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!)

Rizal, Nationalism, and the Filipino Youth

(I was browsing my files earlier when I chanced upon this old, student essay I wrote as an entry to the National Rizal Youth Leadership Institute (NRYLI) congress organized by the Knights of Rizal in December 2009. This was shortlisted as one of the finalist but failed to make it to the top 5. Haha. Just want to post it here as a memorial to my crusading days as student leader and journalist. Pardon the errors and childish rants. Especially the childish rants :)

*******

I came to learn that no matter how diverse we are, no matter how we are separated by islands and waters, no matter how different culture and religion defined our perspectives, that people are just the same and are one, and that we are all Filipinos under a common flag, under a common country.

I believe that is the most important of all that must be given due emphasis, so that through our collective efforts and mutual understanding of our differences, we can build a Filipino society wherein one can achieve life—as constitutional creeds put it—with the ‘full measure of happiness’.

And I think that’s what Philippine National Hero Dr. Jose Rizal wanted things to be done in this country on which he has offered his ideals, his dreams, and his life to.

However, we see now a country that is very far from what Rizal had envisioned. What we see now is a Filipino society that is slowly disintegrating from within, basking in the shadows of an overdue but still ever chronic western imperialism.

(Google image)

And indeed, imperialism.

While we are sitting comfortably, or fidgeting with the pleasures and vanities of this life, thinking that there’s no clear and present dangers that threaten our national sovereignty, our minds and consciences—whatever is left with them—is slowly  being invaded by ideas and philosophies not of our own but of alien origin, and worse, without us knowing it.

Imperialism, either by blunt or direct definition, does not only happen by mere presence of an imminent invasion to a country by another, but also by sheer invasion of the nation’s mind and spirit by another, which makes us end up nothing but the possessed, the colonized, the owned.

It’s hard to admit but it’s true that over time, as the new generation ushers an era of changing landscape politically, morally, spiritually, socially, and culturally, our cherished values as a people and as a nation is being compromised.

What happened to our identity was of course a result of our predilection to the way of life and cultures of the West, while on the other hand we ignorantly or even willingly forsake our own, just for the sake of being ‘in’. Just for the sake of being ‘class’.

What happened to our sense of heroism was of course a result of our fanatical devotion to the heroes introduced to us by Hollywood in the form of Superman, Spiderman, Batman, the CIA, the G-Force (yeah, the ‘super-guinea pigs’) blah, blah, blah, which makes us indifferent and wish that someday some superhero will also come to save our country. Or that perhaps someday some genetically manipulated, talking guinea pigs will be sane enough to wake us up from our deep slumber. Or self-induced apathy.

(Google image)

What happened to our sense of nationalism was of course a result of the ‘new generation’s’ obsession to whatever they think it is that makes them a nationalist: songs which they think are songs, but songs without lyrics, just noise; hairstyles which to them is an artful disarray that could make even Lady Gaga freak out; fashion which seem to be nationalistic but out of the context of being described as a decent dress.

Of course I am not questioning their sense of ‘fashion’ in a sense that I appear now to be the “Crowned King of ‘KJ’” here, but sometimes, a little prudence cannot hurt.

I wonder how Rizal would react if he sees his country in this sordid situation: mothers leaving their young children for some ‘gossip session’ in the neighborhood instead of looking after their children’s education; fathers who are more concerned on how their macho image look to their ‘kumapares’ than on how they look to their sons; sons and daughters who are more worried about their hairstyles and sense of fashion than what little education they could get into their heads; and politicians who are very eager to build their own lives at the expense of an ignorant people who still pretend that their government is doing its best to alleviate the situation.

When I close my eyes, this is what I see: never before in the history of our country that people—its so-called citizens, are more than willing to sacrifice national identity for the sake of good but foreign dreams that demand us to leave country and serve another, that requires us to abandon families and pursue a ‘greener life’ in an alien community which describes the Filipino—out of prudence and out of sensibility—as a ‘nation of servants’.

And maybe there is truth in that. Philippines is now a country who is more than willing to let her citizens go abroad—and sell her people for the price of dollars, dinars, and what-have-you’s.

Yet inasmuch as the Filipinos wanted to have the simplest but decent life in their own country, they are forced to sacrifice the very little things they have just to go abroad because; one, there seem to be no decent work here that pays a decent salary; two, the government seems incapable to sustain and provide for its people; three, there’s no hope of a good life here in this country, especially when you see that the very government which supposed to ensure your welfare cheats you and plunders what is left with the nation’s coffers.

Yet they said there is still hope, and I’m definitely sure of that. People, not least politicians and teachers and charismatic leaders so love to claim what Rizal said more than a century ago: the youth is the hope of the future; the youth is the hope of the Fatherland. It’s as if the youth is the one last chance of survival for a country that has been deprived of any hope to live. It’s as if the youth is the only deciding factor which has the power to dispel the darkness that shrouds the land. And I couldn't agree more, because I, myself am a believer of the power of the youth in changing the status quo. We have the power change things for the better.

But then again when I close my eyes and grope only in the silent darkness, away from the blaring mob shouting angrily against who-knows-what, this is what I see: an indifferent youth, an apathetic, unthinking Filipino youth. These are the clear and present dangers.

 It’s a hard truth to shallow, but it only begs for me, and hopefully for the youth, to question our indifference, our own apathy, so that we can give an honest answer to the question: what am I doing? What am I here for? Let us not just pass to be youth that only professes to believe in the principles of Dr. Rizal, invoking the ideals of the hero as if it is our own, and yet behaves in direct contradiction to these ideals. Let us not pass the chance to be the change we want to see in the world, as Gandhi said.

I believe that the nation is better served by a youth with the right moral and spiritual perspectives—a youth who put God and country above things, and above self.

(Google image)

Team Positive!

(Google image)

Today, I will not allow negative things to discourage me
and delay my mission as a development worker.
Today, I will not think about how little my contributions are
for what I do is significant to the people and community I serve.

When there will be times that my effort is not recognized,
as I know there will be, I will not back off,
but instead I will push through and know that my rewards
go beyond material things or fleeting recognition.
But rather I will be sustained by a deep sense of satisfaction
knowing that I did my best to give others a chance to be better.
 
Today, I choose to see the positive side of things.
I choose to see the good in other people, 

in my government, and in my profession.
I choose to see hope in every opportunity and take action.
I choose to be a blessing to others, and let their needs be known.
I am important. I serve a purpose.

***(I wrote this as affirmation for one of the entries in the journal that we are writing as a training material for a development project. It actually speaks of the things that I want to achieve on a daily basis. Good luck to that! :)

Communicating Grace

Thursday last week. It was the last youth fellowship for this semester in our church, and as usual, I was there. Of course I was there not just for the hype of it nor for the taste of being feeling young when we--the not-so-older generation--had the chance to mix in the crowd of the legitimate youngsters, but I was there because my heart belongs to this generation.

I was there to get lost in the arms of the One who causes my heart to burst in gratitude and gladness for everything He has done. I was there to marvel and bask in the infinite glory of the One who have sought and has saved.

It really touches the heart when one sees how God is really working out amazing things in this generation of young people. When you see the yearning and the thirst of these youth for authentic faith and meaning, you can't help but be humbled in your own search for authenticity. And I am just thankful that during my younger years, I was able to find a family such as this that has nurtured me in my personal and spiritual journey. It was truly a blessing for me all in all.

But here's really the reason for this post. Haha. At the end of the program, I was given the privilege to close the fellowship in prayer. It was actually impromptu. But deep inside I really wanted to be given that chance to stand in the crowd and lead them. Deep inside I was yearning to share encouraging words to them. And to share and encourage I did. And though they only asked me to close in prayer, I went on to give a short exhortation. Well what was funny and rather ridiculous is the way I reacted on the stage. I don't know but there's something in me that tells me I'm on the right place. That I sort of miss this specific instance of standing before a crowd. 

It was then that I realized am literally trembling. My knees and hands were shaking. My voice was breaking. I was gasping for breath (well, perhaps I'm exaggerating). But it was not because I was having a stage fright. It was not because I was terrified of the crowd. It was rather the other way.

It is because I became too excited to speak. It is because I was too anxious to stand before the crowd of expectant young faces. It is because I have something to say.

It is because I miss, I sorely miss teaching.

So it was there on that stage that I was reminded of the intense feeling of teaching which I left more than three weeks ago. I was reminded of the fulfillment of having to reach out to people through the platform of education and learning. But it was more than teaching. It is communicating hope and grace.

What I shared to the young people that night was actually a note to myself. I shared to them something about the limitless God we worship. That although people are limited (in wisdom, resources, and strength), our God is not. He is boundless. He is limitless. And the people who believe in has this assurance.

Lastly, I shared to them one of my favorite bible verses, in Daniel 11:32, which says: "...the people who know their God will be strong...and will accomplish great things." It starts from knowing who really God is.

The unbearable 'blight-ness' of teaching?

It already dawned on me that I am now officially out of the teaching profession since I resigned more than three weeks ago from the university; and I have yet to adjust to my new work and working environment which I found to be not that really hostile however demands lots of mental and physical power. Read: pressure. 

It has been three weeks away from the vantage view of the whiteboard and congested classrooms but the breathing life of the teaching routine which has sustained me whether in the physical or the metaphysical terms for almost four years is still entrenched in my system and psyche that I sort of miss this profession touted by many as the noblest of all. And on the ‘noblest profession’ part, I still incline to agree.

However, this is not to romanticize the teaching profession although I always have the tendency to romanticize things. As a self-proclaimed romanticist of sort, that has always been my mortal sin. In fact, anyone can romanticize the teaching profession and it rightly deserves so. But then reality resonates, how can one romanticize further what has already gained respect and reverence as a profession. How can one idealize further something that is already larger than life and is close to being indispensable, if not already so? We say that teaching is the noblest of all profession? To what extent really?

Teaching was my first job. Fresh out of college some four years ago—demure and anxious as to what lies ahead of the “real world” just like everyone else—I’ve decided to pick up the whiteboard marker and embraced the teaching profession. Only one thing seemed impossible and rather ludicrous at the moment, which is ironically the one thing necessary for a profession such as teaching: my lack of confidence and my self-limiting withdrawal from anything that is social. Because the truth is, I thought I was too shy to become a teacher. I was too impassive and too concerned only with myself to be someone who is supposed to be responsible for the education of the youth, much more the future of this nation. For the life of me, it was not in my wildest imagination and rational intention that one day I will be someone that is regarded by many as a shaper of lives and moulder of minds. If that is too romantic, short of cliché-ish, that is only because I believe it is how one should suppose to see the teaching profession, and not as something short of a business enterprise. If ever it goes to that degree, business in education is permitted only if it’s in the context of doing business to transform lives. Period.

That is the weight that the people who are in this profession carry upon their shoulders. But unlike Atlas who carried the world on his shoulders however, the teacher’s responsibility to the world is not something mythical because it is real; but it can be legendary. And they are rather like Prometheus, that Greek non-conformist who defied the system which is the gods, and gave fire to mankind. Teachers, through the sacred platform of education and learning unleash that fire to people, that essential catalyst which has been responsible for the progress and survival of human civilization up to this day. Pray tell, how noble is that? With this I’m all hats off to these living legends and modern-day heroes.

(Photo from the internet)

Which brings us to this: are teachers being given the due accolade they deserve from the community which they help build and sustain? Or are they slowly being marginalized due to a post-structural thinking that the community is self-sufficient and self-contained?

In today’s globalized and integrated world, the capitalist appetite for power and control relegates teaching to the blue collar job, a no-good profession that does nothing more than to measure in quantitative yardsticks a person’s capacity or whether he is fit for a work or otherwise. We now seem to know a lot of ways to measure a person’s intelligence and aptitude, and unfortunately, we equate education as such. Is how much a person learns more valuable that what he/she actually learns? Worst, when one uses teaching only as a tool for the advancement of personal ambitions—for control and manipulation—then teaching fails absolutely in its supposed duty.

But we cannot solely blame teachers for that. It pays to look at the context of the community upon which teachers are received and perceived.

(to be continued...)