That Thing Called Tadhana

>The lines flashed on the screen before the start of the movie, "Para sa mga umibig. Nasaktan. At, para sa mga umibig muli. In short, tatanga-tanga lang.", sent everyone guffawing in unison (including me). In short, lahat nakarelate. Hindi lang ako sigurado kung alin dun sa tatlong categories ang malaking percentage ng dahilan ng pagtawa pero malaki ang hinala ko, dun sa tatanga-tanga lang. The crazy things we do for love, talaga naman.

>The whole story is like the love stories of everyone that we know of, including that of ourselves, fused into one. While listening to Angelica, all the while, I was muttering quietly, "Ay story 'yan ni ano! Teka lang, linya 'yan ni ano. Oh my, bitter na bitter lang, kaming-kami lang dati." And, the lines were delivered on point, with a load of realistic sarcasm. This is what sets indie films from the well-marketed, highly produced movies---the rawness, and the intelligent, well-thought of lines. Yung alam na alam mong ginawa with a perfect balance of puso and utak.

>The lead female character, played by Angelica Panganiban, is somebody whom everyone can identify with. Yung scene pa lang sa plane na ngawa siya nang ngawa habang nanonood ng One More Chance at nakikisabay sa mga linya ni Bea, that was the point I guess, which made her all the more real. Hello? Like almost everyone I know can attest to this: One More Chance is the ultimate break-up/where-do-broken-hearts-go-? movie. Ang mga ibang magdi-disagree, ayaw lang matawag na jologs pero at one point, siguradong napanood din ang movie na 'to. Classic. Nakasama na nga siya sa list ng classic movies ng Cinema 1 kasama ang Oro Plata Mata, Anak, Kapag Langit ang Humatol, at Hindi Nahahati ang Langit. Kaya, no further discussion on this matter.

>JM de Guzman is not your typical guapo artista but he has a way of charming his way to your heart. He didn't even need to over-act. He was just simply comfortable to watch.

>Minsan lang akong kiligin, sa mga weird na bagay at pangyayari pa. There were two scenes in the movie that did just that---one turned me into pure slush, the other reduced me into a puffy ball of awkward tears. Ahaha. The part when JM was trying to put his arms around Angelica's shoulder, no, that didn't make me kilig. It was actually more of JM's arm that did it, suspended in the air, undecided whether to support or to hold back. The awkwardness was just so real and endearing. The second scene (Yes, the part in which I was only one who probably cried.) was when JM said (not in verbatim), "Ako, napanaginipan din kita. Pero walang bungee jumping sa panaginip ko, walang talon-talon, walang bumitaw. Corny nga eh. Naglalakad lang tayo sa session road. Yun lang. Madaming tao, tapos naglalakad lang tayo." That was a beautiful metaphor for me of a quiet and constant kind of love---the kind of love that gives you this warm feeling rather than the heady rush. Quiet. Constant.

>I was having a conversation with somebody (You know who you are. *wink), and I said, "We love several people in our entire lifetime. Lucky are those who love at first try and then end up together, for good. But for the most part of the human population, it will be about loving several people all throughout their lives. And so we say the same words, show the same acts of love from one relationship to another. Which made me think, which are genuinely real, which are done and said only because they're supposed to be done and said?" I was reminded yesterday when I watched the film, "There are many kinds of love but not the same love can happen twice." Tama nga naman. Hindi nasusukat ang pag-ibig sa laki o sa timbang. Hindi nga sila dapat ipagkumpara kasi nga, iba-iba ang klase nang pagmamahal. I was pacified. Ewan ko lang sa kausap ko. Ahahaha.

>I was giddy because the movie showed broken people on the way to healing themselves who realize that when you love, you can't leave it all up to fate or destiny or tadhana. You fight for the people you love and when nothing else happens, let go.

>The short story about the heart and the arrow, hay. It's a gentle reminder that our hearts' choices have greater power over tadhana.

>Ang LSS ko ngayon ay Tadhana. Need I say more?

>The movie made me instantly want to backpack to Sagada.

>Where do broken hearts go nga ba? Iyan ang pilit na sinagot sa pelikula. Hindi ko pa din alam ang sagot, at kahit yung director, hindi din nasagot ang tanong na ito. But for now, I'm just sure of one thing: Let's go to Bagiuo/Sagada and fall in love. If not, we can start in Iloilo's little Bagiuo. Let's go there and fall in love. *wink

This Indefatigable Belief

And I’m so back my ‘pinas!

Working as a teacher in a foreign country sometimes makes me want to cry out in anger and in anguish with the realization of the many opportunities and the quality of education deprived from a big number of young people way back home.

Seeing how these (my) foreign students are enjoying a lot of educational materials and facilities which are most of the time, in 1:1 ratio, awakens a deep-seated sadness in me with the knowledge that way back home, there are still some classrooms that lack books and there are still a lot of selfless teachers who spend their own money from their meager salaries just to buy books and materials which will then be shared to a class composed of 60 students. A desktop computer in a far-flung barrio school, can already be considered a miracle.

Seeing how my foreign students are given all the possible opportunities to study and compete abroad with sufficient funding and support from the school and their government, awakens a seed of frustration and jealousy in me for all the missed chances and opportunities of a lot of young Filipino students who have such so much potentials (and I can claim to be one of the best group of young people in the world, given just the right motivation and training), due to the misplaced funding of the government, lack of training and proper screening of the educational work force, lousy and greedy politicians, and of a big number of Filipino teachers who have chosen to leave *cringe* not only to look for greener pastures, but because some of them have actually lost faith in the twisted system.

It is really true that sometimes, it takes stepping back a little for somebody to see what really is wrong in the whole picture. In my case, I’ve taken miles of steps away and though it might take me some time to heal my frustration over the whole system, but what pacifies and gives me peace at the moment is that my faith in the Filipino youth, in the countless selfless and dedicated teachers who chose to stay (despite of), and my faith in the teaching profession as a whole, is quite indefatigable.

Teaching is Synonymous to Learning

Although one learns a lot as a teacher every day, I consider my first two years as a fresh-out-of-the-university teacher as my formative years in the teaching field. Learning the strategies of teaching, being temporarily cross-eyed from hours of peering through the microscope, memorizing bizarre names which I couldn’t even speak properly (how much more spell?), can all be considered as child’s play compared to being in the actual field. No amount of university training has ever prepared me (most especially my heart) to being an actual teacher. 

Even though I have yet so much to learn, I believe that I gained some of the most significant lessons that every teacher must learn during my first few years as a teacher. And randomly, here are they:

1. Being a twenty year old, well-sheltered, idealistic, fresh-out-of-university teacher who teaches gangly, 14 year old teenagers could most of the time mean disaster and numerous episodes of minimal heartaches. The best remedy? Laugh it off.

2. Most of the time, a hug from young kids actually means being squeezed, to death. But who’s complaining?

3. Remember way back in high school when nobody trusted you with cutting styrofoam because all you come up with are these irritatingly jagged edges and lots and lots of broken pieces? Well, redeem yourself because being a teacher means perfecting the aft of Styrofoam letter cut-outs----and later on, you will have no idea how did you do it. Plus, did I mention that there is a great possibility of going home literally covered with glitters from head to foot while getting these weird glances from people inside in the jeepney?

4. So much about being strict with spellings, punctuations and S-V agreement. Sometimes, you have to learn your students’ language.

5. A science class can instantly turn into a fruit salad party!

6. You think you have already perfected the poker-face look to appear cool and composed when you dissect a frog? Think again. Look at that slight, cringing expression in your face in the photo.

7. A solar eclipse in the middle of a science class is always a welcomed surprise and blessing.

8. When you look after young kids outside of the school premises, no matter how you mentally compose yourself to be overly alert, you would always have that weird thump of worry in your heart . Even though you are certain that you have no ounce of motherly instinct with you, but being a teacher is the closest experience to motherhood/fatherhood that one could ever get.

9. Cherish your support system. They will become your lifetime friends

The Art of Mastering Grief

There is no such thing as “The Art of Mastering Grief”. Every time one experiences loss, the grief that it brings kicks you in such a way that you couldn’t be prepared even if you experience it again and again. Sure, it feels familiar to the point that you can even say, “I’ve been here before, I know how this works.” However, with all its familiarity, you can never prepare for grief’s blow, nor can you ever become desensitized. Every time we experience grief, we go back to the very first time we experienced such terrible loss in our individual lives and we get to experience it again---like a motion picture played backwards. Every time I experience grief, I go back again and again to my 20 year old self, to that humid March morning when a simple text message had made me experience my first loss, which had shaken me to my very core and made me realize that we can lose the people whom we love anytime and sometimes, when we least expect it. 

And, whoever introduced the theory of the stages of loss and grief was actually subtly suggesting that there should be a time limit for your grieving. No, you don’t jump from one stage to another as clearly and as clinically as they are explained in almost all psychology books. No. You become this ball of emotions that couldn’t be easily described as denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. You become this ball of emotions that you couldn’t even understand yourself no matter how you clearly understood your DABDA lessons way back in university. Because, the thing is, we could never ever understand grief, not even if how much we try or how many times we have dealt with it. Understanding grief is way beyond our capacity as human beings. We won’t even come close to doing so, we can only learn how to deal with it---with no time limit or conscious effort of hurrying it as suggested by the society, as suggested by our Psychology books.

Maybe, we learn lessons from our loss. Maybe, there is really no lesson in them. However, loss, in any form, becomes a reminder of our own mortality. It becomes a reminder that we won’t be in this place forever. It becomes a reminder that we are just here as passersby.

This is what you Get From Moving Around, A Lot----A Load of Stories and Photographs, And Little Heartaches Once in a While

During my last night in Lampang, while I was a roller coaster of emotions----packing my bags, having a last minute check of my passport and ticket, overthinking if I should really go home or just cancel my flight, sending last minute messages to people, crying and laughing my heart out like crazy----Ahne was actually busy writing this letter and making collages out of our beautiful adventures and memories for three years. When I got to read this while I was busy folding and refolding clothes, I bawled like a child, about to be sent away from home. And that’s ironic because I was actually going home. Ahahahaha.

At that moment, I blurted to Ahne that I will definitely find where to grow my roots soon because I realized that my heart is not as elastic as before. I realized that it’s not actually true that people eventually will get used to leaving and being left, that as you grow older, it actually becomes even harder.

It’s a wonder that Ahne and I became such good friends when we’re so completely different. We’re like two people on different poles. But I guess that’s the beauty of having a free spirit and an open heart----you get to embrace and to love people who, on normal circumstances, would have been strangers on the streets that you just passed by and overlooked. I would always be amazed by the amazing gift of people and of friendship for I get to share, even for just a fraction of time, the beautiful souls and minds of people like Ahne.

Dear Aura Carmela P. Ferrariz,

Asking you if I am the reason why you are leaving Thailand only proves one thing, how crazy, paranoid and preposterous person I am (and yes I hold on to that 10% chance that you will say "Yes", and gladly you said "No". Ahahahaha!). But whatever your f$@?!'n reason is, I hate it, I totally despise it. If I could just know a way of how to keep all my friends to stay so that they will always be with me, I will really do it. Lucky you! I don't know and I will never know. More than anything, your happiness matters, your dreams are important and the need to grow and learn is a part of you.

But whatever the reasons God has in mind for crossing our paths, this is one thing I will always thank him for. Thanking him for a person who I can...

..share my weirdest thoughts, rollercoaster of emotions and wildest dreams.

..goof around, laugh till we die, and not afraid to try new things.

..get lost in a big city, enormous country or even in the craziest world.

..eat, eat and eat until the wee hours of night.

..hop on the bus, ride tuktuk, board the plane or even jump in the deepest sea without even knowing how to swim.

..cry and get "kilig"over koreanovelas.

..admire how good-looking we are in the pictures, repeatedly.

..share stories, heartaches, experiences and learn from it.

..realize that drinking soju and speaking Thai has the same effect.

..think in the same wavelength, kingdom, phylum, class, family.. What's next?

..climb a tree, roll in the grass, take jump shots, underwater shots, and plan a theme oriented pictorial.

Three years of a long crazy adventure. Honestly, I look forward to my next journey because I learned that somewhere along the way, I will stop and meet someone with whom I can share a simple story, laugh awkwardly, enjoy the time, get to know more, accept the flaws and love the person, and attach a friendship string to them because that's exactly what happened to us. Three years is so worth it to gain a longtime friend like you. Thank you for the opportunity.

We may part ways now, we may not see and talk as often as we do now, but I know that our friendship is not and will never be bounded by distance nor time. That soon, we will be sharing a cup of coffee in Paris, diving in Maldives, or locking our hearts in the Namsan Tower.

Till next time Aura! God be with you always! Your next journey will be as awesome as our trip in Korea. You are a beautiful blessing that God has perfectly made.

Better Than Beautiful

For there’s nothing more freeing, more liberating, than escaping society’s standards of “beautiful”.

My sentiments, exactly. ;)

“Don’t tell me I’m beautiful. I have already heard the word rubbed raw across the flesh of so many girls before me. Thrown at them like rocks that beat the skin of those we do not understand. “You are beautiful,” we yell with such contempt. “God dammit, why won’t you just believe me, you’re beautiful!” It is not a compliment. It is a victory march of your own self sacrifice. “You’re beautiful,” we say through gritted teeth. “You’re beautiful,” we spit out through tears, looking at a reflection we hate. “You’re beautiful,” we say, holding a body that has never felt the arms of another. “You’re beautiful.” Don’t tell me I’m beautiful. A word like that floats on the surface, give me something with depth. Tell me I’m intelligent. Tell me I’m courageous. Tell me that when I laugh the whole world smiles. Tell me that my voice is sweeter than strawberries. Remind me that my hands have helped flowers grow, painted the ocean, and captured the sky in my phone. Assure me that with a mind like mine, I can change the world. Don’t tell me I’m beautiful. I don’t really care if it’s true. I’ve spent years trying to convince myself that beauty goes through and through. Don’t tell me I’m beautiful. I’ve felt the word splatter against me enough for a lifetime. I am better than the “beautiful” that slips from your lips. I am the ocean, 36,000 feet deep. There are parts of me you have never seen. I am outer space, infinite in your search. I am not simply “beautiful.” I’m a fucking masterpiece.”

(c) berlin-artparasites

On Poetry and a Whole Set of Quite Unfamiliar Words

“Don’t waste your words again on writing sad poetry,” he said.

At the back of my mind, I was actually screaming, “But I thrive in doing so!”

For how can you suddenly deal with a different set of words suddenly offered to you---like being offered a whole new set of vocabularies, when words such as angst, and cynicism, and senseless waiting, and unrequited emotions fit your literary Muse and your pen quite perfectly, like a pair of old, faded jeans?

“Your words are heartbreakingly beautiful but it’s about time you stop writing sad poetry.” Those words echoed through me again.

And I was struck.

I could have told him that I could no longer stop doing so, that there’s actually no need for me to stop writing poems loaded with angst and cynicism. For at this point, I couldn’t even write a sad poem, not even if I try---for all the words that my pen had been faithfully bleeding over the years are actually slowly being replaced by words such as tenderness, and constancy, and quite surprisingly, love.

Slidin’ and Rollin’----MEAMOH Trip :)

Fine. This is an extremely late post. But instead of having this lost in the eternal abyss of my extreme forgetfulness, I’ve decided to post about our MAEMOH trip, about two years ago. See when I say I’m leading towards dementia at such an early age? Oh, snap!

As a science teacher and enthusiast, I was really so giddy with excitement over this particular trip. You see, MAEMOH is a lignite-fired powerplant which supplies electricity to the whole northern regions of Thailand, including a big portion of provinces in nearby regions.

My respect for the Thai people’s responsible use of resources increased several notches higher upon our visit to MAEMOH. Being a lignite-fired powerplant, one would expect to see an extremely dry and barren area with facilities and equipments spewing unforgivable dark smoke into northern Thailand’s blue skies. But I was utterly proved wrong. Whatever parts of the mountains that were excavated for lignite were actually restored and developed---transforming the vast space into verdant green mountainsides, perfect for those lazy Sunday outings with family and friends. But, if one is looking for excitement, the grassboarding activity along the rolling hillsides is actually super fun. Forgive me for my lack of a better adjective but it was derinitely Super Fun!

A modern museum was also built inside the powerplant, showcasing fossils excavated in Lampang. There’s even a simulation room which provides information and experience of how lignite and fossils were created. Being a science geek, this was definitely way too cool for me!

Going back to grassboarding---ahahaha, scatterbrain issues in here---I was hesitant at first to try it but when I saw the lush green hillsides, nobody had to push me to get a board and before I realized it, we were sliding and running back to the top and rolling and giggling like unhinibited 8-year old kids. I think it was one of those moments when I totally let my guard down and just enjoyed, nothing else.

After the trip, I had rashes and sunburns and scratches from rolling on the grasses but I was too damn happy to care!

Staycation: Tourists in Our Own City

I’ve always been a probinsiyana at heart. Let me live in the city and I’ll surely wither like a flower taken from its water source.

Living in Lampang for three years had given me fond memories of this quaint city, of this province. Although there were times when my homesickness became almost like a physical pain, but the slow-paced, unhurried life in this city had always, at some point, kept me sane.

When you live in a place for quite a period of time, you fail to see it in fresh eyes, in the perspective of a tourist who set foot on it for the first time. Heck, we haven’t even tried, ‘til this particular day, the horse carriage in which Lampang is known for.

So, one day, we just decided to become tourists in our own city. Clad in our Sunday dresses, we first stopped at a park, 20-minutes away from our house. P’ Prasit, the silo driver, looked at us with suspecting eyes as we went down and giddily started looking for perfect spots to have our photos taken at. He was probably thinking, “Ano na naman ang nangyayari sa mga pinay na ‘to at mukhang ngayon lang nakita ang park na ito?”, in Thai of course. Kohtot kah. Put pasa-Thai, nitnoi na kah. Ahahahaha! *wink

We enjoyed the park like it was our first time to be there---we even found a tree, too beautiful to be passed up for a photo op. Come to think of it, it was Ahne’s first time to climb a tree, and the ways she looks in the photos, you wouldn’t guess that she was actually scared and at the same time, too giddy with excitement that she had several attempts and shrieking episodes before finally reaching the top of the tree.

We also went to the train station and a local Thai restaurant, Aroy 1 baht, like we were first-time tourists, when actually, these two places were actually part of our (almost) regular routine. There was even a time when we craved for Thai food for an entire week that we were at Aroy 1 baht of 4 consecutive days that when we left the place on the 4th day, the attendant said, “See you tomorrow!”. Ahahahaha, shame!

Transacting business with the local people in pure English proved to be fun, they were actually giving us quizzical looks, probably thinking, “Teka lang, ‘eto yung mga pinoy na padaan-daan dito kapag namamalengke ah!”

But, one of the highest points of our activity was when we were already on the horse carriage. Looking at the slowed down scenes of Lampang’s streets, my home for three years, I was filled with a deep sense of nostalgia for all the memories that it gave me, including the lessons. I saw, on a fresh perspective, why tourists actually flock to this tiny and charming city. I understood why a lot of them fell in love with this place and never wanted to leave.

In Lampang, everything is slowed down---you have time to walk and to think and to just, feel. However, this girl had to go home. I just had to, just because. But, in that brief instant, I smiled with the answer why ‘pinas momentarily ceased as home for 3 years.

These beautiful ladies (inside and out), Ahne and Frezy, are two of my emergency sanity buttons.

Kru Filipin, Pai Kap Baan (The Filipino Teacher Finally Goes Home)

I started packing my things today and felt a bit nostalgic, that I had to stop.

I am not a very sentimental person. But, just when I thought that I’m getting used to letting go of things and people, and places, I was struck yet again by a fresh wave of separation anxiety that everything seems surreal. Just the other day, I even shared to Ahne that I’m so happy because I can really sense that I’m almost through with my quarter-life crisis---that I have come to terms with the part of myself that can let go of the things and events that I don’t have control of. But I guess, nobody can really get used to the anxiety and the ball of nerves that can be brought about by leaving.

I am so used to packing a week’s worth of things. Give me ten minutes, five minutes even, and I can pack everything in a duffel bag. But, how can I pack three years in a 30-kilogram luggage?

Before I go about remembering and realizing what my three years in Thailand has taught me as a person, tonight, I decided to think about what it has taught me as a teacher because in the first place, I came here to teach.

I would like to think that I’ve become more giving and more selfless as a teacher and as a person. Loving and teaching students who have a totally different culture and language from you is something that transcends what you have learned and been taught in the educ school. It requires to give more of yourself. In my early months, I sometimes even caught myself asking, “What am I doing here---teaching foreign kids---when I can teach kids back home?”. But then, the answer to that is simple---I simply have to because I am a teacher and being a teacher is not defined by nationality or race or even language.

Homesickness was not only the thing that challenged me during my first few months of teaching in Thailand. I also already expected the adaptation to the country’s culture. But what mostly constituted this adaptation was my academic culture shock. I remember my very first time witnessing some students walking around the campus in just their white socks. The fact that they had to leave their shoes outside the classroom was already a bit to digest for me---seeing them walking around with just those socks, I can only imagine my eyes popping out from their sockets.

Thailand had also taught me to slow down as a teacher. In the Philippines, I am aware that I was the kind of teacher that had quite some standards to keep. I realized, while teaching in this foreign country, that I had to level my teaching standards as to what my students were capable of. If I weren't able to do that, I definitely would have ended up in a sanitarium from too much frustration in just a matter of weeks. I can remember the many times that I had to stop in the middle of my discussion, upon realizing that nobody actually understood me---to the point that I felt the strong desire to just sit on the classroom floor and wail like an 8-year old kid. As in, naisipan ko na lang talaga na maglupasay sa sobrang frustration! There was also this instance when I was already almost teary-eyed from anger when I kept on repeating the word “villi” and all I heard was the word(?) “willi”.

But then, eventually, I learned to adapt. Or maybe, it was the other way around---my students learned to adapt to me. I’ve realized that simplifying everything can really work wonders. I’ve also become so good (ahahaha!) at gestures and actions to express what I meant, that I even had this joke that if I’d go back home, I’d definitely be an asset in a game of charades. My classroom, unlike before, had evolved into a place with more room for mistakes. But above all, I learned that the universal language is not actually English but the smiles and awkward laughter when words fail us and everyone in th room could not understand each other.

I don’t even need to put captions in each picture for each of them brings a rich collection of stories and anecdotes that would always, always, make me smile and remember fondly how these Thai kids were able to stretch my heart, way bigger than the day I left home, about three years ago. :)

My poems, more often than not, embrace the tone of grit and angst. My poetry Muse is definitely cringing to death at this moment with this mushy poem, but forgive me---these days, I’m just a pile of pure slush. ;)

For you

are the crisp air

after a summer afternoon’s rain,

the awkward silence in between,

when words are not enough

and emotions are overflowing,

the hyphens, the pauses, the new narrative

in my writings

the peaceful stillness of my Friday evenings,

or Sunday mornings,

the ride home

after going away for a long while,

For you 

are the okays, 

and the thank yous, 

the chuckles of amusement, 

the twisted jokes, 

the uncomplicated words, 

the quiet, and yet, warm emotions,

For you 

are the quiet beatings 

of a steady heart, 

the plans, 

minus the well-planned checklist 

that random smile

in the middle of the most monotonous of routines,

that one prayer before bedtime, 

silently uttered for years.