Inside Outside

Intelligence?

Lisa — Tue, 05 Jul 2011 04:36:56 +0000

We all know how life must come to an end eventually but in my world, I almost wish that it were eternal to perhaps correct mistakes of the past since no one can turn back time. I said I “almost” wish it because on the other hand, I do not think to live too long to feel so much pain in the process of trying to make as much out of life as is possible. I suppose the emotions must co-exist to make sense of the different grades that affect our intelligence and decisions. In the end, if it isn’t about achievement, it’s at least the sense of having been useful. Otherwise, there would be no point in an existence as I think sometimes mine is. I feel I have walked back in time to nothingness especially when my family is still helping me to find my way. Perhaps, life would be easier if there were less people therefore there would be less competition. We really are who we are having evolved into the highest intelligence of beings whose achievements are just those choices and processes that have complicated and even impoverished millions of lives. Are we really in a better world? Do we deserve to have this level of intelligence where many more must suffer at the hands of a select few?

To be or not to be…a mother.

Lisa — Sat, 02 Apr 2011 05:18:34 +0000

Grace worked in the call center industry. She had come from Davao in the hope of a better life for herself and her family. When she left Mindanao, finishing college became out of the question because her father, the family breadwinner, suffered a stroke and her mother’s sari-sari store did not make enough to support a family of 6. Grace now stays home because she is pregnant; having to contend with vomitting, dizzy spells, the need to lie down most of the time, she can’t work. I have not met the father of her child though I do know that he is also a customer service representative at one of the well-known call centers in Manila. He is not around. He does not want the child. Grace cries a lot. What can I do? I was only her trainer. Do I have the time now to be a friend as well?

In 5 months, another human will enter this world without choice to a young girl who still does not know whether she wants him or her. Penniless and scared, she has chosen to hide from her family and remain in Manila. I remember being 24 years old and I know I was not alone. At the time, my father was helping me to sort my life in Singapore only to find myself in unknown territory – Manila. You become like it – old, corrupt, and dirty; “Old” because you grow up overnight. You think you look good with the various brands of cosmetics you have applied and the trendy clothes that are supposed to make you look chic and help you gain more friends but all they do really is mask the unhappiness from the stress that comes from trying to fit in this society. “Corrupt” because you usually lose yourself in an attempt to please others. The family has been forgotten and nothing matters but “looking good”. “Dirty” because your mind and heart may start to resemble the trash or the stench of urine on any city street. Grace was my trainee and I give my trainees the same piece of advice: Do what you wish but don’t be stupid enough to get caught. When I think about this bottled anger, I feel I have every reason to ignore her. After all, she needs to learn life’s lessons no matter how difficult they get. She is 24 years old afterall. She cannot work for the time being. Do the words “accountability” and “planning” even exist in her vocabulary. The father of her child has disappeared. Now, she fears her father might not take what she has to tell him because her parents are typical Catholics who won’t tolerate her condition. I am still trying to understand why people here just don’t know how to use condoms or contraceptive pills. Everyone has to do it at some point but the least they can do is be careful unless they have the intention to be parents. Filipinos already breed like rabbits in the provinces. It is another headache altogether to bring another human into this world who is unwanted.

The girl has no savings; can’t really work at the moment since she experiences all the worst possible things that any woman can experience during her first trimester. That makes me wonder how I would be myself when my turn comes…so the girl is penniless and came to me for some financial assistance initially. I like to think that she deserves to be whipped, to be without family and friends to atone for her sins. Too many girls in this country are already single mothers. Officially, more than 70% of women above the age of 30 are single mothers according to the National Statistics Office. This is a disturbing figure since we are the largest Christian country in the world. Yes, we are a very Catholic society. We remember to respect the priests, many of whom either have been suspected to molest a child or fathered children with women they sustain from the donations of their respective parishes. …and at least 40% of the young and single men are now openly homosexuals, which might be one reason for the high number of single mothers because the men who are available are already married or basically individuals that the rest of the family didn’t deem fit enough to marry their daughters but who am I to say that this is still a Third World country with considerable Third World mentality? I’m only 35 years old, single, childless, only half-Filipino with a pro-Singaporean-educated attitude.

I have always wanted to be a mother. It is just easier said than done since I expect to be the best mother possible. Which woman does not want to? I think that would the greatest achievement so I am not quite there yet because I am not married. I want to be married first before anything else. It is something that I do not want to compromise even now because I am scared and I believe I would disappoint my family that way. Afterall, my sister is married (though maybe not necessarily happily) to someone I happen to consider a good man, husband, and father. Will I be as lucky? …or can I see myself as a single mother like Grace? Here is a girl who is about to give her child to me as if she were just giving me candy. Since this is the Philippines, there are always several options available for a price. The child could be legally mine without any adoption papers required by simply listing me as the mother at the hospital where the baby will be born. It has been done; one of the “benefits” of living in a Third World country. It is the easiest and fastest option possible but something that I will have to think through thoroughly. The decision will be mine but without first discussing this with the whole family. I am unsure how they will take to this idea since I am perfectly capable of producing my own children. You start to weigh morals or principles. You start to assess how happy or how much happier you can be; more specifically, how much happier the whole family can be. Of course, if I become mother to Grace’s unborn child, that means my family will have to take him or her as one of their own too. My mother would prefer to have someone of our own blood to look after and I understand her. It is a Filipino practice; to adopt a niece, nephew or cousin for the sake of easing the financial burden of the lesser fortunate sibling or relative who simply had too many children.

I am excited at the possibility of becoming a mother so soon but I wonder whether I can accept someone else’s child as my own.

BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT HERE

Lisa — Wed, 09 Mar 2011 16:00:35 +0000

I could not wait to go home
Only to find you’re not there
Do I leave it again to roam
to fill my thoughts here, there, where?

Chorus:
Because you’re not here, how can I be strong?
I want it all. Is that so wrong?

Looking at the night lights mesmerizing
They seem so beautiful so alright
but you’re not by my side standing
they might as well have been out of sight

Chorus:
Because you’re not here, how can I be strong?
I want it all. Is that so wrong?

I cannot hep that I cannot hide
the tears that I have spilled for you
I really try but I’ve cried and cried
thinking, waiting, praying, emptiness, so blue

Chorus:
Because you’re not here, how can I be strong?
I want it all. Is that so wrong?

You rarely say you love me
but I don’t mind because I know
It’s just I wish that you were free
to help me believe and say it so

Chorus:
Because you’re not here, how can I be strong?
I want it all. Is that so wrong?

Darling, come to me in my dreams
Let me look forward to you tonight
as darkness takes me so it seems
You shall be my sweet candlelight.

The Little Fish Beside Me

Lisa — Fri, 04 Mar 2011 06:14:09 +0000

Sam looks at me with such severity whenever I arrive in the morning. His cheeks puff up with arms outstretched as if ready to attack me if I got nearer. Have I awakened him from his dream again? Does he hate or appreciate my presence? I wonder whether he had enough to eat. I wonder what he did last night. Does he sleep? His little world seems big enough but he has the same set of furniture that he can’t even move around except perhaps for the pink object that remotely resembles a sea urchin. I wonder what his mother was thinking of when she put that there. It hardly complements the glassy stones nor his color.

Is Sam lonely where he is? There is no one else but him and I. He does not like to be touched but he sits on the side nearer to me. How beautiful he is in all his fiery attire. He puts me to shame with his long silky tresses though it is a pity that he has a permanent pout. Considering his size, I am glad he isn’t any bigger. Otherwise, his might have been able to take a tiny portion of my index fingertip. I suppose he would still be appealing to somebody. However, there is nobody because his mother thinks he would just kill anyone she chooses for him. Sam could be capable but would he really do it? Would he choose companionship over his conditioning? Perhaps he might not be as lonely as I think he is. I cannot be alone. I cannot be lonely. At least, I like to think that Sam enjoys this staring game between us.

Good teaching comes from good people

Lisa — Thu, 20 Jan 2011 13:00:26 +0000

What really is it? Perhaps good teaching is a skill possessed by one individual whose sole desire it is to impart knowledge to others with the hope that everyone becomes better individuals in the conduct of their professional or personal lives. It might be easy to teach someone because the basic idea of teaching is to impart knowledge or instruct by example. Whether the individual being taught has learned anything from the encounter is another question.

A good teacher is perhaps someone who has inspired others to perhaps follow in his or her footsteps. At the same time, the good teacher is inspired by his own students who give him reason to be the best teacher he can be. However, from my days as a student at the Central Philippine University in Iloilo till now, I have woken up to the reality that there are not as many good teachers nowadays. The requirements for formal learning have piled up. There are many more students to compete among themselves. The trend now seems to be more on the quantitative aspect of learning rather than the depth of any subject for that matter. A good teacher is patient. A good teacher studies his own pupil. A good teacher determines the path and pace of learning based on his pupil. A good teacher shows dedication. A good teacher shows passion. Only a good student can come of a good teacher. Good teaching is a skill that can be acquired when a teacher becomes a student himself before he applies what needs to be taught. It can only come from good people who are selfless, accommodating; people who are more than willing to give their time to others or more importantly strangers who should not matter in ordinary circumstances.

With much pressure nowadays from parents or elders to excel academically, it is even more necessary to be guided by good teachers. How would you feel being just another student getting by with average grades but facing as much scrutiny if not more by everyone he loves who only want the “best” for him? How do you live by such expectations without feeling like you wanted to run away, cry or hide somewhere sometimes? How much can you take of something that might not be for you in the first place?

There is a lot of information to be shared. We cannot escape it so a good teacher can at least encourage. A good teacher will be patient. A good teacher will study his own pupil. A good teacher will determine the path and pace of learning based on his pupil. A good teacher will show dedication. Then, perhaps a good student may be borne…borne of a good teacher, borne of a good person. At least, I must say that I have received some good teaching but this is not to say that I am or was a good student but I “felt” my teachers in my younger years. I felt their dedication. I think I am a better person because of them. Still, I never intended to become a trainer or a teacher. This accident has surely taught me patience, the need to be kind, the awareness of so many children not being able to go to school. It has given me this fervor to contribute to someone’s education.

Good teaching comes from good people. (Parker Palmer, The Courage to Teach)

My Superman

Lisa — Wed, 12 Jan 2011 10:06:31 +0000

He wakes up alone and prepares for work. I wonder whether he has had breakfast. Then again, he might just pick something up from the neighbourhood coffee shop on the way to the office. He’s not a very handsome man and I choose him. He must look smart in his corporate suit; the tie probably a gift from his sister last Christmas. It might not match his whole attire but it was given by his sister. He does not have much or more accurately, doesn’t want much. Having anything more would simply be a burden to his already busy life that has yet to reach its peak. He likes it that way; There has been too much recent pain; love lost, love gone. Could he have any love left to give? Perhaps this blanket of sorrow just seems too heavy and wide that it hides a big heart few know exist. Alone, we could cuddle, sit quietly for hours in the darkness; perhaps talk, perhaps not.

I could be the happiest person in the world with just his presence. I am the happiest person in the world. He does not know I read him like a book. Let him be. It is his time to shine while I can only wait and hope. Now, I feel it. Once upon a time, nothing mattered more than my own happiness even at the expense of members of my family. Now, I have embraced a servitude to the only people who should have mattered most in the first place. His happiness is my happiness. I must wait. I will wait. Then one day, he will write another song about happiness and perhaps about me alone though I never intend to compete with his mother. I may not stop his tears but I want to be there to catch them when they fall, hold him in a Herculean embrace to make even Venus jealous. He may stand tall so that the world may not see his flaws, stand proud that he may not be doubted, stand alone that his confidence may not wane. I wish he did not try so hard to be a perfect man. I want him now but he waits to be a certain man. I guess it is not enough to be my Superman.

The World on our Shoulders

Lisa — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 14:46:46 +0000

As I looked at 10-year old Peter before me engrossed in the assignment I gave him, I wondered what else he thought of outside the realm of pressure from Mom and Dad to be a good student of the English language. Peter seems small for his age unlike Bosco who is his age and towers him like a basketball player does of the average person in the Philippines. For someone so little, he looks like he already has the weight of the world on his shoulders and he comes fully-equipped to challenge his intelligence – an electronic dictionary, fancy stationery and everything else necessary, all stuffed in a backpack almost as big as he is. I hardly remember my own schoolbag or that its weight was a concern. How long will this continue?

Peter looked at the 35-year old before him engrossed with the piano he spends his afternoons on. It seems a new-found pleasure to her or at least he thinks so. How he wishes he possessed the same energy for the instrument as he had for soccer. The days drag. He does not understand why he was sent to the Philippines; a strange land full of brown people, brown garbage and brown water. Yet there is a lot of laughter around and smiles on people’s faces no matter how ugly their teeth are. It is amazing! His mother is too busy with house chores and his little sister to notice anything outside the house. He is unsure where his father is but he is not in the Philippines. Peter misses him but he is a boy; the man of the house. How long will this continue?

While Kalibo waited…

Lisa — Thu, 23 Dec 2010 18:19:32 +0000

11.00pm, Thursday, 23rd December 2010

I am at the Manila Domestic Airport minding my own business with a copy of Reader’s Digest. There is this tall but much-to-be desired Filipino male seated 2 rows of seats away in front and I catch him looking back at me a few times. A little while later, the idiot casually places himself in the row right in front of me. I cannot believe how he sat down with his arms outstretched so that his elbows rested on the backrest. The nerve! …but we meet eyes and the one look that I gave said it all – buzz off! haha I love my Miumiu spectables and Egyptian bangs.

The animals I am reading about serve a better appeal than his shaved head and questionable taste in fashion. Blah! …and I do agree with Jane Goodall that animals should be looked upon as teachers. Afterall, there is less than 2 percent difference in DNA between chimpanzees and humans. The behaviour of the idiot sitting in front of me is understandably instinctive but he also has to remember that he has a fully-developed brain capable of controlling his behaviour especially right about now. This makes me curious about his mother’s influence on him. To say that men are animals would be to insult pure animal species that usually know nothing of malice and intention. Even when the best of intentions have brought about nothing but heartbreak and frustration among the humans. Take for example my Greek friend Alex, a modern day philosopher of an ancient family pedigree back in Athens, who lost his heart and the contents of his pockets to seemingly simple Filipinas; Filipinas who barely went through elementary education but have mastered the art and probably the science of manipulating subconsciously-willing victims like Alex

I fear too much intelligence among humans has only brought about great unhappiness, laziness as a result of technologies meant to simplify our lives as well as a selfishness at the expense of our own kind and the lesser species. Suddenly, I am reminded of my distaste for the civilization around me, which brings me back to the idiot in front of me. I only hope that I do not end up next to him on the plane :p God has peculiar ways of testing my patience (and what is left of it) or maybe there are not enough people in Heaven that he must look to those on Earth for entertainment.

An hour later on the plane, I see the same idiot smiling from a distance. As I walk to my seat, I realize that he also has the window side right behind me.

A Father

Lisa — Wed, 10 Nov 2010 22:54:32 +0000

As my father left for the airport, my heart felt heavy seeing him as he took his time struggling with his luggage. How small he seems to have become; a shadow of the militaristic disciplinarian I knew as a child. Once upon a time, he towered the whole family. My brother swore he could reach the ceiling. We remember our father with all the fear, admiration, and respect he deserves. He certainly made his presence felt because I cannot at all imagine life without him. As children, the 3 of us might have spent our early lives disliking at least one parent only to reach maturity with a grudge. At 62, my father’s snowy white hair makes him appear older while his bulging stomach is a concern. I wonder whether he can still see his toes when he attempts to look at the ground. Now, my brother is taller, my sister has a sharper tongue and I walk faster than little Sowon’s grandfather. At 62, health should be his priority but his stubbornness supersedes my impatience or more accurately, he still upholds the belief that it has not suffered in the last 25 years and so he thinks that he can still do a sky jump from Daegu Tower as I did the year I left the calendar.

As my father left for the airport, my heart felt heavy knowing I was not going to see him till Christmas. It is funny how one spends the majority of one’s youth trying to leave the nest only to struggle trying to move back in years later. I think my siblings feel the same because at least today, we have become parents to our parents. I have lost my way too often in my lifetime but my father always managed to find me. I remember trying to run away from home after a disagreement with Mother but I only got as far as the neighbourhood park. I remember sitting down in the middle of the field in the darkness as I stared at my house. I remember being lost in thought between going back to what was familiar and what an adventure I was going to have as scary as it were. Then, I remember my father quietly coming to sit beside me and stare at the same house I called home. Neither of us said anything. He was just there. I am not as old as my father but I must admit my memory has failed me too many times but if I can remember only one thing, it is that I have a father.

A Mongolian bus journey

Lisa — Sun, 17 Oct 2010 06:51:04 +0000