Young Blood

Standing by
By Mark Anthony Pascual I wish I can tell a story of how I took someone to dinner and had the best Valentines Day ever. But no. I had an elaborate plan: Go home, eat pizza and doughnuts (probably with a couple of beers) while watching my favorite Friday-evening TV show, until I weather the Day of Hearts. I made sure to steer clear of what I call love nests: shopping malls, restaurants, night-out strips, any public space where theres a high chance of spotting canoodling couples. Of course, the plan was doomed to fail. As I board the bus to Bulacan, I see flower bouquets and heart-shaped balloons peeking from the seats. I resign myself to the fact that I will have to let these people have their precious time on their commute home. At the bus final stop, I transfer to a jeepney that will take me to my little town. Most everyone knows that a jeepney is on e of the most awkward public spaces. Two rows of seats face each other: You are at once shoulder-to-shoulder and face-to-face with strangers. Just my luck, I find a seat facing a couple with entwined arms. The woman is around 30, dark, with medium-length hair. She has a tattoo on her left foot, which I first think is a splotch of mud. The man is about the same age, burly, wearing trekking sandals. If it isnt Valentines Day I wont guess that they have come from a date because theyre not looking very happy. Five minutes into the trip I begin to hear heightened voices despite my earphones, mainly from the man. I avert my eyes; I dont particularly want to witness couple drama tonight. A few minutes more and I see from the corner of my eye that the man is forcing the woman to keep entwining her arms with his, even though she evidently does not want to. He asks, with unconcealed irritation, what she is being maarte (fussy) about. And Im wearing earphones. I throw quick glances at the couple, banking on the Filipino concept of hiya (shame). If the man starts noticing that people are aware of their ruckus, maybe hell stop harassing the woman. Maybe hell stop making everyone uncomfortable, most especially his partner. I can tell that the woman is getting hurt, but I cant b ring myself to step in and call out the man for his unacceptable behavior. I hope that someone, anyone, will intervene at that moment, but no one says a word. In psychology theres a phenomenon called bystander effect, in which people stand by and do no t offer any help to another person in trouble. Tonight I am one of at least nine people in the jeepney who are witnessing a woman being forced to do what she does not want to do, and doing nothing. I have only read of similar incidents, extreme ones, in b ooks and newspapers. Theres the story of Kitty Genovese of New York. More than 50 years ago, she was stabbed to death in a street where neighbors could have seen her. It was reported that 38 people were aware of the attack, but did not go out of their way to help Kitty. A neighbor said he just did not want to get involved. Theres another story, of the Pulitzer Prize-winning photographer Kevin Carter, who took the famous picture of an emaciated African girl lying on the ground, with a stout vulture hovering, waiting for her to die. It was said that after taking the shot Carter chased the vulture away, but just let the girl crawl toward a feeding center. Anyway. The man and woman alight from the jeepney. I imagine all sorts of scenarios that can happen when they get home. Maybe they will make up, and they will remember this years Valentines Day as a minor bump in their relationship. Maybe someone will see them arguing, and call the man out. Or maybe I cant bring myself to think of the unhappy alternativ es. I wish I can tell a story about an awesome Valentines Day, but I guess I am left with stories of a couple in a jeepney, Kitt y Genovese, the little African girland people who just stood by. Mark Anthony Pascual, 22, is a researcher. He studied psychology at the University of the Philippines Diliman.

Safe and sound

By Gabriela Victoria A. Timbancaya I sometimes get the feeling that my parents have little confidence in my ability to keep myself alive. This is partly my fault. Heres why. I am careless. I always forget my phone, and if I do have it with me, its likely out of charge or load. Sometimes I find that Im completely broke at the very instant I need money because I failed to monitor my cash on hand. This is a problem for my parents back home in Palawan, because Nanay and Tatay count on my phone and my wallet to keep me safe for the simple reason that they are too far away to do it themselves. The standard operating procedure is that when night falls, I send a text message to my parents telling them where I am. I tell them who Im with, how I will get home, what time Im heading home, and wit h whom. I reassure them that if we ride a taxi, I will not be the last to be dropped off. I tell them that I will be home soon. Well, thats how it should be. But the reality is that I never send them a text message. Sometimes they dont ask anymore, because theyve become used to me staying out until late at night (sometimes even until early morning). But parents have those moments when they worry just because. So they call. More often than not, as fate would have it, I am out with my orgmates. And as fate would have it, I am too enmeshed in the tangle of conversations and too absorbed in the peals of laughter in the air to hear the ringing of my phone deep in the recesses of my school bag. The next time I take it out, it registers five missed calls (sometimes even more) and a worried text message asking where the heck I am. Sometimes, I manage to check my phone just in time to answer a call. I say that Im out, but that Im going home soon. Tatay tells me to text as soon as I get back, and I tell him that I will. And I forget. Always. My parents call me again close to midnight, and only then do I remember that I was supposed to tell them that I got home safely. And then they can breathe easily and sleep peacefully. Well, at least until the next time I fail to answer my phone. My parents are afraid that Im not sufficiently street -smart. The funny thing is, I agree. This is partly their fault. Growing up in the province, I never felt the need to train myself in the art of surviving urban life. Nanay, a hardened Manila girl, would always tell me to be suspicious of everyone, but I learned to be very trusting of people because my environment felt relatively safe and someone was always watching out for me. Let me explain. Im not good at crossing streets. I know I have to look both ways, but thats not enough. I have to be herded like a lamb across a busy road, because when I was younger, I almost never crossed the street without Nanay or Tatay holding my hand. Heres more: The first time I commuted from school alone, my sundo was in a tricycle following the jeep I was riding in to make sure Id have someone on my trail in case I didnt manage to get off at the right place. I was already in high school then. And then late last year, my laptop crashed and I had to go to Trinoma to have it fixed. My mother asked what time I intended to go there, and when I said 5 p.m., she exclaimed that it would be dark by then, and dangerous: Ha? Gabi na yun! Delikado na! And she insisted that I leave for the mall after lunc h. To be fair, that was the only time she said 5 p.m. was too late to go to the mall, but the point is that it happened. I could go on and on about being sheltered, but I think you get it. Its not that my parents intended to keep me sheltered. They want me to learn from the world, and they know full well that a prerequisite to that is being able to survive in it. But in the context of safety and security, it was and still is difficult for them to draw the line between risks that I can afford to take and risks that will literally be the death of me if things go wrong. They are afraid that the dark side of humanity will bare its sharp teeth and swallow me whole when they arent looking. They a re afraid that I will get attacked, mugged, kidnapped, raped, murdered, or any combination thereof. This is societys fault. Strictly speaking, crime isnt news anymore. It is the status quo and a fact of life. What is news is when the crime rate dro ps to zero. I dont know how dangerous the world really is, but if the stories of violence, abuse, and harassment in the daily papers, news websites, and social media posts are anything to go by, its nothing short of a miracle that Im still alive. Recently, Nanay sent me a link to a Facebook note that someone wrote about nearly getting drugged by a taxi driver. She just sent me the URL and didnt bother to explain, because she knew that Id understand what she meant. For the sake of my parents sanity, I never ride a taxi alone anymore. A diabolic taxi driver is far from the worst of my parents fears. I can live without taking the taxi alone. However, there a re some kinds of danger I cannot control or avoid. At the University of the Philippines in Diliman, a student was brutally attacked in a school building and a professor was kidnapped from a parking lot in broad daylight and robbed just two of the many crimes that occur without rhyme or reason in recent times. These are what make it harder for my parents to sleep at night, knowing that I live on the very same campus where these things happened. Even if I were to go home before nightfall every day and even if I were to update my parents hourly, there will always be the possibility of something bad happening to me that is beyond my control. The truth is that no amount of precaution on my part will ever stop my parents from worrying about me. And I cant blame them.

I might complain that my parents are naggers and paranoids. Nanay and Tatay might complain that I never take their warnings seriously. But those arent the real problems here. The central issue is security, or lack thereof. (How to go about fixing that is another story altogether.) Maybe its not so much that my parents have little confidence in my ability to stay alive. Perhaps its just that they have little faith in societys ability to control everything that can go wrong with it. Either way, Im never truly safe and sound. Gabriela Victoria A. Timbancaya, 18, is in her third year of studying psychology at the University of the Philippines Diliman. She says she believes that security can and should be improved, but that there is much more to it than just strengthening the system.

Breakaway
By Glory May Asahan So you want to be happy, eh? Piece of cake, youngster. Just get good grades and finish school, land a high-paying job, find Mr./Ms. Right, settle down, and have a wonderful family. By the way, never forget to always look great and wear nice clothes. Make everybody like you. No, make them adore you. Then you get to live happily ever after. That was what they told me. And that is what they have been telling you, too. But what if you get lost along the way, with no means of getting back on track? Or what if you stop taking that same old road and choose to take another? What if you dont become what they want you to be? Does that mean you lose grip of your happily-ever-after? I dont think so. In case you havent noticed, our society in general has long been measuring a persons worth using numbers. We are too often concerned with how much money someone has in his bank account, how much he makes every month. We measure a students intelligence by how high his grades are and by the number of medals hanging on ribbons slung around his neck. We gauge how successful a person has become by counting his investments, the real estate in his name, the cars sitting in his garage. We quantify beauty by looking at the numbers projected by a weighing scale, by the tape measure we wrap around someones body. (Our society has serious obsession over numbers. Yet, math is our least favorite subject. Thats funny. Were kind of screwed up, arent we? Just putting it out there.) We have been made to believe that life works like this, and a life lived in a different way is a wasted life. We have become like robots programmed to do the same thing over and over again. And those who choose to illustrate the bright twinkling of the stars in a pitch black night sky and the rustling of leaves whenever the wind sends its sweet flying kisses with the use of their paint brushes and pens, they are the glitches, the a nomalies that mess up societys big equation. Because of what society makes everybody think and do, because of what society makes of us, the world has been seriously deprived of great writers, painters, pianists, performers, even cooks. Those who were born to become artists were compelled to count statistics, to analyze the stock exchange, to draw up business proposals, to churn up technical reports, to solve equations, to peer through microscope lenses, or to plod through books and publications on law and politics. I am not saying that engaging in business, science and technology, medicine and the law will not lead to happiness. What I am saying is that being in those fields is not the only way to make it. You can be the richest businessman on the planet and still be among the loneliest. You can be the richest businessman on the planet and also the happiest. It is, most often than not, all up to you. Happiness is not a one-size-fits-all kind of thing. It is not like a trophy or medal given to someone who has managed to become the best. Happiness does not work like that because your happiness is not something that someone else determines for you, and it is not something the rest of the world can calculate or measure. Happiness is something that is always inside you. You just need to make the choice to become a happy man or woman. It does not cost high grades or a six-figure income, and its worth will never be equaled by rubies or gold. Not even close. Happiness is priceless, and it is always free for you to take. You can be happy in 10 years, next week, tomorrow, todayor never. And only one person can tell you when, where, and with whom, and that same person is also the only person to tell you how. Yes, though it be a clich, that person is you. There are those who found their happiness in telling stories that will continue to live on long after they die. There are those who have become happy in retreating from the troubles of the world and living a secluded life in the mountains. There are those who discovered their happiness in the one person they chose to spend forever with, and I bet those people who have become happy by loving another rediscover their happiness whenever they take a look at the face of the person they love as they wake up each morning. Whenever we choose and fight for something we know we love, we can be happy. And you? What makes you happy? If you dont know where to start looking, stop and listen to the sound that has ever been so familiar, that soft whisper amid the deafening noises around your own voice. Who cares what other people say or think? You cannot always be what they expect you to be. At the end of the day, it has always been about you, not anybody else.

Break away, find your wings. And fly. Glory May Asahan, 18, is a third-year electronics and communications engineering student at the Pamantasan ng Lungsod ng Maynila.

Obsession
By Kala Pasamba I learned in my psychology class that the more you love someone, the more you distance yourself from him. Its probably because you are afraid to show your true colors, my psychology teacher said. I think thats what happened to me. I fell in love with someone I admired way too much, and I thought that he would never want me. I have very low self-esteem, and at times when I see him, I become speechless. I feel very embarrassed, because I havent accomplished as much as he has. I think I worship him too much, and do not put God first. Yes, maybe I did. (If ever I did not put God first, as I seemingly did, I am sorry for it.) I love him so much, and I am ashamed of what I have become in the past few years. I cant recall what kind of things I have been doing, as a sense of accomplishment. I think I have developed selective amnesia, or maybe Alzheimers; we have that sort of history in the family (including a history of distorted obsessiveness when it comes to ones love life). I dont want to ever lose him. I have always wanted to take up psychology, and become a doctor. But then again, I may not make it because I am afraid of the sight of blood. He is a nurse, and I am very proud of him. That is probably the reason I cant face him. I dont think I deserve him. I feel unworthy. A lot of people call me worthless, although I do my best not to be. But then again, just the mere thought of him makes me smile. And that may be, just may be, enough (rhetorically speaking). Kala Pasamba, 29, works for Essays.ph as a writer.

Surviving heartbreak
By Park Quilling Nothing shocks me anymore. In a country where buses falling from overhead are nothing new, what else can shock you, right? Or at least that was what I thought One afternoon, after a seemingly uneventful morning at the office (yes, uneventful, because a normal day for me at work means me throwing people out of the 32nd floor window and that day it didnt happen), my mobile phone rang. It was Y, a good friend of mine. Curious, I immediately took his call. To my surprise, Y was crying on the other end of the line. He was crying because he had just broken up with his partner, and as we were talking, he was somewhere in BGC trying to figure out how he would survive the pain that he was enduring. It had been a while since the last time I received a call of this nature, and to be honest I didnt quite know what to do. It was like putting a fresh-out-of-school, newly-trained call center agent onto the production floor, where every call that hed receive is a possible termination notice. As Y and I talked, as he disclosed what had happened in between his sobs and sniffs, I felt his pain. I knew that every breath he was taking at that moment felt like a dagger in his chest. I knew that there are only few issues that can destroy you faster than matters of the heart. For someone who has been down Heartbreak Avenue a few unfortunate times in the past, I knew that no amount of consolation can make you feel better, or feel whole, again. At least not for the next few weeks To Y, my dearest friend: Im not going to say that things are going to be okay (I know I said it a few times while we were talking, which is why I retracted it every single time) because they wont be. I can never explain why this has happened to you. I can never answer the perennial questions of why hearts get broken and where they go to heal. But this is what Im sure of: Youll survive this. You told me that you didnt know how to handle the pain, but trust me, youll figure it out and, in the process of learning it, learn how to be happy again.

For the next few weeks, youll be miserable. Youll probably go on a drinking spree, and when youve consumed all the wine/vodka/tequila that your body can handle, you will then lock yourself up in your condo and isolate yourself from us. Thats perfectly okay. Take this time to lick your wounds, to retrace your steps, and, most importantly, to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. I know all of this is going to take some time, but time is our friend. When you regain your footing, when you once again see the beauty in the concrete, just let me know and Ill be at your door in an instant with a bottle of our favorite red and a b ag of chicharon. At the end of all this, I can see you, me and the rest of our friends laughing at how silly you were that day. Well all crack a joke or two about it, probably even cry at some point. We may even plot the untimely demise of your ex, but until that day comes, my friend, you have our love. And honestly, thats all youre ever going to need at this point. Winston Churchill once said; If youre going through hell, keep going. Youre in hell right now, so just keep going. Well meet you at hells exit gate, I promise.
Park Quilling, 28, is an HR practitioner.

Young and jaded

By Shiela Rabaya I dont think Ive experienced something sufficiently cathartic to warrant this precious space. That fact, however, was what propelled me to write about every wrong thing about myself and to finally come up with the answer to the biggest question of all: Why? Why have I reached the ripe age of 18 and still have nothing particularly worth telling in my life? My life is a flat line, so to speak. The saddest thing on this planet is to be young and jaded. Ive never denied that Im a hopeless romantic, but I actually think that is one of the best things about me, which isnt really saying much about my overall personality. I like fiction, and tha t is the reason Ive become obsessed with the idea of a happily-ever-after. I love reading about boys who run after girls in an airport and declare their undying love. I love watching movies about two people whove been best friends since forever and who realize that theyve been in love with each other the whole time. I particularly love the trope of enemies to lovers stories. I dont have a bone in my body that feels ashamed of my love for the idea of love; however, Ive come to realize tha t I feel content with just watching or reading about these wonderful stories. Now, I am 18 and I do not have my own story. I think Ive rescinded my active participation in life and accepted the notion that Im not a particularly exemplary personnot the worst, but not the best either. So the only hope I have for having even an iota of feeling is through fiction. I love fiction, but I do not believe it can ever happen in real life. I am young and jaded; I hate it. I dont even know how I became this way. Maybe the one special thing about me is that I defy Freuds psychology. Theres nothing in my childhood that can possibly have affected my present state: My life is not eventful enough to have traumatic and mindset-changing experiences. Sailing by life and taking the path of least resistance have always been my style. I just never felt enough passion, excitement, or any of those feelings of positive reinforcement, to fully immerse myself in something. My thoughts will always run along the lines of My effort will be wasted, Whats the point? or Does anyone ever really care? I dont think anything is important, so I always just do the requirements to sustain my current state of living. Of course, I always crave something more; I just dont know what it is. I dont know what I really want to become because, as Ive said, I dont really have an opinion on what matters on this planet. I just have this wide array of random dreams filed in the Impossible folder in my brain. Ive never even tried. Again, I dont know why. I guess Im just wired weirdly: too many dreams, too little feelings to urge my body to actually make them happen. So here are several truths about me, things filed in the previously mentioned Impossible folder: I want to be someone extraordinary. I want to stand in a stadium full of thousands of screaming fans and sing my heart out. I want to pluck the strings on my guitar and have every single person entranced by the sound that I make. I want to stand in court and win case after case. I want to go to an airport and have someone chase after me and declare his undying love for me. I want to be president of a huge organization and have everyone admire me. I want my friend to like me as much as I like him. I admit that I may have been a bit obsessed with the idea of being known to the world, but didnt we all want this at on e point in our life?

The bottom line is that I have no idea what happened to make me disconnected from the rush of life. Ive had all these dreams, so why did I let 18 years pass without me taking risks, banging through doors and making people notice that I actually exist? My pursuit of happiness hasnt exactly been interesting. Sure, I have random bursts of inspiration and moments where I just absolutely hate my mediocrity and actually feel physical pain because of my intense want to do something, anything, outside my normal pattern in life. Writing this article, for example, is my current burst of positivity in my overall negative state of being. I just really wonder why I stopped being a kid who looked at the world with wide, bright eyes. People often think that being idealistic is such a bad thing, but I actually think that that is what allows us to explore the world, to make mistakes and learn from them. Being jaded is nothing but a shield for people who are afraid of bullets. I am young and jadedthis much is true. It pisses me off because I always feel like Im constantly caged in a prison of my own making. The truth is that I am a coward who is always passing up opportunities. I know that I am young, so I cant really be upset about my life yet. There is this general belief that the youth arent entitled to be upset about life because of the simple fact that we havent lived long enough to experience real sadness. What is real, anyway? Maybe this is postpuberty doing its job, but I truly am disappointed by my current state, so what can I do? I want to stop being this way. I want to be brave and bold. I want to stop being shy and self-conscious. I want to stop feeling like being normal is such a bad thing because maybe, just maybe, being extraordinary is a little overrated. I mean, if everyone is striving to be extraordinary, who can ever excel at being normal? Maybe I need to scrap being extraordinary from my Impossible folder. My life is a flat line, yes. I live on a straight road , yes. The main difference now, I gues s, is that I actually want to take a detour. I dont know what triggered my epiphany; all I know is that it is about time I actually made this happen. I guess thats it: I dont have a story to tell yet. This is my current story, and I hope the next chapt er will be much more interesting. I just have to be grateful that I am still young, so the best (or worst) is yet to come. Shiela Rabaya, 18, is a psychology sophomore at the University of the Philippines Diliman.

Superheroes
By John Tugano Study hard, get yourself a job, and finance your siblings education. These and many more are the responsibilities that a number of sons and daughters of today often need to face. These responsibilities are unwritten but instinctively understood and agreed upon. Being born and raised in a country where the level of poverty is quite overwhelming, I have witnessed such a system prevailing in many Filipino families. In most cases the eldest child is the one who takes up the burdens that the parents, being out of means, cannot act upon. By choice or as dictated by the situation, the eldest child submits to being the secondary, if not the primary, provider for the family. Instantly, I fit right in. I am one of those young and spirited fellows who, by any and all means, would lend a hand to his family beset by scarcity. I am one of the many who would deprive his/her own self of the frills of life and just make do with the so-called necessities in order to earn and save. I am one of those who see sacrifice as an outlet to be hoisted up from dearth. Yes, definitely, I am one of themthe breadwinners. I, like many others, come from an ordinary family that makes just enough for basic needs, and that occasionally struggles to meet whats deemed to be superior to the daily nitty-gritty, like hospitalization and education expenses. However, unlike other youths my age, I dont feel theres a need for lamentation just because I was born in a family not particularly endowed, or just because my fathers income is insufficient to put me through college, or just because I cant take being labeled a breadwinner as it is not as classy as it sounds, or just because I am the one undertaking the supposed obligations of parents. No. I am okay with my role even if its repercussions can mean being deprived of the things a young man like myself should supposedly be enjoying. I am okay with it if, in exchange, it means freeing my family from the bondage of poverty. When I fixed my gaze on how my father went about his daily toil, leaving our house before the sun rose and returning at dusk dead tired, I (in an instant) felt compelled to take part in what is called the price of greatness: responsibility.

My sense of responsibility is what urged me to study hard back in college. It is what urged me to stay away from not-so-good friends, or those who would pull me away from my goals. It is what urged me to be frugal, even if it meant being divested of simple pleasures. It was out of responsibility, too, that I got my diploma, a passport to a better job. And still, it was out of responsibility that I felt obliged to work, as hard as I can, because by working hard I can compensate the love (coming from all sorts of sacrifices) that my parents bestowed on me. God, who is so good, blessed me with a means of support: a job. I was hired by a photo-voltaic company in Laguna and from there I was able to start from scratch. I had (by all means) tried to trim my expenses so I could send the excess money home. My job isnt the kind of job you might think, one that requires sitting at a desk or taking calls fro m customers. Mine is not a high-paying job. I earn my salary by lifting, carrying and manually fixing stuff. It is physically tiring, really. For six years I have thrived like this, constantly mindful of and providing for my familys needs. Sometimes I ha ve to resort to borrowing money from other people so family members wouldnt have to make do without coffee and sugar on the table, or I stretch my remaining funds so they can pay their electricity bill while I ponder on how to pay my own, or I juggle overtime work so my brother does not have to suffer humiliation by depending on a promissory note. But these and many other things are the consequences that beset the resilient soul behind a breadwinner. It is said that being a breadwinner is to be selfless: You have to think of the welfare of your family first, and never mind that you have your own needs. Yes, you read me right. We also have needs, but because it is our choice or rather destinyto stand where we are now, it seems that we have lost the right to grumble. However, there are stubborn moments when I catch myself yearning for what others have or experience, especially when I glance over photos of my friends on Facebook, sitting so relaxed, sipping that big-name coffee that costs a lot (if I will compute its price, it can mean three kilos of rice). Darn this fate, Id think, I cant waste my money on that. Sarcasticthats how I am, because at the back of my mind is the longing to taste that coffee in time (when the life-will-get-better pursuit is over, perhaps). Also, I sometimes envy those people who are not obliged to allocate a fraction, or even the better part, of their salary to their family because it means financial freedom for them; it means they can enjoy the benefits of traveling and exploring the world, of buying things they want, and most of all, of enjoying the many perks that having money brings. Still, for young breadwinners like me who shoulder portions of the earth, all these are mere caprice, only suitable for fancy or for dreaming about. For what matters to us is the reality that not all people are blessed, that some were born with responsibilities, just like heroes. Breadwinners are more than just heroes: They are superheroes. John Tugano, 25, of San Vicente, San Pedro, Laguna, works as an operations technician at Sunpower Philippines and maintains a blog at http://blitheanduntroubledlife.wordpress.com.

Change for the better

By Christian Vias I remember Rachel, my 22-year-old friend in high school. She was shy but hardworking when it came to doing our homework back then. I gave way for my older brother to finish his studies and become an architect, she said. Well, my friend Mark just turned 24 and became an architecta professional one, too. Rachel wore loose maong pants and our PE T-shirt, and carried a heavy bag filled with books and God knew what. She was a good friend. My other friends were so excited to experience life after high school. We always went out for food and drink, and Rachel always declined politely. I knew that for four years she did a lot outside school. Stints at a fast-food chain, constantly telling their landlord that rent could not be paid at the moment, and caring for her sick mother were some of her stories. Those were stories that gave me a glimpse of her life and what she did for a living. She told us that graduating and eventually getting a job were what she wanted for her family, and it didnt matter if her gradua tion came a little later than expected. She was the oldest student on campus and we were proud that she was part of our batch. When graduation came, Rachel wore the brightest smile. Ive been waiting for this for a long time! she exclaimed. *** I remember the second Smokey Mountaina catchy name for a pile of garbage so high a country full of civilized rats could be living underneath it. Its a mountain where makeshift houses, stores and schools collide with the scenic atmosphere of rotten leftovers, decaying animals, spoiled food and such.

I set foot there once for a feeding program. As a volunteer, I was upset and in shame over what I saw. We were working in such a horrible place that no one, except the people living there, dared plan to return. Just the thought of how much garbage there was still overwhelms me. That memory of Payatas in Quezon City is still vivid, pungent, in my mind. When our feeding program ended, I strolled around to take pictures for our project. I came across two kids, a boy and a girl, wearing tattered school uniforms. Im hungry, the girl, Elena, said. I dont have any food here, the boy, Kurt, replied. Upon hearing their conversation, I told them to go to our tent and ask for lugaw. They happily ran off, leaving me with a smile on my face and looking at the school where 40 or more students were listening to a volunteer teacher. I wondered how they were coping with this environment day after day, and, more importantly, I wondered about their safety. (A landslide occurred here some years back, by the way.) This may be the average story of every normal family living in Payatas: A child wakes up to the noise of dump trucks. The trucks are not there to collect trash from their home but, ironically, to dump trash in their home. The child asks his mother whats for breakfast and gets the same answer every day: Nothing. The father has to work as a scavenger; he scours, or should I say he braves, the garbage to find scrap materials. He brings the stuff he gathers to a nearby junk shop, and is rewarded with a few pesos. And as all of this is happening, elsewhere another child is crying because her mother wont buy her the newest phone or the latest Taylor Swift album. Her sister is angry because classes have been scheduled on Saturdays. All she wants to do is hang out and spend her money on trivia. On the other hand, her brother is complaining of hunger: Theres plenty of food on the table but not one dish he likes. If only the rich kids know that what they dont want is what other kids crave. *** No, the children living in the slums cant complain about mobile phones, food fads, or music albums. There is no one to text or take a call from, only their father telling them that their dinner of salt and rice is ready. There is no album to listen to, only the volunteer teacher who tells them to memorize the ABC. And if theres food on their table, they will gladly give some to others, not throw a tantrum when they cant have what they want. They cant complain. There is just no food on the table. In fact, there is no table! The poor ones crave what we take for grantedcomplete meals every day, better shelter, decent clothes, a normal life, and more importantly, better education. But life goes on. We have to drift past these things. We understand that it happens to some of us. I once recorded my late mentors speech at a ceremony: That is the problem with our school. Business is still business. If you cant pay, you cant learn. Thats the policy. That is the problem with the society. Academic achievement doesnt guarantee a job. Graduating and having a diploma cant magically give you money. You should work for it, earn it. We should not be content with what we have. Human nature wasnt born that way. We should grab ev ery opportunity, good or bad, for the love of learning and do something new. Something new that can change us for the better. Something that each family needs. Something that each individual in this room needs. Change for better tomorrows. Take the leap of faith. Grab that chance of a lifetime and by grabbing it, you, my friend, will experience change. Well, he later grabbed the roasted pig dripping with fat and died the same night of a heart attack. Talk about irony. I am thinking of Rachelwhere she is now, what course she is taking, what future awaits her. I am thinking of Kurt and Elenaif they have had lunch, what they are learning in school, if theyre safe in their home. I am thinking of the rich kids crying because they want candy for dinner, the poor ones giving thanks for a rare meal enjoyed by the whole family. I am thinking of my late mentor and his speech. Education is a powerful word with a deep meaning that needs deeper understanding. If education had been given to Rachel early in her life, she would have been successful by now. If education had been given to Kurt and Elena and to other poor children in general, they may find the means to move to another place, start a new life, and hope for better days. If given to the rich kids, they would be gobbling whats on their table and being grateful for it. If given to the right people, it can change us for the better. It can be the change that each family needs. It can change each person reading this piece. It can bring change for better tomorrows. I just have to grab that chance and I will experience change. I just have to take the leap of faith. Education is priceless. But upon reminiscing, one finds that it is deceptive as well. Christian Vias, 16, is studying computer science at National University.

A persons a person no matter how small

By Danielle Dy Small. Weak. Vulnerable. Naive. Ive heard it said before. Not once, not twice, but a thousand times more. Youre only a child! What would you know? Just play! Do something! Leave me be and go! This is not the first atrocity; many more I have witnessed, many more the burden fell upon me. I was in a store buying a pair of shoes when an older woman stepped in front of me and cut the queue. Heedfully I approached her and said, Excuse me, miss, please fall in line. She rolled her eyes, smirked, and went on ahead as if everything was fine. A similar case I witnessed with my own eyes: A child corrected his teachers mistake and she exclaimed, Lies! Lies! Lies! If you have not noticed the theme so far, I suggest you do; read this and you might learn a thing or two. People always say mother knows best, but Id like to put that theory to the test. Sam Houghton invented a double headed broom. At the tender age of three, he invented a tool that can collect large debris and fine dust simultaneously. Not impressed yet? Well, get ready! Four Nigerian teenage girls invented a pee -powered energy generator. And yet here are the older and wiser Apple engineers, incessantly and redundantly producing remakes of their previous products year after year. iPhone, iPhone 3, iPhone 3G, iPhone 4! Its hard to find something new at the Apple store. Seemingly arbitrary, these cases actually align. The common theme is that the world is not fine. We live in a society where adults often underestimate the creativity and capabilities of the youth. This is slowly changing but so far it is the truth. Childish and optimistic it may seem, absurd even, but I feel that what follows is a viable solution to this issue that must be heard. Experience is a strength that adults possess, but using this to belittle the youth can potentially stir up an enormous mess. Ones strength, however, can also be used for good. Allow the youth to learn from your experiences and mistakes, to foresee the future of what could instead of the current belief of what should. Move out of the old and into the newjust a little something I learned from High School Musical 2. After all, he who is an insignificant boy today will come of age someday. I imagine that as adults, you would like to see the world in a way that relates economically. Well, picture this: If children are turned down constantly, then their confidence will grow weak and so will their productivity. An unproductive workforce can contribute to a significant decrease in GDP, and all you can do is watch as the numbers slip away regretfully. Is all this to salvage your pride? Open your eyes and look from the outside. To the youth I must say I am also disappointed in our overly abiding ways. We are not robots; we are humans, too! Sitting idly by and listening for instructions all your life is not the sensible thing to do. Just a suggestion, the action part is up to you. Have a sense of judgment, allow yourself to determine what is right and wrong. Do not falter in the face of pressure, fight for your beliefs, stick to them and be strong. I do not aspire to encourage children to disrespect their elders by any means, or to inspire a new generation of overconfident, cocky teens. The message I am trying to convey is that mutual respect is the way. Children must listen to their parents as society deems this true, but wouldnt the world be more just if adults listen to the things we have in mind, too? Before I conclude, I would just like to say: There is a purpose for the rhyming, by the way, and no, it is not just for play. The rhyming is a medium portraying the youths creativity, as it shatters the orthodox format of what an article should be. On that note Ill leave it to you, but never forget this saying from Horton Hears a Who: A persons a person no matter how small. Let this be a lesson for us all. Danielle Dy, 16, is a Grade 11 student at International School Manila.

Let the clock tick away

By Yvannessa Santos In March 2013 I graduated from college. I walked up a stage to claim my diploma and get a handshake from the university president, then made my way down while the others in line behind me followed the well-practiced routine. And that was it. School was over. I remember feeling immensely happy and excited at the end of the ceremony, when all the fake rolled diplomas were thrown into the air. I remember wanting to run to the guests seats to find my family. But most of all I remember that after all the hype of the event had died down, amid the hugs and congratulations, I had one question in my mind: What now? My family has always been very focused on education and its importance. My parents wasted no time whenever my brothers and I needed help with studying, or anything related to school, for that matter. They didnt really push us to be achievers, but they stressed the fact that studying well and finishing things on time were among the most important things in lifes phases.

This was why planning ahead was important for us. My older brothers were asked what they wanted to take up in college, and reminded that this would be what they would do for the rest of their lives. I didnt care for a hair on my head about tha t matter at that time because I am almost a decade younger than my siblings. I thought Id probably have an answer when my time came for that magical question that could potentially change the course of my life. As long as I kept a path in sight, I would never have to ask myself: What now? Not in 10 days, not in 10 years. That question hangs around unanswered until now. Im the kind of person who loves plans. I made lists of what to do for the day, I stacked sticky notes detailing what I had to accomplish, I almost never took my watch off my wrist for fear of missing my schedule. After graduating from college I had a plan set in stone about what I thought I wanted to do, and when I wanted things to happen. I went for the usual route expected of people who had completed their studies: Look for a job, get employed, earn for yourself, maybe give back to some people when youre stable enough. And I did get that plan sailing immediately after leaving what I called the practice world. But as soon as I delved into the real world and started working and living independently, I found myself asking that dreaded question every night and every morning. What was the point of all my vigorous planning, if every bit of those plans made me so unsure? Plans were supposed to provide a sense of order, of certainty. I was starting to think that Benjamin Franklins words made a lot of sense: that the only certain things in life are death and taxes. I was aware that I was very lucky to have a job, to earn money to keep me f ed and sheltered, but while I kept this fact in mind, it didnt move me forward. I realized that I had no idea what force in the world would be enough to keep pushing me forward, and that all I was looking for now was to be content, even at this age. We all say this at least once in our life: If I had this and that, I wouldnt ask for anything more, it would make me content and happy. At this point, Im trying to figure out what constitutes a satisfied person. I used to watch the evening news a lot with my father. Ive seen plenty of interviews and footage on typhoons and other natural disasters, and its almost always the same setting for each one. The reporter stands with a huge crowd of locals behi nd him/her, most of them grinning or waving at the camera. In time I begin to notice the people in the background more than the person delivering the news. The reporter goes on and on about the extent of the damage and the high death toll. The numbers change from calamity to calamity, but what doesnt change is how vibrant the people behind the reporter are. Yes, theyve lost their homes, even loved ones. Some may not know where to go after showing up on camera. How, then, can they still smile and wave and make faces on live television? They have bigger problems than me. Its not that we should think there are others who have it worse. No, its more like: If they can find a reason to do it, then so can we. We ask the same questions: What now? What happens now? And yet these people whove dealt with so much loss and pain seem so much more satisfied with what they have. Maybe its not about what you dont have, but what you have left. These people who are devastated in more ways than one have plans in life, too, but they can carry on and rebuild. Tragedies dont choose who to test; these amazingly happy people may have also graduated from college, with jobs on the line, or some may not have had the chance to even learn to read. Some may have families to feed and some may be young, free spirits. Some may have plotted their life plans for up to when they reach 60. The point is they find something to pull off a smile and to answer the recurring question. Im not sure if thi s is something innate in Filipinos, where we all just seem to find ways to climb back up after being knocked down or thrown offcourse. I actually find it inspiring and heartwarming to be part of a nation where its natural and part of the culture to smile; whe re no one needs a reason to perk up, whether to a stranger or a familiar face; where everything can be associated with a joke, and ring up a unique sense of humor. Being perfectly satisfied with whats going on suddenly sounds like the best plan Ive ever heard. It keeps time moving properly, and it keeps us moving on. Plans are good and they have a purpose, but theres a time and place for each plan to happenor so it seems. You cant plan for something that youre sure will keep you content a couple of years from now when you dont even know how to appreciate your contentment for now. The clock will keep ticking and the days will pass, and we can only hope for the best, that all our ambitions and preparations will be in sync. I dont regret being too organized about every single thing back the n, but what I do regret is trusting that things will work seamle ssly as long as theyve been laid out in blueprints. Ive had people telling me that uncertainty is all a part of being young, of being a young professional. But that doesnt mea n I cant start worrying about what Im going to do with my life now. I will keep thinking about the question thats been bothering me for quite some time, and so might others who are thinking of the same dilemma. But at the same time we have to deal with not getting to follow what weve prepared for, and we have to learn to be con tent that at least we can live day to day and learn a million answers, that we can count so much more blessings than curses. When youre satisfied with what you have, anything that unexpectedly lands on your lap becomes something that means more. So what now? Now we live on and be grateful, go forward, and let the clock tick the seconds away. Set a plan when events allow it and try to keep open a hopeful eye. Be ready to ask that question again when the plan fails. Live out your plans, but arrange them one at a time. Be thankful for now.

Yvannessa Santos, 21, is an alumna of Ateneo de Manila University.

Life that leaves a mark

By John Patrick F. Solano What punctuation marks would constitute your life if it were written down? This question by Averill Pizarro, a columnist, struck me and held me frozen for a moment. As a (self-proclaimed) grammarconscious proofreader, Im fully aware of the usage of each punctuation mark, but I m ust admit that I sometimes take them for granted, hardly noticing the tears spilling from them (or were they mine?). Often, we dont notice the unsolicited help that we get from punctuation marks. They guide us in constructing the foundation of our sentences. They condition us in setting the right tone of emotion in our speech. And, most importantly, they make us more human, allowing us to relate to each and every one, as we all tend to pause and take a breath when encountering one. Now that the role of punctuation marks in our lives has dawned on me, I can answer the hanging question boggling my mind: What punctuation marks would constitute my life if it were written down? My life would probably be decorated with colons of enumeration and explanation, and haloes of question marks, coupled with abrupt, exclamatory adrenalin rushes. It would also include having exhilarating ellipses (and letting others wonder and follow the trail), slashing of anxieties and selecting better choices in virgules of decisions, and debating with constant commas of notions, but making sure that Ill end things with a point. A life lived without punctuation marks is simply boring, breath-catching, pointless. I hope this would punctuate your fluctuating thoughts of complexities and mark your life of irrationalities. John Patrick F. Solano, 22, is a technical associate at Solutions Insurance Brokers Inc.

In sadness
By Anais Jay Sadness is a single cancer cell big enough to render my immune system stupid. My life has become too big to understand, my person too vague for significance, and my body too heavy to lift off that old couch. I sit and mope and explain to myself that my sadness was delivered to me by lifes unkind nature. No one would hold that against me; after all, the only recipient of the harm produced is the producer him/herself. This sounds like a fair bargain, but if my excuses were valid, humankind would still be hiding in caves and worshiping the stars. I think again and determine sadness to be an emotion that can either be a temporary state or a perfect getaway. I linger on perfect getaway, realize my preexisting attachment to it, and conclude that I am stuck in an ongoing traged y. I should repeat that: Im stuck in an ongoing tragedy. With the world at its ripest and the opportunities at the peak of their abundance, I pursue all roads and reach the destination called Nowhere. And when disappointments come crashing my way at the recognition of my lost cause, I sink into despondency and take forever to get back on my feet. The revelation of lifes rough character leaves me wondering where my childhood has gone, and I stand alone in a crowded place, unsure of how to approach this monster. Rather than risk upsetting the norm, I rent a house in Sadness Village and I shut all my doors and windows. I become depressed. Later, I sneak out to peek at the world and see what I have been ignoring: countless strangers of the same age, the same race, the same clothes, and the same smile of a person who is seemingly standing on the edge of his/her own pedestal. Hovering above our heads is the false notion that life would be and should be easy. Success is instant. First love is true love. One try is enough. Rejection is a signal to withdraw. A broken family is an indication of a life stuffed with never-ending complications. With all the talk about letting go and taking chances that I keep raging about in public, I continue to be crushed by t he inevitable dawning of depression. I continue to be overcome by my wrongs and my inability to let go. I see them as a mistake instead of an invitation to wisdom, and Im quite fed up with that. I cant stomach the growing population of depressed adolescents who refuse to fight for their lives simply because they feel no one else will fight for them. However accurate this notion might be to the majority of us, I refuse to claim it as my excuse. I am sick of participating in that frenzy.

The issue of teenage depression is underestimated. We know it exists, but most of us fool ourselves into believing that it is only a phase and that getting over it is an inevitability. I wonder why this lie pushes through to this day despite the increasing number of us who do not make it out alive. When the concept of suicide took its full form in my understanding, it came as a shock to me that giving up on life is a possibility. It is a prospect that matures and comes alive the second you enter into depression yourself, and from that height you can finally see from what depth your fallen peers had perceived the world. The truth is that all of us eventually consider ending our lives, some with the fantasy of seeing their funeral from heaven and trying to identify the people who will grieve the most at the loss of them. There is another side to this: an alley discovered only by those who wish to close their eyes forever, thinking of no one else but themselves because they are convinced they have grieved the worst. I hope that fathers will not always dismiss their daughters moodiness as a side -effect of being a woman; I hope that mothers will start to notice how their sons win over the urge to cry in public; I hope parents will take the time to look at their children and see, and if they dont, I hope that their brothers and sisters will; I hope that teachers will ask a question and notice the students who do not raise their hands; I hope that friends will shut up, stop judging, and hear what the loud ones cannot say out loud; most importantly, I hope that those who need help will realize that they have the strength to help themselves. Im sick of blaming others. Im sick of pointing at the world, when the world is only a reflection of who we are today. If I want change, I have to give others something to reflect. They say depression cannot be overcome by willpower alone, but that does not cancel the impact that willpower can produce in any battle, especially ones that commence in the minds of us young people. Depression is not an event or a phase, but a cycle, and getting over it once will never be enough, particularly for those who are continuously suffering from unwanted transitions in their life. The breakthrough has to be won frequently until we reach stable ground, until we have stored enough courage to call ourselves Brave. Every day, we will exhale the traumas of our past and inhale the possibilities that the present has made available to us. I will not waste my time agreeing with the negative poundings of society. I will create a limit and ring an alarm, and I will draw an imaginary switch in the murk of my thoughts and flick it upward. I will see the happy moments, regardless of how few and how temporary. I will purposely choose to move on and be happy. Life doesnt end because Im sad. Life doesnt begin because Im happy. Life goes on because I dare to live it. Anais Jay, 18, says she has decided to stop schooling for an entire year to pursue my painting and writing career.

Memories
By Kirk D. Avestruz I overheard two men talking in a restaurant. They were probably in their late sixties or early seventies. Their conversation started out very casually, the usual exchange between friends who had something to talk about while having lunch together. It was the kind of exchange that was dispensable and that can be dropped at any moment once lunchtime was over. At one point in their conversation, I heard one of the men recall with fondness memories from his childhood. One thing that struck me, as I went about my inadvertent eavesdropping, was the remark he made after detailing a childhood experience, or what he remembered of it: How happy it is to be a child (Ang saya talaga maging bata). That simple, unpretentious and earnest remark whirled me back to my past, then gradually brought me forward to my present. For a moment it seemed like a self-produced movie flashing through the eyes of the mind. I remember fairly a lot from my childhood my father, mother, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends, old places, old church, old schools, old playgrounds, house, friends houses, toys, games played inside the hous e and outside, fights with friends, tantrums, punishments from parents and other close relatives, quarrels between and among friends and family, etc. Some of the memories, however, are indistinct and unclear, and more often it seems that it is the mind which artificially adds on to the fuzzy images and memories just to make sense of them, because certain details have been left out or forgotten. Still, in a very important way it is a delight to be able to revisit the life you have so far lived and the emotions you felt when certain and particular events took place. Somehow it allows you to reexamine your present, evaluate the person you have become, and envision the future that is truly meaningful for you. It is a cathartic experience to be able to go back to those moments when life-changing opportunities presented themselves to you, providing you with the chance to take a step forward toward betterment. And with a thankful heart you recall those moments when you took those steps one at a time

sometimes carefully, at other times carelessly, and occasionally fearful of the uncertainty of the future and the possibility of a wrong choice made, but every so often thrilled about finding out what lies after and beyond the choices taken. The experiences, however, were not always delightful. There were also the unforgettable, sometimes traumatic, unhappy ones. While there are those that unfailingly make you laugh, there are also others that still drive you to shed a tear, and yet others that deeply make you want to go back in time and do things differently, and better. There are memories that make you want to go back, to be with people who, you know, you will never have a chance to be with again. And then you come face to face once again with some of the opportunities that were missed. Unlike many I know, I have regrets in this life. There are things I wish I had done differently. There are people I wish I had loved more and spent more time with. There are hours and days I wish I had spent with those who really cared and whom I truly loved. I recognize the stumble. And perhaps it pays to always remember at what points the stumble happened. The old man was right. There is nothing quite like childhood. And it is mostly because childhood is that time in your life when you carry a clean slate: so much unadulterated hope, dreams, vision, inspiration, and the desire to be your best self, to love, to laugh at nothing, to be happy about everything, to care, and to love some more. It is the time when you are still in the beginning point of the proverbial race that is life: a little foolish, maybe, and careless, but unaffectedly hopeful and pure. Sometimes in my silent reverie I wonder how it would be like for someone to be given just one chance to restart his life. In this way he can begin with it wiser and better prepared to face its uncertainties. But reality stares at us sharply in both eyes: There is no dry run. There is no second take. There is no rerun. Nevertheless there is comfort in knowing that while at it, the runner can always choose to take the different and hopefully better course. It is a charm to be able to relive, even if it is only in that colorful world in your head, your life from childhood up to the point just right before your present. On one hand those happy memories push you further to keep moving forward and running the race. On the other hand the painful memories inspire you to be a better person for yourself and, equally importantly, for everyone else. This is because in certain significant ways, they made you understand what it is like to be in pain, to want, to need, to long, to regret, to experience loss, to feel abandoned, to be misunderstood, and ultimately to be human. In reliving the past, however, you can only look back so much. At a certain point the memories end. And then you will see that there is a present to live and likewise a future to look forward to. But the divide between the past, present, and future is artificial. What is real, though, is that the experiences created beckon us to welcome the future and embrace the present. They rouse and teach us to hold on to every chance we get to create new, worthwhile, and meaningful memories today, and then the day after, and then another day more. Kirk D. Avestruz, 29, is a graduate of the University of the Philippines College of Law.

How is life measured?

By Aoo Felipe The reason we struggle with insecurity is because we always compare our behind the scenes with someone elses highlight reels. Steven Furtick Have you done something relevant today? Prove it. Post a photo, tweet it, blog about where you went and who you were with and what you bought. How cool are you? How hip? How pretty? Post it and let the number of comments and likes dictate how valuable you are. Ill be the first to admit that this is the prevailing message I get every day as I clamber out of bed. It seems that in this selfie generation, we measure people by their highlight reels posted all over social media while we feel stupid and lazy and ugly, thinking: How is it they can travel, eat, or buy what I can only dream about while I endlessly toil in an 8 to 5 job, go home exhausted, only to feel more insecure as I see more of these look what I did today posts and repeat the endless cycle the next morning? It begs the question: How is my life really measured? Am I measured by the things people see? The currency we deal with now is status and material things. We are unconsciously always pining to show people we are better than they think we are by endlessly broadcasting anything in the line of self-

promotion. If this is the case, how come I have never met a patient on his deathbed wishing he had been promoted more, or had more money, and bought more things? Its always relationships. People always wish they had more time for relationships. Its all anyone says when faced with mortality. I wish I invested more time in relationships. That I had laughed more and hugged more instead of being arrogant and competitive. To have listened more than speak. To have given importance to being kind rather than being right. That I had often looked into her eyes and been in the moment rather than sat through dinner typing away at a smartphone. There are remarkable people in this worldshiny, glimmering in the spotlight, successful, confident, and brave. But Ive noticed that there are also the quiet ones: They get up each day without any fanfare or parade. They live the day without the need to prove anything, and throughout life refuse to make ripples or gain recognition. They would rather have as their reward the gentle laughter through a family dinner, the sweetness of cuddling her husband, the stories they share when he drives his son to school. They measure life by love and hard work and sacrifice. They speak a simple truth, and can be counted on the most. While we admire the first kind with all their positions and wealth and status, I find myself daily being drawn toward the second. Aoo Felipe, MD, 28, is an internal medicine resident at the National Kidney and Transplant Institute. He says his nanny passed away after struggling with Stage 4 breast cancer. She lived the most unassuming, quiet life without any entitlementneither marrying nor possessing anythingand it was a beautiful life. Because I knew her, I have been changed for good.

Appreciating rainbows and also train wrecks

By Mia Larainne L. Dueas We are marked by the ability to appreciate rainbows and train wrecks. Beauty is easy to love. That which is pleasing to the senses is pleasing to the heart. We delight in good looks, intelligence, charm, niceness. We gravitate toward warmth and find ourselves readily in awe of beautiful landscapes and scenery. We enjoy humanitarian stories and endings where everyone gets to live happily ever after because these reflect all the good things left in the world. Outside of the books, movies, and shows that we consume, we even search for this happily ever after in our own lives. Beautiful things, good thingsthese are what fill us with hope and make us smile. But tragedy? Its strange how people can enjoy that sometimes. Why on earth would someone marvel at news of the devastation wrought by Supertyphoon Yolanda and continuous ly keep tabs on the death toll and pictures of the destruction, even though the sight turns their stomach? Why is the story of Romeo and Juliet so beloved until now, when its essentially a tale of two young lovers whose passion and ignorance lead to their deaths? Why do people read sad books and listen to sad music over and over again, even though they know these lead to the reinforcement of more heartbreak? Nowadays, people consume depressing news and experiences voluntarily, even when it makes their stomach twist and eyes water. The appreciation of tragedy, I think, is something more cerebral in nature. We see dead bodies and starving children, and our first reaction at the sight of such misery is to cry, with a lump in our throat and our chest aching with sympathy. But the more we actually think about it, the more we cant help but marvel at the strength of the disaster that caused this whole mess, marvel at the power of nature. We watch a movie on Romeo and Juliet, and while we despair at the ending, we cant help but admire the love that the two characters shared. We are hurt when we are lied to, but beneath all the hurt, there is a part of us thats amazed at the amount of thought that went into that lie, and we wonder what kind of person would go thro ugh such an effort. Its sick, but were amazed anyway, because good lying takes skill. It would be easy to say that the world is becoming a cynical place. We live in a society where bad news is expected and good news has become such a novelty that were always surprised to read and hear such a thing. In fact, whenever good news is broadcast, there is always that one person who casts a pall of gloom over the lighthearted atmosphere by posting a negative comment or griping about something or other. We enjoy laughter and lighthearted banter, but are riveted by drama and scenes of domestic arguments and people drunkenly slapping others in bars. Its like a train wreck: horrible to look at, but at the same time, we cant look away. Perhaps cynicism has something to do with it, but Id like to believe its more than that. We hate the destructive stuff, but on some level we can still appreciate them because they are lessons. They teach us that things can go wrong, that people dont turn out the way we expect them to, and that life has a habit of pulling the rug out from under our feet more than once. They

remind us that, for all our superiority, we are not invincible. They make us feel all sorts of terrible things and make our minds go to so many places, reminding us how wide the spectrums of human thought and emotion are. With these feelings and thoughts, they remind us that we are human and so, so very alive. They also make us wiser. Pain demands to be felt, as John Green would say. But pain also demands to be learned from. We take note of what went wrong, and we hurt from them, but we, with any luck, also do what we can to make sure they dont happen again. Sometimes our methods work; sometimes they dont. But we try anyway, and we keep learning and hoping even though sometimes it is so hard to move forward. We may never be totally invincible, but we can still do our best to make sure that our armor is as strong as it can possibly be. Tragedy, most of all, makes us appreciate beauty. Knowing darkness enables us to see light as a treasure. Without it, we would not value the beauty and shortness of life. How many of us (especially those living in the Visayas) have said how grateful and lucky we are for our lives after the earthquake and typhoon hit us? We are flawed creatures: Too often we act recklessly, forgetting that time and change wait for no one. Sometimes, it takes something bad to happen before we are anchored to reality again. More than that, tragedy instills in us the need to extend this appreciation to others. This years Christmas season may culminate a year filled with natural and social disasters, but it also brings an even strong er sense of family, sharing, and giving. In person and on various media platforms, we see an outpouring of support for the survivors of disasters and of lifes unfairness in general. Everywhere, Christmas parties are being done away with or downgraded so that the budget can be donated to those who need it more. Seeing the horrors of the world with our own eyes not only reminds us of how fortunate we still are in spite of everything, but also reminds us of our responsibility to care for our fellow Filipinos by sharing what we can. All in all, we love train wrecks just as much because they remind us of how important rainbows are. For us to be able to see beyond the pain of tragedy and treat it, not just as a lesson in wisdom and gratefulness but also as a reminder to care, is astounding. It takes little to appreciate good things, but to be able to appreciate the ugly side of life takes a lot of strengthsometimes, strength we dont even know we have. Then again, sometimes strength is the only thing we have, and it is amazing what wondrous things can come out of seemingly hopeless moments. Mia Larainne L. Dueas, 21, is a student of linguistics and literature at the University of San Carlos.

Round yon virginno mother, only child

By Nicholette Legaspi When I was a child, I wanted to see snow fall in December, like all the Christmas songs say it does. I wanted to see a winter wonderland, to experience lovely weather for a sleigh ride. Now I just want to wake up on Christmas morning to the smell of my moms cooking and her voice calling me down for breakfast. I want to see my mom fussing over the food like she always did, always the last person to take her seat during meals, always the perfectionist. Ive had the same dream for six Christmases already. What makes this years seventh any different? Still, a child of an overseas Filipino worker can dream her little Christmas dream. In the wake of the magnitude-7.2 earthquake and Supertyphoon Yolanda, I realized that more families would be spending their Christmases like minethat is, far away from each other. That doesnt comfort me at all. If anything, it makes me sad. I would never wish my last six Christmases (and counting) on anybody. My dad hates Christmas. Its that time of the year when he misses Amah (my grandmother) the most and when the harsh reality of being a single parent hits him the hardest. A lot of people are like my dad. They forget what Christmas really is, because life has been too cruel to them. They have lost mothers and fathers, husbands and wives, and maybe even children and grandchildren. They have lost their homes and their whole lifes work. How does one spend a broken Christmas? First, its important to never lose the true meaning of Christmas. I dont mean the last -minute shopping, the well-wrapped presents, the sumptuous feast, not even the company of friends and family. The true meaning of Christmas, the one who gives it its meaning even, is Jesus. The whole world can fall down for all we know, but Jesus He is Christmas. How can anybody feel anything but joy when love Himself comes into the world as a bouncing baby boy? It is when one loses this most essential of things that one loses Christmas altogether. Second, dont spend Christmas alone. The beauty of a Filipino Christmas is that its easier to be invited to two parties in o ne night than to not score an invitation at all. Dont wallow in self -pity and insist on spending this year in your dirty apartment. Go to church. Attend your school or office Christmas party. Show up at that awkward family reunion. And that neighbor of

yours who invites you to his party every year? Stay for more than one drink even if you dont know anyone. You re bound to. So go out and have fun. Last, pick up a phone. Telecommunication company advertisements lie when they show families talking in high-pitched, tickled-pink voices. Forget that theyre at least a gazillion miles away from each other, right? I know its all corporate sugarcoating, because Im an OFWs kid. Whenever my mom calls, one of us ends up in torrential tears on the other line (Hint: Its never me). Still, phone calls are better than nothing. When you close your eyes and wish hard enough, that voice at the other side of the world will bring you back to the sweetest of Christmas feelings. To everyone reading this, especially to my fellow OFWs kids, earthquake and/or typhoon survivors, I dont only wish you a happy Christmas. I also ask you to do whatever it takes to make it a happy one. Nicholette Legaspi, 20, is a fourth year linguistics and literature student of the University of San Carlos.

Gory Gaia
By Sasha Dalabajan It is not my intention to bore you with numbers and percentages showing how much the world has gotten warmer since the Industrial Revolution of the 19th century, or how much the population has grown and how much pollution it has caused since. But even without the numbers, studies prove that, yes, the world is heating up to an alarming extent. There are many misconceptions about environmentalism, and it is my pleasure to mention and rectify a few. First, the general misconception that global warming is a natural phenomenon. Although global warming is indeed a natural event, what we are experiencing now is what top scientists refer to as anthropogenic global warming that has resulted from human-induced wastes such as fossil fuels. It is unnatural how fast-paced the Earth is heating up. Studies show how much greenhouse gas emissions have increased since the Industrial Revolution and how these continue to increase until today. Second, the belief that environmentalists are misanthropes. A renowned conservation biologist, John Terborgh, argued in his 1999 book Requiem for Nature that: Ultimately, nature and biodiversity must be conserved for their own sakes, not because they have present utilitarian value. His belief brings about the idea that conservationists fight against natural destruction because nature should be conserved and not because in the near future we can make use of nature. This reminds me of a bus ride I took on my way back to Baguio from a Greenpeace volunteer orientation in Quezon City, and I had to share a seat with a man who looked like he was in his late 40s. We chatted for a while and he later revealed that he used to work at a mining firm in Baguio and is currently working for a similar firm. I was silent when he ranted that most, if not all, environmentalists are against developments that will bring about employment and economic progress, such as mining and the controversial cutting/balling of pine trees in Baguio in exchange for a mall expansion. When he exclaimed that Greenpeace volunteers were all talk (Salita lang nang salita) and did not bother to understand that the activities of people like himself were also beneficial to others, it was my turn to speak. What most people think is that environmental activists care more about the conservation of nature than the survival of humanity. My personal belief is, and I would like to believe that I share this with many environment advocates, that the survival of humanity does not have to cost the destruction of the environment, and that the conservation of nature, in return, will eventually bring about humanitys survival. Conservation does not have to get in the way of economic development. In opposition to Terborgh, I believe nature exists because it has a utilitarian value, but that value is yet to be available to the generations to come and not be terminated to the abrupt extent that it is taking at the moment. The third misconception is that environmentalism in general is an esoteric subject matter. This belief results in apathetic behavior toward the issue of environment degradation. I reached a point in my life when I refused to consume seafood after reading Sylvia Earles The World is Blue. For a number of my friends who are large consumers of seafood, it was an eyebrow-raising issue, and I would go on telling them how manyto name one, tunaof the bountiful fish that our grandparents used to enjoy are now almost on the verge of extinction and how many other marine creatures, such as sea turtles, die because of mass fishing. Some of them roll their eyes in disinterest even before the middle part of my little speech, and, well, some change the subject even before I finish. The reality is that many people find this matter uninteresting, and they would rather do something else than understand its complexities. Contrary to popular belief, it is, in fact, a simple concern: If we do not act against natural destruction, we will face fatal consequences in the near future. It has been more than two months since Supertyphoon Yolanda hit ce ntral Philippines, and the remnants of the unfortunate event are still very apparent, particularly in Tacloban City. I traveled to Tacloban once, in 2009, when the city hosted the annual Palarong Pambansa. I have a vague memory of what the place looked like, but I remember that its people were one of

the most welcoming and warm I have ever encountered. It was such misery to read about how an alarming number of those optimistic people have lost their lives, loved ones, and homes. I am in no position to trace Yolandas ecological background or whether or not it was brought about by climate change. But I do know that global warming brings about extreme weather events, among its many effects, and that it could result in longer heat waves, coastal flooding, more severe droughts, and more powerful hurricanes. Some environmentalists say that if we do not start fighting climate change, we will have a lot more Yolandas to face in the future. I say there is no point in fighting climate change anymore; we have gone past the stage where we could have still prevented global warming. At present, even if we put an end to all our gas emissions overnight, Earth will still be heating up. What we should focus on now is preparing for the Yolandas to come. Ted Nordhaus and Michael Shellenberger, coauthors of Break Through, point out that environmentalism is not anymore relevant to todays context. I agree that we should instead develop a post -environmentalist ideology that attends to preparation needs for global warming that may bring about more lethal calamities such as Yolanda. I call out to all environment advocates that we shift from the idea that global warming can still be prevented if we control our carbon footprints, to the post-environmentalist mindset that pollution reduction still does matter, but a larger problem should be recognized: How do we cope with the rapidly increasing warming of our planet? I call out to non-environmentalists to recognize this startling issue and not let environmentalism die. I call out to politicians to develop new and innovative laws that will address these issues. Finally, I call out to the survivors of Yolanda and others who mourn what it had wrought. We all had a fair share of nightmares from the past months and it is time that we dreamed again. I do not call for the Philippines to wake up. I call that we indulge ourselves in the limitless imagination of what we can be after a storm. And I call that we do not stop there; I call that we stop when we finally see a glorious Gaia instead of a gory one. Sasha Dalabajan, 17, is a sophomore at the University of the Philippines Baguio, where she is studying social sciences (major in social anthropology).

Ang taba mo na
By Joyce Crystel Manrique It is kind of hard to understand people. I am not sure what they want for me. Is the physical state just the first thing they notice, so they immediately comment on it, or I just have ounces of insecurity in my body to actually admit that there has been a huge change? Uy, parehas ata tayong lumalaki, ah (Oh, it looks like we both got bigger)! This is one way by which other persons politely say I have gotten fat. They do not want to directly hurt my ego, so they include themselves in the equation even though they did not really get heavier which is kind of worse since I know too well what they really meant, and I just cant figure out until what level the y meant it. Did I get fat in a good way (i.e., I have been healthy) or in a bad way (i.e., I have been eating too much)? Bumagay sa yo ang Maynila, ah (Manila sits well on you). Come to think of it, Manila has a lot of food chains and eating esta blishments that cater to different peoples tastes. When people tell me this, this is what comes to my mind. I want to think that maybe they meant it as a good thing, but that is like shoving bad medicine into my mouth. Or am I just being cynical? Oh, well. Mukhang wala kang problema (You dont look like you have a problem). Why do people think that when other people get fat, they do not have problems in life? I do not want to enumerate the stress points every person goes through here; that would be an emotional appeal. But then again, let me just say that when people get fat, its not true that they are not wrestling with any problem in life; maybe eating is just their one way of dealing with it. Namamayat ka ata (You seem to be getting skinny). Do not smile yet, this is sarcasm. This is what I often hear from other people who comment on my weight. It is very displeasing. It makes me feel like I have committed a crime. It is the one sentence that I just laugh about but cannot shove from my mind. Might as well say Ang taba mo na (Youve gotten so fat) because that would be more truthful than saying something as condescending as that, right? Di kita nakilala (I didnt recognize you).

What nice words to hear! If only they meant that one has grown prettier, or that one is finally dressing better, or that one is unrecognizable because one is looking better. But no. When I heard this, I thought I was getting something positive finally, but it turned out to be false hope. It is such a shame, though, because I am kind of hoping to hear something nice since I returned to my hometown last Christmas. I wonder numerous times: What if people talk about other things instead of ones weight? Probably about ones achievements in college, or ones new approach to different situations, but maybe this society is just not built that way. Filipinos will always find a way to comment on anything that has to do with what they see on the surface. Oh, and not just about ones weight, it can also be about how bad ones haircut is, or how many pimples are dotting ones face, and whatnot. However, the good side in receiving these kinds of comment is that I get to think of myself as well: Maybe I am not thinking enough of my physical welfare because of school work, which is why I should start paying attention to my body? I do not know. I guess it is kind of psychological, too. There are times when I am on the way to starting a diet program but I back out at the last minute because I have seen too many other girls who become bulimic and anorexic. Sometimes it is also the constant battle between those who encourage one to become skinny (i.e., commercials that promote healthy products) and those who support eating what one wants because they are not afraid of gaining weight (i.e., Jennifer Lawrence). Maybe it is just the ounces of insecurity. I get hurt when someone notices my weight because I do not see the change through my own eyes. I see my body the way I have always seen it, or maybe the way I want to perceive it. True enough, it is rude for people to immediately remark on my weight, but for me, the biggest challenge in coming across such a remark is not whether I will choose to start a diet, or work out, or even develop an eating disorder. The challenge is how I am going to accept it. And whether they meant it in a good way or a bad way, it is up to me to do something about it. Is it not true that if one wants change, one must do it for oneself? Yes, it definitely takes a lot of maturity to accept Ang taba mo na. Joyce Crystel Manrique, 18, is a first year philosophy-accountancy student at De La Salle University Manila.