Parang Turon

I downloaded the GMA Network app on my phone; my intention was to watch some shows because we currently don’t have cable TV–actually since December–and because we watch the news online, so we don’t really have to restore cable TV connection. I was intent on watching “First Yaya” because I have read a lot of good reviews of the show. So, it is actually now, June 21, that I’ve found out Gabby Concepcion and Sanya Lopez star the nightly show (except on weekends). I thought that I should watch the first episode so lay in bed and opened the app on my phone.

The first episode featured the unassuming Sanya, working hard abroad for her family, who didn’t know she would be back in a week to surprise her father. But looks like she would be surprised to find out her sister had gotten pregnant, and the one responsible was no other than Melody’s (Sanya) boyfriend. She was upset, of course, and during one intimate talk with her father, he metaphorically compared the whole situation to a turon, saying “darating ang panahon, mauubos din yan.”

The utterance simply hit me. I can barely count the times I’ve been impatient, be it within my small circle of friends, my family, or even my students, the last one is my focus in this write-up. You see, being a Pisay teacher is a test of endurance in many forms–you get impatient with a lot of things, especially during this pandemic. I know many teachers can relate to my experiences with difficult students, many rose to the “occasion” in the past school year, and I’d like to tackle this topic for once.

One, I got really tired checking similar answers (to essay questions). I know the internet is readily available for some questions, but to copy what it says (when other students thought of the same thing) is just offensive. Whoever said I wasnt going to read their answers anyway? I attribute this to the fact I had never handled this batch so they (only a few) would think I would pass on this without them being reprimanded for their academic dishonesty.

Second, students who don’t turn their cameras on during online sessions really got me thinking whether I wasn’t making sense or I didn’t look pleasing to their eyes. My impatient side would be triggered by all those circles on screen, and I felt like I was talking to ghosts. Many a time I would say, “Would you please turn on your cameras, because I don’t like talking to small circles?” and only a few would heed the request. But it came to a point I was no longer interested in seeing them; I was intent on finishing the lesson, and off I’d go.

Third, online classes become a very bad experience if students do not turn in their outputs. I handled two English classes–one in literature and another in academic writing. Of course, Pisay is an output-oriented school and much is expected from our students. The thing is I set deadlines–in everything–because as teachers, we also have deadlines. So each time I’d receive outputs scheduled for submission, I would check them immediately so I would find out who failed to submit theirs. I gladly appreciated those who informed me prior to the deadline that they’d not be able to turn in their outputs due to internet connection or power interruption; however, these students would submit anytime soon. But a few students would rather keep quiet, and after a few days, they either turned in their outputs or simply let the chance–it was easy to assume they thought they wouldn’t fail, because it’s the pandemic anyway!

Fourth and last, I never thought phone calls would be so annoying especially if you make them successively. This is actually related to number three; when days had passed and grades were already nearing computation (and because I am the kind teacher that former students knew me to be), I’d inform the students (and their parents) through various platforms–email, messenger, text messages, and even phone calls. Of course, I wouldn’t know if emails and text messages had already been read, so I would message them through chat. Many times, I’d mention them in a message in their section group chat, so I was sure they’d read my pleas. I also requested a number of classmates or close friends to inform these students whose grades were on the verge of–you know, failing. But when I still didn’t get a reply, I would call them.

I cannot remember when my phone was very active until the past school year. I extensively did a lot of phone calls during the third quarter, and I tell you, it was really stressful! Some students would secretly talk to me (because they feared a parent or both hearing our conversation). My conclusion: they didn’t like their parents to meddle with their school affairs or they didn’t like to be scolded in my virtual presence. But due to this, I started calling their parents. I was glad to have a “phone directory”, who is actually a colleague. I never minded data privacy act since my intentions were only to inform parents of their children’s academic status. I was pleased with some of them telling me to “scold” their children–they wouldn’t mind, because their children were the ones at fault. However, I couldn’t control myself from being sarcastic when parents obviously lied about their kids. You know how those kinds of conversations ended up, right?

The school year has already ended, and even up to now, I am “still required” to do followups with students whose requirements have not been completed yet. They must thank the school for still allowing them with extension (although their grades will not be as high as they might have expected). However, I believe this school year really had my patience tested in the most challenging way. But even if I had my way, my actions are still governed by the system’s policies and, in general, by what this society deems right.

It’s 11 days since the last day of work, and I haven’t been doing a lot, so I am able to focus on the house that is being built–where we are expected to move in by next month. But just like turon, which can be consumed until nothing is left in one’s mouth, all the problems this school year has caused me already have run out–they’re almost over–and I’m glad I have kept my sanity.

What it entails to confess

How does a homosexual express himself, his angsts, frustrations, and aspirations to his friends? Here is a screenshot of a scene in “Hello Strangers” where Mico is apparently annoyed over Xavier’s unfinished business with Kristal and, like a child who lost his candy to someone else, wished the latter finds a better man.

His friends, after listening to him rant it all out, console him and even encouraged him to confess his feelings for Xavier, saying it is like when he confessed his preference to his friends an episode back. In a snippet that shows his friends’ faces all looking serious and just giving a whole lot of time to Mico, I was caught wondering if I have straight friends who really bother to listen to some gay thing especially matters of the heart without judging me–and without laughing at me.

Recently, I have happened to tell someone all that I have experienced in love and the pain that it has caused me and I was caught by surprise when he said, “Magkaiba naman tayo ng sitwasyon,” as if to dismiss my malady. It is one of the many times I’d tell someone how I feel and realize they’re not really interested to listen to me and my story.

I don’t know if it’s right, but I take offense in how my so-called friends show disdain over what I tell them. It’s like they are the only ones rightful to tell their story and it’s the only thing that matters, hence shouldn’t be left unsaid, without turning to you to lend their ears and make you and what you’re going through appear important.

In the virtual world, where there are more prying eyes which leave them imagining the very core of the person you are, ranting about your disgust and disappointments will not yield the same reaction. Because you are gay, some think that you are only kidding, so it’s all the more hurting to see a bunch of fools mocking you for your posts, without realizing you might be going through something too hard to handle. The homosexual is left in the open.

And that is why I’m grateful that I have close friends with whom I can share the deepest of my soul. They feel my joy as genuinely as when I share them my sad story. They abhor the men I hate, and praise those I love. They do.

The Young Padawans is a tightly-knit circle of friends. They care about one another and would do anything to keep the friendship, and that does not include embarrassing, looking down on, and dismissing anybody else’s frustrations with love.

Of threads and a hook

Most of you know by now that my lockdown has been just as productive as that of those selling plants, food stuff, and a lot of essentials. I have been sitting but not idly–I have been busy crocheting and I am honestly enjoying it. I started selling off my projects on the first week of April, and since then, I have done as much work to my clients. I have earned more than enough, which I set aside for future use. I cannot complain.

But let me take you down the road of one project, the nuances, fulfillment, and even disappointments. It’s a long story and I hope I remember every minutest detail.

Everything starts with a loop. I begin with that small circle at the center called a loop. Practically, all crochet projects begin with it. There are those that you start with a long line (chain) for one-piece covers, and once you’ve reached the measurement, say three feet, you will have to reverse the chain to start making boxes and follow the pattern. These types of design are tedious and, for me, boring, but I won’t regret making one.

Once a loop is made, a more complex stitch is required, just like for this project in the video, I have to make 23 treble crochet, with the startup of three chains being the 24th. In some designs, I create a treble or a double crochet, and then three chains before another double crochet, so that it forms a different center.

With the variety of designs you can search on the internet, the key is following the prescribed pattern and instructions. There’s no way you can divert from them, because your design is most likely jammed and you don’t want to start all over again. With the letter K design, which is my clients` favorite, I don’t really have to follow any instructions. Mother taught me that design when I was in grade two, so I have long memorized it. As for the other designs, I carefully and tediously follow the specific instructions, with some modifications towards the end to fit the dimensions provided by clients.

The conditions by which I work on a project matter, too. There has to be sufficient lighting especially for dark-colored threads; sometimes, I try working on the dark threads in the evening, but I fall asleep. Aside from lighting, ventilation is just as important. I cannot do a project in a warm area; my hands get wet, and when it happens, the thread gets wet, too, and it won’t slide through my fingers. The hook doesn’t work well with wet fingers, so I wipe them dry and sometimes apply lotion or powder, whichever is available.

Because crocheting entails long hours of tedious work, with your head positioned downward, you can’t really work without taking a bath first. Bathing after working for three hours isn’t good. If you bathed the night before, which means you can work from morning till noon and bathe maybe two to three hours later, and then work again before the night sets in. If you still have the energy after taking dinner, then you can work your ass off till 10 p.m., which I do, for my utter failure to sleep earlier. An important note to remember is that your hands must be clean; clean hands not only make the thread slide through your fingers but also keep your project tidy.

One who is just a beginner will have to set his or her eyes on the project, making sure he or she doesn’t skip a chain or a double crochet or a scallop, otherwise, he or she will start from scratch. For someone like me, I can watch TV or the children play or talk to people, well, I momentarily stop if I cannot afford to miss a scene or an important line by a character. I can manage.

How do I feel when working on a project? Well, I usually start with less motivation. I feel that the work is a bit dragging, especially for the first five pieces. But it feels different when I see the project taking shape. I am more motivated to finish it as soon as possible, and once a project gets completed, there is no feeling to match that self-fulfillment and satisfaction, especially when Facebook friends say they love it. I see that a little validation isn’t bad; I need it to sustain me with energy and drive to complete the next project, which normally takes seven or eight days, so it’s one requiring patience, diligence, and a lot of motivation. But don’t say I have lost my social life–I take two days of rest, so it means I have time for, well, anything can happen. I post a lot of content on my Facebook, I video myself singing, I talk to a lot of people, and I chat with someone probably temporarily interested in me (or it’s the other way around).

But you see, crocheting isn’t without twists and turns, which cause me disappointments. I remember working on a big, big project back in April. It was already my fifth day of work, when I noticed that if I continued, I wouldn’t really get the design; from the looks of it, I would have two pairs of a chain and a single crochet in excess, which would have taken some wasted space and it would make the design distorted. I told myself the client wouldn’t really notice it, but I didn’t like that. So I had to pull the thread fifteen rounds back (which meant three days of work wasted), because it was where the error lay.

On the second week of June, I finished another project except for the edging. I tried three different versions of edging, and when I finished with the third one after a hard labor, the darn thing fell short on all sides. Thinking that the edging would be too wide, the space for which could have been for another line of centerpieces, I had no choice but to remove the edging and add eight centerpieces. I told the client she had to pay for the additional thread (because an edging doesn’t use as much thread as a centerpiece does); she gladly obliged.

But all those disappointments mean nothing when the clients receive their orders. They take photos of them with excitement and sheer satisfaction. It’s like all the hard work that I do for them has paid off, and nothing can be more rewarding than that.

From that time I was five years old when I already knew how make a chain but my Lolo Pedro taunted me it wasn’t a crochet yet, till I was in grade two when I already knew how to follow a design, up to this recent order (by a fellow DComC professor), crocheting will always be a part of me till a thread runs out and a hook gets rusty.

Birthdays, memorable birthdays

IT’S 6:41 pm.  Two hours ago, my birthday treat to my workmates took place. Just a couple of minutes ago, a dearly loved former student, Scott, texted to greet me “Happy birthday!” He kind of explained why the message came just now; he said he was supposed to greet me at 1am but he did not have load credits. To my delight.

Anyway, I am 33 today. Yes, that old; yet, I said to a co-teacher during the modest bash at the faculty room that I feel so strong and so young. They—some of them—noticed I almost did not like to eat; I said I was jittery my escort had not come that I felt quite inadequate, if the couple reading this post, and the ones who have practically imagined they are coupled with some good fellows, know what I mean by this.

The modest revelry went on as it must. But for a not-so-young fellow like me, who does not have much—in so many aspects—all the fun, if someone would like to call it that way, did not ring a bell to me.  Scott says all birthdays are memorable. I almost agreed to the thought but my heart refused to concede.

What were the memorable ones, then?

The ninth.  It is worth the recall because nobody in the family, where birthdays have been rarely celebrated, cared to remember it was my birthday. What was worse was that I myself did not remember it had passed. Memorable, eh?

The seventeenth. I was a high school senior. I had a circle of friends—all girls (does anybody wonder why?)—and they gave me a cutesy Christmas card, yes, a Christmas card. But it was uniquely special because someone I knew by heart wrote in it too, and he was gutsy enough to come home with me—to their surprise. Forgive me, this is a bit gay-ish but this is not to say he slept with me that night. He did not!

The twenty-first. I may be really old and oblivious because I cannot recall giving a birthday treat or blowout to my loved ones simply because they—especially my parents—did not celebrate their birthdays. Before I turned 21, I was lucky to be given a part-time job at the College of Education registrar’s office. I was paid P10.00 per hour. I had been saving for the last three months that I had just enough bucks for a meryenda with my classmates at an unfussy resto. It was actually the first time the 17 of us—I mean my fellow English majors and me—ate together. It felt good. No, I didn’t buy anything for my family to eat; they did not know what birthday celebrations were for anyway.

The twenty-fourth. I was already working at Saint Mary of the Woods School that time.  My three friends—Jonvee, Helen, and Dasig—had planned a birthday treat for me at a cool bar/resto, just 10 minutes from the school. I was unaware of the plan, but Helen wouldn’t let me go home that afternoon of December 9; our worked ended 6pm. I didn’t have anything to do at home so I gave in especially when she said we were going to that resto. In an hour, we were already there, got ourselves a table. We ordered food. I was already eager to eat but my two companions stopped me, stood, said they were going to get something, and walked to the counter where Dasig stood; he was holding flowers and a present. The three walked to where I was sitting and were singing the birthday song in a forgettable tune. I miss you, guys!

The twenty-eighth. My co-teacher and friend, Rocky, borrowed from me the key to the boarding house—it was actually a big house, where only two lived, myself and another co-teacher, who had his own key. Anyway, Rocky said he was going to “empty his bowels” there that he left from school earlier than the usual. He somewhat had the excuse because the whole fourth year batch had just sponsored a presentation of the musical Grease and I was still very tired. Before the presentation at the school’s gymnasium, all the students—first to fourth year, more than a thousand of them—sang the birthday song; a co-teacher announced it was my birthday. Anyway, back to Rocky: he took the key and left while I met the whole production staff to assess what had just transpired. When I came home, I called out Rocky who was not responding. I told him to open the door, but finding out it wasn’t locked, I got in of the house and was surprised to see about my students cramped and squatting in the house’s receiving area. What then came were the screaming, singing, and a barrel of laughs. Mnemonics, a million thanks. You’re all in my heart. I love you! And you are equally loved, Rocky!

True, there is no other day in the whole year when one can feel so special and blessed except on one’s birthday.  I’ve had 33 birthdays and on most of them I felt special, loved, cared for, and well-remembered the way I feel at this time. I thank God for the gift of life, which I hope to live for as long as He deems right. I pray, too, that He may grant me loyal, understanding, tolerant (;-D), and supportive friends, good health (because it has considerably waned), peace of mind (all the worries have caused me weight loss), and all the love in the world!

Pablo Neruda’s “Walking Around” Poem Analysis

I am reblogging thisss! beautiful take on a quite unconventional poem by Neruda.

zeojagada

Pablo Neruda’s poem “Walking Around” displays an abhorrent perspective at society from a struggling class side in a communist/socialist (not entirely sure) light. In lines 1-4, the Pablo is saying that he is tired of his world-weary body. Repetition helps create a dark feeling inside the speaker’s head, similar to the constant depressing lines present throughput the poem. The speaker feels sickened by the human race’s destruction of the world and morality. He feels that the government has destined his life to be their pawn and his desire not to be pulls him through each day. Thoughts of overcoming these obstacles are tightly pressed for he sees himself as just one man. Neruda concludes his character trudging on in reality; with hope that one day he will be more than just one man and they can overcome barriers created by their government.

From Pablo Neruda, the speaker tries to be…

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Facing Giants

Gandaaaaaa!

I am who I am

Don Quixote revolves around the adventures of its eponymous character, whose real name is Alonso Quixano, a gentleman living in La Mancha.  Coming off from reading tons of books on chivalry, he becomes insane and decides to roam the land and fight injustice as the knight-errant “Don Quixote de la Mancha.”  After forcing an innkeeper to anoint him as a knight, he employs a farmer named Sancho Panza to serve as his “squire”, and proceeds to live out his delusions.

When I first started reading Don Quixote, I had a hard time connecting my life to a ridiculous story about a crazy old man.  I was at loss what to write.  But after pondering for a while, an idea came to me. What if I see the story through Don Quixote’s point of view?  In his perspective, his adventures were real.  That got the gears in my head turning.

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The Heart of Loving

I DON’T always buy newspaper. Maybe in a year, the number might reach just 20. But browsing through the pile of back issues of the Inquirer, one would find that most of them are Sunday issues. So it is not a surprise that I bought one today, which is a Sunday. Of course, news on Sundays is pretty much the same as those of any day of the week. That goes without saying I do not read news as often as may be required of a journalism teacher. My favorite part is Sunday’s opinion section, where I get to read Fr. Jerry Orbos’ column called Moments. I admire him because his homilies are full of wit and humor,  leaving us, both the mass goers and TV viewers in meditation. In the same manner, his column is worth any reader’s time.

In his column today, Father Orbos delved on the heart of loving. He began with a story of a husband who from church one evening and embraced and lifted his wife. Surprised, the wife asked why he did that; the husband said: “The priest told us…to embrace our cross and lift up our cross to the Lord!” The wife couldn’t be outshone, so the next day, she told her husband to come with her to the church meeting. The husband asked why, and his wife replied: “The priest told us to bring any useless thing in the home….”

The story sounds funny but makes sense to me. The two, in conclusion, may be loving each other but cannot accept each other wholeheartedly.

Another part of the column says: “A lot of us would claim that we have taken the road of love in this world…. The question is how far would we go on this road?” My take: I am one of the “a lot of us” and I cannot answer the question right now.

But what hit me the most is this: “It is not just a question of loving enough; it is also a question of loving truly. Here we fail more because often we love with a lot of conditions and with a lot of selfish agenda. Often we love with so much pride and with a lot of anger. We all need to learn more about true and sustained loving.”

That passage melted my heart. The truth is that I am too scared to love this time. And trying to love again is something I find difficult doing. I tried, twice, I think (I am not even sure about it), but I only ended up going away, too scared that even before it could even bloom, I was quick to shut the door.

The passage could be right to say that I love with a lot of conditions. With my two attempts or so, I wished things would be the way I expected them to be. If there were a law for love, I could be the earnest advocate to dictate people to do what it says, if only to make me feel I am loved and to make me love any one back.

Nevertheless, I can say that I am not stone-hearted. If there has been “inactivity”, then it is only about one aspect of sustained loving, with which I am being cautious. The other aspects have just been the same. They are my strength and I love them without conditions, anger, and pride.

Chalk Talk

TODAY, we started our five-day training at the National Institute of Education at the huge Nangyan Technological University in Singapore, and I would like to share some interesting insights from today’s equally interesting lecture of Ma’am Veronica, a principal of a secondary school.

• Knowledge and skills are to be given equal weight; that means teachers must endeavor to provide balance to both components in the teaching and learning process, and not focus primarily on content teaching. It must be noted that content teaching is not complete teaching–teaching should focus on practical skills. The “teacher” who does everything for the class is not a teacher, and given that style, learning does not really take place.
• In teaching, soft skills must also be given special focus. The heart should not be left out in the performance of a teacher’s duty. By giving importance to the soft skills, teachers commit to developing positive self-concept in their learners. Therefore, a teacher should always find time for direct interaction between him/her and the students, and this doesn’t have to be their contact time in class. This interaction goes beyond that “expected” duty. Therefore, teachers can never be replaced by technology–a teacher’s physical presence is already an amazing experience for the students.
• We have to get rid of recognizing students who top in class, in the batch, in the subject. Now this is a bit contradictory to what we have been practicing back home. There are awards ceremonies for students who did exceptionally well. Some experts discourage this practice, because it only leaves out those who are “believed to have performed poorly” just because their marks are not impressive. I want to believe that this bold move would be hard to embrace. But like what our speaker said, everyone wants to be recognized for his/her efforts so that person may develop confidence. And to make this possible, the teacher should be able to set targets for each student, and whatever accomplishment the student makes should be duly commended. This is quite tiring to do, but considering that everyone in class actually performs, then there’s no reason for the teacher to focus on rewarding achievements only of those who “topped the class”. This is a wonderful idea; it is highly applicable to our school setting. Personally, I believe that grades do not really measure everything. Short leaps and lower jumps should be rewarded.
• Shifts in system should be done carefully. Our speaker gave us the acronym KISS, and I think it’s worth considering by curriculum and policy makers. What does KISS mean?

K–What should we K E E P ? Well, the system we are replacing is not a bad system after all. It would not have been implemented if it did not have good points. So in our attempt to change it, we should keep the good points. Everyone wants to do them, after all. Keep them, because they yielded good results.

I–What should we I N I T I A T E ? That we always find loopholes in existing systems is a biting reality. Remember that we want to keep our students’ future secure, so investing in what may be considered novel yet beneficial must be the concern of every person involved in effecting change in schools. The world constantly changes, and to stick to old school is a crime.

S–What should we S H A R P E N ? The old system may be defective, but there is no perfect system. There are weak points, but they may not be entirely weak. They may only need strengthening. Someone said do not simply throw away something because you think it does not favor you. Looking at it more seriously, you should be able to identify which aspects of the system need emphasis. Who knows we may not change it at all!

S–What should we S T O P ? Now this one has got to be the most amazing in the curriculum. Whatever is undesirable in the system should be totally eliminated. It may only add up to wastage. Get rid of it and move on!

• And because I really abhor teachers who resist changes, I want to emphasize this last point: Do not resist all the time, because when you resist changes aimed at improving what we do in schools, then you are being unfair to your students. Resisting means sticking to old practice and directly violating what experts try to advance in the world of teaching. Instead of frowning over what your superiors want you to perform (and because they are also following orders, IYKWIM), reflect on why there has to be change. Suspend your judgment, and remember, be fair to your students!

I will share more insights as the training progresses! I am off to dinner!

The World Where We Are

Note: I wrote this nine years ago, and it is not meant to last in my memory, I guess, because I can no longer remember the subject of this post. It wasn’t meant to be, that is.

I NEVER really knew I set out on a journey to this world.  I get to be here only when dreaming, yes, when asleep. Yes, I am a dreamer, and dreaming brings me to a different dimension, but hearing the noise outside my room and feeling the sun’s heat mildly touching my pallid skin are enough to bring me back to my real world. Right now, however, I am perfectly awake, and I stand in wonder as to how I got here.

Is this just a form of escape?  Or have I become so accustomed to the practice that I think being here has already become something normal?  I don’t really know. I have been here for a month now, and since then, I’ve been enjoying both the thrill of discovering the facets of this world and the pain of being with people, with real people whom I cannot really see. Yes, I actually met someone who is as real as the ones I see every day. He has shown me love in a different way. I bumped into him on one of those warm summer nights, when sleep wouldn’t come and I had the chance to go beyond my cradle.  And how was it that we were on the same track?

He cares about me–I know that. He understands me–that’s something most people I know hardly do. He looks for me–or that is the same as saying he misses me.  He gets mad at me–that’s when I cannot give him time and attention. He tells me everything–including those I don’t really want to know. He comforts me–the words are as sweet as the sweetest scent. He lifts me up when I am down, brings a smile to my face, and makes sure I am always fine. Does he love me? He says he does.

I care about him–he knows that.  I understand him, too, and he loves that I do.  I look for him; I miss him like the way I miss him right now.  He angers me when he gets impatient over something trivial. I tell him everything, too; it’s because I trust him as he does trust me. And in my best effort, I comfort him; and I make sure he is well and good. Do I love him? I tell him I do.

The world where we are is an entrapment where the fear of getting wounded or killed doesn’t engulf our senses. This is the only world where we can be really together, do what people in the real world do, and enjoy life however hard it is.  Yes, it is a nearly perfect world.  Nevertheless, we still have wishes, including going back to reality where we will remain the way we are now.

Keynote Address

This is the full text of my speech during Malabog National High School’s First Junior High School Completion Rites on March 17, 2016. I am an alumnus of that school.

Thank you, Ma’am Celma, for the kind introduction!

The scene: very much like this, the difference is that it was dark. People were quietly seated, eager to know and to see what the silver screen would show. A rumbling sound was heard, a sign that the movie was now going to start. The rumbling was then understood as the coming of 322 fresh-from-grade-school youngsters into the school known as Malabog National High School. The marching came in varying forms—some were willing, some were hesitant, some surprised, but there was that small push that literally brought them toward the gate. The gate was still closed, but when it was opened, what appeared to them was a completely different world, waiting to be discovered, explored, and eventually to be enjoyed.

The next scenes came fast-paced, showing these 322 individuals savoring the kind of life only this matchless world could offer them, their faces revealing hints of sorrow, pain, failure, tiredness, strength, determination, joy, and fulfillment. And as they were about to reap the fruits of their hard labor, the flick just stopped, and the screen showed a big question mark, leaving the audience in total surprise.

The fresh-from-grade school youngsters in the anecdote are no other than you, dear students. And that bizarre world where that short tale is set is your school, Malabog National High School. That’s something highly obvious, but what I—and the rest of the guests to your important occasion—cannot take is that all of you will come out of this school with that unnerving question mark.

To our respected school principal, Mrs. Celma Miraran, distinguished guests, members of the faculty and staff, to my former teachers, members of the barangay council, our beloved parents, guardians, and the students who are soon to become junior high school completers, good afternoon.

I am honestly pleased to have been invited to address the completion rites of the first batch of junior high school in my alma mater, Malabog National High School. I can remember being told by my fourth year adviser Mrs. Hannah Escobedo that I would have my turn to address students in a similar ceremony, but I didn’t think it would be this soon. Two weeks ago, Madam Vivian Pangan sent me a message on Facebook to tell me I had been unanimously chosen by the faculty to deliver this message to Class 2018, for which I am deeply honored.

It was 24 years ago when I stood on a stage in this school to deliver my salutation before my 300 plus batchmates, the class of 1992. I was wearing a white toga and spoke on the theme “Bayan Muna Bago ang Sarili”, the speech I wrote myself, with these parting words: “In thought, in word, and in deed.”

I should seek forgiveness from my teachers because I barely knew what I meant that afternoon of April 3, 1992. I stood on that stage because I felt compelled to deliver a speech as it was part of the rites, coupled with the pressure that I needed to represent the whole batch in paying the highest of respects to everyone in the audience including our parents, including my mother. When I went back to my seat, I felt relieved that it was over. The feeling was probably due to the fact that while it was a moment to rejoice over the completion of my four years in high school, I thought that there was that unnerving question mark as to where I was going. I thought that one wrong move would have meant one big failure.

But there’s no point in soaking myself in the uncertainty of things. A question mark represents doubts, worries, and indecision, which are parents of that big hounding crap called failure. A quote says, “Time doesn’t wait. Indecision will only let opportunities slip by. Pick a path and walk confidently with your heart behind every step.”

A lot of you will agree with me that studying is difficult. You worry not only about your homework, evaluation tools, and projects, but also about how you would suffice your needs. I am sure too that some parents here almost wanted to give up sending you to school, because what good will doing so bring them if you had nothing to eat when you come home? What if the next day you won’t be able to come back to school anymore because you had no money at least for transportation—never mind that you didn’t have anything to buy yourself some crackers or a glass of synthetic juice?

I take pride in having experienced that. My siblings and I would come to school with barely anything to keep us alive the whole day; but mother or anyone she could request to bring us food to school on midday saved us from fainting due to hunger. My pair of shoes in fourth year was a donation from a family friend who said that I deserved them for studying hard—and harder. During a Christmas party, I was in school uniform while everyone was wearing their best, and it felt really bad that I rendered a song number while some classmates laughed at what I was wearing. The list is long—it’s probably pretty much the same if you try to list all your troubles to the point of forgetting your blessings.

Of course, everyone in this ornate hall knows that I didn’t give up. I would not have been here right now. I actually wanted to be a nurse because the whiteness of their uniform intrigued me, and because I looked after my dying lolo during my junior year so I thought I had enough inspiration to become one. I also wanted to be a journalist because I thought that my school paper experience was a strong foundation. But I became a teacher, and the simple joys teaching brings—like some random student comes up to me to tell me she finally understands sentence patterns or thanks me because I gave him a good advice on being an illegitimate child—translate to fulfillment.

And so partly, I was able to get rid of that question mark.

That’s the same question mark which the screen displayed in that movie house in the anecdote, and it suggests the reservations that have bothered you for the last four years because of the big change in the educational setup in the country. I know, too, that even your parents had some objections to the curriculum shift, as two more years means additional burdens to them.

It’s actually a mutual understanding between families and the Department of Education in terms of burdens. A budget of Php 411.58B for 2016, higher by 28% than the 2015 budget is now being utilized to hire additional teachers, fund school feeding programs, construct 47,553 classrooms and technical-vocational laboratories, and train teachers to equip them appropriately so they can handle senior high school classes.

I want to tell you about a world literature character who is a personal favorite. Let’s call him Don Quixote. Don Quixote is a commoner in a village, and he is so fond of reading books about ladies, squires, knights, and chivalry that one day he decides to become a knight, but let us set him apart from the Knights of the Round Table because our protagonist isn’t even a knight. He wears a helmet made up of basin, he carries a very brittle sword, he has a horse that looks weak and sick, and he has a squire named Sancho, who only goes with him because of food.

Because knights are supposed to perform exploits, Don Quixote, one day, sets out on a journey and finds himself gaping at giants that he draws out his sword, rides on his horse, and attacks the giants with all his might, only to fall on the ground and to be told that what he was trying to fight were not giants but only windmills. When he recovers from the fall, he sets out on another journey with his horse and squire to continue living his fantasy that he is a knight. And he repeats the cycle continually, because he has a formidable spirit. He doesn’t really care about what happens to him in the process for as long as he is willing to help anyone in need and earn pogi points from his lady love called Dulcinea, who is also an imaginary character.

For the reader who does not know how to see things in a different perspective, Don Quixote is just another character who lost his sanity. He is just someone worthy of a good laugh for mistaking windmills for giants, friars for evil magicians, and a herd of sheep for an army. He is funny for trying to free prisoners on a march to the galleys. He is a crazy old man who is consumed by his fantasy that he is a knight.

But for someone who sees people with meaning, Don Quixote represents any one of us in this crowd. He is one who tries to fight the odds that come upon him. He fashions adventures and exploits and he fights his enemies. And as a social antagonist, he endeavors to make his voice heard in an ocean of powerful people.

Believe me, but each of us nurtures a Don Quixote in us. Every day we actually get to meet windmills, evil magicians, an army, and they come in the form of temptations, laziness, corruption, environmental problems, indifference, cruelty, and ignorance. But these should not cripple us. Just like the venerable don, we are expected to charge these enemies with all our might.

Kabataang Mula K to 12, Tagapagdala ng Kaunlaran sa Bansang Pilipinas—that’s this year’s completion rites theme. Now I want to ask you, what do you plan to contribute to the Philippines? You can only answer this question if you reflect on how you have prepared yourself for the greater endeavor, which goes beyond the realms of the self. You might have constantly heard your teachers to study well and serve the country when you can.Yes, it goes beyond the self—for what would your success mean if you won’t give back.

But for now, think of the many options you are presented with. I learned that MNHS is going to offer several strands for the senior high school program, and I am fervent the school has taken initial steps to help you choose the strand that suits your needs, your personality, and your interests. If until now you still haven’t made that crucial choice, then you really need some pat on the back. Because you cannot succeed with indecision hovering at you. You have to find your niche, and when you’re at it, seize the day, do your best, and succeed.

That sounds easy, doesn’t it? But let me share Dodinsky’s words in his book, “In the Garden of Thoughts.” He says, “Do not plant your dreams in the field of indecision, where nothing ever grows but the what-ifs.”

What if you never really entered high school—then you wouldn’t have met all your wonderful classmates and teachers each of them has a role to play in your present and few others in your future.

What if you didn’t come to school regularly—then you wouldn’t have experienced the fun of learning and doing it with people whose dreams and ambitions resemble yours.

What if you never really listened to your parents when they gave you that little push—then you wouldn’t have realized that they were right after all, for how can they go wrong when it comes to your welfare?

And what if you never really believed you could push yourself even more—then you would never have realized your full potentials as a person, that you can do more, that you can be more.

In the process, as you go through your senior high school experience, you will meet more what ifs, but seek the wisdom of your parents and teachers. They know what’s best for you. They will help you find the answers, they will help you finish that movie which suddenly stopped with that bothering question mark. And for that, give them a resounding applause.

And speaking of thanks, allow me to express sincerest thanks to my loving mentors who helped me in more ways than one.

My English teachers—Madam Ida Alamares, now the principal at Ponso NHS in Polangui, for being my school paper adviser and for the crispy English that wowed me the first time I heard her speak in class; the late Madam Judith Pagador, whom I clearly remember for her very moving “After this our exile” explanation.

My Math teachers—Madam Lourdes Marjalino in statistics, Sir Leonardo Nasol in geometry and trigonometry, and the petite yet really powerful woman Madam Emma Morasa in advance algebra—for helping me love formulas, square roots, cosine, and standard deviation.

My araling panlipunan teacher, Madam Carmen Brigola, who was really strict and organized that she would always start her new lesson with PAKSA so we would be guided as we went about it.

My ever jolly Filipino teacher—Madam Virginia Loria, who made me enjoy Noli and El Fili by her unique way of pointing out truths and lessons and those relatable discussions and debates on love, people, and society.

My PEHM teacher, the gorgeous Madam Eva Cortezano, who made all of us sing in music class and who was really beautiful even if she was pregnant that year, and who has remained beautiful like Dawn Zulueta who doesn’t age.

My CAT teacher Sir Hilario Revilla, who allowed me to teach my fellow classmates on discipline and respect instead of marching under the big blue sky with that wooden rifle.
My English elective teachers—Madam Mercy Baldon and Florian Lomibao, for their impeccable grammar skills, and Madam Conchita Ferwelo, for teaching us how to present ourselves in public.

My class advisers—the late Madam Herminia Esporlas, who was also my practical arts teacher for two years and who would let me do the marketing for the day’s snacks at the canteen so I would have free meals and who tried to engender in me some green thumb to grow daisies and roses on the plots which used to sprawl across this quadrangle; and Madam Hannah Escobedo, at the same time my chemistry and physics teacher, who unconditionally loved my classmates and me, who supported me in my endeavors as a busy student (even coaching me for an oratorical contest in Tabaco NHS), and who until now has not stopped encouraging me.

And to the other teachers, the non-teaching staff, our principal then, Dr. Leticia Gonzales, and those I might have forgotten to mention. I cannot thank you enough.

And to everyone in this meaningful occasion, the teaching and non-teaching staffs, the guests, the parents, and of course, the students, thank you very much for this wonderful opportunity. I am humbled.

Congratulations and God speed!