Remembering A Friend On Christmas

Checking on my Facebook account earlier today, I saw a post about Jay Lorenzo’s last forum comment in a website dedicated to Philippine mountaineering. And I just felt I wanted to reflect on this and share it with you in the light of the coming Holiday Season.

Jay was a classmate of mine back in high school. Aside from the fact that his family name was Lorenzo, and mine was Martinez, which meant that, alphabetically-arranged, we were just a few seats apart in class most of the time, I did not really know him that well. But being classmates with him for a good number of years certainly welded a bond of brotherhood which usually remained unspoken especially for an all-boys class like ours.

Fastforward to our 20th year reunion for our high school batch last year, 2008. After 20 long years, we had planned to make the event a big one as a kick off for our 5-year preparation for our Silver Jubilee which will fatefully coincide with our Alma Mater’s Centennial Celebration on 2013, the grandest of celebrations.

Being part of the core group which organized that particular reunion, we had to make sure that attendance to the said event would be as comprehensive as possible. Anyone we could access to would be contacted – whether it be thru email, cellphone, landline, pasabi sa kamag-anak or kapitbahay, or even a personal visit. It was usually a combination of the above. And it was the only way that we could get in touch with long-lost classmates - those classmates we haven’t really gotten In touch with since we graduated from high school.

And in my case, Jay belonged to that “long-lost” group. I think that the last time I saw Jay was way back in high school. It was not even on Graduation Day as Jay chose to transfer schools in the middle of high school so he didn’t get the chance to graduate with us.

So, on reunion day, I got reconnected with Jay. It was not really that unlikely even if, as I said, Jay and I weren’t really that close back in high school. Jay has remained to be the friendly and amiable person that he was way back then. He was the walang-masamang-tinapay kind of guy. It was quite easy to approach him and exchange stories with him.

I learned quite a few things about his life after high school. Most notable was that he worked with PAL, he loved mountaineering, and he also had a passion for photography as evidenced by the camera he brought to shoot remembrances of that particular reunion. Both Jay and I actually became the unofficial photographers of the said event. We even made a face-off while shooting each other’s photos since photographers like us are the least photographed subjects in events like those. But in such a short amount of time, I came under the impression that Jay lived life to the fullest. The hobbies and activities he pursued were what he really wanted. And we were both happy that we had that common interest in photography – something we had not discovered yet when we were in high school.

So when the news of his tragic death due to a motorcycle accident last June 12, 2009 reached us, it came as an unbelievable shock.

Upon going to his wake, we met his family, friends and colleagues. And right there and then, we knew that this man was well-loved and respected. Friends from his mountaineering club were there with shirts printed with the message bidding Jay farewell on his final climb. And until now, months after he passed away, stories and fond memories of how he touched lives continue to get posted on the internet.

So you may ask, what does this have to do with Christmas?

Everything about Jay’s life and death has something to do about Christmas.

In this season where most of us would be attending parties and reunions, reconnect with the people who have touched your lives. There doesn’t have to be mushy moments when we reunite with people we once built memories with. But a simple update on what has been happening to each other’s lives is a good way to rekindle the bond that might have gotten blurred by time.

It is not only with how you view your relationship with these people. But conversely, it is also how these people around you would view their relationship with you. As with my dear friend Jay, I saw many things in him which somehow made me reflect on the things we value in life.

We always say that we should live life to the fullest. But really, how much to the fullest extent of living are we truly being alive? Pursue your goals and dreams. It is never too late to start on a new dream. You are never too old to take on a new hobby. Take what life offers you. It is never too late to do what you have always dreamed of when you were a kid. It is never too late to realize that making tons of money will not bring you the fulfillment you have always wanted. The mountains that Jay climbed may be metaphors for the goals you want to conquer. Chase your life’s passions. It is with these passions that we feel truly alive. People always say that life is short. But really, how short is short?

This Christmas, let each of our lives be our gift to one another. In the same way that Christ offered His own life for us, let us offer our own lives to one another, even to our very own selves. Let us be inspirations to one another and help each other live our lives to the fullest. Let us not waste the gift of life our Creator gave us. Share what you can share for there is enough for everyone. Material things are just there to be instruments for us to show that humans can care. And when other people seem to have been jaded by the harsh realities of the world, let them know that there are still people who still care. Dare to make a difference.

Jay has already completed his climb in the mountains of this world. Our turn is not yet over. At the end of our journey, all of us would meet there at the top. And when that time comes, it would be a great realization that we have helped each other along the way.

Merry Christmas, everyone! And to my dear friend, Jay, Merry Christmas to you, too. See you at the top. Just not too soon, I hope. =)

7 Things You Most Probably Didn’t Know About Joey

1.) Bugoy’s
Joey’s first experience in entering a beerhouse was way back during our college years in a God-forsaken place in Junction, Cainta called - for lack of a more enticing name for a beerhouse - Bugoy’s. And Joey had a “girlfriend” in that place, a girl who said she wanted to change "cotchum" (costume).

2.) Santolan Beerhouse
Another beerhouse story, this one proved to be a more exciting and adrenaline-pumping experience. Together with Rey Carlo and Gary D, Joey asks for the bill as they have already decided to leave. Rey Carlo got fed up waiting for their bill to arrive and chooses to leave without paying. Gary D follows him outside. Not wanting to be the one left to pay the bill by himself, Joey follows the two outside who were already running away by the time he got out.

3.) Bangga Victim
Last day of school when we were in 3rd Year HS, Joey was together with Rey Carlo on their jeepney ride going home. As Joey got off the jeepney by the entrance to Dona Juana, he didn’t see the approaching jeepney from the other side about to hit him. With Joey’s white polo soiled and ripped from his pavement-rolling accident, Rey Carlo brings Joey to the hospital. We never knew about this accident until the start of classes in our 4th Year.

4.) Transformers
We all know Joey to be very dependable on many things. But sports isn’t exactly one of his specialties. We can still recall the horrific images of Joey doing the forward roll and backward roll during our gymnastics lessons in PE. Joey is John Michael Cruz’s rival for the Optimus Prime title in gymnastics. You can almost hear the Transformers sound effects whenever they roll. And please, never ask Joey to do a lay-up in basketball.

5.) Flawless
Before Osang was nicknamed as the Flawless Queen, Joey was our original "Wow Legs!" title-holder. FYI, Joey has no "balahibo" on his legs. Too bad, he’s also got a very big "balakang" to be a sexy star.

6.) Stink Bomb
Now it can be told. It was Joey who "detonated" the stink bomb during our Social Studies class with Miss Aguilar during our 2nd Year in HS. Joey can never deny it since we were even able to smell remnants of the stink emanating from the sole of his leather shoes during our Practical Arts classes afterwards.

7.) Tight-Fit Shirt
On the eve of our Feb 08 Reunion, the batch shirts to be distributed the following day arrived. Members of the organizing committee started fitting the different sizes to see which size fits them best. Joey gets a size Large, saying that XL might be too big for his frame. The following day, he realizes the futility of his denial and accepts the fact that Large is too small for him. He replaces it with an XL, but never heard the end of it from Jeff Sulit.

Master Rapper

Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!
Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!

The clapping of the hands was in unison, serving as the guiding beat. We were all in a line that was slowly forming into a semi-circle. And in the middle was the star, the entertainer rapping his heart out.

Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!
Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!

Ask anyone from our batch, and I am pretty sure that this particular scene would rank among the more memorable recollections of our graduation. His act may even outrank Ferdie’s valedictory addresh, or Edmund Fullido’s stage strut.

Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!
Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!

I don’t remember what he was saying in his rap anymore. I’m not even sure if I was able to hear him clearly at that time. But we didn’t care. We didn’t care whatever it was he was mumbling, or should I say rapping about. What we cared about was the spontaneity of the moment. It was graduation practice at the PCC grounds. That only meant that classes were already over. Exams and other requirements were finally done with. And we were just waiting for that glorious day when we would all be able to receive that much-coveted diploma.

Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!
Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!

It was that careless abandon which we felt we were entitled to after four years of toiling it in high school. And he represented it through his display of rapping prowess, or lack of it, depending on your standards and opinion. But as I said, who cared? He was definitely enjoying himself. And so were we.

Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!
Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!

After all these years, we still do remember the vivid memories. And most probably, until we have that grand reunion come our silver jubilee, this subject shall inevitably pop up in our reminiscing drinking sessions. And maybe by then he will even provide us with an encore.

Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!
Yo! Yes, Yes, Yo!

Take a bow, Master Rapper Mon Agner.

The Poetry of Tears For Fears

by Gary C. Devilles

I’ve been a literature teacher for quite some time and ever since I started teaching poetry or other genres I never failed to incorporate songs or popular culture in my pedagogy because primarily, I find a lot of artists or musicians poetic and that secondly, teaching literature through popular culture makes things more interesting for students such that they realize that the songs they enjoy are not far from the literary pieces they struggle to understand in terms of poetic devices or conventions.

One of my favorite artists is Tears for Fears. Back then when we were in high school we were captivated by their music and the strange dance maneuver of Roland Orzabal. Of course, I wasn’t really paying much attention to their lyrics then, probably because of my limitation and second I was more concerned with their melody. If it’s danceable, then most likely it’s good. The 80’s is the age of new wave and people were less concerned with poetics than body language. Now, of course we don’t dance as much. We are more comfortable listening to the 80’s music through our mp3s and iPods and this is when we begin to pay attention to what they were saying and try to make sense of what the songs meant for us then.

Consider Tears for Fears’ album, The Hurting, where almost all the songs in this compilation reflect the tedium, rebellion, and angst experienced in our youth. The first stanza of the song The Hurting sounds like a de profundis or a crying out loud of the soul who experiences pain from the depths of hell:

Is it an horrific dream/ am I sinking fast/could a person be so mean as to laugh and laugh/ On my own/ could you ease my load/ could you see my pain/ could you please explain the hurting/.

The persona here or the one perceived speaking in the song is asking these rhetorical questions addressed to someone who is probably not there since the line, on my own, explains explicitly his or her condition of isolation. In the Greek Tragedy this is called Agon (hence the word, agony, as a derivative of this Greek word agon), the articulation of character’s dilemma and problem. Alienation or isolation is one of the oldest problems articulated in drama and poetry and yet in this song we confront again this problem as though it is something new. This effect of seeing something old as new is known in poetry as defamiliarization, the effect of making the familiar unfamiliar. As one proceeds with the song, one learns that the pain is caused by one’s inability to communicate or understand other situation as articulated in the lines that goes:

Could you understand a child when he cries in pain/ could you give him all he needs/ or do you feel the same.

Such inability to communicate or failure to understand necessary leads to confusion with what one thinks and feels as the song continues with

All along you’ve been told you’re wrong when you felt it right/ and you’re left to fight the hurting.

The song actually ends powerfully with the resolution that fighting is futile and that acceptance of pain and suffering seems like a necessary process or stage that everyone goes through as the third stanza reveals that one has to feel pain and sorrow, touching pain and surrendering to it just like a child does. Perhaps the answer to the lingering problem of loneliness is not in being with someone since psychoanalyst Carl Jung once said that loneliness is not inimical to relationship. One can still feel alone even with others and the constant search for answers becomes the paramount condition of human existence. One asks questions because one continues to live.

Touch the hurt and don’t let go/ get in line with the things you know/ learn to cry like a baby / then the hurting won’t come back.

However, existential questions articulated in The Hurting become more critical in the song Mad World where the loneliness of persona is much more palpable and brought about by the inanity of lack of purpose and sense of direction. The French has a term for this kind of condition, which they call ennui and the ennui in this song is workaday world that seems caught in an endless circle of deceit:

Bright and early for their daily races/ going nowhere, going nowhere/ and their tears are filling up their glasses/ no expression, no expression/ hide my head and I want to drown my sorrow/ no tomorrow, no tomorrow.

This experience of tedium and ennui becomes more problematic as the song in the end reveals that such experience starts much early in life, when children are made to feel good and yet their teachers fail to understand what’s going on with them:

Made to feel the way that every child should/ sit and listen, sit and listen/ went to school and I was very nervous/ no one knew me, no one knew me/ hello teacher tell me what’s my lesson/ look right through me, look right through me.

If teacher-student relationship in grade school can be alienating, it is not surprising that almost all form of social filiations, lovers and even familial are not spared from this trauma and as such becomes the running theme almost in all songs in this compilation. Pale Shelter talks about one’s insecurity despite the provisions given to the persona, and in Ideas as Opiates, security in one’s beliefs becomes a comfortable excuse or relief when in fact admitting almost instinctively that belief is quite arbitrary:

And lies spread on lies/ we don’t care/ belief is our relief/ we don’t care.

One cannot even resort to memories as possible source of solace. If in TS Elliot’s Cats (became a musical and famous for the song Memory) one can invoke memory as the reason for being granted another life, for Tears for Fears memories fade and the scars still linger:

The more I talk/ the more I say/ the less you seem to hear/ I’m speechless in a most peculiar way/ your mind is weak/ your need is great/ and nothing is too dear/ for you to use to take the pain away/ memories fade.

This song may as well an echo of the song Sound of Silence by Simon and Garfunkel in the late 70’s where the persona speaks to darkness as an old friend and sees people talking without listening. We cannot be certain whether Roland or Curt was influenced by the critical stance of the artists in the 70’s, but their songs in this album really captured what it meant to be alone, to live in a dog-eat-dog world, to suffer from the maddening crowd. Almost twenty five years ago, we were dancing to these tunes, couldn’t care less if they are saying something more. Now that we are beginning to feel the grip and extent of what they were saying, I wonder if we can still dance the way these songs were rendered before. Or shall we be forever be in an ironic situation as the song Start of the Breakdown tells us:

We love to laugh/ love to cry/ half-alive/ we love to go slow when we’re dancing for rain/ dry skin flakes where there’s ice in the vein/ and we love to cry/ half alive.

The song asks, is this the start of the breakdown. Can anyone provide an answer?

The world keeps spinning for Julia Fordham

by Gary C. Devilles, Correspondent, Manila Times

Like the troubadours of yore and the romantic poets today, renowned pop-jazz artist Julia Fordham reminds us once again of our myths and ideals about love, warning us of what love may cost, and promising us of the grandeur love brings. This season of romance, Ayala Malls brings Fordham to the Philippines in a rare concert series.

Fordham has recently completed her tenth album, China Blue, which marks a high point in her 20-year career. "I started at 16," she says, "joining bands and playing music and dropping out early from school to concentrate on being a musician." Her first album, Happy Ever After, was an instant hit. Listeners all over the world immediately liked her songs since these captured the essence of the eighties—the enigmatic and flimsy relationships as expressed in the song Invisible War and the innocent musing or the reflective stance of people back then in Where Does The Time Go.

In China Blue, we encounter Fordham seeking once more an inner dialogue with herself only this time more cognizant of a world that has changed dramatically. She says this album speaks of a sense of personal completion and one of the songs included, titled For You Only For You, strangely articulates this experience of moving on and taking hold of one's emotions. As the song goes, one may cry like a river over and over again for heartaches. But one should remember that a sea of love runs deep in veins. The singer intimates that the capacity to love almost always outweighs the pain of broken relationships and unfulfilled desires. She echoes what philosopher Roland Barthes said about lovers and beloved—that the beloved may be privileged to be desired and adored but ultimately it is the lover who becomes more in touch with his humanity.

When Fordham was asked about what she could tell Britney Spears if she will be able to talk to her, she says she only has sympathy for her. "I would want Britney to run away from the maddening crowd and the media that constantly make a circus out of her life. Actually I don’t like to read gossip magazines especially if the stories in them are painful." Fordham understands what it meant to be under the brutal surveillance of a watchful eye being a public figure herself.

She reminds us not to be overwhelmed by the world we live in and that despite the "bad hair days" or what her sister would call as "cake days", one should be reminded of the palpable fragility of our existence that is better spent with someone who really matters as expressed in the songs, Holiday and I Want To Stay Home With You. Fordham confesses that she loves the simple things such as afternoon tea with friends and family at home. "I have this wonderful set of tea cups," she volunteers, "and my house is this cozy space with wooden floors and ceiling, located near a hill I always love to trek."

The Manila Times asked Julia her reason for releasing China Blue via NovaTunes, an independent Internet company. "The world is constantly changing," Julia opines, "and one cannot just fight back or ignore such force. We all know that a lot of recording companies are closing and this is creating a tremendous pressure over artists to be more creative in terms of marketing." The songs in her album can be bought by downloading them.

Regarding the viability of this marketing strategy, she says that the problem of piracy is one that cannot be easily solved by simply promoting the original. In the age of mechanical albeit digital reproduction, the challenge for the artist is still to be able to sell as this is a source of livelihood without totally controlling the very instrument of production. After all, the success of an artist can also be gauged from the "replicating potential" and "reinterpretation" of his or her work.

Fordham lauds local singer Nina for doing a very good job in her rendition of her Love Moves in Mysterious Ways. This for her is also a measure of an artist’s popularity. Ultimately for Fordham, such marketing strategy of releasing work through the Internet is also a philosophical and political conviction on her part as an artist that strives to be independent with only her audience in mind. She feels her commitment to music and the people who love her should not in anyway be hindered by the business aspect of the music industry.

There are ten songs in this album that tell us who to love, what to do if betrayed, and how to cope if we fall out of love. Indeed, we are constantly in love— searching, longing, losing, and pained by love as the song The World Keeps Spinning tells us. The hypnotic and seductive poetry of Julia Fordham in this collection also discloses that despite the overwhelming feeling of being in love, the world continues to spin beyond the reach of time, with no finality, but with a future that we can only call an assurance. One poet says that the heart is a landmine, and in the Glorietta Mall as Julia Fordham croons everyone with China Blue, bidding us like lost lovers and absent friends, with a breeze that sends a sad tune as the song goes, our hearts explode from within.

Name Calling

It was a time when Personal Computers here in the Philippines were as rare as Plasma TV’s in our present time. It was the mid-80’s and only the privileged had PC’s in their households. And Wawet was one of those privileged kids who had them in their home. And they didn’t only own one PC. The lucky bastard had three of them. Yup, they had three PC’s that they use in their home at a time when PCC couldn’t even include computer subjects in our high school curriculum.

And so, one fine Saturday afternoon, Eric Joson, Regie Fronda and I planned to pay Wawet a visit in their home in Marietta to get a chance to play some computer games on their PC’s.

As we were already approaching Wawet’s house, we realized that we had some sort of, umm, a name problem. You see, back in those days, Wawet wasn’t called Wawet in PCC. He was called either ‘Hilario’ or ‘Faustino’. (Calling him Wawet wouldn’t come until our college days in the Ateneo.)

You know how we were in high school. We sometimes called our classmates by their whole first names, or their whole first and second names (Rey Carlo, John Michael – my wife calls it the telenovela-double-name syndrome as in the case of Dingdong Dantes’ character who was always called ‘Carlos Miguel’, to be spoken in one breath) or by their family names (Pueblo, Atillo, Balajadia, Bersalona).

In Wawet’s case, everybody in PCC called him either ‘Hilario’ or ‘Faustino’.

But which was which? Was Faustino his first name? Or was it his family name? If we rang their doorbell and his Dad answered, whom shall we ask for? Hilario or Faustino? It would have been an awkward conversation if something like this happened.

“Nandyan po ba si Faustino?”, we would ask.

“Ahh, mga iho, sinong Faustino? Lahat kami dito sa bahay na ‘to eh Faustino ang apelyido.”, his Dad would have replied.

That would have been embarrassing.

So before ringing their doorbell, Eric, Regie and I had some discussion on two concerns. One, which name is which. And two, who among us would be the one to ask in case it wasn’t Wawet who comes out of the gate.

I am not quite certain how we were able to resolve the name problem. Maybe we just based it on Wawet’s class number. He was positioned before Regie Fronda in our class number. Ergo, his family name couldn’t have been Hilario. As to who was assigned to ask the question, I already forgot.

Luckily, when we rang their doorbell, one of Wawet’s sisters answered us and we asked the correct question:

“Nandyan po ba si Hilario?”

A Class Section By Any Other Name

by Gary C. Devilles

To dismantle the idea of a pilot section is to dismantle elitism and elitism is part of the bigger problem of factionalism and fascism. Philosopher Hannah Arendt says that it is wrong to accuse only Nazis of fascism since in truth, fascism exists in varying degrees and contexts. In my case, my experience of elitism happened in schools. When I transferred to a private school, I knew already its implication. Some of my friends even construed it as a form of social mobility, since the divide between private and public school is symptomatic of class conflicts. It is not that in public school elitism does not exist. In Bagong Ilog Elementary School, we were already told that we belong to a “pilot” section, honors class, special education, etc. Pilot section is already a form of dividing between “us” and “them”. So when I went to PCC, I knew somehow that my education comes with a price tag or a label. I may not exactly be aware of the political economy of our education but I was being indoctrinated to this ideology of “brand-consciousness,” in so far as our society labels, categorizes, or polarizes us into black and white, public or private, elite or hoi polloi.

The branding does not stop in the type of schools, once admitted to PCC, I realized that branding goes all the way to sections, cultures, and codes. In public schools, sections are numbered but in PCC there were names, like Lakandula, Soliman, Humabon, Sumakwel, Dumangsil, Sikatuna, Lapu lapu and Kalantiaw, all names of pre-colonial heroes, except that I only recognized Lapu lapu of course (It was only when I was teaching history in Ateneo that I learned some of these heroes were actually fakes or fictive but back then no one cared or bothered to know these names, for they are after all just names). In grade 6 we would have pre-colonial titles of nobility like Gat, Lakan, Rajah, Hari, Hadji, Sultan, and Datu. It’s a good thing this Filipinization stopped in grade school and when we entered high school our sections were more cosmopolitan like Cardinal, Robin, Eagle, Oriole, Hawk, Lark and Falcon (For the life of me, I couldn’t imagine having the Filipino equivalents like Maya, Kuwago, Pato, Langay-langayan, Kulasisi, Sabukot, Manok, Uwak, Tagak, and Banoy). Sophomores were names of planets like Jupiter and Saturn, juniors were names of scientists like Galileo and Copernicus, and seniors back to epic heroes like Lam-Ang and Bantugen. In high school the practice was that we would carry our section until we graduate but do we ever stopped that these names mean nothing other than the arbitrary signifiers to meaningless signified? How does one essentially see through a Lark or Falcon, Jupiter or Mars, Ibalon or Lam Ang?

Branding extends to our daily lives with the food we eat, the clothes we wear, and even the things we use. Hotdog is Swift or Purefoods. Before Jollibee or McDonalds, we had Kramburger or Jester. The well-to-do classmates dine in Shakeys from time to time but for the rest we usually settled for turu-turo. In cafeteria, we have Slush Puppies drink but I was more loyal to Aling Patring’s Iskrambol. Ice Cream would be Magnolia or Presto. Gums would be Bazooka Joe or Tarzan. Soft drinks would be Pepsi or Coke. For notebooks and bond paper we have Sakura or Cattleya, Steadler or Bensia for pencils and erasers, Bic or Scribbler for pens. For shoes the fashion was Haruta, an imitation of Bass, but others would wear Bandolino and Greg. The sneakers of my classmates would be Tretorn, Standsmith, or Chuck Taylor but mine was Marlboro (which unfortunately until now I’m trying to figure out how in the world a shoe got its name from a cigarette brand). Underwear of course would be Hanes but mine was YC (Remember their famous jingle ad that goes like “YC Bikini Brief, YC Bikini Brief for a man who packs a wallop?). These brands definitely mediate our choices but no one at that time tried to see if these choices are really indicative of freedom or are we being constrained more by these limited choices. Aren’t all these just pomp and circumstance, pageantry, and advertising? How much of the brand can really hold on to its essential attributes? Today these brands are quickly replaceable and dispensable. Nobody remembers Olympia typewriter or Pocketbell anymore and I wonder how many artifacts or objects will be obsolete in the near future. I tell my students that they maybe proud to be Ateneans but in the final analysis, isn’t Ateneo’s rank 375 out of 500 universities all over the world? How proud can you get with that picture? Sad that education nowadays is very much extended marketing.

Sections or brand names reveal how commodified our culture is. If we could only dismantle brand consciousness the way Germans broke the wall that divide them before, then perhaps things would be easier as admitting that a rose by any other name is still a rose. But the enigma of brand is part of a long history of our subjection for which power is intrinsically linked. Right now we address ourselves as one nation or one people, but the truth is our geographical condition makes it difficult to recognize similarities and affinities and we become more enamored by our differences. Dismantling brand consciousness is an enormous task of self-reflexivity and critical discernment. Hence, transcending sections pilot or otherwise becomes a political will and collective action. This is not a task for “pilot section” alone, everyone as Joey said should move beyond the comfort zones and familiar circles. But if we can achieve it in our batch then there is no need to be surprised if we could do it in the grand scheme of things in the future. The reunion is definitely a good start although we have to admit that much work is still to be done if we are to dream big and extend our communities imagined or real. This country deserves more from the fascistic tendencies of our government officials. For the meantime, a drink is always a good to start things up, have fun and be reflective. The ancient Greeks call such gathering as symposium. They drink and philosophize. We may not be Greeks or Germans, but hey, San Miguel or Carlsberg isn’t that bad either. Cheers to us all!

Time to crush the term PILOT like the Berlin Wall

by Joey Manalad
Kumbento88 President

pi•lot [pahy-luh t]
–adjective
serving as an experimental or trial undertaking prior to full-scale operation or use: a pilot project

Noong grade 3 ako, ang sabi nung teacher ko ay pagbutihin daw namin kung sakaling mailagay kami sa pilot sa susunod na taon. Hindi ko naman naintindihan kung ano ang ibig niyang sabihin sa salitang pilot. The following year, I learned from my other classmates that it was the same message given to them by their grade 3 teachers. Noon ko lang nalaman na pilot na pala yung section na ‘yon, and our teacher, Ms. Cruz officially informed us that Sapphire was THE pilot section.

Honestly, I never felt the difference from the grade 3 class to this new one in grade 4. If not for the official announcement by the class adviser, I really wouldn’t know the difference. Ganun din naman ang atmosphere – maingay, makukulit ang kaklase, may iba’t-ibang subjects, may iba’t-ibang teachers, pareho lang basically. Siguro ang medyo pinagkaiba lang ay mas malakas ang boses nung nagre-recite kapag may itinanong yung teacher. Yung tipo bang huling sagot na niya kaya todo-bigay na ang pagsagot sa isang napaka-simpleng tanong ng teacher.

Over the years, unti-unting na-establish na kapag pilot pala, this is supposed to be the “cream of the crop” and I suppose, students from the other sections somewhat look up, if not envy our class. Or worse, they probably thought of ganging up on us once in a while. The sharp stares we get along the Carlos Building corridors, the ugly side remarks we hear in the canteen during recess time, are just some few things that made me uncomfortable being in the pilot class. Unti-unti ko nang nararamdaman na may kakaiba silang nakikita sa pilot. Hey, wala namang ganyanan. Sa tingin ko, pare-pareho lang tayo ng pinagdaanan. I should know, I was one of the pranksters of the pilot class. Ang kulit ninyo sa section niyo ang siyang kulit din namin dun sa loob ng pilot class namin. Walang pagkakaiba. We answer the same periodical exam questions inasmuch as we buy the same yema from Mrs. Chavez. I don’t think na mas sinasarapan ni Mrs. Chavez ang yema niya dahil ibebenta niya ito sa pilot class. And I also don’t think papatulan namin ang yema niya kung mas mahal niyang ibebenta ang mga ito sa amin dahil taga pilot kami. Talagang pareho lang.

Another year passed and I was with Grade 5 - Lapu-lapu, then Grade 6 – Sultan. Noong high school, I was with 1st Year Cardinal, then 2nd Year Cardinal. As you and I already know by this time, 3rd Year saw the disbanding of the original pilot. Robin became the pilot class while Cardinal became one of the regular sections. Yung detalye nitong kuwentong ito ay isinulat na ni Gary Devilles , paki-balikan na lang.

One good thing that came about with this disbanding of the original pilot was the warming up of poles for those from the other classes who finally met and made good friends with people who used to stay in their comfort zone in the pilot class. Isa na ako doon. At least kahit papaano, naipakita ko na wala namang kakaiba sa amin. Pareho lang. “Burog” din ang tawag namin kay Mr. Roberto, “Bitoy” kay Saguisag, “Superman” si Mr. Soriano. Of course we give high regards to the original owner of the moniker “noo”, no less than our dear high school principal, Mr. Antonio B. Cruz. Sino ba ang hindi nakurot ni Lelith Adriano? Pero siguro yung sakit ng kurot ni Lelith ay depende na lang kung gaano kalaki ang atraso mo sa kanya, or kung gaano ka niya ka-crush. Peace Lelith!!! Pero definitely, walang pilot-pilot dito. At ika nga ni Arnold, we buy the same 2-pc. Barbeque with rice sa canteen and dip the same choco flavorings sa ice cream ni Mang Alex. Talagang pareho lang.

Fast forward circa 2000. Whenever we have K88 gatherings, whether big or small, di pa rin naaalis ang issue ng pilot at non-pilot. Other people are still aloof blending with the “taga-pilot”. Yun bang tipong parang bakang manunuwag or kabayong maninipa. Walang ganon sa batch natin kaya’t iwaksi na natin ito sa isipan natin. Our recent success in the 1st Kumbento Boys Basketball League is one tangible proof that barriers have finally been removed. Our players were in various shapes and sizes and yes, came from a good mix of our various sections from High School - - some came from Hawk, Oriole, Robin, Lark, Eagle, and Cardinal. During our reunion last Saturday, ninety-nine K88 warm bodies came up and were proudly counted during the big event. Masaya ang lahat, kitang kita naman sa mga uploaded pictures, hindi ba? Unfortunately, 20 long years after we moved on, mayroon pa ring nagbibigay ng pilot label. Wala na nga lang sigurong sharp stares and I am sure the remark was done in a jesting context. But please let us put a closure to this. Wala nang pilot at non-pilot. We should act and move as one, as Kumbento ’88. Huwag na nating lagyan nang ganitong label ang samahan natin. Malalim na ang pundasyon nito at sa tingin ko ay hindi na ito matitibag nang kung anumang pagsubok.

Just to share to you one story from Mrs. Bulangit that I really paid attention to in High School was the story of the Berlin Wall - - the barrier that separated the West Berlin from East Berlin for 28 long years from 1961 until its demolition in 1989. As she discussed in class in 1988, the Berlin Wall was still up.

If I still remember right, West Germany developed into a western capitalist country while East Germany established an authoritarian government. Despite its progress, the East still looked up to the West as it gained political freedom. The Berlin Wall served as a barrier to prevent the Easterners to cross the border and reunite with the Westerners. The fall of the Berlin wall paved the way for the German reunification.

Let us learn to appreciate history and apply its good lessons. It is time to crush the term PILOT like the Berlin Wall and let the Easterners in us join the Westerners of the batch in whatever context you may wish to put it. Let us move on as one and rigmarole if you want; just never add another brand to the only brand we will forever know– THE Kumbento ’88.

Build Me Up Buttercup

Why do you build me up
Buttercup, baby, just to let me down
And mess me around
And then worst of all
You never call, baby
When you say you will
But I love you still

The version which most of us know is actually a Torch remake of a 60's classic originally sung by The Foundations. And I remember the song being repeatedly played during PCC's Foundation Day in the early 80's - 1984 to be exact, if I remember it correctly. Yes, that song has become so distinct in my mind's aural memories that I actually identify it to mark my very own musical awakening.

Memories of the usual Foundation Day funfare are triggered by just hearing this particular song. Kids chasing around the campus as the DJ in the Dedication Booth announces that all marshals catch everyone wearing white rubber shoes. That "random" handcuffing with that particular CBCian you've been eyeing since you saw her coming out terrified from the Horror Booth. Or simply enjoying the rides which usually occupied PCC's softball field (yes, PCC used to have one, remember?).

I need you
More than anyone, darling
You know that I have from the start
So build me up
Buttercup, don't break my heart

Who doesn't know this song? Anyone from our generation who doesn't recognize this particular song will be cursed to suffer in eighties' hell wearing blue-polo-over-yellow-t-shirt-matched-with-faded-baston-jeans-and-mismatch-colored-US-Master-shoes.

Build me up, buttercup. The lyrics are simply unmistakable. The melody, frantically infectious. The beat, relaxingly bubbly.

I'll be over at ten
You told me time and again
But you're late
I wait around and then

For those who know my musical tastes can say that my range can be eclectic at the very least. From eighties' new wave to nineties' disco, from RNB to hiphop and dancehall, from vocal house to the dark and hard house, from techno to hypnotic trance, from slow to alternative rock, from standards to jazz, and from classical to world music. I love music, in most of its forms.

But eighties' music holds a special place in my heart. I can usually name a track's title and artist just based on its first 3 notes or intro drumbeats. My wife usually gets impressed with this geeky talent I display when driving home on Friday nights, listening to 89.9 Magic Madness playing music coming from our era.

I walk to the door
I can't take anymore
It's not you
You let me down again

No other era in music, in my opinion, shows so much character as eighties music. The Beatles may be the single most prominent band of all times, with hits that still live on to this day. But apart from them, the musical character of their era wasn't as diverse (yet identifiable) as when compared to the eighties bands of London, for example. From the sound of the synthesizers to the distinct timber of bands' vocalists voices, one can identify eighties music from those of the other eras. And even as the artists, who became that generation's music icons, are somehow responsible for the horrible fashion trend that invaded the eighties, it even added up to the distinctive character of the personalities from that period.

Baby, baby,
Try to find
A little time
And I'll make you mine
I'll be home
I'll be beside the phone
Waiting for you

I am an eighties kid. I may have already cut short the bangs that notoriously hindered our vision way back then. And I may have already retired from the ritualistic chasing-of-the-girls tradition. But I still sing out to the lyrics of most of the music we all fell in love with. So, everybody now…

So, why do you build me up, buttercup…

Sample Of Old Pics

Here are some samples of the old pics that we are requesting you to dig up from your photo albums and share with us.

And cute natin di ba?
These photos are courtesy of Joey de Vera. Thanks for sharing them with us, Joey.

Please keep them coming. At sama-sama nating pagtawanan ang mga itsura natin noong tayo'y mga totoy pa.

Send them to: kumbento88@gmail.com

Disclaimer: I shall not be held responsible for any lawsuits, psychological damages, or marital separations these pictures shall unduly cause by being posted on the web.

What Brought Us Close?

By Joseph Regan Bernabe

After kindergarten and the summer vacation, I would always wonder who would be my new classmates for the next school year? Would I get to see my old classmates like Jerome Tuazon, Paul Donor, Eric Aprecio, or Peter Bondad? Or the other kids at the nearby classrooms like Boyd Monje, Rosauro Tuazon, Richard Caguingin and the rest whom I can no longer recall their names. But their faces would always have a place in my young and definitely not small memory.

First, second and third grades brought new friends like Sanny Cruz, Joel Hernandez, Celestion Boom-Boom dela Paz, Marvin Malonzo, Erick Mauricio, Arnold Albano, Jay Lorenzo, Edwin Lu and Arnold Martinez.

Then it was on the fourth grade when PCC decided to create a pilot section. The section's name was Sapphire and our adviser was Ms Virginia Cruz aka Mrs. Cacananta. Everybody knows that the brainy bunch would comprise this group, but would you expect normal? From the very first day, this group would definitely stand-out from the batch for good and not-so-good reasons.

The pilot section would definitely stand out on the academic side. So I would like to share what are the not-so-good reasons -- We were geeks! You would never expect us to win the basketball and volleyball championships. I was part of the "Group Games" team. We weren't so lucky either.

The realization of being nerdy became obvious for me on the fifth grade. Lapu-Lapu was the section. As history would tell, the national hero won his war. But not on that year for our batch. Dumangsil was the champion on both basketball and volleyball. Captains Marvin Barcelona and Benjie Reyes led their teams to victory. I won't forget as we got the chance to share their classrooms once a day in a week. I think there was a shortage of teachers during that time so one section was asked to divide themselves into groups. Each group would then be sitting inside another section's classroom for one whole day. That's when I met Marvin, Benjie, Paul Tumaneng, Arnold Anog and Jess Clemente. There was one person who asked me, and I forgot who, this one unforgettable question, "Why do you (pointing to the Lapu-Lapu guys) all have watches?" I replied that I got mine as a gift from my mom for good grades. I never really noticed until the question was asked and I had to look around to verify. I felt fortunate but I would envy the two trophies displayed on top of Dumangsil's blackboard bragging that their group was on top of the athletic field for our batch. Guess, one can never have it all.

The fifth grade also introduced us to Gary Devilles. This guy got the brains and would definitely put up a fight in all the academic contests that year. But I would not need to go further, just read back on the past postings here. :)

Sixth grade was the worse. Sultan would get threats written on our desks that other sections would wait for us after school and we should be really for a brawl. During the intramural games, other sections would team up just to make sure we would get defeated.

Eventually, that's how things went until high school. But on the third year, the faculty decided to break up this one solid group. For the specific reason, I do not know. This change introduced Robin and Cardinal. I definitely missed Jonathan de Veas from our classroom after that. But we still each other during breaks at the grotto area together with Noel Acosta, Nelson Juinio, John Michael Cruz, Armin Kraft, and Bing Espiritu. The first few days were really critical as the section was definitely divided into the old Cardinal and the old Robin. You can definitely guess how the class officer elections went. Good thing, Bing Espiritu had already asked Jessie Rodriguez to vote on our side. But we weren't expecting Rodrigo Eden to side up on his old classmates. It is really funny thinking back how we tried to create that wall but we would eventually overcome in the next months. I think Mrs Maralit was the one who pointed that out to us. Who won the elections? Jeffrey Sulit.

College went and we all eventually started our own careers. But one thing is for sure, each one of us came back to Kumbento every third week of February. We weren't coming back for Sapphire, Lapu-Lapu, Dumangsil, Robin or Cardinal. We were coming back for batch 1988. We were into our group that we even decided to hold our own reunion outside PCC last 1998. Yes, the attendance was impressive. The event was a success. But the background was remote. We craved to walk again those corridors, climb those stairs, and stand in the middle of the school ground looking around the buildings that was once our second home. And take note, they have elevators now. You can still see the old high school building and the elementary buildings. The new college buildings might take away the memories of the past but then again one should always welcome change.

I love thinking back how we saw each other as classmates back then. But time and experience has changed that. Cyberspace and the latest technology made the distance between us short. We matured. We became career people and/or family men but the constant communication remained. Now, I see a Kumbento Boy as someone I have good memories with. Each reunion comes with eagerness of meeting again my old friends.

Kumbento 88 is an extension of my family. You are my brothers. Long Live Rigmarolers!

HANDOG

By: B Espiritu, Jr.
(originally printed in The Crusader, schoolyear 1984-85, No.3)

Sa Paskong ito'y aking ihahandog
Sa aking inay's kuwintas na maalindog
Ang kuwintas na ito'y simbolo ng habang buhay na pagmamahal
Sa ina kong sa akin ay nagluwal.

Aking ihahandog sa aking mga kapatid
Ang aking paglilingkod na hindi mapapatid
Paglilingkod na hindi kayang pantayan
Ng bawa't nilalang sa ating bayan.

Sa aking mga kaibigan at mga kamag-aral
Isang liham na pinaiiral
Ang pasasalamat kong taos-pusong pinaaalam
Sa kanilang lahat ang tulong sa aki'y inasam.

Tulong na aking kailangan
Solusyon sa problemang di-maiwasan
Paghihingahan ng mga suliranin
At mga tungkulin na dapat tupdin.

Sa aking bayan aking iaalay
Ang katapangan kong taglay
Upang ipagtanggol ang kanyang kaapihan
Mula ngayon at magpakailanman

Kay Kristong Hari aking iaalay
Ang handog kong katawan at buhay
Pagka't Kanya ang araw na ito
Kaarawan Niyang kung tawagin ay Pasko.

Pasko - kay daming handog na maibibigay
Pula, puti, at iba pang mga kulay
Ang maaari nating ibigay
Maging materyal na bagay o ang iyong buhay

"Dear Casey..."

“Here we go with the Top 40 hits of the nation this week on American Top 40…”

If I recall correctly, it was during our first year in High School when a group of classmates – Regan Bernabe, Nelson Juinio, Boyd Monje, Jonathan de Veas, and yours truly – first stumbled into this radio show being aired on 99.5RT FM, The Rhythm of the City. Manny Santana, whom we then referred to as “Australian Kid” later joined our group during our fourth year in High School. Hosted by Casey Kasem, the show was aired every Sunday from 2pm to 6pm, and played the top 40 songs on Billboard Magazine’s Hot 100 singles chart for that week - from 40 to 1. If you know your division, it’s about 10 songs per hour with additional portions for long-distance dedication and music trivia (speaking of trivia, Careless Whisper by Wham! was the number 1 song that time we first listened to the countdown).

“Now on with the countdown…”

Almost every Sunday, we would meet at my house in P.Burgos Street, armed with our big composition notebooks (which most of you have probably seen at one time or another) and pens, to listen to each week’s countdown. I would turn up the silver cassette radio my father had sent me from the US – which had proved to be a very vital member of our AT40 family. At one time, when I had mistakenly plugged in the poor radio into the wrong electrical outlet, I had to cry for help from my mother’s friends in Bagong Katipunan to help save the burnt out radio – I was so thankful when they were able to fix it! We would all go to my room and listen to the radio for the whole duration of the show, chat about goings-on at school, compare notes, and do our homework. Most of the time, my mother would also prepare us snacks or order one of us to stop by the bakery so we can get some pastries to eat. During the few times that we were unable to meet at my place to listen to AT40, at least one of us would be tasked to listen to the countdown – sometimes I would listen to the first hour, then Regan would listen to the second hour, then Nelson would listen to the third hour, and so on. Ultimately, we also discovered that Odyssey Records posted the Billboard Hot 100 Singles Chart on one of their walls and we would flock in front of the list to our hearts’ content. That following Monday, we would all exchange notes so we would have a complete top 40 countdown in our notebooks. The notebooks had become a reference material not only for us, but to most of our classmates, when it came to music. We would get asked a lot of questions about what song dropped off from the countdown, which songs made it to the top 10, and why some songs we listen to that were very popular at that time never made it to the countdown (as Casey would often say, “AT40 originates in Hollywood”). It was the last question that even prompted us to do our own countdowns; suddenly it was countdown fever in PCC High! I think I kept myself in control (and I’ve got lots of it! Sorry I had the urge to put that in somewhere Ms. Jackson) amid the pressure I felt during high school through those countdowns. I made countdowns of my own top 40 – so that songs that never made it to the AT40 countdown such as (Feels Like) Heaven, Blue Monday, Body Dancer, 628, A Smile in Your Heart, and the eternal Bituing Walang Ningning would all have their chance at being the “number 1 song in the country” – or at least in my book. It didn’t stop there, I found myself conducting surveys of all our classmates to find out the top 10 most handsome, most popular, and nicest classmates – and then count them down. At one of our class Christmas parties, we even had our own top 10 countdown of the songs we liked – Wishful Thinking beat Tenderness for the number 1 spot on that fateful day (I think I even sang It's A Miracle, too).

“Before we reveal the number one song on AT40, let’s check out the other number ones on other charts…”

Fourth year High School – Jonathan Manalad was #1 in our Student Council chart. Manny Santana was #1 in our Crusader Editor chart. Irving Raymundo was #1 in our Spelling Bee chart. Ferdinand Evangelista was #1 in our Academic chart. And holding on to #1 for the sixteenth (or seventeenth to some) consecutive year (insert drum roll here) – each one of us in the eyes of our family and friends! My last day in high school felt like the numerous Sundays when the pendulum clock at our house stroke six o’clock in the evening, when the number one song is revealed. Regan, Nelson, Boyd, Manny, Jonathan would gather all their belongings and head home and bid farewell to me as I looked out by the gate, our house dog Tutu barking his goodbyes, until I could hardly see them from the distance. In June of 1988, I migrated to San Francisco, California. My grandmother kept my silver cassette radio until it finally puffed its last breath of melody. Manny, the Australian Kid, returned to the Land Down Under to go to college and live there permanently. Regan, Nelson, Boyd, and Jonathan remained close even after high school. While miles apart, we continued to listen to AT40 and wrote each other – making sure we had a listing of the latest top 40 songs enclosed in our letters to each other. Regan would even write to Manny and include the AT20 listing he had cut out of the current TEMPO he got from the Sari-Sari store next to their multi-story house in Pinagbuhatan. As the years went on, the Internet technology caught up with snail mail (and maybe to some of us technologically-challenged). Billboard Magazine started hosting its own website listing the Hot 100 Singles chart, along with its other charts for quicker access, and all of us kept in touch via emails throughout the day. Just like old days, we would chat about goings-on in our lives, movies, music, and once in a while one of us would mention quotes from those memorable days in High School. Right now, as I imagine our old pendulum clock striking six o’clock, I smile and recall Casey Kasem saying…

“Keep your feet on the ground, and keep reaching for the stars!”

By B Espiritu

Let's Volt In

by Gary C. Devilles

In the late 70's my TV viewing in the afternoons was punctuated by anime shows. We called them cartoons before. Monday was Mekanda Robot, Tuesday was Daimos, Wednesday was UFO Grendaizer, Thursday was Mazinger Z, Friday was Voltes Five, and of course Saturday was Saturday Fun Machine wherein Superman and the Justice League were collectively known as "Superfriends." Of all these characters, the least would be Mekanda for until now I couldn't figure what it was all about. Daimos was, of course, melodramatic with Richard and Erica as the ill-fated star-crossed lovers. Grendaizer had the most amazing gadgets and gizmos, unlike other robots. Mazinger Z, manned by Koji Kabuto, had a sidekick named Sayaka who had Aphrodite A with boobs that were actually torpedoes. And Voltes V was the most unique, manned by five heroes, Steve, Mark, Big Bert, Little John and Jamie with each of them piloting parts of the whole machine, the head, arms, torso, legs, and feet, respectively.

Friday would not be the same without Voltes V. We would be home before 6 and start humming the opening song, "someday the sons of light shall fill all the earth," while waiting for the picture tube to light up since in those days. It really took time to turn on the TV which looked more like a cupboard to me. It also took an effort to switch channels during the pre-remote control days. I think I was in 2nd grade then when Voltes V became popular and was still studying in Bagong Ilog Elementary School with Rommel Manlimos and Engelbert Luat, who would later become my classmates again in junior high.

Voltes V was remarkable because even though I didn't understand much of the dialogue then, I think the plot was intelligible enough for kids. I remember one Beast Fighter by the Bozanian Empire that was actually a mean wild dog with an ability to shrink back to its normal size, and thus can be invisible. There was this puppy that Little John took care of, who happened to remember that the Beast Fighter was actually the one who killed its mother. The puppy summoned all its strength to get the device that made the Beast Fighter become smaller so that Voltes V could finally defeat it. When the puppy succeeded, Voltes V screamed to the heavens for its laser sword. And with all the lightning and the music background, we could also hear our hearts pounding for the puppy's victory and justice. The last scene of that episode was really poignant with Little John bidding farewell to that puppy. And, of course, the melancholic song in the end credits made our emotions palpable and real.

So it was bad news when, one day, Marcos ordered all cartoon shows be cancelled off the air. Talk about puppy injustice. I felt sick without those shows considering that we were almost nearing the end of the season when Steve and his brother would finally be reunited with their father, Dr. Armstrong. Something about innocence was lost and I became aware of a malevolent power that could take away my afternoon fun.

When I got hold of a complete episodes of Voltes V three years ago in pirated dvd format, I wasted no time watching all of them. It was amazing learning that Camp Big Falcon turned out to be a spaceship in itself that merged with the Solar Bird and headed towards Bozania to rescue Dr. Armstong, the leader of resistance. Prince Zardo happened to be Steve's brother. And in their final confrontation, Prince Zardo would actually sacrifice his life to save Steve. All's well that ends well. It feels really uncanny that Voltes V was all about resistance, advocating for social change and justice, and reunion with loved ones. Anime or cartoons, they bear the mark of our unconscious, our secret desires, and wishful thinking. In a world where there is much trouble and pain, these anime are never escape routes. At least for me, they can articulate what otherwise I would suffer only in silence then.

Lines

by Gary C. Devilles

Two parallel lines cut by a transversal will have congruent alternate interior angles.

I’m not so sure why such a statement got stuck with me since high school geometry. Whether I am autistic or am just having a case of déjà-vu, such a statement is called an axiom or theorem - to be demonstrated as true and irrefutable. In Mrs. Maralit’s class, believe it or not, we deal with truths and logical reasoning, some things I did not see then as evident as today.

It was in the middle of the school year of 1986 when my father told us that he was among those retrenched from work. Whatever money he would get as separation compensation would be deposited in Banco Filipino since he planned to work abroad. Things went awry when Banco Filipino had a bank run and we could not withdraw our money. Worse, my father could not find any work.

Due to this financial constraint, I was going to have to stop schooling. I was so down that particular afternoon because, deep inside, I didn’t want to stop. Of all people, it was the taciturn Dennis Calinao who would approach me and ask what happened. I told him my problem and he suggested that I talk directly to the principal, something I did not expect from Dennis since talking to the principal was just not within my capability. But he prodded and told me that he would stay with me until class was over as long as I talked to Mr. Antonio B. Cruz. It was around 7:00 pm, I think, that I braved the office and asked the secretary if I could talk to the principal. Mr. Cruz accommodated me and told me that he might know someone who could help. I asked Mr. Cruz, if it’s possible that he talked to my parents so that he could verify whether I was telling the truth. He just said there’s no need. He asked me if I ever lied and of course I told him no, at least not about our financial situation.

The following day, Mrs. Maralit, our Algebra teacher, approached me about my problem. She was asked by Mr. Cruz to help me draft a letter to the benefactors who could support me with my education. That afternoon, Mrs. Maralit edited the letter I made, took it, sealed it in an envelope, and promised that she would deliver it personally. A month would pass and I would receive a letter from the Knights of Columbus, telling me that they could help me only for a year since, technically, I do not qualify because they only provided scholarships for Pasig residents, and I was officially a resident of Taguig.

Mrs. Maralit talked to me that afternoon and told me that I should be thankful even if they were only supporting me for one year. The only way I could have another scholarship in PCC is if I made it to the top three of the batch. The first honor usually gets a full scholarship. Mrs. Maralit promised that she would tutor me for free and that I would have to do extra lessons in math which meant staying late during weekdays and on Saturdays. She was indeed very patient with me. At first, I couldn’t get to solve word problems. But then, eventually, I would get the hang of it. It was not only me then that Mrs. Maralit would give extra lessons to. There was also Armand Fabia who was a senior, I think, who was with me doing calculus and trigonometry. It was Fabia who later said that I should do advanced reading in geometry and in the sciences to prepare me for a quiz bee competition in Don Bosco. Our adviser then was Mrs. Reyes but she was on leave. Ms. Santos, a student teacher, helped me locate the books in the library that I could use. That was when I found a copy of our biology workbook that I photocopied and reviewed.

However, things did not go well with that biology workbook. It found its way to some classmates and before we knew it, people were already complaining about some wise-asses who photocopied the workbook, answered it, and then used it as crib notes. I was one of those implicated. Mrs. Reyes talked to me one afternoon and I told her that although I did photocopy the workbook, I was doing it for advance lessons since I had a month to go for the competition. She understood me. But I was down and mad at my classmates for making a heap out of the situation. I just told myself that I would have my revenge soon.

It was the summer of 1987, while doing geometry problems, when Mrs. Maralit told me that she would be our adviser for the coming school year and that a major re-sectioning of students would take place. She told me that almost half of the students of Cardinal would go to other sections, and there would be only one honors class, Robin. And she was tasked to do the re-sectioning. I volunteered to help her by typing the list of students. When she was not around I would actually exact my revenge to my classmates by placing their names in other sections. There was one particular classmate that I placed in Lark, knowing that he knew no one in that class, and that would be the death of him. Of course it was silly of me to do that, but I was a kid then, having my day.

Junior year would be tough for me, not only for my family, but also for my studies. Although I was a scholar, the pressure to be no.1 was almost killing me. We didn’t have any money and my dad already started selling our appliances one by one. Almost everyday I would go to the nearby sari-sari store and ask for a credit loan for whatever we needed. But there was also a time when we were rejected a credit line since we failed to settle our mounting debts. Mom was really devastated that day that she only gave us our allowance enough only for our jeepney fare. My sister was studying in CBC across our school. That afternoon, she was so thirsty and asked me if I could give her water since the nun who was tending the store in her school refused to give her any more water and she was told to buy soft drinks! That was so cruel of that nun in CBC. I told her we could go to Mrs. Maralit’s house and there we could get a drink. Later then, I told Mrs. Maralit about my problem, and she told me that I could actually work as a tutor for some of her tutees and get paid in return. My sister, on the other hand, would eventually work for my cousin and sell confectioneries to classmates so that she would also have extra money. Months would pass, and we would somehow survive. Dad would eventually find a work in Saudi Arabia. Junior year would end and I would get the scholarship I needed for my senior year.

Euclid must really be dazed in imagining an ideal world where parallel lines can be extended without meeting at any point. In reality, my geometry teacher, Mrs. Maralit, would teach me instead that in life, lines are not just parallel; they do intersect and sometimes converge. My classmate whom I exacted revenge by placing him in the section unfamiliar to him, would later be a successful architect for which lines would be a preoccupation for him. He would also be one of my closest and most respected friends. In time, when all accounting is done, we learn to forgive as well - true and irrefutable.

The Tyranny

by Gary C. Devilles

Twenty three years ago, we were in grade school and I was new to 6-sultan, the honors class of that graduating batch. I found myself sitting beside the science wiz Irving Raymundo, Rolando Lopez the hyena at my back and the ever generous Oliver Martin who often invites us over his place after class, for a light merienda, an Atari video game, and when his parents are away, porn viewing. We were in the first row. The next row was the international group with Gilbert Santos and Gary Pueblo who just came back from the US, Willie Blue Bussel, the Fil-am from International School. I remember Ms. Berdan asking Gary where he came from and Gary replying that he hails from Bembeng Boookeeyd.

1984 was the year the film Return of the Jedi was released. At that time I couldn’t afford to watch movies but the film was remarkable for I have to know characters like Darth Vader for which the wunderkind Ferdie Evangelista would be fondly called based on his haircut that looks like a helmet. There are also the jocks like the gentle beast Nestor “Chunky” Ramos, the actor-singer Bong Estrada, the kung fu hustler Rodrigo Vagilidad, and the prankster Joey Manalad. At that time, it was hard to know who belongs to the dark side of the force but one should not try to be a Skywalker unless one risks being tagged as Chewbakka. One of the few lessons I learned early then is being prudent.

In our English class we had the oratorical contest in which we were supposed to memorize an essay and recite it eloquently. The title of the piece was something like, “The Tyranny, the Youth, the Hope, and the Fulfillment.” I forgot who wrote it, but the thing is - eloquence meant a lot of things to us back then, dramatic, hilarious, or something in between.

Joel del Rosario was one of those who surprised us with his rendition of screaming “The Tyranny” out of the depths of his soul that made us awfully silent, anticipate his move, diction, and brio. But immediately silence turned into a ruckus when Joel mistakenly said “the young” instead of “the youth.” Even Ms. Amelia Berdan, our teacher, couldn’t contain her amusement. I believe there were many who erred too but Joel was the one I can vividly recall. Anyway, those were the days when mistakes can be forgiven by laughing it away.

Soon the oratorical piece became a class activity and Joey Manalad was tasked to direct the class. Joey thought that depicting the assassination of Ninoy Aquino would be the opening salvo of the piece with Ronald Ablaza playing Ninoy and Rolando Lopez (or was it Jay Lorenzo?) as the assassin Galman. Ms. Berdan believed that the idea was good and brave, considering in retrospect now, that it was still the Marcos regime when no one was safe, even us in the campus. But we proceeded with the idea and worked with it. I could still remember some lines such as “I am the youth of the land, I was told that I was ignorant, that I was soft and easy-going. I was accused of not having the right attitude. And since I don’t have the right attitude my leaders tell me, that they do not know where this country is headed for...”

The ending of the piece was quite spectacular. Joey asked some of us to drop confetti as the theme song of Chariots of Fire (a movie) by Vangelis was being played. The ending was our version of that fateful event in 1983 when the procession for Ninoy proceeded to Ayala and Makati office workers from their buildings stopped and dropped confetti as the mass of people swarmed and marched to the streets.

Needless to say, the piece was a crowning glory for our class. But more than the winning, what was amazing is the fact that we were young, yet not quite innocent, rascal but keen, and unassuming though sharp. We could not forgive what happened and we were initiated to politics right there and then. Many things would happen before we graduate in 1984 but somehow those years swept to us and we felt the storm looming in our horizon.

Within the next two years, there would be EDSA revolution. As a sophomore, I would join Mr. Romeo Saguisag, Ms. Lelith Adriano, Mr. Antonio “Noo” Cruz (our principal) and some TAHAK (Tanghalang Hayskul ng Kumbento) actors together with our mentors from Dulampasigan group to troop to EDSA anniversary and give free glass of water. We were stationed near the Tropical Hamburger across POEA. We would listen to radio and hum the tune of Magkaisa, popularized by Verni Lisa. We had stickers and pins of Hindi Ka Nag-iisa. Some wore yellow shirts and bands. Others would hail the L sign for Laban or Liberal Party. We prayed with people from all walks of life. I still remember seeing Jim Paredes of Apo Hiking Society, standing near our water station. At that time everyone was walking and we would eat peanuts sold by ambulant vendors along the way.

That was in 1987, and almost twenty years would pass and I would find myself teaching in Ateneo. This will be my fifteenth year of teaching and I would still be asking questions about what really happened back then in 1986 to unfortunate students who later I’ll find out have no idea whatsoever of those fateful years. They were too young to remember. But I still ask myself today how much older one should be to see that nothing much has changed especially when one hears of innocent people bombed and killed or a 12 year old committing suicide out of poverty. The oratorical piece we had in grade school asked a relevant question I failed to understand.

I have to go back and see where we went wrong.

Suntukan Na

This is to authorize the following students, Rod Vagilidad and Chunky Ramos, to have a fighting match to be held at the Plaza later this afternoon at 2PM.

Something to that effect was written on a piece of paper. The paper was cleverly folded to conceal the message that it actually contained. And our Practical Arts teacher, Mr. Dalis, was supposed to sign the letter at the bottom part to formalize this authorization letter.

Okay, just how will we do it?

It was one of those seatwork sessions in 1st year high school Practical Arts where we we were supposed to finish the templates he taught us to draw. And as we know, it was quite free to roam around the Prac Arts classroom during these times.

"Sir, pagandahan tayo ng pirma.", urged one classmate.

Mr. Dalis, a bit perplexed on this unusual request by a student, reluctantly gave in with a nod.

By this time, a bunch of other students has now gathered around them to witness this "signature contest".

"O sige sir ha, mauuna 'ko", volunteers the student who then proceeds to affix his signature on a scratch paper.

"Ayan, sir. Ganda ng pirma ko, 'no? O kayo naman." handing out the other piece of paper prepared specifically for the teacher to sign on, careful that the paper remains folded so that he wouldn't be able to read what is actually written inside of it.

Mr. Dalis signs the paper with much gusto.

"Wow! Galing pala ng pirma nyo, sir. Mas maganda nga yang pirma nyo.", says the student while immediately taking away the signed paper and holding it side by side with his very own signed paper, as if really comparing the two signatures on which one had the better strokes.

The bunch of students gathered around agrees, then proceeds back to their own seats as if nothing happened.

"O game. Authorized na ni Dalis yung suntukan mamaya.", the student spreads the news.

Practical Arts was supposed to be one of the subjects in school where we would be able to learn things that we can readily apply in everyday practical living. But I am pretty sure Social Engineering wasn't the title of that first year course taught to us.