IngliseraKuno

'What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness.' - George Saunders He talks in this rapid pace, all the while avoiding eye contact. He stresses his point by looking at documents, instead of me. He dwells on one issue, then jumps on the next which is completely off-point. Then goes to another. And another. In only about five minutes, he manages to apologize profusely, to say absurd comments about an issue, to lie, to effect veiled threats, and to leave the conversation, thinking he got what he wanted. Perhaps even laughing at me deep inside him, while feeling accomplished. He seems to be a reasonable person when he talks to me. He is respectful, always with 'ma'am' at the end of each sentence. I engage him in personal conversations as I do with all my colleagues and somewhere in his  eyes, I see a glimpse of happiness, that someone cares to ask about his  life. During those few seconds, I look through him and I feel sadness. Mostly for him,  not for me n...

Watching 'The Passion of the Christ' once again a few days back gave me a fresh perspective of this film which the critics had a field day on years ago. I was surprised to note that not a word of English was in the script, yet even without the English subtitles, one would understand just by looking into the eyes of the actors. Symbolisms of evil were put carefully in place throughout the film, which even if you are non-Christian, would send creepy signals up your spine. This is not a film review, for one I do not know much about film-making. I do search for two things in a film for me to love it; one, a good script (even if the storyline borders on the ridiculous, like for example, 'Bruce Almighty') and two, something which would make me 'think' after watching it. By now, those who are forcibly made to or accidentally, read my blogs, know that I like 'thinking', though a little too much for my own sake. So the season of Lent did not fail this time to...

It's strange. Walking on the steps of the university I went to more than two decades ago. The unending thirty-steps-every-minute stairs from one building to another, up and down, down and up. I walked one stepnat a time with this toe fracture, cursing myself for having been so stupid to slip weeks ago. An aging mother I bumped into said 'walang katapusang hagdan'. That made my day. It was an apt description of Saint Louis University in Baguio City. And of my daughter's journey to a college degree. Truth to tell and modesty aside, I never doubted Ana. I knew she would finish college without the fears of a mom coming true. For one, she is a responsible girl. Even when she was little, she had this nurturing character abour her. When she was in the first or second grade (am not sure), I went to her school to fetch her. I walked in on her and a classmate, who was crying. She had her water bottle in hand, and was holding it up for her classmate to drink. She was trying to m...

The Pacquiao-Bradley fight was, as usual, a source of pride. Not only was the fight a representation of what is good in the Filipino (Jessica Sanchez sang the Philippine National Anthem brilliantly, and Filipinos all over Las Vegas were waving our flag), but yes, Pacquiao went on to win. Many skeptics will again expectedly say that Filipinos have this attitude of 'riding' on the triumph of a handful of individuals, one of whom is Pacquiao. I  read once in an article published on Facebook that this is false pride, we do not have the right to be proud, well, because it was just Pacquiao who worked hard for his triumph, not the whole Filipino race. Or worse, others would taunt him and say, 'kumita naman sya' (he earned money from it). I also expect some snide remarks or direct mocking of Pacquiao's mother on social media. She was dressed in this 'terna', prayed over her son before the fight like a miracle-worker, was blowing I am guessing 'spells' on hi...

Daughters. Any mom would say they are the best little creations God can give. Not to be preferential over sons, though. Sons balance moms, like my son does. His wit never ceases to surprise me and of course never fails to make an idiot out of me. But my daughter, oh she is a mini-me, beyond the physical. Except the bad traits I have. I have to admit, she grew up watching me make mistakes one after the other that 'teaching by example' means differently in our relationship. I have bragged about her for every minute of my life, walls of my Facebook splashed with her pictures. I know that every mom is proud of her daughter. My sister Beks is no exception. She has her way of showing it. But she is one proud mom of Gabby. There is no telling what she will not do to make Gabby, happy. Nice rhyme to it. There are troubling times, like any other. It is a matter of course. And when these times come to Beks and her kids, her knee-jerk reaction is akin to that of the giant in 'Jack a...

'Aiidaaaannn!', Tita Kring yelled across the gym, and all of your classmates looked her way. Your Ate Ana was so embarassed she clamped her hand over Tita's mouth to shut her up. Tita only wanted to let you know she was there on your first recognition day in middle school, and she is proud of you, poor thing. We are all proud of you pogi boy. The days of you in a routine paid off: waking up to an alarm you set but keep on snoozing every fifteen minutes anyway; pulling yourself up half-asleep and forcing your legs to go down the stairs; of greeting Winky who waited all night for your hug, with a grumpy 'not now'; eating breakfast for compliance; taking a bath half-asleep; changing to your uniform; carrying your backpack; taking the jeepney; then school. You come home disheveled, like you passed by a war zone; put your pack down on the floor, get on the bed and sleep. You wake up after a couple of hours and do assignments and stuff, and dinner. Actually the second d...

You may not know this Miggy but your mom had hypertension right before you were born (I forget the medical term). At her last prenatal check- up, her gynecologist upon checking her vitals, immediately reserved a room at the hospital. Of course your mom did not know, so on the way to the hospital, she still asked if we could eat at the nearby cafe before checking in. Even then your mom was terribly into food. But this blog is about you, so let's leave mom and her fondness for eating, and focus on you. I have lots and lots of memories of you, anak. You and Ana grew up together, I wanted to believe you are my son. You were a fat kid, but so good-looking, who cared? Everywhere mom and I went, you and Ana were there with us, like mini-me's in tow, except that you are a boy. You would sit at the back of the car, belting out this song about rain with Ana, crooning words you both invented. You are so quiet and cool now that I cannot imagine how you blurted out in song like that. ...

Years back, I was going through a particularly rough time. I had people talking behind my back in this organization I am the head of, criticizing not only my management style but also my personal life. The bashers did everything they could think of the destroy me and my reputation, wrote unsigned letters to my immediate boss, at our head office, even went to the extent of sending anonymous messages to radio stations, which all the media jumped at like vultures. I do not know why, even now, what these bashers had in mind. Perhaps there really was something 'off' with my management, and the person I am, for them to be prompted to do those things. That is their privilege, so what to do? Anyway, I remember this moment during that time when I was in the middle of a meeting with local officials and I got this call from my immediate boss, to tell me he heard these nasty rumors going around about me, and that he just wanted me to know that he was there for me when I needed him. He of...