy in the Alchemist who wakes up every morning to find his purpose for existence. You need to grow, as people so love to tell you. You need to buy some doze of maturity at the next hardware shop if need be, my high school teacher once screamed in my face, much to my shame. I have never forgotten that since. When I entered college, I realized how much doze of maturity I actually needed to buy in order to survive. Or how much sanity I should muster so that I would not breakdown at the end of the day.

Life is like a box of chocolate, said Forrest Gump. You get what you pick. But man, did I learn otherwise.  My father once told me that I must be responsible for the decisions I made. He said it to me one time when I admitted to them that their first child—and the first grandchild in both of my maternal and paternal grandparents—will not be a biologist after all. You need to stand on your ground, take hold of it…you surrender now; you surrender everything, my father wanted to imply. I learn a lot from him, and he’s not even a philosopher.

I tried to not surrender in all things as much as possible. I only did so in a few things: one, to let go of the things not mine; and two, to surrender to God and believe that amidst the disenchanted philosophy of this world—God is real, and His righteousness always endures. People and circumstances may be challenging, but everything is wonderful only because God is: semper fidelis—always and will always be faithful.

(And since I seem to be exhuming age-old write ups, here's another. This was actually my last opinion-ed article published in the CLSU Collegian on its March 2010 issue. Why so sentimental? Haha. Ga-graduate na kasi ako niyan. Cheers!)

Winds of Change

(Since "throwbacks" are trending in social networking sites these days and I have been busy digging up files on my computer, I thought it will not hurt if I throw in my share. This one is an opinion article I wrote for the CLSU Collegian, the student publication and the organization which consumed all my childish frustrations and dreams of becoming a writer. It is on its original version. Man, I miss the olden times...)

Four years and seven semesters ago, I identified myself as someone who would be doing great in the university. I saw myself as someone who would be enjoying every opportunity of being in college, of having the chance to learn from this renowned institution. I saw myself as someone who would be fulfilling every expectations that I brought in my luggage when I left home to earn what other people consider to be a vital survival kit in this dog-eat-dog world—a college diploma.

It is still vivid in my reminiscences what I want to achieve, what I am going to pursue, and on what path I would be walking through—a path that would lead me to fulfillment, and what else but a chance to have that happy and contented life I think of?

In going to this university, not by chance but by my own choice, I knew I would never get nearer to my dreams if I still look for somewhere else. Of course, there are better universities out there but I simply realize then, that I did exactly the right choice. I need not to weigh my fate or destiny (if indeed there are such, but I believe in them) with the mistakes I fear am going to make if I fail, but on the choices I would be regretting eventually if I would not consider them. Thus, I chose to be here.

It would be great for me if I did pursue my only chosen course I put in my application form when I applied to this university a few years back. There was no turning back for me then. I was in second year high school when I'd obsessively fix my eyes to an imaginary sheet of paper called diploma with the degree I once craved for to have scribbled in it—Bachelor of Science in Biology. I was totally excited to get out of high school and grab the piece of cake reserved for me in college.

That was how I met my first family here in the university—the S-1. I almost said I would never find any other like them because it was ideal for me to have such wonderful people no matter how diverse we've been in a lot of ways: in culture, upbringing, ideas, passions, and even religion. But who cares with the differences and diversities of people and beliefs? We all are different in a lot of ways but we still co-exist despite of it. 

Differences, I learned, is a tangible phenomenon we may likely to experience given the fact that we are not all living the same lives; that we are not walking on the same feet. Nevertheless, it could be overshadowed if only we acknowledge that after all, we were sharing a common ground. That is ideal, I suppose, but I think we need not be an intelligent individual to understand what common ground that is.

Although I can say I did good during those first two semesters in a science bloc (and enjoyed it), I was really left in a collision between what I wanted before and what I want this time. The winds of change had swept me from my decision to pursue my intended course to choosing another that perhaps only time and destiny could judge if I did chose the right path. Would I be willing to spend my life in the laboratory? Could I really be experiencing life and what could fulfill me by just peering into a microscope, scrutinizing an apathetic organism? I believed that was the most exciting thing to pursue because I loved doing that, and as I said, I was dying hard to grab that opportunity. But never did I imagine that I would really be sacrificing that dream; never did I realize that I could actually give up what I loved to do, in exchange to what I really want to become.

Thus, by a sudden twist of fate, I ended up with my present course in field of Social Sciences. I cannot anymore recount how I came up with my course, but sure, I can remember my reasons for doing such. I think it would take much time for people to understand them, but it would be mine to go on with my convictions.

I supposed to have learned so many things by now. Yeah, right, after living in this university—which I would always consider a home—for almost four years now, I was supposed to be what I intended to be by this time; or nearer to it, at least.

Only time knows how much fulfillment I already had during these years; and how much frustrations I already encountered, and perhaps, survived. If destiny would still allow me to look back to it when the time comes that I could no longer remember them, then I would be grateful that I did just what I wanted to do.

I am not saying this because I’m already leaving this university for good. I am saying this because, perhaps, I would be staying in this university a little while longer than I was expected to. Yes, and for whatever reasons, I might not finish my course exactly at the intended time, but I am sure, it will be at the right time.

Someone said that we live in a constant struggle with change. I agree with it because I believe that as human beings, we do not always want to be stuck up in a corner and just wonder why.

I know I still have to go far to realize everything I have dreamed of—but not too far.

I am only grateful for the fact that there are people out there who continue to forge my belief.

I am grateful for the fact that not all people are apathetic and closed-minded.

I am grateful for the fact that not all people break you; there are people who are willing to build you up.

I am most grateful for the fact that when I can no longer endure the hardest of the most hard, there are people who selflessly reach out a hand to carry me.

Lastly, I will always be grateful that the way things have been, do not necessarily mean that's the way they will always be.