[.. I wish to thank the following for giving me an award and a tag.

From RJ: The Graphology Tag


(NJ, I borrowed your cool graphics).

From Yanah, The Pope and Badong: The Uber Amazing Blog Award


Thank you, thank you, thank you.


Postscript:

A blazing thanks to Lord Dungeon for his 'Nagbabagang Blog' award.


For personal reasons (and please don't ever think that I'm being ungrateful), I decided not to pass on these award and tag to other bloggers. I'm so uncool, I know. ]

Post-postscript:

This post's title was Muchos gracias blog friends but RJ's comment below made me realize that yes, I should have titled this post in Arabic (since I'm in Saudi). And so I did!

(Shukran Jazilan in Arabic means 'thank you very much'. Normally we say afwan in return but a Saudi friend taught me another response: Ala Al Rahab Wasea. You're welcome. Afwan, he said, is 'excuse me' in English. I asked why most people in Saudi say afwan in response to shukran. He said it is also allowable. I didn't press further because I can see that he's about to get a mild headache.)

I've a correction: I'm not a peryodista. I dreamt of becoming one but failed. Here's the story of my now-defunct dream.



To cut the story short, I stayed at the newspaper for a little less than six months and wrote around five articles. Two are below. I was initially given a beat in Mandaluyong (the term 'beat' pertained to a location assignment) under Julie Javellana's guidance (see her blog The World According to Julie).

(I would visit the Mandaluyong Police Station everyday and browse at their police logbook. It's actually like reading a gossip magazine because the logbook contained juicy cases of other people's lives: unpaid debts, womanizing husbands, petty thefts and burglaries, etc. Anything interesting, I pursued).

Two article pursuits

Article 1 in gist: There are these vacant, deteriorating BLISS housing units and around the housing units lived poor Filipinos whose houses were made of cartons and cheap plywood. I asked around why they didn't let the poor occupy the vacant houses. The answer: they cannot afford it.

Update: Haven't visited the place for a long time. I'm sure it's now occupied by the can-afford few; with shanties around it.

Article 2 in gist: Near our place is a pre-historic cave of Angono, unprotected and open to vandalism. I asked around and visited the National Museum where I learned of their plans to improve it, but couldn't because of budgetary constraints.

Update: The cave is now a protected tourist attraction in Angono.

Realization

Reporters are normally paid per column inch. I forgot how much was the rate then. The Angono Cave, for example, has, I think, a total of 12 inches. If say it was fifty pesos per column inch, then the article would have earned me around six hundred.

But you see, it's not everyday that I managed to write lengthy articles. Most of the days, I wrote none. It was a struggle. There were days when I would not want to show up at the Manila Chronicle because I had nothing to report about.

Until finally, I accepted defeat and admitted that newspaper reporting was not for me. And so I looked for and landed a nine-to-five job.

And I lived unhappily ever after. Just kidding.

Lessons learned

The reporting experience taught me three things:

One: That all things have angles. So do people and events. A good reporter finds that angle that makes an ordinary story extraordinary.

Two: That it takes time for a dream to be realized -- time, efforts and a lot of love. (Julie and Malou Mangahas and Ed Lingao are some of those writers that I secretly oogled at the Chronicle hoping to imbibe their journalistic prowess).

Three: Although some dreams cannot be achieved, there are other paths that I can take and be somehow fulfilled (being an OFW blogger, perhaps?).

Honestly, there's nothing exciting as seeing your byline in a newspaper. There's that unexplainable sense of inner joy that's actually akin to seeing comments in my blog posts. No kidding.

Epilogue

Later on, I became an on-and-off contributor to now-defunct Diyaryo Filipino of the now-defunct Philippine Daily Globe. I wrote Tagalog feature articles mostly about theater arts.

That, my friends, is the story of my new-defunct dream.

Today is Friday. Friday in Saudi makes me think (and do) silly things. Like this one.



Pandesal is a favorite bread of most Filipinos. From a Spanish word pan de sal which literally means salt bread.


[By the way, have you already subscribed to my feed? If you haven't, I'd appreciate if you do. Thanks.]

I am lucky than most people of my age are. Both my parents are still alive and well. My mother Juanita is 68; my father Lamberto is 75.

This post is sort of an ode to Bert and Nita, and of the repository of wisdom my sister and I learned from them. (I'm sure in the end you will realize that our mothers and our fathers are no different. We, as children, learned similar wisdom).


My mother epitomizes the Ilocana's so-called 'kuripot' trait (the positive kuripot, I mean). She's good at saving money. In my first year in Saudi, she saved, to my surprise, all the remittances I sent her. We used the money to buy a small parcel of land.

Some of her favorite lines about savings include:

• Learn to save because you don't know what will happen to you tomorrow.
• You will not always have your job.
• Be content of what you have.
• Spend only for the necessary things.
• Never be extravagant.

My father is a president of a local farmer's group in our place, and as expected, he has various enemies ranging from influential landowners, pro-landowner government officials, and fellow farmers of other factions. No, he's not the type that goes to rallies. He's more of a mediator than an activist.

Five years ago, a wealthy landowner harassed my father with a legal case. Not used to any legal dramas, we were panicky about it and we begged our father to give up his position to someone else younger.

He delivered to me that line about 'ulan'. He also delivered to me the following lines:

• Why fear when you know you're in the right?
• Laging Diyos ang bahala sa akin.
• If I don't help them (the farmers), who will?
• Never, ever compromise when you know you're right.

My sister learned this the most. When one of her siblings refused to go to a new school, she said to me: Mahirap pala kapag matigas ang ulo ng anak mo. I just smiled at her. Of us, I am the most disciplined; my sister the hardheaded.

Elvie said: Now I know how difficult I must have been as a daughter.

She quit her job, embarrassingly joined her daughter inside the classroom and never left her side (literally), until her daughter acclimatized to her new surrounding. Today, Janine happily goes to school without Elvie. That episode taught me how great a mother Elvie is. I told her how I was proud of her for that. She said: If I don't stick with my daughter, who else will help her?

I told her: As to how difficult you were as a daughter, I guess you've paid your dues.

My mother sheepishly agreed. She said: No matter how difficult your children are, you never give up on them.

She also said:

• Children's happiness is also the mother's.
• There are really no difficult children to a patient mother.

By far, the greatest lesson I've learned from this life is that the most painful event that could happen to us, that which will leave us feeling empty in all eternity, is not being able to profess to our parents how much we love them and how much we cherish them and how much we are grateful of them -- of their wisdom, their character, their all.

Because we are because of them.


[By the way, have you already subscribed to my feed? If you haven't, I'd appreciate if you do. Thanks.]

Many years ago, I read somewhere that Isabel Allende, one of my most favorite novelists, writes this way:

In one particular night at a particular time, she lights a candle, and sits at her writing table waiting for the first sentence to come. Once it comes, the weaving never stops, resulting to magical and enthralling novels: The House of the Spirits, Paula, Daughter of Fortune, to name a few.

Today, I found Isabel Allende's website where she narrates:

"That day, January 8th, which is a sacred day for me, I come to my office very early in the morning, alone. I light some candles for the spirits and the muses. I meditate for a while. I always have fresh flowers and incense. And I open myself completely to this experience that begins in that moment...

I try to write the first sentence in a state of trance, as if somebody else was writing it through me. That first sentence usually determines the whole book. It's a door that opens into an unknown territory that I have to explore with my characters. And slowly as I write, the story seems to unfold itself, in spite of me. It just happens."

I wanted to be her. There was a period in my life when I did a similar ritual. Alone in our house, I turned off all the lights, lit a candle and sat in front of my typewriter, meditating. Nothing came but sleep. Sore.

I also wanted to be like Anne Tyler. I wanted to be like Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

You see, I'm an incorrigible dreamer. Until my mind is able to churn ideas (no matter how stale they are) and until I breathe my last, I will hold on to my dreams.

(I am also an incorrigible dramatic queen!).

Gaano kadali ang pagpaslang?
Sansaglit, at may nakitil nang buhay.
May punglo na humahagibis,
At may pag-asa na napapatid.

A stanza from Palanca-winning "Pagtindig" poem of Ma. Josephine Barrios.

Itching to find out if you're writing is worth a Palanca? Carlos Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature is now open and will accept submissions up to midnight of 30 April 2009.

Categories are open for English/Tagalog poetry, poetry written for children, essay, short story, short story for children, one-act play, full-length play. There are also categories for short story in Cebuano, Hiligaynon and Iluko.

Interested? Visit the Palanca website for more information.



[By the way, have you already subscribed to my feed? If you haven't, I'd appreciate if you do. Thanks.]

More than ten years ago, I remember listening to this same cut while gazed at the stars somewhere in the desert of Haradh; feeling forlorn yet hopeful. Today, I'm once again hearing the music while gazed at my computer; feeling forlorn and...blue? This is just a phase...just a phase...

After the rain - Andrew York

This post is off for comments.

What's up with me this Friday?

The usual.

Er, nothing.

Except...

These are the news headlines today I found in three different Philippine newspapers.

For kicks, I re-invented the captions.

"Convicted rapist and former Zamboanga del Norte congressman Romeo Jalosjos walked out of the National Bilibid Prisons (NBP) in Muntinlupa City Thursday." Jalosjos walks out of NBP by Marlon Ramos and Thea Alberto, Philippine Daily Inquirer. Posted 03/19/2009.

Tried and convicted; ran and elected. Eventhough I walk through the shadow of a rape case, I shall not fear; for the Filipino people will surely elect me once again. (Caption by Nebz).

"Pope Benedict XVI’s entourage sought Wednesday to defuse an international outcry over his denunciation of the use of condoms against AIDS as his remarks overshadowed his first trip to Africa." Pope’s condom remarks spark global outcry by Martine Nouaille (Agence France-Presse), Manila Standard Today. Posted 03/20/2009.

With or without. What do they want me to say? Use gloves when stealing? Or use a silencer if you were to shoot someone? (Caption by Nebz).

"Dr. Vicky Belo has dumped her current counsel Raymond Fortun for a better-looking lawyer. Fortun, Belo’s lawyer for the past five years, claimed he has received notice of termination of his services in favor of Adel Tamano, who will serve not only as the dermatologist’s counsel but her spokesperson as well." Belo hires lawyer with better looks by Non Alquitran and Mike Frialde, The Philippine Star. Updated 03/20/2009.

For Belo, beauty is. Fortun may be a bright lawyer but can you blame Belo if she opts for the more handsome Tamano. Fortun can always try Dr Calayan. Oopps. (Caption by Nebz).

Sadly, there are many more Fridays to come.