Resignation Blues

I envy him.

People sometimes just do not have contentment in life.

I have this classmate who graduated Magna cum laude in from the same university where I studied. We were batchmates, but we were never really close. The only connection we have was that we were both English majors. I envy him in some ways, especially when I learned that he was accepted in an exclusive all-boys school where the pay was good. And from what I can read from his blog, he’s goddamned enjoying his stay there while I am here, wallowing in despair about my wrong choice of a school.

Lately, upon reading his blog, I was just surprised to see his unbosoming. To realize that he was still not contented with what he had was really a slap on my face. I want what he has, he made a better choice than I did, but still, he can’t get enough. He was already there, he was taking his M.A. classes already in a university as credible as ours, he was teaching in a school much better than where I am, but still, he craves.

And I feel envious, I also crave what he has, but I do not have the courage to step out of my comfort zone, I know I can be like him, I know I can be better than him, but there is something in me that makes me step back. Always. Fear of rejection, fear of not being adequate, fear of the unknown, fear of everything that in the end, I always end up making the wrong decision.

We graduated from the same university, I also have a Latin honor like him, but what I never had was the courage, the guts to get what he really wanted, as opposed to me who could only dream and wallow in regret from afar.

He would be leaving this country to embark on a new world, a new country, while I am still here craving what he already grew tired of.

But still, I dream that someday, I would be like him, I would have the courage to step out and reach for my dreams. 

Mideo Cruz's Politeismo

“I wanted to provoke people into thinking. I titled my work ‘Politeismo’ which loosely translates into ‘many beliefs’ or ‘many deities.’ Throughout history, humanity has grown to create new gods and these are not always religious figures but concepts and objects. Some have taken to worshiping money; some see politicians as godsend. People create idols and these idols whether or not they’re deserving of idolatry or worship affect our lives and how we function and see the world,” -- Mideo Cruz


Everybody's angry with Mideo Cruz. And who the fuck is he anyway?

Here's the guy with his controversial work, "Politeismo."

This guy's the one who did the installation art, "Politeismo," which showcased different religious and pop culture icons "bastardized" to a certain level. In what level? There's that crucifix with a penis and there's that Jesus's image with a penis protruding from it. And you can just look at this picture...

Where's the penis? And where's Jesus?

And because of that penis-on-Jesus-face-and-crucifix, the religious and the Catholic Church is churning out words like "blasphemous" and "sacrilegious" like it's the 12th century.

His work suddenly aroused the debate whether the Cultural Center of the Philippines (CCP) should take the installation art down or let it stay and whether should there be boundaries on freedom of expression and morality.

The artwork has long been removed and since then, I haven't heard anything anymore.

"Politeismo" was made ten years ago and was exhibited across the country (if not internationally) and nobody made so much noise about it. It's rather ironic that the creator was branded and tagged as immoral by his own countrymen.

Basically, I don't care whether the Church cries foul or if it was taken down by the CCP. But CCP should have left the fuckin' artwork alone in its place. If the Church felt hurt, then they should feel hurt, but they should not condemn the artist based on their interpretation of the work. They proclaim that they are Catholics and yet the way and speed in which they label the man as "immoral" and "evil" does not really show how a Christian must behave. I thought religion is supposed to make one civilized. If they really want Cruz to feel sorry for what they think is his "sin," then they could have tried a conciliatory approach and not pulling the big guns against him. They should not have pressured the CCP to put the artwork down (again, the soft State, hard Church drama) since it's CCP's mandate to showcase Filipino talents. With the warring approach that they did, they basically just inspired the artist to piss them off all the more in his next project.

As for those people who wonder what could have happened should Mideo Cruz "bastardized" Islamic icons, well, I have this to say: Sure, he'll be beheaded. But apparently, Islam forbids the use of icons or any religious images of anybody, be it Allah, Mohammed, or Jesus. So, there really is no point of analogy. It's only the Christian who like to use "representations" of their God.

Anyway, who dictates what is moral? When do we say that something is immoral? Could we believe these bishops who are as sinful as we are? I think not.

Even if Mideo Cruz intended to piss the Catholic Church off with his 10-year old work, still, it acquires a life of its own. And my interpretation of his work would be as good as the interpretation of those who are throwing tantrums. Apparently, these same people have taken the disrespectful route to tackle the artwork.

Bottomline. Respect.

James Soriano Rant

After the hoopla that was the arrogance of Christopher Lao, we have now James Soriano. A newspaper columnist in the Manila Bulletin, his article,  "Language, learning, identity, privilege," has earned him the ire of the Filipino people. The Manila Bulletin has deleted his article in its online version, but luckily, some people were able to save it and the article is still circulated among Filipino netizens. The article is basically a reflection of how he, raised and schooled in English, found Filipino difficult, but that his surroundings forced him to learn it, lest he found himself misunderstanding his many nannies and drivers. Before the article ended though, he claimed that Filipino could be a "language of learning" and not the "language of the learned."


Before we judge this man though, here is his article.


_________________________________________________________________


Language, learning, identity, privilege
By JAMES SORIANO

English is the language of learning. I’ve known this since before I could go to school. As a toddler, my first study materials were a set of flash cards that my mother used to teach me the English alphabet.
My mother made home conducive to learning English: all my storybooks and coloring books were in English, and so were the cartoons I watched and the music I listened to. She required me to speak English at home. She even hired tutors to help me learn to read and write in English.

In school I learned to think in English. We used English to learn about numbers, equations and variables. With it we learned about observation and inference, the moon and the stars, monsoons and photosynthesis. With it we learned about shapes and colors, about meter and rhythm. I learned about God in English, and I prayed to Him in English.

Filipino, on the other hand, was always the ‘other’ subject — almost a special subject like PE or Home Economics, except that it was graded the same way as Science, Math, Religion, and English. My classmates and I used to complain about Filipino all the time. Filipino was a chore, like washing the dishes; it was not the language of learning. It was the language we used to speak to the people who washed our dishes.
We used to think learning Filipino was important because it was practical: Filipino was the language of the world outside the classroom. It was the language of the streets: it was how you spoke to the tindera when you went to the tindahan, what you used to tell your katulong that you had an utos, and how you texted manong when you needed “sundo na.”

These skills were required to survive in the outside world, because we are forced to relate with the tinderas and the manongs and the katulongs of this world. If we wanted to communicate to these people — or otherwise avoid being mugged on the jeepney — we needed to learn Filipino.
That being said though, I was proud of my proficiency with the language. Filipino was the language I used to speak with my cousins and uncles and grandparents in the province, so I never had much trouble reciting.

It was the reading and writing that was tedious and difficult. I spoke Filipino, but only when I was in a different world like the streets or the province; it did not come naturally to me. English was more natural; I read, wrote and thought in English. And so, in much of the same way that I learned German later on, I learned Filipino in terms of English. In this way I survived Filipino in high school, albeit with too many sentences that had the preposition ‘ay.’

It was really only in university that I began to grasp Filipino in terms of language and not just dialect. Filipino was not merely a peculiar variety of language, derived and continuously borrowing from the English and Spanish alphabets; it was its own system, with its own grammar, semantics, sounds, even symbols.

But more significantly, it was its own way of reading, writing, and thinking. There are ideas and concepts unique to Filipino that can never be translated into another. Try translating bayanihan, tagay, kilig or diskarte.

Only recently have I begun to grasp Filipino as the language of identity: the language of emotion, experience, and even of learning. And with this comes the realization that I do, in fact, smell worse than a malansang isda. My own language is foreign to me: I speak, think, read and write primarily in English. To borrow the terminology of Fr. Bulatao, I am a split-level Filipino.

But perhaps this is not so bad in a society of rotten beef and stinking fish. For while Filipino may be the language of identity, it is the language of the streets. It might have the capacity to be the language of learning, but it is not the language of the learned.

It is neither the language of the classroom and the laboratory, nor the language of the boardroom, the court room, or the operating room. It is not the language of privilege. I may be disconnected from my being Filipino, but with a tongue of privilege I will always have my connections.


So I have my education to thank for making English my mother language.


_________________________________________________________________


James Soriano is a 21-year old student of Ateneo De Manila University and has been writing in the Manila Bulletin since 2008. 


First time I read it, I was like, "That was just fucking arrogant!" Here we have a pure Filipino, born and raised and educated in the Philippines, and he dare belittle his own language? Some people say it's satire. Fuck satires, this is not. If he intended this really as a satire, then he did an epic failure, a monumental bastardization of the language and the fuckin' genre. Even I do not understand what he wanted to point out it in this essay. Was he thankful that English was his mother tongue? Does he feel remorse that he doesn't fully grasp Filipino? It seems to me that he doesn't feel any regret for not knowing Filipino. I cannot believe that he would choose not being able to know it since he was just living in a society of rotten beef and stinking fish. So what if Filipino is the language of the streets? It ought to be! By virtue that it is the language of the fucking country. He says that it is not the language of the learned, so what ought he to do? Intellectualize the language, so that it would be what he wanted it to be. He says that with English, he would always have his connections, and he would stop at that? His mind is fucking narrowed by his bourgeouis upbringing.


Learning English per se is not bad, but to deride Filipino in your own country is just plain distateful. He doesn't even look like a foreigner! He was implying that everybody who knows Filipino is a nanny or a driver. This basically shows how narrow his bourgeouis experiences are.  I also do not understand his bragging of his learning of German, was it mentioned just to emphasize that he is educated? Apparently, the very article itself is a work of an uneducated, unrefined, arrogant elitist. Fuck. His way of thinking isn't even elite. 


What a fucking way to end Buwan ng Wika (National Language Month).

A Son's Love

How would you react if you saw a son kissing his father?

Now imagine an adult son doing this...Can't, can you?

It's rather surreal for my part, really. I was being a nanny to my students last Saturday for an international competition and while I (and the helicopter parents of my students) was loitering around the corridors, I saw this boy of twelve wrap his arms around his father's neck and kiss him. The father looked undisturbed, so it's safe to say that his son really does this.


I cannot accuse the boy of impulsivity, it's his father anyway (and he's a kid, so he doesn't really have a concept of propriety). But for him to show his affection for his father in a semi-public place (there are kids his age in the classrooms; parents and teachers are in the corridors) takes a lot of guts, affection, and childish innocence, of course.

Some of you might be disturbed with this, but for me, it's more an insight of what really goes inside the family. Our society has programmed boys not to show to any signs of affection to their family and other people, so seeing that fleeting kiss from a son shows that yes, society programs us, but sometimes, we need to break that programming and show people how we truly feel.
So how did I react? Nothing. I was unflinched, seeing that any boy who would do that makes the other one a relative. 


But it's rather heartwarming. A son's love to a father is underrated.

Life Lessons For Twenty-Somethings

1. Learn how to drive.

But learn not to wreck cars.

2. Move out from your parents' house.

Chrissakes, move out!

Very important. We cannot be forever sucking the life out of our parents.

3. Live life and live it according to your age.

Don't postpone being a teenager in your teenage years because you might end up acting like one in your adult years.

4. Once you start comparing your youth's time to this generation's time; you're well on your way to becoming old.

Well on your way to smelling the flowers and tending to some Nazi grandkids.

5. Man up and be responsible with the choices you make.

This is actually my concern with our schools. The school culture of blaming everything to the teachers doesn't teach the students accountability at all. If you get drunk and wind up waking at somebody's house; don't blame the bartender. It is you who chose to be drunk so shut you lazy fat-ass mouth up and own your actions.

6. Treasure your friends
Keep in tabs. Call them. Find a way to make them feel that you still care.

7. Learn to fucking take a break

Learn to live

There will always be work and it will sprout up as many times as you want to pee, but you will only have one life, so enjoy it while you're at it.

8. Document your life

Be a camera whore

So you know that you happened and that you are not just a name on a birth certificate and a tombstone.

I have a lot to learn, yes, but I also have a lot to offer.

Happiness Must Be Short-Lived In Order For It To Be Enjoyed

I went with my college friends yesterday and it was much refreshing. All of us are already in the profession and it felt so good to catch up with them that it seems unfair that we need to separate ways at the end of the day.

As I was talking with them though, there was something amiss, it was as if I didn't miss them at all and I do not feel any excitement while talking with them. Maybe because three of them wasn't really my closest friends, they're more like acquaintances. We just took the same subjects before, that's all. And we're only linked to each other because of a mutual friend. I felt guilty that I did not feel anything.

Luckily, my closest friend and I bid the three others goodbye as we took them to the bus stop. And with the three gone, I realized that all I really wanted to see that day was her. And I felt happy.

It didn't feel like a year has passed. It felt as if I just talked to her, flesh and blood, the other day. It was envigorating to know that, yes, I can live without them, but what was more empowering was that time and distance would never destroy us.

Our roots run so deep, man.

But I felt frustrated that we weren't able to spend much time alone together, since we are also bound home. I felt a sudden urge to make time slow down just so I could be with her longer. She is one of the people who was able to tear the wall I built between me and the world. So, it was just sad that we had to part ways. Suddenly, nostalgia for our carefree, idealistic college days hit me, and I was sad. I realized that we are adults now, with responsibilities and burdens, and no matter how much I want to make time stop, it will always, of course, fly away.

I went home still refreshed by that meet, but still, there could have been more. I think I would just set a date for the two of us.

I Feel Like A Fraud

Academic discussion in my school, I have observed, are always rather limited, if there are any. And I think that this limitation which is supposed to foster academic camaraderie and critical thinking is the reason why my school is gasping for air of excellence. This is the reason for my school's culture of mediocrity. I have always felt gagged in this school, living always with the fear that somebody from my classes will tell my ideas to other teachers. I always have to watch my mouth because I might say things that other people, being numbed by conservatism, might find wrong. I cannot even say, "fat" anymore without a colleague making it a big deal. I also think that this is the reason why I can't write decently anymore. I've been suppressing my beliefs at the expense of my way of thinking. I've been denying myself my beliefs for a mere $300 a month.

It's hard to f***** shut up, you know.

My students have always viewed me as their most free-minded teacher and they want it that way. But you see, we are in a conservative institution, so I need to dilute the things that I say to them to cover up. And I feel like a fraud. I am covering up things that I believe will show to my students the other side of the coin to the things that they believed, or things that they were lead to believe, all their lives. I want to show them that the world is so rich that they need not to only see one of its facets, but they need and would always want to see its entirety. I went in their glass-stained cage voluntarily, hoping that I will shatter that cage. In a way, I have been a little successful; my "diluted" opinions were became cracks in the mirror. I want to give more, but I am as much as inside the cage as they are.

The Shackles Of Our Mind

Written while attending a boring seminar.


I have always believed that this institution, instead of cultivating a culture of excellence, is actually propagating a culture of mediocrity.

This started with a statement from one of my colleagues. She was recalling her experiences to me as a newbie teacher in our school. She was one of the stars of her batch. She was usually given tasks such as conducting basic grammar lectures to the faculty, writing scripts for emcees, to being an emcee herself.  It was also during this time when another of her colleagues told her not to bring too much attention to herself because other members of the faculty might always tell her to do her usual extra work. Why? Aside from the fact that these extra work is unpaid, people will always be dependent on her, asking her to do favors, so in the process, becomes a hindrance to what her real job is, teaching. This is the reason why only a few teachers in our department want to show their talents.

This, I think, should not be the case. Yes, the school gives the faculty opportunities, but not everybody wants it. It's because even if they depend on these talented people, deep down, they resent that quality, they resent the achievement that the person has, and that they are just waiting for that person to make the tiniest of mistakes so they can ravish that person together. Bringing him or her down. Suddenly, being talented is a sin here. So the person, not wanting to incur the sneers of her colleagues, clam up.

You don't see me. XD

We are always told to deliver, but we are not given the supportive environment for us to really grow. Our colleagues would depend on us, but we would always have this feeling that they will be the first ones who will step on us the moment we slip.

It is rather stunting. The negative energy of the academic community stifles the growth of the teachers. And it is hypocritical of ourselves to force our students to be the best when we ourselves stunt each other's talents and scoff.

This is sad. I believe that a school will never be a cradle of critical thinking and excellence if the teachers themselves are not allowed to explore and celebrate their beliefs and ideas.

From the Fodder: Screams of Unrest

From the fodder: A random collection of thoughts plaguing me these days.


I have so much to say, but I don't have the means to say it. My gift of words is slowly leaving me, thanks to this institution.


I don't know what to say anymore. I don't know what to feel. I've been stagnant for too long.


I think that the reason I can't write properly is that I am not allowed to say what I truly wanted. And that takes a toll on me.


Words are my only way, but it's slowly fading away.

Yes, it's all about me not being able to write a decent prose anymore. And it's eating me. What could be the reason? Any advice?

Administrators are Prudish People

With all the hoopla that was UbD, I was most enlightened by the seminar my school had days ago. It made me realize that UbD is actually very simple, lesson planning-wise and execution-wise. But apparently, its the administrators who are pulling us down. 

Pulling us into the pits of academic insanity.

We teachers (who have been cheated so many times already), agreed to the speaker when she said that UbD is supposed to be simpler. We filled our auditorium with the sound of our agreement and relief. 

We're close to hysterics, actually. *sigh*

But you know, administrators took it as a voice of dissent. Well, yes, it was a voice of dissent not only of probationary teachers but also of our more seasoned teachers. So, it didn't come as a surprise when our area head (and I love her) told us that the higher-ups of the institution took offense. And I say, they really should take offense and responsibility, because if we didn't have that seminar, then we wouldn't know that we are bullshitting ourselves, and that it could have been easier if they invited the freaking speaker earlier last year.

BOOOOOOOOOOO!

That seminar caused confusion. Are we going to push on with our plans? Are we going to use the plans from last year? But the topics for this year are different! Are we going to edit it? But I'm through! And the list goes on. 

These administrators shouldn't take offense if we teachers are airing their discontent, it shows their incompetence all the more. This confusion was their fault in the first place. If they have that seminar earlier on, then we wouldn't write trash lesson plans all in the name of compliance. They told us to submit our plans in the middle of the month, and then suddenly they will invite a speaker who would point out our mistakes and then they would tell us to rewrite our lesson plans? Fuck them all. Let them write the plans themselves. And it doesn't help that they gave us a more complicated template. 

We're not sado-masochists, people. So why make it so complicated?

What these administrators do not realize is that, at the end of the day, it is the teachers who would bear the burden of it all. If you go inside a classroom with a faulty plan, then you'll have a faulty class, observation, class performance, grades, and faulty national achievement test results. And when you have these faulty things, of course, they put the blame on the teachers who are just basically following directives from the higher-ups (who fucked up the whole thing in the first place). 

So, these administrators do not have the right to bitch about us bitching about how we hate the current situation. They run a private school and they have the f*****g power to adjust the FAPE format or reject the format altogether just because they can and it can be more beneficial to the teachers. But hell no, they made us do it without realizing that it is not what the proponents of UbD envisioned. And now that they are garnering the teachers' wrath, they get back to us? That's the problem with following uncritically. Shows their level of incompetence actually.

As for the lesson plans itself, it has been decided that whatever we have finished  will be left as it is and that the proper format (of EU and EQ) must already be followed in the two final quarters. But what I am bitter about is that these administrators stuck with the FAPE format. I mean, I consider that format to be a format of some humbug trying to be more significant than the proponents themselves. Why can't they accept that that format is so f****** wrong? Oh well, they don't want to admit that they're wrong so, might as well stick with it, yeah? Christ Jesus.

Teaching is good, innovation is good, and change is good, but if you are doing it the wrong way, might as well don't do it at all.

Memory Is A Fickle Thing

Upon rummaging through my old stuff, I realized that I have accumulated a number of mementos. Letters, magazine clippings, my projects when I was in school and the list goes on. And I felt a little piece of longing to go back to those times when my life was simpler, when all I have to do is to wake up each morning and spend the rest of my day sitting inside the classroom while listening to my teacher; to sit in the isolated parts of the university campus and have a meaningful conversation with my best friends; to wonder as to what would happen to us out there in the real world.

 

I am in the real world now, they say, I am an adult, but still, upon seeing those little mementos of a past life which continuously fade away from my memory every single day, I realized that I have forgotten myself. That I have forgotten to stop, take a back step and see what I did in my life. I let my life slip away so easily, that the only things that I have are a handful of memories that I continue to hold on to, despite the fact that the more days I spend here on this earth, the more they become useless, the more I forget about those said memories, the more I become unreal.

I remember my Philosophy instructor telling us that whenever you cannot remember anything, then the event itself didn't happen at all. Memory is a fickle thing. It shifts and sways with the wind, until one day, you would realize that you didn't happen at all.

That is why I decided to do a scrapbook. 

Or even just a repository of those memories which I tuck away inside my rectangular tin container. I want to open its pages and reminisce about the things that I did which brought me to where I am now. I want to browse through its pages for me to take that backstep and see if what I did with my life measures up to my own yardstick.

I want to browse through its pages and say to myself with determination that I am real and I happened....

Because I remembered.

Do We Really Have A Core?

Do we, as humans, really have a core or are we just trying to put ourselves into this kind of illusion to have some stability in this essentially unstable existence?
 

I believe firmly on the latter.

Human society and civilization itself wouldn't survive without man trying to put order in the chaotic nature of his surroundings.

He needs order and he needs to make sense of his world and the people around him. thus, the never-ending construction of concepts and tangibles that he knew would strangle him someday.
However, it is unfortunate that that someday also collides with the same construction of principles and tangibles.

Man, as rational as he is, cannot anymore withdraw from the constructs which he built; try as he might to resist it. thus, he constructs new things hoping that this new abstracts and tangibles would help him. But no, he ends up strangling himself all the more.
what really is the reason for this construct/meaning-making?

It only has one answer.

Existence itself doesn't have a core, humans don't have a core, there is no core.
It is an illusion man created to comfort himself.

These ideas are not new anymore, but this idea frees us from the superficiality of life. with this kind of realization, it is easier to understand suffering, it is easier to understand wars, and most importantly, through this, it is easier to accept the human condition and the mortality of man.