It is almost done. A little more tweaking, and we are all set for the screening.
These are the final designs for the posters to be posted on the bulletin boards. This year, we are going minimal-simple-in every aspect.
This year, there is no application essay, only a self endorsement portion. So why did we exhibited ‘pantipid’ characteristics this year?
1.Budget is really low. Due to the small number of enrollees, there is a 5% budget shortage slash we are on tight belts moment in the publication. Super tight.
2.We want it clean and quick. Less color, less arte, more information feeding. That’s the way to attract the very colorful people of the college. Plus, like I said, we want it (I rather) to be minimal.
3.Time and time. In order to fully check the applications in fast-fast rapido-rapido mode, we need less but concise information about our prospected writers.
4.We are tamad. (I am rather) to put it simply.
This year we are going to welcome four writers and an artist to compensate the dying man power of the publication since most staff members are in level four. When you are in level four of the teacher education course and currently practice teaching, you are basically halved. Compensation, quick and easy. Hope their juices flow like Piedra./KP
That is the world to day. It is an epidemic, a pandemonium, a curse.
And it has infected me.
Earlier today, I was in a hot pursuit of a pirated copy of a software I need. My hands were itching to have a copy so that I could experiment on it and make probable projects with it. In my 'hotah-hotah' mode, I rode a jeepney (the common ride here in the Philippines) to the nearest mall. The jeepney was one of those old models of Sarao (search the internet you'll see a picture). And when I say old, I mean really old.
The mall was just three kilometers away but it took me forver to get there. The jeepney was huffing and cough black smoke and in lurched forward like a snail. At least that's what I think.
Then the woman, across my seat shouted, "Hinay hinay man to, manaog ko da." (Son, would you mind slowing down? I'll be getting off there). The jeepney wasn't moving to fast, my mind was.
I was so fixated in getting that cd that i thought everything was too slow. I was impatient.
Going off the jeepney, I resumed my 'hotah-hotah mode. Entering the mall, I was practically dashing my way to the Priated CD den stand. But before I even reach the stairs, I stupidly stepped on a slidy thing that made my body lunge forward.
It made me look like I was waltzing without a partner.
Looking down on the floor, I saw the culprit. It was an ice cream cone dropped on the floor. Who was to blame? Was it me? Was it the silly kid who dropped this mango-flavored instant sliding treatment?
I figured it was me.
I was too busy striding my way in the mall that I forgot to look where I was heading-no, I knew that, where I was stepping I mean. It wasn't the fault of the maintenance officer nor the vendore, it was my fault. I was rushing way beyond Mount Rushmore.
Then I realized I wasn't the only one.Everyone around me was pacing this way. We are all too fast for our age and speed limit (even if few of us have cars). Teenagers rushing to grow old. Tycoons wanting to earn more money. Drivers going too fast. Heck even food nowadays is fast. The world is not fast, we all know that, it rotates in mediocrity. If it didn't, we will all have 24-7 headaches and roller coasters would be a no-no ride.
Why are we in this 'hotah-hotah' mode? Why are we afraid to live it slow? Why did we invent a speedometer? (The last question is nothing, ignore it, please)
Why don;t we stop and smell the roses? Daisies? Putrid canal smells? Bagoong served? Isaw grilled? Why don't we take it slow like our ancestors did?
And that's is why I love movies. All of them have slow-motion moments. Fiction still beats reality./KP
I never would have believed my eyes. I thought she was going to win. She sang just like Lea. Much enticing than Lea for me. In the end. Dancing chucked out singing. Still, Susan Boyle Rocks!
Watch her for the first time (duderheads, this is not my video upload):
What if Spain never sold us? Would we enjoy the Education it offers?
What if the Americans never left? Would we be part of a first world country?
What if Japan never stopped to claim these islands? Would we enjoy high-tech living at it's best?
A hundred years past and we are still not free. From influence, from idolatry, from ignorance, from poverty, from corrupt leaders, from biased law-makers.
It's time for the Philippines to realize that we don't need a nifty president to change the country, what we need is just ourselves; good citizens.
Stop the spreading of the messiah complex. Learn to live on your own Philippines.
Stand on your own feet for once in your existence starting this Independence Day./KP
Someone asked me that question yesterday and I told him in plain Hiligaynon, “Wala ako kabalo” (I don’t know). Shrugging him away, I began to analyze what I had said.
I really don’t know where is Justice.
Is she at the Hall named after Avaceña?
Is she at that small cubicle in our school?
Is she in a trial court right now?
Is she at church?
Is she walking past me?
Is she asleep?
I really don’t know where Justice is.
***
Today was very grueling. Much more grueling than the gruel served at me when I am sick. I had to redo Tatay’s presentation again.
02.00pm. He called me up, impatient voice mode as always, to hurry my lunch so that I could help him. I explained to him that we were both on the extremes of the city (he in Jaro and me at Valeria) and that I was already on a cab. He then makes this irritating sound via phone. A slow and painful exhale of voice. That means it’s code red.
07.00pm. finishing the job about 4pm, I head back to the office and proceeded with my daily non essential tasks. At the stroke of seven this pm, while I was feasting on yet another meal, my phone rang. Picking it up, it was Tatay again and then I hear that low slow painful exhale of voice. Code Red. Calling up, he said that something was amiss his presentation. And that he needs me asap. Like I could jump four lots of establishments and a set of stairs just to go to him. But that wheezing has got me motivated enough. This is code red, and your freaking entire life depends on this.
07.30pm. Font size not even. Color not for me. It’s too simple. Make this work. Those were repeated to me as I add another few slides of his presentation. After encoding it and making him review it all, it was found out that there were some un-encoded data. A spread of proposed activities from November to December. He asked me if I encoded it? I said no because I only received until October. He said that he gave it to me. It was on the backside of the August to October plan. How in the world would I had knew that? Imagine a crummy bond paper filled with ‘doctoral’ handwriting and crammed from every corner possible. The last thing I saw from that paper was the October schedule on the right hand side, squeezed by the title on the left and other data from the bottom. I wasn’t clearly expecting that there was more, but there was. I told him I didn’t saw it earlier but he insists. Typical, I-am-superior mode running here. And I was stuck there admitting something I did not do and I had done nothing. I could have done something but it would be tragic to say something at that moment. Remember: Code Red.
So where is Justice?
***
I remembered another scene from my family’s (excluding me) most-watched teleserye, Santino, I mean, May Bukas Pa. For those who do not watch this, including me, the teleserye revolves on the saintly virtues of a big-eyed puppy face cute kid who ‘miraculously’ transforms lives with the help and guidance of ‘Bro’.
Back to the scene. The scene is with the police CO and T. Gutierrez who plays a cop. The Co was infuriated and his ego was hit because Gutierrez did not stay at Bagong Pag-asa (his town) and went to Manila to rescue Santino from the hands of the syndicate using children as beggars (which he successfully did). The CO said Gutierrez had made an AWOL and that he disobeyed the CO. The episode ends with Gutierrez having to give up his police-hood by order of the CO.
So where is Justice?
***
After being ‘free’ for more than a hundred years, and being a ‘justifying’ country for over a decade now, I still wonder where is that big well-proclaimed ‘freedom and justice’ that our government banner waves at us. After surviving four presidents, and countless of senate meetings, and assemblies, I had yet not understood why our country is called as ‘justice giving’. If prejudicial killings, kidnapping, politically instigated happenings, murder, assaults, war and terrorism still grip the land of this big pearl, then are we giving out justice?
Justice could be given out on a plate easy if people just do their jobs properly.
So where now is Justice?
Proxima
Maybe indeed she is asleep. Maybe she is still stuck on traffic. Maybe she migrated.
Maximus Proxima
Maybe she's at Ticud. Or maybe just processing her credentials to transfer into another university.
The advertisement of Camella Homes is so effective and catchy that even children mimic it! I give 10 stars to the ad designers of Camella. I was just schocked of the news that this wonder child who stars in this a minute or so ad is an Ilonggo!
Yes. (According to my source) He, yes, its a he, schools at one the private schools here in Iloilo. (Ewan ko lang kung totoo, di rin ako sure sa source ko.haha)
But still the ads is great, even if the child is a Tasaday or an Ati or a Spaniard, or a Chinese kid. The concept, excecution is still great.
...Kung kumilo, ang liit-liit./KP
*P.S. Confirm me if I am right or wrong of his (or maybe her) identity. hahaha. Cheers!
I don’t know if the world is just totally crazy or if God just wants me to suffer. I have doubts if the latter is much true.
Why does hierarchy affect relationships?
Why do people on top assume that they are always right?
Why are they obsessed of always being right?
God is that mean kid poking my anthill. And I don’t like it, thank very much. I now totally wonder why God had placed me into a family where my opinion is unheard of, where my voice is much much smaller than a squeak of a mouse. I never had respect.
Is it a requisite that if you’re the youngest you have to respect and not be respected?
If God had put all the respect in a shower, I must have been the last one to take the bath. I never had one in this family. Respect here is earned with hard labor, countless pleadings and gazillions of tears. But it always fall on deaf ears.
Nanay told me not to worry about my future job since I was far from graduating yet. Why am I so worried about a job in the future? I am obsessed of proving myself as a member of this family that I am deserving of their respect. Of their attention. Of their understanding.
Some may think that this is over reacting on one scenario. But this is always the scenario here. Who would be happy?
Yes, they give me what I want. Yes they send me to school. But do they really understand and respect me for what I love? For what I am? For what I do?
Yesterday, Nanay told me to quit from the publication. But I could never do that. I could never leave something that considered me as a respectable person (even though times in it were mostly pun jokes and shouting). It is the one of the things that keep me from not going to school. It is what I consider my home. You may think of me as a crazed person but if there is nothing you can hold on to, you’ll find something close.
Even though people in the publication are not my family, they treat me as one (pasensya kung medyo cheesy). At least they had respected me for my capabilities and who I am. I was never shouted at for what I did not do, I wasn’t screamed at when clarifying what to do, I was never called stupid (except on jokes), I was never a good for nothing, my opinions are heard. I had a voice.
So what should I do?
First, get a job after college and stay some place far. I never want our relationship in the family to worsen. If I stay here, it will be in the dump.
Second, prove to them that I am worthy of emotional attention. Let them break the rules that men have feelings. And that I need someone to explain why I hate cuddling with my family.
Third, stop my thoughts of ending my life in a oh-so-tragic way (hey, everyone is suicidal nowadays, it’s the new trend!).
It is true that respect is earned. Here, it is your job to earn it.
To refresh you of what is happening, I am currently in a family slash enemy situation. Bear with the cheesiness and get some macaroni./KP
I never thought this was shown to the film critics in Cannes. Being persuaded in a matter of milli-minutes, I hurled myself up the escalator to Adel, her brother Robi, and Aries to watch this movie.
This (movie) started to be creepy as hell and ended as funny as hell. I am very sorry but the plot is very predictable. Never underestimate an old lady and movie only goes to show that if you are not nice and calls old ladies bitches, then you are bound for hell.
The only thing I enjoyed was the old lady playing the antagonist for she did great, the history of the gypsies and of course, the cats.
We ended up laughing our way out the theater. Still, compensation was made for me and Aries for we had the latest book of our anonymous writer, Bob Ong. Kapitan Sino, I will feast upon you tonight and drag you to my own version of hell. Wahaha./KP
That’s how I feel right now. I am all wet from the rain and I am pathetically crying as I type this god forsaken entry of frustration.
Today is hell and nothing this night will ever change it.
09.00 am. I had totally realized that my class cards are nowhere to be found. These are requirements for me to be enrolled for the next sem and I cannot find them. The last time I saw them was when they were with my classmates’ class card. The next thing, they were gone.
2.00 pm. I got a transcript from the registrar costing to 50 Php (for a piece of flimsy bond paper and a stamp). But the subjects are all wrong. There were two subjects that were not for me and there are two subjects that were blank. Obviously my professors forgot to submit my grades to the registrar. Its not fair however that you get to be scolded for not having these encoded. The hell did I know that she did not submit my grade?
6.00 pm. My parents just called. They told me that I was over the top. That nanay wanted to see my grades. She wanted a copy of my grades from the university registrar. Earlier she had sent an sms to me that I would tell her my grades, which I did.
Earlier the call, I sent her a message of my grades and the corresponding subjects. During the call, she would insist that she needs a copy of the grades form the school. With her tone that is so ear-piercing, I can’t help myself but think that she thinks I am lying about my grades and that I am just making it up. WHY IN THE WORLD WOULD I LIE ABOUT MY GRADES? MY GRADES! I hope she knows that every 1.5 (even though it is low to some) is the product of my sweat and blood, my sleepless nights, my recitation, my quizzes, my reports, MY EFFORTS. But she will never will. There is this conspiracy theory on my head that she bore me with resentment and that my father indulges on the idea and promotes it. I’m a natural conspirator-instigator. Back to the story. She would just scream and shout over the phone (which I had to hold from a distance to my ear) that I was spending too much time here in the city.
Earlier I had told her that we are going to repaint the office and clean it. And that we were going to get the fees from the students ourselves. She does not realize that I was working for what is making me study, my scholarship grantor, the publication.
I do this because I love the publication. But for them, this is too much of a scholarship. I can’t tell them that I just want to stay because I want to help at the pub, they would never let me to. They don’t have and will never have a humanitarian heart.
They think (as I would want them to) that why I stay in the city is for my scholarship. Its partially true but why do I stay is mostly because I love being in the publication and I love being away from home. This is a fixation of my want of freedom.
The call ended with tatay confirming my payments for the enrollment which amounts to 6,060. Without my scholarship, where would they get the other half?
But ladies and gentlemen, the publication pub is not merely just a scholarship-giver for me. It has never been.
It is now my official home.
For it understands, it loves, and it trusts me in return.
