Many drivers, whether drunk or sober, have accidentally stolen lives. But never was there a traffic enforcer on duty victimized by such an accident. Many beauty pageants have made the titlists ecstatically scream. But never was there a beauty who fainted then and there she was declared the queen.

Realization of such situations shall become headlines just like many practical ways on improving lives of the hoi polloi in our dear Baguio City- both paradoxical and wistful.

Baguio City sidewalks could have been picturesque with sunflowers and Benguet lilies instead of being festooned with illegal vendors. Instead of playing hide-and-seek with the cops in blue, these illegal vendors can be more productive with handicrafts, furniture, or any sort of practical legal business.

If only the number of pubs in the City of Pines will be limited, the other existing pubs could have been schools, restaurants, or mini-factories. It could have engendered more meaningful living to the assiduous members of the hoi polloi as it diminished the population of dipsomaniacs in the city.

The name Baguio City connotes serenity, sanctuary, peace of mind, not to mention, chill. But this famed name inevitably has taken its toll on itself. More and more tourists, Filipinos from the lowlands and foreigners alike, are flocking in the City of Pines. Spend a day at Burnham Park and meeting a stranger asking directions is a sure thing. Take a walk along Session Road and you would meet three foreigners per meter (for crude arrogant estimators only).With this aggrandizing population, risks aggrandize, too.

Business and tourism benefit the elite, the lucky few, while underneath them are the inhabitants of the lower and wider part of the societal pyramid compromised. Unemployment, traffic jam, crimes- these are synonyms in an egregiously populated city.

The flocking of tourists per se is not the culprit putting the city at risk. It is the city dwellers themselves inappropriately welcoming and unwelcoming these visitors.

Regardless of these cynical views, even the most fastidious grouch in Baguio City has a reason to be grateful for being in such a haven away from terrorism, famine, and plague. February is a good month for Baguio people to celebrate, not for Valentines Day but for our very own Panagbenga.

This Panagbenga, may the flowers bloom with the real essence of the festivity. Let Panagbenga be a festivity of thanksgiving for the blessed Baguio City with all its beauty symbolized by the flowers. Let Panagbenga not be exploited and spoiled as business opportunity for merchants of cupidity. Flowers bloom in gloom in Baguio City if after the Panagbenga, controversies arise from tiffs among our respected leaders.

Let the name Baguio City denote serenity, sanctuary, and peace of mind.

I’m an Igorot who likes bagoong.

It’s wonderful to see the intertwined aftermath of the diverse cultures in the Philippines. No Filipino could claim that he has a pure culture unless he lived as a hermit all his life.

Personally, I’d been through different derogatory connotations of my cultural background. Every June in my high school years, I was always a new classmate. When I transferred from Mountain Province to Manila, I usually became an object of ridicule being an Igorot, which is implied as a second-class citizen among lowlanders.  When I went back to my hometown, my fellow Igorots look at me as an Igorot adulterated by my previous urban education. Either way, I could say that I was made culturally flexible. Exciting it was, but equally troublesome it also was since I hardly fixed a stable relationship with people. On the other hand, I became used to simultaneously facing a new environment and leaving an environment I have newly gotten used to. My accumulated experiences in rural and urban schools have greatly helped me out during my student teaching practicum at my alma mater, Baguio City National High School last November 2007 to March 2008. Such culturally diverse experiences have helped me a lot as a teacher per se.

Whenever I mention God’s name in the classroom, I had to juxtapose Allah’s name thereafter for the sake of my Muslim students. They, too, are looking unto a Sovereign One only in a different perspective. As a Christian, I have a duty to Christianize people. But as a teacher, I have a goal to show the complete big picture and let the individually different students exercise their sane volition. Just as they have the right to live, they also have the right to design their own lives. With our English lessons, it is but right for me to let the students look unto not God per se, but unto a Sovereign One.

I know how hard it is for Muslims to study with Christian teachers, Christian classmates, and Christian lessons in a Christian environment that recklessly vilifies Muslims as terrorists. I, too, have been a vilified stranger so many times since grade school up to college. I share the same sentiment of suffering from the judgmental eyes of prejudiced minds.

Despite individual differences, one thing is sure- all students want to laugh in the classroom, especially so in the Philippines where poverty is oppressive. Such is a challenging task. Again, students are individually different, which implies that the definition of ‘funny’ varies from person to person.

 I love Madam Evelyn Garcia-Lleva, my dear critic teacher. She has paved the way for my growth as a green teacher like as showing me how to handle such individual differences complex. I was amazed by how she keeps the verve in the classroom with her clean and green words of wisdom (which means vulgarity to cynical moralists) without compromising the quintessence of the lessons. One day, I found myself in front of the students doing the same thing.

Out of the 273 evaluations I had from my students, three were against such clean and green words of wisdom. Well, we can never please everyone.  I won’t compromise those three cynical moralists. But I’m sure that they have learned from my clean and green words of wisdom whether they admit it or not.

It’s not the diverse cultures that matter to us, anyway. It’s the way we make these diverse cultures matter to us.

Madam Evelyn  Garcia-Lleva is an Ilocano and she likes pinikpikan.

Impierno ang Linggo para kay Nena.

“Hindi mo ako kailangang kurutin!” Bulyaw ni Nena sa ina.

“Bumangon ka na nga riyan at mahuhuli na tayo sa simbahan!” Ibinalibag ni Aling Purita ang pinto.

Napairap na lang si Nena saka nakasimangot na bumangon. Isang bagay lang ang tiyak na matinong mangyayari sa araw na iyon- magkikita sila ng kababata, kapitbahay at pinakamatalik nitong kaibigan na si Inigo. Nitong mga huling araw kasi ay madalas ang pakikibasketbol ni Inigo sa eskuwelahan kaya ngayong Linggo lang sila makakapagkuwentuhan.

“Problema mo?” Kunot-noo si Nena nang yamot na umiwas si Inigo nang ihihiga sana ng dalagita ang ulo sa balikat ng binata, na lagi naman niyang ginagawa dati tuwing magsisimba sila.

“Huwag ka ngang masyadong dumikit sa akin.” Yamot pa ring wika ni Inigo.

“Ssshhh…” Sumenyas sa kanila ang nanay ni Inigo, si Aling Belen. Tahimik itong nakikinig sa sermon ng pari katabi ang asawang si Mang Henri at si Aling Nena. Magkakaibigan din ang mga ito. Pero mayamaya pa ay ang mga ito naman ang nagbubulungan.

Noon lang napatingin sa pari si Nena. Iba na pala ang paring nagsesermon.

“Mag-iisang buwan nang nakaratay sa sakit si Padre Juancho.” Bulong ni Aling Belen.

Napatitig si Nena sa bagong paring nagsesermon. Mukha ito Intsik. Ganun ang mga tipo ng dalagita- singkit, matangos, manipis ang mga labi, at maputi. Di gaya ni Inigo na moreno at makakapal ang mga labi.

Padre Carlos daw ang panglan nito. Ito na yata ang pinakaguwapong lalaking nakita ni Nena.

Mula noon ay naging masayahin na uli si Nena. Dalawang araw kasi matapos ang ikalabing-apat na kaarawan niya noong nakaraang buwan ay pumanaw ang kanyang amang inatake sa puso.

Ngunit ngayon ay muli siyang naging masigla. Nagtataka ang kanyang ina pati sina Lola Amparo, Tita Belen, at Tito Henri niya dahil biglang naging interesado siya sa pagsimba. Sila lang ni Inigo ang may alam na may gusto siya kay Padre Carlos.

Mula sa eskuwela ay didiretso siya sa simbahan upang makipag-usap kay Padre Carlos. Saka siya dadaan kay Inigo at ikukuwento kung gaano siya kasaya at nakausap niya ang napakaguwapong pari.

“Wala ‘yong balak mag-asawa, ulol!” Kantiyaw ni Inigo. “Halos tatay mo na ‘yon.”

Biglang naalala ni Nena ang yumaong ama. Pag-uwi niya ay nadatnan niya ang Lola Amparo niyang nagdarasal kay Santa Ursula, ang maliit na rebultong pagkatangos-tangos. Nagdarasal si Lola Amparo hindi para sa kaluluwa ng yumaong anak kundi para magamot ang kanser nito sa kanang dibdib. Mayamaya pa ay dumating naman ang kanyang ina mula sa palengke. Tila ba nasa palengke pa ito at nagsisisigaw na pinapagalitan si Nena. Tuloy pa rin sa dasal si Lola Amparo habang ang isip naman ni Nena ay lumillipad kasama si Padre Carlos. Lalo tuloy nagtatalak si Aling Purita.

Inaraw-araw ni Nena ang pagpunta sa simbahan. Naroong magbubulontaryo itong maglilinis para lang makausap si Padre Carlos. Inaraw-araw din niya ang pagpunta kina Inigo para humingi ng payo kung paano kunin ang loob ng isang lalaki. Natatawa na lang si Inigo at hindi interesadong sagutinang mga tanong ng kababata.

Agad na nakaisip si Nena ng paraan. “Ibibili kita ng kahit anong nagkakahalaga ng 500.” Naisip niyang may 500 pa siyang regalo mula kay Aling Belen noong ika-14 kaarawan niya noong nakaraang buwan.

Kumagat agad si Inigo sa suhol. Sinagot niya lahat ng mga tanong ng dalagita tungkol sa mga bagay na hindi dapat pinag-uusapan ng mga kabataang nasa 14 anyos tulad nila.

Sumunod naman si Nena sa usapan. Ibinili niya si Inigo ng mga pornograpikong magasin. Nang dalhin niya ito sa kuwarto ng binata ay nahuli niya itong nanonood ng pornograpikong pelikula. Walang nagawa si Inigo nang makinood si Nena kundi ay isusumbong siya. Tutal ay parang magkapatid lang naman ang turing nila sa isa’t isa lalo na at pareho silang walang kapatid.

Noong sumunod na Linggo, isinubo ni Nena ang dalawang daliri ni Padre Carlos ng bigyan siya ng tinapay sa kumunyon. Limang oras ng sermon sa palengke ang inabot niya mula sa ina. Hindi naman iyon nakasira sa kasiyahan niya at nagawa niya sa guwapong pari ang gaya ng pinanood nila ni Inigo.

Naging parang magkaibigan sina Nena at Padre Carlos. Himalang nagamot ang Lola Amparo niya mula sa kanser nito sa dibdib. Naniwala itong ginamot siya ni Santa Ursula dahil sa lagging pagpupunta ng apo sa simbahan.

Dumating sa puntong nililinisan ni Nena ang kuwarto ni Padre Carlos. Kunwari ay tuwang-tuwa siya sa isangdaang ibinabayad na pari tuwing naglilinis siya ng kuwarto nito para maikubli ang tunay niyang nararamdaman.

Sinumpong si Nena nang minsang naglilinis siya ng kuwarto ni Padre Carlos. Tumakbo siya papunta sa bahay nina Inigo na malapit lang sa simbahan. Hiniram nito ang tatlong magasin na ipinabili nito noon. Kasalukuyang ginagamit ni Inigo ang mga magasin pero wala siyang nagawa sa husay ni Nena sa pangungumbinsi.

“Nena? Nena?” Hindi mahanap ni Padre Carlos si Nena. Malinis na ang kuwarto niya kaya ipinagpalagay niyang umuwi na ang dalagita. Nang mahiga siya sa kama ay may napansin siyang tatlong magasin sa tabi ng unan niya. Bumangon ang pari at tinignan ang mga iyon. Biglang uminit ang katawan niya sa mga nakita sa mga magasin- mga nakahubad na babaeng hindi niya kadalasang nakikita.

Sinarado ng pari ang pinto ng kuwarto at naghubad ng pantalon.

Samantala, nakanganga naman si Nena na nakatago sa loob ng cabinet. Naipaliwanag na ni Inigo kung saan ba ginagamit ng mga lalaki ang mga pornograpikong magasing iyon. Pero sadyang musmos pa ang kanyang kaisipan at hindi nito lubos mataglay ang panoorin ang mahal niyang si Padre Carlos na gamitin ang mga magasing iyon.

Napasigaw si Nena hindi dahil sa nakikitang ginagawa ni Padre Carlos kundi dahil sa ipis na biglang dumapo sa mukha niya. Biglang napatigil si Padre Carlos sa ginagawa at dumiretso sa cabinet. Nanatili itong walang saplot sa ibaba habang ang pagkalalaki ay magiting na nakaturo at handang-handang bumaril.

It was very easy to bathe her then. No more scratches on my tiny hands. She didn’t rebel against the water anymore. No. She didn’t breathe anymore.

The night before, I came home very late. I found her sleeping forever. Like a child, I squatted on the floor and stared at her. Then I shook her cold and stiff yet fluffy body. No. It’s too late.

What (or who) had killed her? If I came home earlier, would I be able to curb her suffering? Despite the melancholic bereavement, I did not shed tears. What happened to my vulnerability that puts me out on a limb every time I hear innocuous pranks?

Well, petty offenses easily annoy me. Yet my callosity is calcified when it comes to a colossal loss. A victim of circumstances, I had lost so many people and things I immensely love.

I couldn’t exactly recall how much and how many have I lost. My Dad died when I was 9. During my enrolment for college, I lost my tuition fee along Magsaysay Road. I have given up jobs, friends, and career opportunities for some reasons, as I have lost cell phones, clothes, books, jeans, and jackets along the way. I do believe that things happen for a reason but until now, I still am not clear with the reasons of my losses.

It was just a rabbit this time. Yet my heartstrings are twitched. I switch from blaming my egregious insouciance for my rabbit’s death to scoffing at such a logical fallacy.

Regretful reminiscence is an ugly déjà vu I loathe. It’s easier for me to condone a person who inexorably offends me than to forgive myself for my carelessness that ruined someone or something I love.

Of course, living and non-living things alike are doomed to a cul-de-sac. Though I believe that even the minutiae of death are predetermined, I still feel guilty of not giving my rabbit the necessary attention.

Poor rabbit, I was the destined master. The culprit might have thought of euthanasia to end its sufferings from my clumsy hands. That’s the bright side.

It is sort of like a defense mechanism also to think of the things I have learned from my rabbit. Rabbits teach us a lot of lessons. How to keep silent amid stressful scenario, how to be very productive…

I would definitely have another rabbit again. By then, I would be more responsible. Losing my first pet rabbit nudges me to maturity. 

Circumstances and volition contrive to hold together the crosspieces of the ladder towards maturity. Unexpected situations electrocute us to bring us back to our senses. It is then our choice to leave childhood behind.

Soldiers are not fortified by a snug sofa. Like them, I have to be fortified to protect my territory. For me to be strong, I have to be hurt…like losing my first pet rabbit.

“How could learning history upgrade the economy of a country?” A tetchy student may ask.

In Adolf Hitler’s Mein Kampf,  he mentioned he was colossally influenced by a certain history teacher. Well, many factors had molded Hitler to a monstrous fuehrer. But everything started when the powerful words of this history teacher sowed a patriotic seed in the young Hitler’s heart.

To such tetchy students, learning history doesn’t simply change the economy. It does change history itself.

During my three years of tutoring Koreans, history is inevitably touched by our English lessons. But this time, Philippine history has to be one of our subject matters with my Korean neighbor/friend/student, Cholong, since it’s one of her summer class subjects.

As much as I could recall grade school, high school, and college history, I tried to recount the Filipino plights under the Spanish hands for 333 years.

“So do you hate Spaniards?” Cholong asked after my lecture.

I paused for a while. I knew I had to say no. For a moment, I hesitated to say no because I expect a bigger follow-up question.

And yes there is this- “Why?”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged my shoulder as I usually feel comfortable appearing stupid to people, even to my students. “Probably, because the Filipinos just don’t care. It has been long gone and-”

“But-” Cholong knows what I would say. She compared the situation with Korean and Japanese. The Koreans today are, in a sense, trying to ask for a compensation for their ancestors’ sufferings during the Japanese invasion. Now, the Japanese scions are trying to make it up for the mistakes of their ancestors.

Nationalism. It is such a substantial thing that binds a nation along its ups and downs. Rizal fought for the Philippines. Bonifacio also did along with many other patriotic guys.

Thanks to my Korean student, Cholong. Now, I am more history conscious and more patriotic than I used to. As for Cholong, she wants to master English for many reasons, one of which is to help change Filipino thinking, by discussing history, in one way or another.

There must be a drastic change in Philippine history books. The names and dates are not supposed to be highlighted. History exam questions should ask for explanations, reflections, causes, and effects.

It’s never the when, where, who, nor what that explains history. It’s the why, how, and what now?

We all want to be employable. Thus, we all want to be English proficient.

The best way to master a language is to keep in touch with those who speak the language with mastery. If you want to master English, be with those who mastered English. But how about the Filipinos who want to acquire English proficiency but practically cannot have a regular contact with a native English speaker, or at least someone who mastered the language?

Anyone can learn anything he wants to learn as long as he is willing to learn. If you are willing enough to master English, even without a regular contact with a native speaker, there is always a way.

There are two things that could stimulate willingness in learning; the innate passion to the lesson and the persuasion by the importance of the lesson. It is good if you are self-motivated by your natural passion to what you are learning. But it is even better if you are well-informed and thoroughly persuaded that what you are learning is beneficial to you.

You may not have the passion to master English, or any other language aside from your mother tongue. No problem. The thing is you should believe how mastering English could change your life.

English is the global language today. It bridges the gap among the multilingual societies for a unified international business and communication. English proficiency has been an asset to our country. But the passed years had seized our reputation as the best English speaker in Asia.

This indicates that today, we need to exert an extra effort to win back that reputation. Be it for patriotism’s sake of for your own bright future’s sake; hone your English proficiency in English as your weapon to eradicate the oppressive poverty in the Philippines. The mere fact that you are studying, with at least a personal perspective of being holistically stable after finishing your studies, proves that you dream to be successful in the future.

Ignore those who criticize you for “trying hard” to master English. They are nothing but wingless birds.

If you really want to be successful in the future, master English. The time is right now. Success is a choice. Choose it.

Truly yours,

CONVIRON ALTATIS

I was with American sexagenarians in my favorite hangout in Baguio City that night. Being the only Filipino, they thought I would be out of place because they were talking about the approaching US presidential election. Not until I said Obama is my guy.

Then I thought I might’ve put myself in a den of lions because they were all whites. I was wrong. All of them would vote for Obama except for one who would rather not vote than to regret the aftermath of the dilemma.

Whoever would make it to the US presidential elections, the whole world is affected. The Philippines, for one, has been snuggling up with the wind beneath the American wings. If McCain continues the war against Iraq, the Philippine army would still be in function for sure. If Obama campaigns for world peace, the US army would still not stop bothering the Philippine army. The same is true to Koreans, whose population seems to swarm our city. They had their candle rally when two Korean high school girls were hit by an American military van and lately, because of the US beef. Despite these feuds, Koreans still swarm Baguio City for one reason- English proficiency, which is one of the main goals of South Korea president Lee Myungbak. Either Obama or McCain could change their fate.

The US, the father of all nations as I fondly named it to those American granddads, would always intervene with the issues of all its ‘child nations’. Though we wouldn’t be voting for that said election, Filipinos shouldn’t be complacent. We should be informed and prepared for whatever change Obama or McCain would cause to our nation.

I go for Obama not because of his attractive historical impact as the would-be first Black president of the US. It’s not for sympathy. It’s not fighting for the prejudiced. It’s simply believing for a change, for new ideals.

McCain is very well experienced. But how far have those experiences lift America up, which could have led the whole world up too? On the other hand, Obama is vilified for having not much experience that irrationally questions his credibility.

Experience is not everything. Bright ideas can be born spontaneously as a gift. This is one big mistake among some of us- we tend not to try because we lack experience. Wrong. Great results could be achieved for the first try.

Be it Obama or McCain, I only have a simple wish- that one day, I will wake in the morning and watch the morning news announcing that one peso is equivalent to one dollar.