Cuando era pequeno (When I was small)

For the Preterito Imperfecto lesson in my Spanish class our professor told us to write a Spanish essay entitled “Cuando Era Puequeno”.

The Spanish language has two types of past tenses, one type (Indefinido) is used to depict an action that progresses the story whereas the other type (Imperfecto) is used to describe circumstances or a habitual action in the past.

Anyway, I’m posting the essay I submitted. Since I’m still at the elementary level this work would probably be teeming with grammatical errors. Corrections are very much welcome.

I’m translating some of the Spanish lines I liked best.

CUANDO ERA PEQUENO

Cuando era pequeño el mundo era un lugar maravilloso para vivir. La vida era simple. El aire era limpio. La agua era centelleante hermosa. (When I was small the world was a wonderful place to live in. Life was simple. The air was clean. The water was sparklingly beautiful.)

Cuando era pequeño las montañas verdes en el este y el mar ancho en el oeste me guardaba bien. Nos separaban del resto del mundo. Las noticias viajaban muy lento. Nuestra solamente conexión con el mundo era nuestra tele en negro y blanco.

El tiempo en nuestro propio paraíso se movia en su propio paso. Ningunos plazos. Ningún se preocupa. Ningunas presiones. (Time in our own paradise moved at its own pace. No deadlines. No worries. No pressures)

Cuando era pequeño pensaba que el cielo de la noche era una manta grande que se envuelve alrededor de nosotros con millones de luciérnagas pegadas en él. (When I was small I used to think that the night sky was a big blanket that wrapped around us with millions of fireflies stuck on it.) Miraba los barcos en el horizonte, tenia miedo que puede ser que caigan del borde. Me preguntaba sobre la gente lejos apagado de lugares más allá del alcance de mi vista.

Cuando era pequeño, yo y mis amigos de la vecindad pasabamos los fines de semana que mirabamos puestas del sol y que caminabamos por la playa. Durante verano subíamos las colinas cerca. Cogíamos libélulas, escarabajos y saltamontes. (We used to catch dragonflies, beetles and grasshoppers.) Vadearíamos en el río y enterraríamos cápsulas del tiempo.

Cuando era pequeño nuestros tesoros eran simples - las cápsulas de aluminio que se puede volver a sellar, envolturas raras del cigarrillo, mecanismos rotatorios de los metros eléctricos, bolas de las botellas del desodorisante. (When I was small our treasures were simple –aluminum resealable bottle caps, rare cigarette wrappers, rotary mechanisms of electric meters, balls of deodorant bottles.)

Cuando era pequeño, Navidad no era costosa. (When I was small, Christmas was not expensive.) Íbamos a las masas tempranas en el amanecer que gozaban de la brisa fresca de diciembre. Hacíamos árboles de Navidad de los ramas secados recolectados en nuestra huerta. Colgábamos las envolturas plásticas con agua coloreada, en árboles de Navidad. Pasábamos la víspera de Navidad con un Noche Buena simple.

Cuando era pequeño, la vida era simple…. pero la vida era perfecta. (When I was small life was simple…. yet life was perfect.)

Pinoy in China 2

Every time I go to China I couldn’t help but feel insecure. Out there, a billion people go on with their routines without even the slightest idea that my world here - the world as I came to know it- ever existed.

The very things woven into the fabric of my daily life – peso devaluation, monsoon rains, Simbang Gabi, Hello Garci ring tones, Friday night traffic, ChickenJoy- they are all unknown and meaningless in that part of the globe. The very things that define my reality, things that revolve around my universe- they have all been reduced to nothingness. Out there, my world and I are non-existent.

Nothing can be more unsettling. How can it be that the only world as I’ve come to know is not what it is?

Nothing can be more humbling. How can I be the center of the universe when out there I am nothing but a mere scrap of creation?

Despite this sense of vulnerability, I realized that there are things I have taken for granted.

No matter how insignificant to the eyes of others, my own world, along with all its aspects - the mundane and the magical, the banal and the beguiling, the excruciating and the exhilarating, - is what makes my existence real.

Suddenly the thought of the never-ending political bickering, the horrendous Midnight sale traffic, the incessant fuel price increase, even the alligators in the congress couldn’t stop me from yearning to go home.

Pinoy in China

Two weeks ago I flew to China to attend our annual Lean Conference. I didn’t have much time to roam around as I spent my weekend finishing my presentation. Having my finicky boss around wasn’t much of help, as I had to do several revisions just to suit her unpredictable taste.

I missed the 1^st eviction night of Pinoy Big Brother. Hell, I’ve even missed the fight of Pacquiao. Darn how could I have missed that! Actually, I really couldn’t qualify it as missing the match because I never even knew that Pacquiao had a scheduled fight that weekend. Goes to show that my work-life balance has already gone awry, I being unaware of the outside world.

If it’s any consolation I did get to squeeze in a bit of time for myself in China. Had a great time visiting the bars of Gunagzhou and Shanghai. Filipinos are well known there for being excellent band performers. (My former colleagues in GE China thought all Filipinos were good singers. I have proven them wrong when after their incessant prodding, I rendered a rather blood-curdling and hair-raising version of Hotel California in a karaoke session)

I fooled a Pinay singer in the bar of my hotel in Guangzhou. She thought I was Chinese. Naturally she was jubilant when I spoke to her in Tagalog. I’ve met other Pinoys also lounging in the bar. They were sailors who were docked for the week in China. We sat together around a table (the band members later joined us after their show). For that night we felt like old friends talking about our beloved country.

It’s refreshing to know that while discord seems to be the way of life here, out there when Pinoy strangers meet each other they feel a sense of oneness, of being at home.

More of the saga next time. Here’s a snapshot of the colossal Yangpu bridge in Shanghai.

Toilet paper life

Life is like a roll of toilet paper - the nearer you are at the end the faster it goes.

I probably saw this quote, on some CR graffiti in my college dorm.

Well stated analogy and despite its perturbing implications it speaks of undeniable truth and impeccable wisdom.

Time moved at an excruciatingly slow pace when I was young. This most likely because the town where I grew up was very laid back, detached from the hustle and bustle of city life. Mountains loomed on the east, shorelines sprawled on the west - we were safely secluded from the rest of the world and within my world, time moved at its own unhurried pace.

The days seemed to move soooooo slow. A whole year felt like forever. A million sunsets had to happen before my next birthday.

I had wanted to move things fast forward, to mature in haste and discover what wonders lie beyond the horizons. Growing old - it then meant freedom, independence, adventure - was something I had looked forward to.

Alas! such folly of childhood; too young to comprehend its wonder, its sheer magic, its immense beauty. Wasn’t there a saying that goes“ We never get to appreciate the importance of something till we lose it”?

Now that I am old, everything moves like a blur. Weeks, months and years rush by determinedly, no slowing down, no going back.

One just feels helpless to the edacious time. You want to stop it or even to slow it just a bit, cling on to the past as if your whole existence rests on it.

But the more you hang on to the past, the faster it slips away. We are dragged inexorably, hurriedly toward our predestined end. Fight as we may, we don’t get to win.

And probably the only thing that we could do is accept the inevitability, of course never grieving about what was lost, but making the most of what is left.

Miracle on a Friday the 13th

Six years ago, this date, August 13, fell on a Friday – yep your regular, much dreaded Friday the 13^th,, an unlucky day that has spawned many horror movies and unfounded fears.

I know of people who had unfortunate experiences to associate with this day. Why, just 3 months ago, a coworker while cruising through the NLEX, had an accident on a rain-drenched Friday the 13^th. He survived the collision with a broken neck; his car though was a total wreck.

Despite its sense of foreboding, miracles have happened for me on Friday the 13ths. I recall at least 3 dates which had been memorable moments in my life.

On a Friday the 13^th in 1992, I felt the full blast of the magic called love.
On a Friday the 13^th in 2001, I reached the peak of Mount Matutum – a long-sought dream.
And 6 years ago, a Friday the 13^th , I had a meteor shower of a lifetime.

The year was 1999; I was a Science Grade 7 teacher then. I was on my third month of teaching the kids who were all enthusiastic to discover life’s mysteries through science. That Friday night, I organized an overnight stargazing session.

August 13^th marked an annual astronomical event – the Perseids Meteor Shower. I explained to the kids that on a normal night one could see a handful of sporadic “shooting stars”. But occasionally the earth, during its annual journey around the sun, passes through a region in space with high concentration of dust particles. Such instances are a feast for sky watchers; the particles entering the atmosphere provide a spectacular and abundant display of nature’s fireworks.

I had looked forward to the event because my first experience of a meteor-shower observation in college had been an intimate and liberating one. Vicariously feeling the child-like wonder and amazement in my students I knew that if only the skies would cooperate they were in for in a marvelous treat, a rare experience that would anchor in their childhood memories.

If only the skies would cooperate and that had been the big if. Perseids Meteor Shower Observations had always been a tricky battle with Mother Nature. August skies are almost always overcast.

That morning did not provide any glimmer of hope. Ominous black clouds hovered above us. Neither was the official weather news encouraging. Even my horoscope for that day was not cooperative (okay okay I sometimes check out the horoscope for a sense of validation). On hindsight it did seem that all odds were against us.

I knew that all I could do was just hope. I prayed to God for a clear sky (I recall praying the rosary the night before, an act I rarely do). The prayer was not for me, it was for the kids. How would they handle the disappointment? How would they handle the brutal blow to their anticipation ?

And so it happened. On the night of August 13 in 1999, a Friday the 13^th, there had been a heavy downpour in the villages sorrounding Mt Matutum (as we’ve learned the morning after). The sky unloaded its watery weight and flooded the villages with its wrath.

On the foot of the mountain where the school is located, the scenario was entirely different, oblivious to the storm occurring in the nearby areas. The clouds had parted ways- as if an answer to my prayers- providing us a magnificent view of the clear imposing sky, teeming with stars.

We lay down there on the school field watching in awe and admiration as the awaited shooting stars zoomed intermittently in front of us. The kids screamed and shrilled at each find as if a treasure, their eyes glued to the sky lest they miss the next spectacle. Amidst their oohs and aahs I offered a prayer of thanks.

From the countless stories jubilantly told and retold in the days that ensued I knew it had been an experience they would cherish.

It has been six years since and yet I could still feel the exhilaration. I could still hear the echoes of their screams. I could still see the awe and excitement on their faces.

I could still fondly recall the miracle that happened 6 years ago on a Friday the 13^th.

De Puta Madre !

My week was a blast! I received a handful of unexpected yet very much welcomed emails from my friends all over the cyberspace. I got an excellent rating in my weekend Spanish class oral exams. I finally got to finish Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince and the Season 5 of CSI Vegas. And I finally got 3 consecutive strikes (no easy feat considering I came from dismal scores below 100) in our company bowling tournament – thereby entitling me for a free half-chicken.

For the lack of a more potent description I should say my week was “DE PUTA MADRE!”

Okay, okay before you squirm let me tell you that this phrase is tame, albeit vulgar-sounding. “De puta madre” according to my Spanish professor in context means “Superb!, Marvelous! or Fantastic! It’s synonymous yet more attention-grabbing than “Estupendo”

Just don’t forget to include “De”. Otherwise what you would be saying would literally mean “mother wh*re”

So the next time somebody asks you how things are on a terrific day, say it with chutzpah, “De puta madre !”

Click moments

Rina Jimenez David, a resource speaker in one of my MA Psych classes referred to such as “Click Moments”.

It could be an instance of enlightenment when a piece of heretofore-unknown information presents – oftentimes accidentally- in front of you. Suddenly your perspective changes with this new bit of the jigsaw puzzle. It’s like the Eureka of Archimedes. It’s the light bulb flashing scene for the detective in a whodunit. It’s the A-ha moment.

Click moments may provide clarity, closure and synthesis. However in some instances it could provide ambiguity and reexamination to what you’ve long embraced as absolute truths. Like the result of the Michelson-Morreley experiment for the speed of light which dumbfounded the scientists who were then espousing the Newtonian perspective of the universe.

Probably the most disturbing click moment I remember was the one I had in Shanghai. I was on a weekend tour to Wuxi to visit a GE site. Seated beside me on the coach was an EHS engineer from our Shanghai Innovation site. We exchanged ideas and experiences. Then came the casual mention that he does not have a God. I could not brand him an atheist for there is no conscious refusal on his part to accept the existence of a God. It just so happened that he grew up in an environment that never considered the existence of a Supreme Being.

And then I it dawned on me that he along with 1 other billion people have gone on with their daily routine without a God.

It deeply perturbed me. The acknowledgement of a Force much greater than us might not be an inherent human behavior after all.

Could it be possible then that this God is just a concept we’ve created (at least for some cultures) so that we would feel more secure? Could it be that we created this unfathomable and omnipotent Being so that we would feel less lonely? So that we would find meaning and significance? So that we would have something to hope for when we all die?

Blog Blooper

Never underestimate the immense power of the internet. All the while I thought my online dream journal was just within my radar screen. Twas supposed to be just a cauldron of my vivid, oftentimes incomprehensible dreams; the concoction not yet ready for public consumption

However for some utterly unforgivable stupidity on my part I have forgotten to click the right settings when I hastily joined the republika ng pilipinas group blog. And so not until Saturday night when John and Ria mentioned about it did I realize that my dream journal was up for grabs.

Aaargh….At least as a consolation I haven’t typed in the relatively controversial dream entries.

Oh well that ONLINE 101’s lesson learned the hard way…

Of mailboxes and life's questions

It was my usual Sunday afternoon cocooning and having purchased a three-day unlimited Internet access, I had the luxury to wade through the clutter of emails in my Lycos mail box.

Between deleting a series of junk mails (mostly about penis enlargements, mail-order brides and viagra) and contemplating whether to lump up certain group of friends unto one folder, my eyes got caught on an inconspicuous farewell message I sent 3 years ago to my Dole Asia Colleagues.

A barrage of emotions swept me upon opening the letter and suddenly I was transported back to that time when I made the note.

It was a message of thanks to the people to who have made my serendipitous journey enlightening and memorable.

It was also a message of loss, of letting go, of acceptance of the inevitable pain that accompanies parting of ways.

And yet it was also a message of hope that despite the time and distance there is the comfort of the thought that someday our paths could cross again.

It has been three years since I left Mindanao, a place that has been my solace when I ran away from Manila to heal some wounds and contemplate upon life.

Although I came back more enlightened I still had a lot of unanswered questions.
I grew contented with the fact that while some questions will be answered life will continue to give more questions.

In the proper time and the proper place it will all fit in together like one big jigsaw puzzle.
One simply has to have hope that things in the greater scheme eventually would turn out fine.

Meanwhile life goes on…

The Astro Factor

Last night my buddies from UP Astrosoc had a get together. It still amazes me to think that Astrosoc has endured through time and distance. In terms of bonding I think it has gone far better than the other orgs I have joined or most of the fraternities I know of.

So what was it? What is the Astro factor that made that uncommon bond, a bond that makes us talk the same stuff over and over again every time we meet (and yet never seemed to get tired of it)

Astro probably provided solace for each unique individual. It was a place where one can just be one’s self and not fear being labeled weird or different. It was a group where athletic mountaineers coexisted with introverted bookworms. It was a group where electrecution-thrill-seekers blended well with role-playing-game fanatics. It was group that never raised eyebrows to a twenty-old year old who still plays GI Joes, or to a lady who refuses to give her birth date or to a lass who shaves her hair for the heck of it.

It was and still is a group that thrives on differences and eccentricities.

Yet despite the range of idiosyncrasies we realized we are the same.

We go to the abandoned and desolate hill on a Friday night to look up at the wide expanse.

We leave behind our thoughts on a make-or-break exam, or the fast-approaching thesis deadline, or the looming MRR at the end of the term.

We take part in the continuing saga of creation that unfolds in front of us.

For that brief respite we forget our hang-ups, our broken hearts, our fears, we all become innocent kids once again basking at the overwhelming creation that surrounds us.

We all find the searchers and the poets in us as we navigate through the skies. We become one.

And after that celestial journey we go down the hill and back into each of our own lives. We deal once again with the usual banalities that grind us down.

And yet we feel a spark of hope and a sense of longing. We have the energy to go through the week because come Friday night we once again come home.