The shirt initiative

Folks, just to update you on the project.

Scud has sent in his P1,500 and promised to help in buying the shirts if his sked will allow it.
Snugly promised P2,000 and help in harassing his businessman friend for cheaper shirts.
Nessa promised P2,000
Friedwater promised P1,000.
Angel promised 20 shirts.
Blogusvox pledged to help, he's still trying to find out how he can send money.

Chloe and I plan to buy the shirts on Tuesday to avoid the Christmas crowd. Will keep you posted.

Baryotic lessons in GMRC

"Tuloy ba tayo?" Ferdi asks in his text message.

It's a few minutes before five AM. He didn't say yes yesterday but apparently we're on. We met an hour later and proceeded to the Candaba swamp.

I was driving, and all I remember was the mayor's instructions the previous day. Baliuag (or some town that starts with a B, I don't remember anymore), and then turn left when you see a flyover. We stopped and asked for directions before I made any major turns to be sure.

"Tatang, saan po ang Candaba swamp?" I asked an old man, who was sitting in front of a store.
"Ito, lahat ng ito, Candaba swamp," he proudly tells me.
"Saan po iyong maraming ibon?" I asked again.
"Dito, lahat ng ito, Candaba swamp, maraming ibon," he says again.
Difficult old man, I thought.
"Saan po ang Dona Simang?" I asked.
"Ah, doon ang mas maraming ibon, diretso ka lang," he says.

Ferdi and I had a good time laughing at the old man's reticence after that.

"Oh, an idiot I can bully," Ferdi said, mimicking the old man.
"And that idiot was me. Hahaha!" we laughed.

After our shoot, we decided to have lunch in the store where we encountered the old man. The road was bad and it would take us an hour to get to town and we hadn't had decent breakfast.

But the old man wasn't there when we got to the store.

Ferdi wasn't ready to eat corned beef right out of the can. I cajoled the store owner to saute it for us. I asked if we could have some rice to go with it, and the canned tuna flakes I saw on one of the shelves.

Half an hour later, we were invited to eat at small house's dining table, complete with an electric fan.


Ferdi paid for the food. We were charged P80 for the the tuna, corned beef, and two bottles of soda.

Ferdi wanted to pay for the rice and the cost of cooking the corned beef. He was rejected twice, the woman growing indignant when he repeated the offer.

"Hindi binabayaran dito sa lugar namin ang kanin at pagluluto," she said, proudly, and a little hurt.

Ferdi backed off, thanked the lady repeatedly, and bought two cans of pineapple juice he knows I won't drink.

I made him promise we'd go back in January, when there are more birds to shoot.

"Let's bring her a cake, then eat there again," I said.

I love old world civility and GMRC. Hah! We still have it.

(I also want to talk to the old man, more lengthily this time).

Help them stay in school

Jilan

"Ate, ibibigay niyo na ba iyong uniform namin sa school," he asks me in an eager but conspiratorial, whispery tone.

I turn and see a cute kid with a smile that can light up your day, with eyes that smile.

A knot immediately formed in my chest.

Chloe, my social worker friend, asked me to take pictures of children in a community she serves. The donors want to see the children they are helping. What's two or three hours "para sa kabataan," for a bum, I thought. But being against what I call "poornography," I was focused on taking happy pictures of the kids.

And so there I was, taking pictures but saying almost nothing of significance because I don't exactly know how social workers process the acts of giving and helping, and I am terrified of the growing mendicant mindset of the poor these days.

And then that question.

His name is Jilan. He's almost seven and just started going to school last June.

"Bakit, wala ba kayong uniporme?" I asked him.
"Wala po, dinala ng baha ni Ondoy," he said.
"Ano ba ang uniporme niyo?"
"Puting pang-itaas po at tsaka red na shorts," he said. His friends began to join in in the conversation.
I asked them what they wear to school these days.
"Pang-lakad lang po ang suot namin, wala na pong uniform," said one.
He and the other children in the community are now wearing clothes they were able to dig out of the mud the flood left behind. These clothes are soiled, but wearable, so they make do.

The kids told me they want to wear uniforms to school.

Yes, if you're in grade one, you wear your school uniform with pride. I remember that feeling. That was so then, so it is now. It's like qualifying for grownupship. I'm a big boy/girl now. I have my uniform.

They were polite. I didn't hear cussing at all. They were just the usual kids, playing, running, but no rough words. This is unlike the people in some poor areas I've been to lately. Their elders, though poor, are organized and have created a kind, caring community.

I need your help. I want to be able to buy the 160 grade school kids of Banaba, San Mateo, two white shirts each. That's just the start. We can give them their red (maroon) shorts and skirts later. Let's help them stay in school, because apparently, they want to stay in school. The group Chloe works with has provided them with new notebooks, and is working on other basic community requirements.

Your contribution of P500 will go a long way.

Please.

Before I Forget: A repost

I wrote this entry over three years ago. Angel reminded me of it this morning. She seems to remember even the quotes and the pictures I tried to paint here.



"Relish the small, pleasant things, and the stress will dissipate" he tells me.

Whoa, I thought. A lot of firsts in a span of 15 minutes. He's in the passenger side of my beloved Jiminy da Cricket, I am driving for him, and he's giving me advice. This oughta be an interesting day.

He's a lot older than I am, and he knows what he's talking about.

Years ago, we argued a lot. It was so stressful, for both of us.

Last year, with the position changes, we worked tentatively at first, then gradually the tension disappeared and we're a lot better now. I've begun calling him "Lolo" and he started using the word to refer to himself.

He excitedly fiddled with everything in my car like a kid. He was elated when he found out my AM radio was set to DZBB.

"I am happiest when young people around me begin acquiring things. I am so happy you chose this. This car really suits you," he says.

I told him I saved for almost two years for the downpayment, and I'm hobbling along with the monthly payments.

"Drive this out of town, relish the sights, just you and the road, and your music. That's what I do. It's bound to make you feel and work better," he says. Well, he should know. His job is more stressful than mine.

"Your Tita and I spend Sunday mornings just reading and having coffee. It doesn't cost us anything, save for the paper and the coffee. Cherish the simple things and remember how blessed you are," he adds.

"Sir, the difference between us is that you go home to your partner, your sounding board, your best friend. I don't have that. I go home to an empty pad and my laptop, and my silly plant is dying on me," I say.

"Well, that's a problem," he admits.

Then he suddenly looks stressed.

Then he taps Jiminy's dashboard and recaptures his cheerful mood. "This one. This one is your partner. Go out of town, have fun. Enjoy the open road."

He refuses to be let off the main lobby. He insists to go to the parking area with me. He smiles again when he sees the huge SUVs parked there.

"This one, this one should be your next car," he says. We go around it and inspect it and agree I'd be stinking rich soon and will buy one.

He thanks me for the ride. I thank him for the honor of riding Jiminy da Cricket.

I think that short ride from the stressful libel hearing made a lot of things better, more pleasant.

I am blogging this now before things get hazy. The earliest version of a story is the closest to the truth. I just want to remember this as one of those small, pleasant things that happened lately.

(I can now say that my passenger then was our anchor, Mike. This is the tender part of the man who people think yells a lot. He does not. He is a kind man, a bit cantankerous at times, but very endearing, generous and kind-hearted most of the time. Our arguments then, mostly about work, made me grow up and mature faster.)

Jologs version ni Lola Oriang

Mga apo!

Kayong dalawa iyon. Psst. Ikaw babaeng nakapulang bandanna, at ikaw lalaking nakapulang t-shirt. Bakit ba pulang-pula kayo? RA ba kayo o RJ?

Mabuti naman napadpad kayo sa balay ko. Bihira ang nagpupunta sa bahay namin ni Julio. Tsk. Hindi na kami "in." Sabagay, sino ba sa mga bayani ang "in " pa sa inyo ngayon?

Ang dami niyo kasing bayani.

Nandiyan ang mga OFW, mahigit sampung milyon sila. Mga taxi driver na nagsoli lang ng porta moneda (wallet iyon!) na naiwan sa sasakyan nila, bayani niyo na. Di ba dapat lang isauli ang napupulot?

Eniway, ako ang Lola Oriang niyo. Gregoria de Jesus, Lakambini ng KKK, pangalawang asawa ni Andres Bonifacio. Siguro di niyo alam iyon, na may naunang misis si Andres? Monica ang pangalan ng unang misis ni Supremo. Pero namatay siya sa leprosy.

Menor de edad pa lang ako nang ligawan ni Andres. Anim na buwan din siyang nagpa-cute bago ko sinagot. Kung sa panahon ngayon matagal ang anim na buwan na ligawan, noong panahon namin, mabilis na iyon. Disi-otso ako nang ikasal kami.

Nagtambling ang mga magulang ko noong una, dahil hindi nila gusto si Andres para sa akin. Sosyal kasi ang pamilya ko, at bodegero lang si Andres.

Dagdag pa ni Mader at Pader, mason daw kasi si Andres. (Hindi in ang mga Mason noon). Takot din sila dahil nga sa leprosy namatay ang una niyang misis. Baka raw mahawa pa ako.

Taranta sina mader at pader. Inalis ako sa bahay namin sa Kalookan at ikinulong sa isang bodega sa Binondo. Panama ng mga soap opera sa drama ng love life namin ni Andres?

Alam niyo bang nag-SOS pa ako sa meyor ng Binondo para makalaya at maikasal kay Andres? Sus! Nakapagpapuslit ako ng sulat at naiabot ito kay meyor. Mga dalawang buwan lang naman, bago siya nakaaksion. Kita niyo na? Mabagal na rin ang serbisyo noon pa man.

Dalawang beses pa akong sumulat sa mga meyor ng Binondo at Kalookan, para lang makaalpas at mapakasalan si Andres.

Dalawang beses pa nga kaming ikinasal ni Andres. Una sa simbahan sa Tondo, at pagkalipas lang ng isang linggo, sa Katipunan naman. Hindi sa Katipunan malapit sa mga Heswita. Katipunan, as in sa ritwal ng mga Katipuneros.

May isa kaming anak ni Andres, na pinangalanan naming Andres din. Wala pa kasing bakuna nang panahon na iyon, kaya namatay si Andres Junior sa small pox habang baby pa lang.

Lider ng Katipunan si mister. Ako naman ang tagatago ng mga dokumento at gamit ng Katipunan. Pag may raid, may I orbit Manila in my calesa with the documents and anik-aniks of the revolutionaries ang beauty ko.

Nagsimula kaming magka-problema noong laging nag-aaway sa taktika sa labanan sina Andres at Emilio Aguinaldo. Lalo pang lumala ang gap ng dalawa noong botohan para sa bagong Republika noong 1897.

Kasi naman, napansin ko at ng ilang Katipuneros na maraming mga balota ang may nakasulat nang pangalan nang ipamigay sa mga botante. Okinnawa Japan, di ba?

Noon pa man, may dagdag-bawas na, Hello, Garci!

Dito na bumagsak ang samahan nina Andres at ng nanalong presidenteng si Emilio Aguinaldo.

Kasi naman, Interior Secretary na nga lang ang napunta sa mister ko, may humirit pa na hindi bagay kay Andres ang puwesto dahil hindi siya abugado. Lalong nagmarakulyo si Andres dahil nadaya na nga, ininsulto pa. Grade four lang kasi ang tinapos ni Andres, pero edukado naman siya dahil sa sipag niyang magbasa.

At dahil insecure si Aguinaldo at natakot sa aking mister, ipinag-utos niyang patayin si Andres. Nagkaroon ng paglilitis kuno at sinentensiyahan siya sa salang pagtataksil. Dinala siya at ang kapatid niyang si Procopio sa Mt. Buntis sa Cavite at doon sila pinatay.

Trenta'y tres anyos pa lang si Andres ko nang siya ay pinatay.

Alam mo ba ang pangalan ng nanguna sa grupong pumatay kina Andres at Procopio? Lazaro Macapagal. Hmmm. Iniisip mo ba ang iniisip ko?

Nga pala, maraming kuwento na ginahasa raw ako ng ilang Katipunero nang arestuhin si Andres, para lalong mapahiya ang aking mister.

Bilang dalagang Pilipina, no comment na lang ako riyan. Ang payo ko na lang, mag-research kayo. Do your homework. Ambot kay Ambeth. Siya ang tanungin niyo.

Eniway, 21 anyos pa lang ako, biyuda na. Kumusta naman diyan, di ba?

Tuloy pa rin akong nagsilbi sa bayan. Naging close ako kay Julio Nakpil, na pinuno ng Katipuneros sa norte.

Noong 1898, hindi na lang kami close, tight na kami. Ikinasal kami ni Julian. Haba ng hair ko, ano?

Nakitira kami sa bahay nina Dr. Ariston Bautista at ng kanyang misis na si Petrona Nakpil.

Ito ang bahay na iyon. Dito na rin lumaki ang walo naming anak ni Julio. Sinuportahan din ni Dr. Bautista ang pagpapaaral sa aming mga anak. Tsokaran nina Rizal at Juan Luna si Dr. Bautista. Sila nga iyong tatlong boys na nakatitig doon sa babae sa painting na Parisian Life na painting ni Luna.

Alam niyo bang iyong painting na iyon, iniregalo ni Luna kay Dr. Bautista at dito sa bahay na ito naka-display iyon? May apo lang kami na nag-nenok noon, at bigla na lang na-auction iyon, at binili naman ng GSIS.

Nakikita mo ba iyong administration building sa UP Diliman? Oo, iyong QVEZON hall, pronounced Ki-ve-zon hall. Gawa ng anak kong si Juan iyan.

Tingnan mo naman, ang anak ko National Artist for Architecture. Walang nagsingit ng pangalan niya, ha? Pati iyong dating Rizal Theater na tinibag na, design ng anak ko iyon.

Nga pala, bakit ba ang hilig niyong magtibag? Pati iyong monumento ni Andres sa Kalookan, titibagin niyo na rin. Di niyo na iginalang ang kontribusyon namin. Oo, hurt ako!

Alam niyo ba kung bakit paikot-ikot lang ang problema ng bansa natin at di tayo umuusad? Kasi hindi natin pinag-aaralan ang kasaysayan. Nasa kuwento ng buhay naming nauna sa inyo ang mga problemang hinaharap niyo ngayon.

Wala kayong originality sa problema, ni-recycle niyo lang ang problema namin.

Kaya salamat naman at nadalaw kayo sa bahay namin. Sana iyong mga barkada niyo rin, umalis muna sa harap ng Facebook at maglakad-lakad sa Quiapo.

Isang kanto lang ang layo ng bahay namin sa bentahan ng dibidi-dibidi na iyan. Silipin niyo naman ang bahay ko kahit sandali lang. Presyo lang ng isang pekeng dibidi na series ang bayad. Kalahating Starbucks lang. Libre pa nga kung talagang wala kayong pera.

Forty pesoses. Mura lang di ba? Pero ang history lesson, priceless!

Panalo ang Pinoy!

Gagawin kong Tagalog ito dahil nag-uumapaw sa yabang este, pagmamalaki ang dibdib ko ngayon. (Bakit parang bastos iyong linyang iyon? Ah, basta!)

Dahil nalasing sa kasaysayan ang isip ko sa nakalipas na ilang araw (at dahil na rin sa utos ni FW), nagpunta ako at isang kaibigan sa Maynila para silipin ang National Museum at ang Museum of the Filipino People.

Nag-cover ako ng Senado (na pinalayas ng National Museum mula sa 4th floor noong 2003) kaya alam ko kung nasaan ang NM.

Ang Finance Building pala ay siya nang tahanan ng Museum of the Filipino People. Kahapon ko lang nalaman iyon.

Sa parehong museum, ipinapaiwan ang bag at camera. Cellphone at wallet lang ang puwede mong dalhin. Kaya pasensiya, dalawa lang ang kuha ko gamit ang telepono ko.

Sentro pa rin ng NM ang Spoliarium. Pangalawang beses ko itong nakita kahapon. Noong una, noong uhugin pa akong reporter ng Senado, hindi ko kinaya ang emosyon na hatid nito. Marahas, madilim, at nakakahindik ang gawa ni Juan Luna.

Kahapon, iba naman ang epekto sa akin ng obra ni Luna.

Naisip ko na "Room of Spoils" siguro ang pinagmulan ng Spoliarium. At batay na rin sa ipinakikita ni Luna, talagang kuwarto ng mga nasirang buhay ang kanyang ginawa. Naging mas sentro rin ng atensyon ko ang babae sa kanan, at kung ano ang dalamhati na nararamdaman niya sa walang silbing pagkamatay ng mga mandirigma ng Roma.

Ayon sa iba't-ibang babasahin, ang Spoliarium ay isang silid sa ilalim ng Roman arena kung saan dinadala ang mga napapatay sa labanan ng mga gladiator. Kakaiba mag-aliw ang mga Romano kapag nababagot, ikamamatay mo.

Nasa NM rin ang mga gawa nina Felix R. Hidalgo at Luna, karamihan ay ipinahiram ng Far East Bank and Trust Company.



Pogi pero kakaiba ang ayos ng buhok ng Ilocanong si Luna, batay sa sarili niyang gawa at sa pagguhit sa kanya ni Hidalgo. Parang naririnig ko ang mga sosyal na tao na tumitili ng "Ewww, makeover, now!"

Bukas din ang NM sa mga batang manlilikha. May exhibit ng modern art sa isang kuwarto.

Sa MFP, naroon ang koleksion ng mga libingan, banga, plato, at iba pang gamit na natagpuan ng mga archaeologists mula sa iba't-ibang lugar sa Pilipinas, mula sa iba't ibang panahon ng mundo.

Makikita batay sa ukit at sa panahon na pinagmulan na ang mga Pilipino pala, mula pa noong unang panahon, ay may sining na at may kakayahang lumilok ng mga bagay na kailangan niya sa araw-araw.

May talino ang Pilipino, gumagawa at nag-iisip, kahit pa bago dumating ang mga higanteng butiki na may paa. Mayroon na rin siyang konsepto ng paniniwala sa isang Lumikha.

May mga patunay rin na bago pa man dumating ang mga Espanyol, may pakikipagniig (Teka, bastos yata iyon) at pakikipag-negosyo na sa ibang lahi ang Pinoy.

Malaking bahagi ng MFP ang naiahong gamit mula sa lumubog na San Diego, isang barkong pandigma, noong 1600.

Kung magkakaroon ka ng panahon, bisitahin mo ang dalawang museum at tulad ko marahil, lalapad ang dibdib mo na isa kang Pinoy.


Note: Sa NM, P70 ang bayad bawat tao. Pero isang pangalan lang ang ipinasusulat nila sa logbook.

Sa MFP, P100 ang bayad, pero isang pangalan din ang ipinasusulat nila sa logbook. Ang ginawa ko ay isinulat ko pareho ang pangalan namin ni Yowee sa MFP, at hiningi ko ang resibo. Hindi ito napupuna ng ibang nagpupunta. Tingin ko, dapat ay ayusin ng dalawang museum ang sistema ng paniningil, at huwag itong iwan lang sa guwardiya. Dagdag na pondo rin ito para sa ating museum.