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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 7 January 2009 Issue (Page E-3)

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This whole thing actually started by accident.

During the beginning of this year, I thought of compiling a playlist for January, composed of songs that I was listening to frequently at that time, adding songs as the month went by; you know, just for fun. I was so stoked by the first one that I also did one for February, then March, until finally I had made one for each month of the year. I’ve found that it’s an awesome way to keep track of memories and feelings associated with that month. I can listen to a song and remember why I put it in there, or recall images of what happened during that time. It’s like keeping a journal, only the words are written in music.

This end of the year mix follows that same logic. For each month, I picked one song that would best represent or characterize it, and explain why I made that choice. I also picked one song of the year–a song that I loved all throughout, or a song that I thought was particularly worthy of attention.

Without further ado, the track list:

1. January - With You by Chris Brown

If there was anything I remember about January, it was that this song was on repeat so many times that it skyrocketed to the top of my Most Played list in two days’ time. Also, January was a momentous time in terms of teenage love and relationships. This song is quite romantic, despite the presence of words and expressions that I would never use in a real conversation, such as “boo”, “little momma”, and “Jordans on a Saturday.”

2. February - Hate That I Love You by Rihanna ft. Ne-Yo

The love month was my season for R&B/Hip-Hop love songs. This song in particular strikes a chord within me since I think it captures the frustration each of us feels when we make a commitment. It’s never easy, and sometimes you wonder why you still stick around despite despising how things are going. But the important thing is that you stick around because you believe it’s worth it, and that whatever happens, you’ll have no regrets.

3. March - Trouble Sleeping by Corinne Bailey Rae

March was not only the month of not sleeping, it was also the month of having trouble sleeping. I would stay up to read various books, finishing in time to walk around the subdivision and watch the sun rise each morning. This song has that lively, jazzy vibe that Corinne Bailey Rae is known for, but the lyrics strike me as a happy rationalization of a lonely and lonesome situation.

4. April - Through the Backyards of Our Neighbors by Au Revoir Simone

April was one of those months that just went by. I remember virtually nothing about it, save doing a lot of reading and writing. I was dealing with a lot of negative emotions back then, and I would balance it out by playing joyful and relaxing tunes. This song helped me through April like a nicotine patch helps you through cold turkey.

5. May - How Do I Breathe by Mario Barrett

This song was the first song I heard playing inside the car on my first day of driving school. It stuck with me since. And May was the month of driving, so I heard this song quite regularly. Because of this song, I’ll never forget my driving instructors.

6. June - I Will Possess Your Heart by Death Cab for Cutie

June was the start of a new chapter in my life: college. My blockmate Leo introduced me to this song, after finding out that we share an interest in this band. We bonded over this song. But good memories aside, I’m one of those people who think that the best part of this song is the four-minute instrumental at the beginning. It puts you in a heightened emotional state, but not so suddenly, thanks to the slow and subtle musical progression.

7. July - 7/4 (Shoreline) by Broken Social Scene

Another one of those songs that Leo introduced me to. This song takes me to a number of happy places whenever I drive. This song is so perfect for driving: it has just the right mix of chill and energy vibes that calms your nerves but keeps you alert at the same time.

8. August - Nothing Better by The Postal Service

August was the start of my obsession with techno and electronica, particularly a band called The Postal Service. This song isn’t exactly a happy song, as it depicts a break-up scene, but the melody may make you think otherwise. Ironically, this song reminds me of very good memories.

9. September - The Man Who Can’t Be Moved by The Script

I didn’t like this song so much at first, but I would hear it played so many times on the radio that eventually it grew on me. The song simply talks about a man who won’t move from the street corner where he met his love, who has left him, hoping that one day she’ll come back for him. The lyrics will tell you that this is a song of defeat, but for me it’s triumphant simply because it’s about love that never dies.

10. October - Come On Get Higher by Matt Nathanson

When I think about October, I think about sembreak. This year’s, in particular, was filled with awesome memories. My friend Kat introduced me to this song one random afternoon, and I ended up liking it so much that I would listen to it every morning. It’s perfect for those days when you have to get up early and drive while the skies are still a bit dark.

11. November - Time After Time (Cyndi Lauper Cover) by Eva Cassidy

One of my enduring memories this month was when my former classmate Migi introduced me to this song. I was touched the first time I listened to it. There’s just something about the way Eva Cassidy sings which hits at the core of your inner self, the one that’s vulnerable, weak and looking for a place to come home to. I fell in love at first listen.

12. December - The Resolution by Jack’s Mannequin

I would hear this song from time to time on Jam 88.3, but I never got to really listen to it until recently, when I finally got around to listening to their album, which my friend Nicolle lent me two months ago. The lyrics make this song, with the trademark songwriting style that Andrew McMahon, their vocalist, is famous for. I totally identify with the unapologetic, resilient, and persevering spirit that this song has, not to mention the creative use of the piano.

13. Song of the Year - Viva La Vida by Coldplay

This song is absolutely brilliant. Gives me these Eleanor Rigby vibes, and Eleanor Rigby was a brilliant, award-winning song. Besides the innovative employment of a string quarter, the song is good because of the lyrics. The richness of the imagery, found in adeptly-placed religious and historical allusions, opens this song to a lot of different interpretations. It depicts nothing more than the story of a monarch’s rise to royalty and fall from grace– but that’s what makes it universal and timeless. It can be read to be our own story as well.

*****

In summary, 2008 was like a parabolic function with a positive slope. I hit bottom early on, but from there it was (almost) all rise. It was a pretty good year for someone in transition. I had a lot of great memories and learned a lot of new things. This year softened and hardened me simultaneously, in different ways, but I think I came out a lot better in the end. Most importantly, I had no regrets.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 17 December 2008 Issue (Page G-2)

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One of the unique things about our country is the fact that Christmas always starts much, much earlier here than the actual season does. I know for a fact that TV and radio hosts start hinting at it as soon as September, the first “-ber” month, begins. By the time we hit October, countdowns start appearing on our favorite morning shows, and commercials begin to have a Christmas-like feel.

When November rolls around, they start doing a variety of Christmas-related segments, like where to get your gifts and how to celebrate Christmas most economically. Households start putting up their decorations, friends start practicing their Christmas carols, and people in general are caught up in the spirited frenzy of Christmas shopping. It is an amazing phenomenon, since by the beginning of December it looks as if our country were one big Christmas tree, and we’re just waiting for Jesus to get born already.

This year, though, that atmosphere is noticeably absent—at least around the area where I live. Where the streets would usually be lit up with multi-colored Christmas lights, and noisy with those annoying Christmas carol tunes that manufacturers attach to them, the roads are as dull and quiet as they were all year long. The only Christmas carols I hear are from street children who knock on your car window in Quezon Avenue or pester you while you walk along Katipunan. Most of my neighbors haven’t even put up Christmas decorations.

In fact, if you were to come into my house you might think we had forgotten all about it. Save for one grey-colored wreath hanging on the front door and a couple of unopened gifts lying around in one of the corners, there is no sign that Christmas has entered this household. We didn’t even set up the Christmas tree.

The Christmas spirit seems to be dead.

But sometimes I wonder: what if you removed every single material manifestation that we have to remember Christmas by? Take away all the lights, the decorations, the commercials, the songs, and even the gifts. Would Christmas still be worth celebrating? Would Christmas still exist?

Last Friday at a Christmas party, my friend and I joked that you could boil down the true spirit of Christmas to gifts. And not in giving gifts, I said, but in receiving them. This is why in contrast to receiving, which is always unconditional (who wouldn’t want to get gifts?) we give gifts expecting something in return. This ’something’, of course, does not have to be material. It could be an emotion, like a feeling that someone is grateful, or putting a smile on someone else’s face. For this reason, Christmas is always partly selfish.

But I think that’s okay. I think everyone’s looking for something during Christmas, and that’s why the true spirit of Christmas depends on who you ask. For some, it is the chance to be with family you haven’t seen in a year. For others, it is the chance to be alone and get away from their own problems. Some look for love and the opportunity to be with someone special. Others look for forgiveness. Some people want to be able to finally complete the whole Simbang Gabi cycle. Other people, like me, don’t really know what we want for Christmas.

But the beauty of it all is that this season is just as much about receiving as it is about giving. You might not get exactly what you’re looking for, but it is that one time of the year that people are willing to collectively give, live, and let live—quite a remarkable feat for humankind. That is why miracles happen, why people find love, and why most people, even those who have nothing to smile about, can smile during Christmas.

The beauty of it all is that Christmas has always been about people.

That is why I don’t need to see decorations hung up or have gifts under the Christmas tree to feel the Christmas spirit. I just need to look around the dinner table, see the face of each member of the family, and I am reminded that whether or not it’s Christmas, I will always have a place to come home to.

Merry Christmas, everyone.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 17 December 2008 Issue (Page G-2)

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At the Ayala Avenue-Paseo de Roxas junction in Makati last Friday afternoon, the multi-sectoral rally against Charter Change proved at least two things.

First, that rallies still work– sort of. During the days that followed, the Senate voted to junk the Constitutional Assembly, and House Speaker Prospero Nograles declared a ‘ceasefire’ on moves to amend the Constitution.

Second, it proved that people still cared. Well, some people, at least. The multi-sectoral rally did live up to its name. It drew a wide spectrum of protesters, from priests to politicans, capitalists to conservatives, students to street people. It was, on a miniature scale, almost ideally representative. Despite the disillusionment that pervades society when it comes to issues of politics, it is encouraging to know that some people still care about whether our government is doing the right thing.

It didn’t occur to me that it happened last Friday, though, until I came home that same night, when I came home to the sound of my parents watching TV Patrol in the living room, and in my head I blurted out, “Oh, that was today?” I guess I had been too preoccupied with my academic work the past week to be able to keep abreast with national news. I had the television turned off on most nights.

But the truth is, I consciously avoid following news on national politics whenever I can help it, which unfortunately isn’t very often because there is only one place at home to study in, and that place is where my parents watch the evening and midnight news, whichever is on by the time they arrive. Part of me is disenchanted whenever I hear talk on political squabbles or scandals or Charter Change, because it seems to me that nothing positive ever happens. But alas, due to ANC being on all the time, I am regrettably quite informed, and very disillusioned.

I used to be one of those young people who actively kept aware, though. I used to stay up to watch congressional sessions and impeachment votings, even if the results were mostly in favor of the Administration. But besides that, I used to make myself heard: I aired out my views to classmates and friends, whether or not they gave a damn, I blogged my positions, and I tried to join demonstrations whenever it was within my means to do so.

Nowadays I just sit around and watch re-runs of old sitcoms. I figure my voice won’t matter in the end. This issue proves my point.

It isn’t so much that amending the Constitution is such a horrible thing to do, it’s that they’re amending it for all the wrong reasons.

For one thing, this isn’t the first time that the Administration has brought it up. In fact, if my memory serves, they bring it up at least once every year. Not only that, they’re intent on making it happen before election time arrives, before her term expires. It’s been shot down again, but I’m wiling to bet a million bucks that it will come back to life by the time next year rolls around. This issue is turning out to be immortal.

For another, the method which they advocate to do it with, a constituent assembly, seems suspect. Loosely speaking, it will bring both the Senate (24 senators), and the House of Representatives (250 congressmen), the two houses of Congress, together in a meeting to vote on charter change. If three-fourths of all the members (198 votes) vote in favor of it, then amendments can be made to the Constitution. It would be fairly easy to predict how this one will go.

Somehow, I find it hard to convince myself that this little charade is for anything else than to keep some people in power.

Of course, it’s not like my voice will matter. My congressmen haven’t asked me whether I would be in favor of Cha-Cha, and I doubt they’ve asked anyone else who isn’t in government. I’ll have to wait until 2010– if we ever get there.

It’s thoughts like these that make me wish I had switched to another channel.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 10 December 2008 Issue (Page G-3)

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Although I honestly expected (and wanted) The Golden Boy to win in his bout with Manny Pacquiao, I was as proud as anyone else to be a Filipino when Pacman handed him a decisive beating in eight rounds.

To find myself feeling this way was quite strange, to say the least. After all, I’ve been a ‘Pacquiao hater’ since he ceased becoming an underdog, and I honestly believe that people just put him on too high a pedestal. While he deserves recognition for what he does, I certainly do not believe that he is an adequate role model, much more worthy of the label ‘national hero’.

But during those moments of elation, I was very much able to put aside all of that. How couldn’t I? He had just dominated one of the ring’s most indomitable figures; what he had accomplished was the stuff of boxing legend. He had made history, and no matter which way I looked at it, I thought that was something our nation can truly be proud of. It was a large dose of inspiration, something that perhaps everyone needed in these times of desperation. I know I certainly did.

That’s what Manny Pacquiao is: a gigantic and addictive dose of inspiration. His life story in itself is inspirational. He was the poor peasant boy, the ultimate underdog who would beat all the odds, and upon whom Fortune would eventually smile upon. His represents the happily-ever-after of Juan de la Cruz’s story. In other words, he gives hope. He unifies us in our identity as Filipinos. It is in this way, I guess, that he is deserving of praise.

But while much has been said about the man of the hour, I feel that not enough has been said about the man who was behind his greatness.

That is why I want to talk about Freddie Roach, his trainer.

Freddie Roach comes from a rather mundane background. His career as a professional boxer was relatively unremarkable, save for the fact that he was on the losing end of most of his high-profile bouts. His fighting style was focused on being durable enough to outlast his opponents, and this eventually took a toll on his body. Due to the injuries he sustained throughout his boxing career, he currently suffers from Parkinson’s disease.

After he retired, he opened up his own boxing club in Los Angeles and became a full-time trainer. As Fate would have it, this is where he would eventually gain some measure of fame. He was thrice voted as Trainer of the Year, and among boxers he is one of the most popular trainers around. He has worked with figures such as Mike Tyson, Bernard Hopkins, and even Oscar de la Hoya himself, but on no other boxer has he had a more profound impact than on Manny Pacquiao.

This impact exceeds his influence on Pacman as a fighter. To Manny, Roach is more than just a mentor in boxing. “He is a friend, almost a father figure, and I listen to Freddie, whatever he tells me. He teaches me not just about boxing but about life. I am fortunate to have Freddie Roach in my life,” he stated in an article on ESPN.com published three days prior to his fight. It is worth mentioning here that Pacquiao did not have a father figure growing up.

It is perhaps a flaw of humanity that we never pay enough attention to the people behind the scenes, our eyes simply too focused on the man in the spotlight. For I believe it is doing this kind of good that is just as worthy, if not more so, of being written about and remembered. Freddie Roach is no hero, but he certainly deserves more credit for being the influence that he was to Manny Pacquiao, both as a fighter and as a person. And I think his story is something we can all draw inspiration from as well.

Nobody ever makes it entirely alone. Hercules would not have been Hercules if he didn’t have Phil. Even legends had their mentors.

To be that kind of a mentor; I think that is truly the stuff of legend.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 3 December 2008 Issue (Page G-3)

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The eve of Bonifacio Day brings back memories of my first days as a freshman in high school, particularly the one where I was sitting in Filipino class listening to my then-teacher, Mr. Pioquid, give an introduction to the course.

I especially remember that the reason it wasn’t boring was because he made a lot of noise by dropping his empty tin can onto the cement floor, and then proceeded to liken our young minds to tin cans which must be empty in order to be capable of receiving new and valuable knowledge. Back then, it struck me as very profound.

But there is one other thing that I remember from that first Filipino session, and that is a small parenthetical remark he made while glossing over the more boring (and unfortunately, the more important) parts of the syllabus.

He mentioned something about us taking an Honors course in Filipino by the time we got to sophomore year. I remember that this struck me as very strange: I could understand taking an Honors course in Math or Science or English, like most other gifted students would in other schools. But why would we have an advanced course in Filipino?

Looking back, maybe I was asking the wrong question. What I ask now is: why don’t most other schools have advanced courses in Filipino?

Oops, dumb question. There are a number of good reasons why we don’t.

For one thing, what is the Filipino language in the first place? Is it Tagalog? Is it Tagalog with tidbits of regional dialects? Or is it a genuine halo-halo of all of our major tongues?

As for me, I really don’t know. Members of the academe are still debating these questions as we speak. Therefore, maybe Filipino is just our cop-out: it allows us to say that we have a national language, even if in reality, we don’t.

Besides, it’s not very wise to master a language that isn’t utilized very often in politics or trade. Our laws, for example, aren’t written in Filipino, and neither are our court rulings and executive orders. They are all written in English. That’s why our lawyers take the bar examinations in English, and those who come out on top, more often than not, are people who are very well-versed in the English language.

The same is true with the language of education. In what language are we taught Science, Math, and Religion? Heck, we can even go beyond that: what is the language of the educated and the elite?

It really isn’t a surprise, then, that people who belong on the upper limits of society, like many of the people I come into contact with everyday, like to laugh at people who don’t speak English very well. English is the language of the man in the mansion, while Filipino is the language of the man on the street.

Besides, English is the language of the professional. It is the key to getting employed. This is especially true nowadays, when the trend is to go abroad where all the lucrative jobs are. If your employers can’t understand you, how can you expect them to hire you? In fact, this is also true with jobs here at home. Do you think call center agents are paid to speak in Filipino?

Hence, maybe I should be thankful that I’ve been trained to value the English language ever since I was a young boy. I should be thankful that I was exposed early to English cartoons and stories, for without them I don’t think I would have developed affection for the language. I should also be grateful that I was sent to schools that put a premium on being able to express yourself effectively in English; otherwise my skills as a student would never have been recognized.

Finally, I should be grateful that I was born in a society that never fails to remind me why that’s important.

After all, you don’t need to love your language to be able to love your country. Right?

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 26 November 2008 Issue (Page F-3)

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Back in the summer, I had gone on such a book-reading frenzy that I eventually ran out of things to read. When this happened, I started using my personal money to buy new paperbacks whenever I could pass by a bookstore. But my money could not keep up with my spending (books are so expensive nowadays!), and sooner or later I was forced to stop.

When this happened, I started looking through my family’s bookshelves. In time, I exhausted my parents’ respective collections. In the end, I became desperate enough to go to my sister’s room and look through her bookshelf.

That is how I became acquainted with Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight series, the trilogy that is today’s version of Harry Potter in terms of popularity.

Unlike Harry Potter, however, I was never able to finish even the first book. For the life of me, I could not get past the first fifty pages. The plot line was beginning to appear as banal as it sounded on the back cover, and I honestly didn’t have much of an appetite for such stories.

Then again, a friend of mine once tried reading Haruki Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore and ended up having the same experience, while I, on the other hand, loved it. Taste in literature, I reason, must really be different for everyone.

But I must be a bit of an oddball, because everyone seems to love this book with such rabid passion. Whenever the topic of conversation turns to books, my female friends inevitably have to mention Twilight, and I am ineluctably left out in the cold. In fact, I occasionally get jealous of Edward Cullen, the sexy male vampire protagonist, who gets to be sexy because he is a vampire. That is, until I realize that I’m not technically jealous of anyone because he is fictional.

Irrational enviousness aside, though, I guess I appreciate how the book has gotten more people into reading much like other popular literature has, if only for the simple reason that there’s more to talk about with friends now. Maybe a five minute discussion about the merits of Edward Cullen’s utter hotness is a fair trade-off for a chance to exchange book recommendations, even if I have yet to see these aforementioned ‘Twilight friends’ read the stuff I recommend. But even that is reasonable: they’ve been telling me to read the blasted book and I still haven’t.

Yet despite my apparent shortcoming, I guess I understand one facet of its appeal: this book sells so much is because my peers can relate to it. I mean, if what book reviews say are true, then this book is just the highly-dramatized, idealized, and sensualized story of our repressed desires and untamed hunger, but with the wanton possibility of blood that flows violently from pierced necks. It is the experience of youth, with a malevolent, and therefore, erotic, twist. It is arguably the book of the young generation.

So it is that books like these become wildly popular because society says they should be. We read what our friends read because our friends like them. So, it usually follows that we end up liking them, too. It doesn’t matter whether the material is truly excellent; subjective eyes can turn anything into something beautiful. So I guess it isn’t so strange that even guys read this kind of stuff—and claim to like it—even if they normally wouldn’t. Why not, if it gives you another topic to talk about with your crush?

Also, these books become popular because they tackle subjects that interest us. After all, who isn’t interested, even faintly, by vampires, or magic, or sex? These are the topics that the human race collectively eats up. But what is it that we are interested in but that which is fed to us by the television screen?

Not to mention, the series itself is incredibly easy reading. The books don’t make us think; they make us feel. And isn’t that the stuff of which good literature is made?

Needless to say, I really don’t like it.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 12 November 2008 Issue (Page F-3)

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It was a normal Thursday afternoon, driving home after spending the day with my father. We were about five minutes away, but it felt more like ten since the road was congested. I was slowly preparing to turn right on one of the streets when a taxi, coming from the adjacent street, came speeding towards us.

I had the right of way, and I wasn’t in the mood to get hit by another car. So, I hit the brake, figuring that he would see me and stop as well, or at the very least, give him enough space to inch through. But he was moving much too fast to pass through, though, and my dad, a very experienced driver, knew it.

Worse off, he was only looking to his left (he probably didn’t want to get cut by the next car); he neglected to look back in the direction his car was turning. My dad lowered his windshield and shouted to catch the attention of the driver, who was centimeters away from making a dent on our car’s right side. I finally had to honk at him. This caught his attention, and he went on a full stop.

But instead of letting me pass, he quickly started maneuvering to get out of the tight space. But he was careless and hit a tricycle parked on the curb.

During those last few minutes on the wheel after the incident, I couldn’t stop thinking of the taxi driver. I was still a bit angry, but I did feel bad for him. Being a taxi driver isn’t exactly an easy line of work: even if you drive for long hours, usually there’s just barely enough income to bring home at the end of the day. Maybe he was half-asleep on the wheel, tired and sore from long hours of continuous driving. Maybe he was hungry; perhaps he didn’t eat lunch in order to save some money. Or maybe his mind was somewhere else, thinking of how he was going to scrape up enough cash to pay his overdue bills. I pretty much transformed him into a pitiful creature in my head.

Did that excuse his lousy driving? No, it didn’t. Considering how many of the car accidents reported on television involve public utility vehicles and their kaskasero drivers, the last thing we want to do is to vindicate their being ill-mannered on the road. Besides, I too could have been hungry, or tired, of thinking of my overdue bills.

But the fact is, I wasn’t.

I’ve been on a couple of taxi rides alone myself, and I’ve met my share of taxi drivers, some of whom can get quite talkative about their lives. Of course, you never really know whether they’re telling you the truth, and you always have to be wary of the things you reveal or the routes they’re taking. But sometimes, they drawl on for such prolonged periods of time that I can’t help thinking maybe they’re just lonely and in need of someone to talk to, or even talk at. Or maybe I’m just lucky I haven’t been kidnapped yet.

In my own insufficient way, I guess I sympathize with these people. It’s quite condescending, really, to claim that I feel for them when I’ve had no real experience of poverty myself. But what I do understand is that these taxi drivers also contend with high LPG prices, have qualms with higher management, and do overtime, because times are hard and that’s how they get by.

Of course, if I had gotten into that accident, I wouldn’t have thought about it that way. I would’ve been too busy arguing with the taxi driver about whose fault it was, and making him pay for the damage he caused the car. It also would’ve justified the demonized perception I have of PUV drivers in Metro Manila.

It never would have occurred to me to see the human face behind the monstrous taxi driver.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 5 November 2008 Issue (Page E-3)

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In my earlier years, All Saints’ Day didn’t strike me as significant by itself. What gave it value, if there was one, was coming to the province to spend time with my cousins and enjoying a change of scenery. But I saw no point in visiting the cemetery. Why should I have to be dragged there to pay my respects to people (granted, they were relatives) whom I had never even met, and quite possibly, had never given a damn about me?

I couldn’t find a satisfactory answer, but I continued to come along on these visits anyway, if only to observe tradition.

Then when I was nine, my first pet, a poodle named Tanny, died. Her death caused me so much sorrow that I refused to have her buried. Burying her would mean that I would never see her or hold her again. We eventually had to, though. So it was that the days for the dead came to hold its first real significance for me: it was a time to offer a prayer or a moment of silence in honor of my beloved Tanny.

In the years that would follow, I would be provided with more reasons to commemorate it: a pair of rabbits and lovebirds; my grandmother, who endured two years of recurring strokes and heart attacks; my dear grandfather, who died while I was abroad. Most recently, there was my other grandmother, who died on All Saints’ Day last weekend.

It is on occasions like these that I wonder whether there is a point to honoring the dead. What good does remembering really do to them? It’s not like they’ll be brought back to life by it. Nor, if we are to talk about heaven and judgment, will it alter the way their lives played out or the choices that they made. Or, if we were to take it from the opposite spectrum of belief: they’re dead anyway, they can’t care. No, I still don’t see how it benefits the dead to be remembered by those still living.

But if that’s true, why do we spend our lives trying to leave some mark, brand, or impact—in other words, a form of remembrance—on other people’s lives? Why are we so obsessed with remembering and being remembered?

I’m no philosopher, but the answer I came up with is this: our individual lives are but one single, infinitesimal speck in the infinitely boundless dimensions of time and the Universe. Thought of in another way, this means that our lives are meaningless and insignificant. If this is the case, then there is no point in living. Like the stars, our lives will burn brightly for an instant, die out in a blaze of glory, and finally disappear, as if we had never existed.

But just because we are hopelessly small does not mean that we have to be resigned to our own insignificance. Our lives may be tiny, negligible dots against the backdrop of the infinite cosmos, but at least we can make a mark on our fellow dots, however small or fleeting that mark might be. This is where remembering takes significance: we indelibly leave our marks on the lives of the people we have touched. Also, we remember so that we, too, can be remembered. It may be a small consolation, but it is a small (and important!) consolation nonetheless.

Honoring the dead might not do much for those who are already dead, but they do much for those who are still living. It is through those who have run the course of life that we learn how to live ours, and through them that we find the heart to keep on running.

Finally, we can also think about it this way: if all human beings have souls, and souls essentially consist of a person’s thoughts and identity, then what is a soul but a collection of all the memories we have gathered during our lives? Memories, then, are the only things we can bring along with us in the next life.

They are also the only things we truly get to keep of loved ones who have just passed away.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 29 October 2008 Issue (Page E-3)

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Halloween is the only time of the year when we can afford to take the notion of death lightly.

This was what I realized after watching my neighbors prepare their spooky decorations, after hearing many of my friends talk about the costumes they plan to wear to parties, and after witnessing the kids trick-or-treating around our village during the annual Halloween celebration which, strangely enough, isn’t usually held on the day itself.

It’s an interesting contradiction of sorts. Sure, when we think Halloween we think of scary apparitions and ghost stories. But we also think of pranks, parties, and pastries. I guess death isn’t as fearsome or painful to think about when we don’t associate it with a sense of loss.

We now associate it with merrymaking and celebration. Halloween is a time to go dress up as your favorite villain or movie-inspired creature and go partying with your friends. It is a time to be lively and to be alive.

But when you think about it, it is also a form of escapism. After all, what is Halloween but a convenient form of recreation to relieve the unpleasantness derived from death?

When we celebrate it, we remove ourselves from the reality that death is often painful, mortifying and incomprehensible. And by turning it into a form that is entertaining, we are able to grasp and cope with it. Perhaps Halloween is also an opiate of the masses.

This is made even more effective by the advent of media and commercialism. After all, our image of Halloween comprises mostly of what the filmmakers and artists in this last century have constructed for us. It has become largely commercialized and tailor-fit to the desires of the market. In this sense, not only have we desensitized ourselves from death’s reality, perhaps we’ve also commodified it.

Hence, it seems to me that whenever we celebrate Halloween, we run the risk of trivializing what it stands for.

’m not saying, though, that we ought not to celebrate it, or that we ought to celebrate it in a particular way. Nor am I saying that it’s bad that we try to associate death with happier things. But I do think that the true spirit of Halloween is lost on most people.

To remember what that is, it might help to go back to what the holiday originally was. In ancient Celtic tradition, it was a festival celebrating the end of harvest season. Since it was also considered the end, or the ‘death’, of the year, the Celts used to believe that the boundary between the living and the deceased would disappear, and spirits could come and be among the living. Thus Halloween, then called Samhain, was a time for the dead to commune with the living and vice versa. It was something that was to be taken very seriously, if in a festive and celebratory manner.

If the eve of Halloween prepared the people of old for the beginning of a new year by marking the end of a cycle, in modern times it prepares us for the morning after. It is, after all, directly followed by All Saints Day and All Souls Day, holidays which commemorate the faithful departed. And the fact that these three holidays are strung together is neither random nor coincidental. These were deliberately situated alongside each other by the Catholic Church.

Since that’s the case, I would like to think that Halloween is a time to remember the importance of honoring our dead and keeping their memory. It doesn’t matter so much if we choose to celebrate it in a particular manner. What matters is that we know what we are celebrating it for.

It is so easy to boil down Halloween to candy apples, jack-o-lanterns, or dressing up as Rihanna from ‘Disturbia’. A large part of what makes Halloween is what media and pop culture has propagated. But what is truly important is to remember that behind the candies, the costumes, and the merrymaking, is the spirit of Halloween.

Halloween is there to celebrate the importance of commemorating death—and therefore, the importance of a meaningful life.

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PUBLISHED: Student & Campus Section, Manila Bulletin, 22 October 2008 Issue (Page F-2)

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I’ve always been genuinely interested in learning about the relationships that my peers have with their parents. Sometimes I wonder if my friends find me weird for asking about them: family background, characteristics, degree of closeness, and the like. It’s certainly not a topic my peers would normally bring up. After all, there are lots of other things to talk about, like music and sports and who they’re dating.

Some don’t find it difficult to talk about their parents at all. This usually means that they either share a really good relationship with them, or it’s so bad that they just have to talk about it. Others prefer not to share. Still, others talk about them in a superficial way, giving answers that lead to dead-ends in the conversation. In any case, hearing, or even not hearing, about them is always interesting.

Maybe it’s because the relationship you have with your parents tells something about the kind of person you are—regardless of other outside influences that might exist.

Some people end up remarkably similar to their own fathers and mothers. If you look at me and my father, for example, you could make a couple of observations. We’re both left-handed, we both like our coffee black, and we dress up in almost exactly the same way—that is to say, with almost blatant disregard for common fashion sense. We also think the same way, to the point that we ponder things in the exact same position (someone once took a picture. It’s true.) Also, I find that my fun, boisterous, heavy drinker friends, more often than not, have fun, boisterous, heavy drinker fathers or mothers. I find it very amusing.

On the other hand, other similarities can be a lot more subtle, and not quite as amusing. People talk about how they don’t want to end up being like their moms and dads, yet end up becoming exactly like them. I have a couple of rebellious friends who have some insanely strict parents, who in turn were rebellious in their own time as well. I hope it’s not an indicator of what kind of parents my friends will wind up becoming.

Sometimes the influences are tragic. One of my good friends once noted the behavior of her womanizing uncle, saying that maybe the reason why her uncle is such a womanizer is because he never had a mother figure, so he started looking for affection in other places. Maybe she’s right.

It would be wrong for me to generalize all forms of parental influence as bad. Just because your parents complain that you’re going out too much this sembreak does not mean that their advice isn’t sound, or that they’re raising you the wrong way. Besides, who am I to speak about parenting?

But I guess parents should take time once in a while to think about the kind of kids they are raising—or leaving behind, as the case may be. Sometimes we might be a little bit hard to understand, but it might help to look at it in our point of view once in a while. After all, parents were children—and hormonal teenagers—too, once upon a time. And hormonal teenagers don’t often take lightly to moralistic sermons.

On the other hand, I think we have to meet them halfway. The reason parents can sound so moralistic is because they do have some wisdom to impart. They have experience. If we can respect and listen to our teachers, then I think we can do the same for our parents. It’s a matter of balancing between the extremes of youth and experience, I guess.

In the end, I’d like to think that as people with independent minds, we have the greatest capability for forming ourselves, quite apart from outside influences. But if our parents’ influences are inescapable, then they have a pretty huge responsibility, because they might be dictating the way our lives play out without even knowing it.

It’s the same responsibility we’ll have when we become parents.

Oh no.