KWENTONG PEYUPS: Growing Up To Grown Up

(You may have to click on the picture to enlarge it if you're interested in reading it though.)

GROWING UP TO GROWN UP

My first semester in UP, I remember how one of my blockmates was reprimanded in Comm 1 class for her wrong grammar, and how we were then sternly reminded that we ought to speak in proper English. E nung hayskul pa naman, ‘I spoke medyo mixed, like ganito.’ Taglish kumbaga. Shet, ibang level to!

A couple of meetings after, we had to write an essay on adolescence. To make matters worse, our professor, Neil Garcia, required us to read our essays in front of the class. When my turn came, I stood in front, shaking. It wasn’t simply nerves as I’ve spoken in public countless times before. I think I was terrified they’d judge me on my thoughts on the subject. As evinced by the same tentativeness in my Taglish, I realized that before college – before UP – I had reached puberty without really growing up.

Baduy Day in Neil Garcia's class. The same spot where I stood in front of the class,
trembling uncontrollably as I read them my essay on adolesence.

Note the distinction between UP and college. In my mind, UP is unlike other colleges. It’s the microcosm of Philippine society. It couldn’t be truer than in the Diliman campus, my alma mater. After sitting through my first ever class in the wrong classroom, I realized how naïve and unprepared I was for the real world. No wonder I trembled during that recitation. UP had yet to teach me what adolescence was about.

theCouncil reenacting our first day in UP. PH306. Maling klasrum!

To be fair, it wasn’t all UP. It was a confluence of many factors. Less than two years before my college life commenced, my father died. Being an only child whose mother worked overseas, I was sheltered, pampered, and suddenly, I had no choice but to be independent. The decision to move to a new city, a new place, all on my own took that rite of passage to another dimension. UP was my chance to live independently in the real world.

As if I missed out on high school, I rushed through all of life’s lessons during my stay in UP. I learned to treasure every hump and bump I encountered along the way: my first failing mark (P.E. lang naman). Crashing my car. Singing, dancing and acting on stage. Losing my virginity. Falling in love. Getting hazed applying for an org. Getting drunk as a skunk and passing out. Smoking a joint and passing out. Smoking. Making out in my RAV and getting flashlighted by the UPDP. Voting. Ousting a President. Impressing professors, infuriating even more.

Batchmates ko sa hazing (wala lang si Angge).

All those experiences, mundane and profound, carried with them lessons big and small. Ngayon, alam ko nang tumba na ko sa limang baso ng rhum-coke. Na ang uno sa mabait na professor ay mas mababa sa dos ng magaling na mentor. Na pwedeng lumusot sa anumang uri ng gusot. Every exploit was invaluable, and UP did it by introducing me to people of every possible vocation and tradition, in the skin of my professors and classmates, the visiting lecturers, staff members, orgmates and friends. Sina Manang fishball sa Mass Comm, Ate Xerox sa Lib, Manong Guard sa may entrance, Kuya Bantay sa AS, at Sir Pulis na nang-flashlight sa kin.

I soaked it all in, excitedly, and even grudgingly at times. I started to love my country even more. UP made me cherish my identity as a Filipino not only because my education was paid for by my fellow countrymen’s hard earned taxes (though that remains a huge part of it) but because of the pride instilled in me by simply surrounding me with greatness. Greatness in both the excellence of the alumni whose footsteps I follow (pa’nong hindi kung yung prof mo sa BC 121 ay unang Pilipina lang namang nagtrabaho sa BBC?) and the nobleness I recognized in the non-academic members of our community. It made greatness not only a possibility but also a responsibility.

In short, UP was the manger on which the real me was birthed. In being comfortable with all kinds of people, I came to better comprehend what the real world is like, and I learned to be proud and comfortable with who I was. I nurtured a deeper sense of empathy and a more profound identification of my place and role in the society. If you’d met me in high school, you probably wouldn’t think I’d end up as a movie scriptwriter whose currency, apart from imagination, is skill in interacting and empathizing with people. Who would’ve thought all that could be done in just 500 hectares of land? Sa UP lang!

The 2001 Graduates, with my Mom :)

Since then, no matter where I went, I was assured of who I am and confident of what I could be. Like when I was a Freshman representing the Philippines in a youth forum in Japan. Or when I was traveling all over Mindanao making a documentary on issues faced by journalists covering war and terrorism. Or as a Fellowship student in Singapore. Even now, as I pursue further studies here in Great Britain, I’m mindful of how I represent myself as well as the Filipino people. Such awareness drives me to be the best version of myself. I owe it to my country, my alma mater, and myself. UP ata to. Matapang, matalino. Walang takot kahit kanino.

Kaya ngayon, pag recitation, di na ko nanginginig. At dahil nasa London, syempre proper English!

So anong kwentong Peyups ko, exactly? Is it how UP was the scene of my adolescence, or how it made me value my being Filipino? Or is it how it taught me to survive in the real world?

Baka magalit pa professors ko, sabihin para kong hindi taga-UP. Let me sum up this way, then (and in straight English):

It was in UP that I grew up to be a Filipino who is grounded in the realities of the world.

Lusot ba?

***

I composed this the weekend before the start of our second term at LFS. I originally called it, "A U.P.-Grown Grown Up on Growing Up" - a sort of word play which I didn't really expect to be adapted as its title upon publication. I had some time in my hands and wanted to contribute to my Alma Mater's celebration of its centennial.

I honestly thought this wouldn't get published because I didn't feel like it was what Campaigns & Grey wanted for the series. You'd notice I wasn't very specific about the experiences I recounted in the article. It's more like an abbreviation how my UP life was kasi. I've read a lot of the articles published, including my friends'. They, however, wrote of specific life episodes while they were still studying in the campus. I realized my article wasn't like that after I made my friend Jean read it, which was after I had emailed the article. I thought of writing a new one but never got around to doing it. Classes started and I got busy. I figured, I can always post it in my blog anyway. That's why I was surprised when I was woken up by Norman's text (at 7AM on Saturday!), saying "Yours is today's Kwentong Peyups! Congrats Ü"

Thanks to my cousin Majah who took a picture of the article to send to me. There it was...

100 Kwentong Peyups
Growing Up To Grown Up

Raz Sobida de la Torre
BA Broadcast Communication
97-18393 U.P. Diliman

I'm glad they printed this anyway. Among the reasons for my apprehension in leaving the country to study in London this year is the thought of missing out on all the festivities. Seryoso, sobra kong bad trip na wala ako sa Pinas para sa Centennial Lecture Series (though I was lucky enough to attend Sheila Coronel's during my summer vacation there), Homecomings, and the UP Pep Squad's defense of its title, among other things. This certainly helps make up for my absence :)

People of the Philippines v. Malu Fernandez (In re: The People Asia Article)

AN OPEN LETTER TO MISS MALU FERNANDEZ


Dear Ms. Malu Fernandez,

I was waiting in my dentist's receiving room a few months ago when I read your article in the June 2007 issue of People Asia. I remember feeling incensed by the way you denigrated your fellow Filipinos and the pompous way you name-dropped Malone, Vuitton, the places you've been to and the *more* famous people with whom you hobnob. However, I was alone at that time and thought it would be inappropriate to direct my indignation to the unsuspecting receptionist in front of me.

I have completely forgotten about it until today, when I read my friend's blog entry about your article. It was only then that I read the wealth of literature written about you and your article, and realized how much it has rocked the blogosphere and the massive campaign that had since been launched seeking for your firing or resignation (in a parallel universe, I'd probably even applaud the impact you've created).

What I say here may never reach your expensive computer screen (my blog's no People Asia after all), but I will say it anyway, to add fuel to the already raging inferno borne of the outrage over your... existence.

Following her recollections of her trip to Boracay and Greece, Malu Fernandez goes on to write this about her layover in UAE (the whole article is at the bottom of this blog):

"However I forgot that the hub was in Dubai and the majority of the OFWs (overseas Filipino workers) were stationed there. The duty-free shop was overrun with Filipino workers selling cell phones and perfume. Meanwhile, I wanted to slash my wrist at the thought of being trapped in a plane with all of them. Of course, everyone in the economy class was yelled at for having overweight hand-carries. Mine was 17kg (ssshhhh!!!)."

"While I was on the plane (where the seats were so small I had bruises on my legs), my only consolation was the entertainment on the small flat screen in front of me. But it was busted, so I heaved a sigh, popped my sleeping pills and dozed off to the sounds of gum chewing and endless yelling of “HOY! Kumusta ka na? At taga san ka? Domestic helper ka rin ba?” Translation: “Hey there? Where are you from? Are you a domestic helper as well?” I thought I had died and God had sent me to my very own private hell."

"On my way back, I had to bravely take the economy flight once more. This time I had already resigned myself to being trapped like a sardine in a sardine can with all these OFWs smelling of AXE and Charlie cologne while Jo Malone evaporated into thin air."

Many people have called you a bigot, accused you of being insensitive, elitist... even a pig (and most of them were quite literal with the last).

If I were one of your unfortunate friends, I probably would've advised you to pack up and fly back to Greece, wait it out, then come back when the dust has cleared. You see, this could have easily have blown over had it not been for your callous response:

"As I type this, I’d like you to know that it’s not about whining, complaining and bitching but just stating the facts. Just recently, I wrote a funny article in my magazine column and my friends thought it was hilarious. It was humorous and quite tongue-in-cheek, or at least I thought so, until the magazine got a few e-mails from people who didn’t get the meaning of my acerbic wit. The bottom line was just that I had offended the reader’s socioeconomic background. If any of these people actually read anything thicker then a magazine they would find it very funny. Most people don’t get the fact that they need bitches like me to shake up their world, otherwise their lives would be boring and mediocre."

"Although it may sound elitist to you the fact is this country is built on the foundation of haves, have-nots and wannabes. One group will never get the culture of the other. Although I could mention that it is easier to understand someone who has a lower socioeconomic background that would entail a whole other page and frankly I don’t want to be someone to bridge the gap between socioeconomic classes. I leave that to the politicians in my family who believe they can actually help. Now I seriously ask you, am I being a diva or are people around me just lacking in common sense? Perhaps it’s a little of both!"

You seriously ask us if you're just being a diva or if we are simply lacking in common sense. Allow me to find an answer by being explaining why I was particularly offended by your writing.

I thought it was mighty arrogant of you to disparage the OFWs in that flight simply because they were behaving opposed to how you would, or because they reeked of cheap perfumes. The way you doggedly pointed out their nationalities, you clearly wanted to dissociate yourself from them because they were Filipinos, yet in the same paragraph, you unwittingly state the obvious. That you are, alas, no different from them. A Filipino who fly coach and a transgressor of International Civil Aviation carry-on luggage policies.

"Of course, everyone in the economy class was for having overweight hand carries. Mine was 17kg."

And no, the parenthetical "ssshhhh!!!" does not make it cute.

***

Let me just say that I'd probably be the first to cringe when made witness to a fellow Filipino making an ass of him- or herself. I even admit to being embarrassed by the same airline behavior you, Miss Fernandez, had proudly written about.

There's a gazillion of things we Filipinos should not be proud of, a gazillion things more we should change in ourselves. I admit to that, and I'd even gladly engage in a debate on how that can and must be done. But surely you can tell this wouldn't be the proper context for that?

Perhaps what sets you apart from me and the other Filipinos you have angered is that we will never blatantly look down on our kabayan. You, however, denounce your own for no better reason than raising their voices in an airplane, getting excited about going home, and not having enough money to afford the scent you wear.

I may, at times, be embarrassed by what they do, but I will never be ashamed of who they are. For I, too, am Filipino. To deny them is to deny myself.

If only by virtue of our shared nationality, you will never see me writing about that kind of experience and having it published for the world to see in a vain attempt to elicit cheap laughs, aggrandize my image and affirm my social status. As one blogger points out,

There is a line between being hilariously offensive, and being just offensive, and it’s not a thin one. We know it for what it is, and we know it’s best to keep such thoughts to ourselves or shared only with others of similar disposition. It’s called tact.

Tact. On tact vis-á-vis humor, you might learn a little something from Jessica Zafra.

***

When you reacted to the emails your magazine has received, let me correct your thinking that your readers simply didn't get your "acerbic wit." The fact that your friends laugh and appreciate the condemned parts of your article does not mean our sense of humor is amiss. To us, it simply means those friends of yours are as mean-spirited and insensitive as the writer. And if you need us to legitimize our standing to give an opinion, let me say then that many of us do read those sheets of paper bound together in the spine and sandwiched by hard backs. (What are they again? Books! They're thicker than magazines, right?)

Furthermore, in case you can't do the math, the countless emails and blog entries reacting to your article translates to the countless people who have taken offense. I hope that makes it clear that we don't need a bitch like you (bitch! finally, something we agree on!) to shake up our world. If it is wit and humor we crave, we will find it in people who can do it with taste, and the humility to boot.

You, on the other hand, should take a refresher course on journalism.

If you insist that your wit is an acquired taste exclusive only to those who belong to your niche, might I suggest, then, that the next time you write something that may be construed as unpalatable, consider instead writing a newsletter with exclusive circulation to those who share your celebrated humor. And don't delude yourself into thinking everyone who belongs in your stratum, the "haves," think the way you do. I have met a few of them and thankfully, they're not all like you and your friends. I noticed that the only ones who brandish their lifestyle and write in the self-important manner as you have done in your article are those who are insecure of their status as the "haves." In your own words, the "wannabes."

Finally, in the same manner you expect us to accept your short-sighted defense, we also expect you to just recognize the new lows to which you have sunk in our bourgeois and peasant eyes. Do not think you can just brush off your readers' opinions. You see, for us, it's not as simple as putting down the magazine either. Readers pay for the whole magazine, and your inclusion as a columnist is not something we can avoid. As much as we'd like to ban you from writing, the power is not ours. It's your editors' and employers' (hint, hint!). Ranting and throwing rotten tomatoes your way is our only recourse. (Maybe we should try the latter?)

Now if you can't take the heat of your own undoing, you should think twice about getting published. You see, that, too, is what journalism is about. Responsibility and accountability.

I hope all that proves that we don't lack common sense. That's not to say that you're just being a diva though. Divas, at least, have something to show for it apart from their wealth. Simply put, what it makes you is rude.

We get it, Miss Fernandez. You're the one who doesn't.

To those who just read my letter, be fair to Miss Malu Fernandez.
Read the article yourself. (Click on it to see the larger picture):

Five Years After

Next weekend, July 20, I'll be off to Singapore to fulfill a pact with 56 friends from all over Southeast Asia.

Five years ago, in Singapore, I attended a Student Fellowship program that brought together 2 Bruneians, 5 Cambodians, 9 Indonesians, 2 Laos, 5 Malaysians, 2 Myanmese, 12 Singaporeans, 5 Thais, 6 Vietnamese and 9 Pinoys. We spent five months in the Lion City, supposedly studying, but that was really just an excuse to be put on a regular stipend and have fun. Thanks to the generosity of the Singapore International Foundation (SIF).

One of the best-est friends I picked up from that Fellowship is Duong, a Vietnamese. He recently posted in his blog the speech I wrote and delivered during the ASEAN Nite, which is also the closing program. He even posted some of the pictures from the Fellowship (check out Duong's blog here).

I can't believe it's been five years! I can't wait to see all of these crazy guys again :)

Justice At Inupacan

This article was written by my dear friend, Jean. Actually, 1Lt Jean Alia Yasin Robles. She works as Operations Chief of the the AFP Public Information Office.

I edited it for her (precariously delaying me from my own deadline). I rarely write anything about current affairs, so I'm posting it here. I thought it refreshing to read an article like this about the Satur Ocampo incident. Maybe you'd see what I mean and think so, too.

*****

JUSTICE AT INUPACAN

Aling Rosa (not her real name) had lost hope in ever seeing her son again. She was proven wrong one Sunday morning when they had their unexpected reunion in Inopacan, Leyte. Only this time, it was not the lively fifteen-year old Pedro who greeted her, but his skeletal remains. She immediately knew it was Pedro. She could still remember the shirt and trousers he wore the last time she saw him twenty-one years ago, before he disappeared with his friends, accused by the CPP- NPA of being government spies. She was near hysteria when the PNP forensics showed her the broken skull and ribs of her son. It only implied the pain he experienced in the hands of the insurgents. Her Pedro would have been a father to her grandchildren by now.

Pedro’s disappearance in the late 1980’s happened at the time when the Communist Party of the Philippines was conducting a massive campaign to get rid of suspected infiltrators in their ranks. They were then experiencing tactical losses due to the government’s intensified drive against insurgency. Kampanyang Ahos in Mindanao resulted to the death of 800 suspected deep penetration agents (DPAs) and the arrest of 1,500 others. In Southern Tagalog, around 100 CPP-NPA elements were killed by their comrades. In Leyte, “Operation Linis” was implemented, resulting to the death of more than 400 persons. All in all, more than 1,500 people were brutally murdered by the CPP-NPA. This operation did not only include party members but also innocent civilians who were uncooperative with the movement.

Aling Rosa suspects that her son had been recruited by the CPP-NPA, later becoming a casualty of their purging operations following accusations of being a government spy. Former members of the CPP-NPA who have surrendered to the AFP corroborate her suspicion, citing the communist party’s continuing recruitment of minors as young as twelve years old, in complete disregard of International Humanitarian Laws. Apparently, these children are brainwashed to hate the government and taught to fire guns and kill soldiers and policemen.

Despite their loss, there is consolation for the relatives of these victims. Last March 6, 2007, Judge Ephrem Abando of the Regional Trial Court of Hilongos, Leyte issued a warrant of arrest to Jose Maria Sison, Satur Ocampo, et. al. for charges of multiple murder of the fifteen people identified among the 67 skeletal remains unearthed at Mt. Sapang Dako, Kaulisihan, Inopacan, Leyte. Finallly, Aling Rosa can look forward to finding justice for the death of her beloved Pedro.

The defendants raised two major issues in their counter-affidavit. First, Satur Ocampo denied that he was in Leyte at that time of the killings, saying that he was then being held in maximum security detention. However, testimonies from witnesses were submitted to the court alleging Ocampo’s presence in Leyte. He was supposedly there to oversee the implementation of OPLAN Venereal Disease, which the killings of suspected DPAs) and to directly order the execution of at least one of the victims. One of the witnesses even said that Central Committee member Satur Ocampo personally came to Southern Leyte sometime in 1985 to meet with CPP Regional Committee members on the implementation of the CPP directive. The witness maintains that he saw Satur Ocampo give orders to Exusperado Lloren in 1985 to execute in his presence a certain Juanita Aviola, one of the identified bodies from the mass grave in Leyte.

Furthermore, a review of newspaper archives from that year in fact shows that Ocampo escaped from government custody during the National Press Club elections on May 5, 1985, and that he was a fugitive of the law until 1987, when he was finally taken back in custody. It was during this period of flight between 1985 and 1987 that the time of killings was established.

In their counter-affidavit, the defendants also invoked the prescription period for murder cases since the crime happened more than 20 years ago. Jose Ma. Sison even went as far as accusing Judge Abando of ignorance of Philippine laws in his article, “Charge of Multiple Murder in Leyte Is A Patent Lie.” However, the Article 91 of the Revised Penal Code provides that the period of prescription of an offense commences from the day on which the crime is discovered by the offended party, the authorities and their agents. Furthermore, the term prescription shall not run when the offender is absent from the Philippines as in the case of Sison who has resided in the Netherlands since 1986. As such, the court found that prescription as grounds for dismissal of the case is unavailing to the accused since the gravesite at Inopacan, Leyte was discovered and unearthed only on August 26, 2006.

In his interviews to the media, Ocampo accused the government of fabricating the mass grave, claiming that the military dug up the graves and planted the skeletal remains. However, material evidences submitted by PNP forensic experts disprove his contention. Combined with sworn testimonies executed by relatives of the victims, former ranking members of the CPP-NPA in Southern Leyte who participated in the abduction of the victims, and former ranking members of the CPP-NPA Regional Committee of Leyte who attested to the Central Committee directive for the investigation and execution of suspected infiltrators and informers within CPP-NPA ranks, Judge Abando found enough probable cause in the murder charges, resulting in the issuance of the aforementioned arrest warrant.

In a video uploaded in a public internet site, Ocampo claimed that the charge was merely employed to derail the electoral campaign of progressive party list groups. In response, the State prosecutor pointed out that the charge had been under the court’s consideration for six months since the third quarter of 2006. After the discovery of the gravesite, the case was initiated via a complaint filed by the relatives of the victims in September 2006, which was later filed before the Leyte Provincial Prosecutor’s Office on October 17, 2006. Hence, the allegation of the case being politically motivated is unfounded.

Ocampo also supplements their defense by saying that they can no longer be charged with crimes connected with rebellion occurring before 1986, invoking the general amnesty issued by the Aquino Administration. However, Sison and Ocampo never expressed intention to avail of such amnesty, having failed the filing appropriate applications required by the said presidential order.

Pursuant to the Revised Rules of Criminal Procedure, the various defendants in the case, including Sison and Ocampo, were issued and served subpoenas asking for their counter-affidavits and including those from their witnesses. Satur Ocampo submitted his counter-affidavit denying his involvement in the alleged series of killings. Thus, their right to due process and the rule of law, as guaranteed by our Constitution, was respected and upheld, contrary to allegations coming from the accused.

It has been more than twenty years since relatives and loved ones lost the victims found in the Inupacan mass grave. But with the issuance of these arrest warrants, hope may not be lost. Aling Rosa finally has reason to believe there may be no prescription for justice after all.

A Quarter Full

A year ago, I wrote this for an exercise in the scriptwriting workshop Star Cinema conducted. As co-facilitators, we were encouraged to participate. We were simply asked to write about what we're feeling, or to write about a time when we felt a particularly strong emotion.

Back then, this was me. A month short of the expriration of my contract with Star. A few weeks shy of my 25th birthday. Back then, the most interesting thing that I could say about myself (when asked for an introduction), was that I left law school to pursue a career in film. I was trying to make myself more passionate and courageous in a desperate attempt to prove I had character and could amount to something.

That was more than a year ago. Now, I'm still in Star Cinema. Still struggling to pursue a career in film. Still no script credited under my name. I'm tempted to say nothing's changed, and the worst part of that is I'd be telling the hard truth. Especially when I turn my head and see how my close friends have leap-frogged in their careers and are now boasting of fat salaries, promotions, and, heck, even love lives. The sad truth is the intangibles rarely count nowadays.

But I won't say that. Lots of things have changed. I've grown a lot, despite appearances. It's funny cause I can tell how badly I wanted to sound optimistic in what I wrote down there - and how I still came off sounding miserable. Reading this piece and seeing how different I feel now despite the seeming stagnation of my career proves all the more that it's all a matter of perspective. It proves once again that writing can indeed do wonders for one's growth.

Weather-weather lang yan... And I feel the storm has passed.

*****

A QUARTER FULL
7 November 2004

I am overwhelmed by a feeling that things can be better.

A few months back, I owned up to a premature Quarter-Life Crisis. Premature only because I was a year and a few months ahead (I was 23 then). Now, I realize I might have spoken too soon. Either I was misled into thinking that already WAS it, or the depression I'm in right now is just part and parcel of a protracted suffering many have recognized as intrinsic to one's passage to adulthood.

There is an email that speaks of this. The Quarter-Life Crisis – the restlessness, the sense of displacement, the fear of stagnation, the uncertainty of everything.

I remember first reading about it when I was still in college. Back then, I was just amused that the Gen X-ers have found a counterpart for the pentagenarian affliction. Years after, a close friend of mine sent the same email to all her twenty-something friends, including myself. The second time around, I read it with an eerie sense of tangibility. I thought, it must truly speak of a universal truth for not only am I able to relate to the article, my past encounter with it was proof of its application to those who came before me. It offered little comfort, but at the time, it was enough.

I'm now a month and a week away from being a quarter of a century old, and the restlessness remains. While the article was accurate in finding the words for what most people my age are feeling, stating the fact that there are others who suffer the same misery still fails to account for the feeling of desperation. The feeling of loneliness continues to overwhelm me. In the end, all it succeeds to do is to prove how desolate the world has become. At the end of the day, you have but your shadow to keep you company at the crossroads.

As I write this, I start feeling bad that I chose a dispiriting topic to write about. I was asked to write about a pivotal part of my life – and I chose to write of here and now, not necessarily the lowest I’ve sunk for it to constitute a cinematic enough conflict, rather a boring testimony of ennui. I know I’m capable of more optimism. I fancy myself good at providing clarity and direction to those who need it. The process is painful. More so when you’ve no one to turn to when in need of it yourself. While some mistake it for masochism, wallowing in all that despair, I dare say it’s the best form of self-preservation. I guess I needed to purge myself of the bleakness if I’m to write about sunnier things.

Looking inwards, I’m met by a disturbing emptiness. Twenty-five years old and with very little to show for it. Like I’m 75% void, 25% uncertainty.

But if half a loaf’s better than no bread, I guess a quarter full’s not bad.

You Are No Different

As I waited for the valet after watching “Rumor Has It” in Eastwood last Friday (loved the film!), I heard a group of college kids engaged in a fun conversation while waiting for their own ride.

They spoke in a manner that brandished their privileged status in life – as in bawal ang Tagalog. And for a moment there, I thought I was still listening to those Hollywood actors. Swabe ng mga accent. I got irked. I could tell my friend thought the same way. It struck me like they were trying to sound that way ‘on purpose.’ In-eeffort!

I tried hard not to look at them condescendingly, to take the high road and ignore them. But I couldn’t help but think how they are really no different from those people who engage in gay-speak (swardspeak, ayon nga sa Manila By Night). Ang pagkakaiba lang, imbis na ‘chuva’ at ‘chorva’ at ‘itechi-mae’ (I have to thank Forsyth for these), their sentences were peppered with ‘guys,’ ‘dude,’ and ‘man.’ I found it funny that for all the effort they exert in distinguishing themselves, they ended up looking exactly like the people I’m sure they’d least want to be associated with. I had this urge to come up to them and say, “Alam nyo, you’re no different."

That made stop and think.

In my head, I couldn’t make a distinction between those two groups. None the worse.

So what is it about them that pissed me off? It wasn’t that they’re speaking in a jacked up volume like they’re the only ones there, unmindful if other people were grudgingly drawn into their conversations by becoming forced eavesdroppers. That couldn’t have been the reason because God knows we’ve been that group of people to others. I’m sure, at one time or another, I’ve been that person whose laughter was ringing high above everyone else’s voice in Coffee Bean. Hindi rin naman dahil sa nag-iingles sila. E ako rin naman e. Di rin dahil nag-ta-Taglish sila. Hello, me ren kaya!

I realized it was simply the fact that they spoke differently from me. Kung jologs yung mga yon, na nagkakantsawan at nag-iinglisan na mali naman ang bigkas, I’d just be as pissed. I started chanting “You’re no different” silently, calmly, in my head. But this time, to myself. Amazingly, it helped
So there, since it’s almost the new year of the fire dog, and we should always resolve to become better people, I’m adapting that new mantra.

“I’m no different… I’m no different… I’m no different.” It’s a matter of perspective. To others, I’m just as jologs, as coño, as nauseating as they are to me.

****

On another note…

I’m pasting, as post script to the preceding rumination, this remotely connected set of lyrics a friend of mine asked me to write. Now this was really weird. I mean, having to write the song that follows below. But it was fun doing it!

(Kunwari pa ko e. Yung sa taas, pilít na lead-in ko lang yon para ma-justify ang pag-post ko ng aking first novelty composition, hehehe...)

It’s prolly not gonna be produced anyway, so it might as well have its world debut online. It deserves that, at least!

CERTIFIED JOLOG

Sa bawat taong masasalubong
Di kailang sa iba’y maiilang
Dun sa kung maglakad, noo’y angat
Kahit damit ay kupas, ilong ay sarat

Sa bawat taong masasalubong
Di kailang sa kanila’y iilan
Kakatawa man ang kilos, di nalalaos
Walang kiyeme sa pagiging tameme


CHORUS:
Sa lahat ng ito, sabay sabay tumango
Walang sosy at hindi, sa taong totoo
Mukha mang sabog, isigaw sa utaw
Certified jolog, ihiyaw, ihiyaw!


Kilala ang sarili at di nagsisisi
Ngiti’y abot-tenga kahit bulsa’y sinulsi
Sabihan mang baduy, salat sa pera
Di uubrahan, tatawanan ang problema

Lalong walastik tayong hindi plastik
Walang nila-“lang,” hindi naiilang
Pagkat iba pa rin ang walang ere sa sarili
Maging masaya sa pagiging simple


CHORUS:
May katok man ay patok, barat man ay angat
Ingiti mo na lang, sabihin sa lahat
Hitsura at tunog, galaw, pananaw
Certified jolog, ihiyaw, ihiyaw!

Pakatotoo, itaas ang noo
Walang dapat ikahiya ang taong totoo
Basta’t Pinoy, galaw, pananaw
Certified jolog, ihiyaw, ihiyaw!

Basta’t Pinoy, galaw, pananaw
Certified jolog, ihiyaw, ihiyaw!

CODA:
Basta’t Pinoy, galaw, pananaw
Walang kakabog, (UNDENIABLE!)
di malalamog (CERTIFIABLE!)
Certified jologs,
Isigaw, isigaw!

***

I can just tell. This is the next Ocho-Ocho!