IngliseraKuno

We walked along Pacdal Road in Baguio City from the church where we had Christmas Day mass. We anticipated traffic so it waad just going to be a hassle to drive, we just left the car where it was parked. There were plenty of places we can eat, to have late lunch. Or so we thought. We went to the nearest, Ketchup, a compound of small, cozy restaurants where they serve a variety of dishes. It was closed. We went to the next stop, Volante, a popular pizza and pasta place in Baguio. We were relieved to see the place teeming with people, but they closed the gates. A young man, presumably one of the waiters, told us, they were temporarily closed as they had a 'full house'. They probably did not have a 'wait-to-seated' policy, or they did not have the supply to cater to the influx of customers. Which made me quite disappointed with Volante. So I started to feel how the Joseph and Mary felt when they were turned away by the inns they went to so Mary can give birth comfortably t...

Grand. The hotel, even from from afar, is grand. Crown Legacy Hotel is strategically located in not-so-center of Baguio City, its proximity to Naguilian or Marcos Highways, the two national routes taken by those in the lowlands, is not much of a hassle. It is relatively near the shopping centers, Session Road, Burnham Park, Camp John Hay, a decent hospital. Along its frontage are the stuff which staycationers will find useful: an acoustic bar; a videoke bar; a small budget resto; a pharmacy and a convenience store. The main entrance leads to a lobby where a giant christmas tree stands, across large leather sofas, atop it a chandelier. The lobby area is about ten times the floor area of our house. A staircase curves to the right, massive in structure. Just below the staircase is a cafe, where a grand piano sits. A lady with a lovely voice sings there nightly, accompanied by an acoustic guitarist. One can sit and have coffee and pastries while listening to the nice music they make. The s...

She is probably eight years old. She was propped on a wheelchair, staring blankly in space, but singing a tune, in 'la, la, la...' in the rythm of a folk dance, while her companions in the home walked past her. She was the first I saw, perhaps because of the singing. Another old lady sat beside her in a housedress, peering curiously at us, while we were talking to their caretaker. In front of her are two old men clad in pajamas, also in wheelchairs, silent. I could not tell what exactly they were looking at, but they did not look at our direction. To my right were two younger men, I guess sixty-something, one with a cane on where his left hand rested, the other, his brain trying deperately to will his right hand to go towards his mouth to eat bits of cereal. I saw his left hand holding a bowl of the cereals, but the hand was limp, immobile. Around his feet, on the floor, scattered about were the cereals which he was not able to properly direct to his mouth. I heard a moan somew...

We decided that the Christmas celebration this year be simpler than the previous years, even if by itself, the province of Ilocos Sur speaks of simplicity, grace and 'old soul' in its culture. We just wanted to be together, in the spirit of solidarity, of one in heart and mind, this season when we all look to the birth of Jesus Christ.  I did not want my colleagues to be stressed over the details of the get-together. My team and a few among the office personnel took care of that, from the invites, kriskringle, the games, prizes, giveaways, the venue decorations, and food. All we asked from them were three things: that they 'donate' whatever extra they had for the prizes; that they bring food to add to whatever the office could afford; and that they prepare for presentations per division. I had them wear the same t-shirts, as I do not want them sweating over the cost of new clothes to wear and for fear that someone might come to the get-together looking like Lady Gaga.  ...

I was in Davao for a meeting last year and got into a conversation with a cab driver. That's my usual way, I start a conversation with a cab driver just to check what is up in the world outside. That is not a scientifically-proven yardstick, but I still like to talk to people who do not confine thelmselves within the four walls of their airconditioned offices for work. My barometer for what is going on in the real world are our office drivers, really. Believe me, they know all, and most of the time, what they do want to tell me is true.  I recall that conversation with that cab driver in Davao very well, because, for one, he spoke to me in Bisaya even if I was replying to him in Tagalog. I told him I was not a local, an Ilocano, yet he went on and on about our topic in their dialect. Which was fine with me, not that I understand Bisaya fully, but I did get what he was talking about, in the context of it.  He asked where I was from, and told him, Ilocos Sur. He said, 'aaahhh, C...

I recall the conversation, in the words of Jack Nicholson in 'A Few Good Men', crystal. This colleague told me, '...what is practical is not allowed...'; and '...the truth will not save you...'.   I was telling her the truth, about certain things, in the hope that she would understand where I was coming from, because she was, well, told the truth. It was not the ugly truth, it was simply just that, the truth: the kind which is supposed to make others  see the wisdom in my decisions, the kind which is supposed to make them say, 'oh. ok then. it is not disastruous, after all.'  Yet she uttered those two phrases I will not easily forget. Unless I will be diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimers.  I read this post suggesting that one of the presidential candidates be more 'authentic', so that he would be more 'credible' or 'identifiable' with the masses. The writer further said, to fire the public relations people of this candidate, thei...

I am laughing from the pit of my stomach. This is a good day. On bad days, I unleash my anger in various forms, mostly by writing stupid stuff which I thought would be deep. I read all my earlier blogs and my goodness, they were all so sad and desperate I wondered if they were actually written by me. But yes, it was me.  I now seem to have mastered the art of 'feeding my hunger', for screams, you know the type which also comes from the pit of your stomach but also makes your throat hurt? I feed that by laughing. My hunger for insulting people, the kind which would make other people feel like idiots, I feed by laughing. My hunger for attention and love, I feed that by laughing at myself, the situation, and all that goes with it.  Now this might make me look like I am insane. But the past months, I simply got tired. I got tired of fighting with people who think of themselves as the only creatures of God that they can just behave like they were born in the gutters, with no shame,...

At first, the whole idea was exciting. Like a hero straight from the movies, he came to life and gave the 'outlaws' what they deserved. As far as he is concerned, he did what needed to be done to keep his constituents, the visitors to his place, well and safe. I walked their streets late at night, taking my time, withdrew money from ATMs, rode cabs alone, many times, and I am still in one piece today. It is admirable, the fact that this peace and order can be achieved somehow, somewhere, in a country plagued by this wretched poverty and desperation. Moreso that the dynamics in this economy play to spur the disparity between the rich and the poor; the longer the stretch from one side to the other, the deeper the roots of evil, the more plausible the reasons for criminality.  Interesting, too, that people reached out to him to run for the highest post in the land, and he was realistic enough to say, no, this country does not need him. Until the Senate Electoral Tribunal deci...

It was most tiring, this year's convention. But it was the most dressed-down, casual, comfy, warm one, looking back five years past. Our community is growing, slowly but surely. Our family in our department has also grown, we had three new friends who graduated from the programs, conferred with rank. My yardstick every year is the number or length of table/s we all use to eat, eat and eat, hosted by a collague local to the convention location. This year, the table is longer than usual, which made me glad. We were also louder, not only because we had more mouths chattering, but because we have done this each year, it felt like it was more and more becoming natural to blabber with our mouths full. We never ran out of stories to tell, and time was always short. We were to be stiff and formal for the opening ceremonies in our Filipiniana, then change for the less formal in the afternoons. Taking pictures seemed to be unending. In-between, our minds were fed with both the cerebral and n...

When all you have to offer are words, after everything is said and done, after pain of the most raw form has cut through the being of another, the pain you have caused, there is no redemption. Not for you, for those who look at you, not for those who care for you, for those you have hurt. I dare not ask that you kiss my feet and wash them, I am not Jesus Christ. I dare not ask that you pretend like nothing happened, and speak only of the matters which will make is easier for co-existence to come to play. I dare not ask that you beg, you bleed like I did, or go through the hell I have been through, just to let you experience the same, to punish you, to shake you out of you delusion that you did nothing which cannot be fixed by, for example, putting up a 'tough guy bravado' for everyone to see. 'Hey, I am all right, I showed her who is right here all along, I told her so, I am better at these things, etc.' or 'I have shown all the sincerity I could muster to make thin...

Honey is 84 years old, this fiesty old lady who asked my daughter, 'Amin na lang si Christianne ha?', when they first met. My daughter laughed in reply, politely said, 'Huwag po.' Honey is called that by all, her true name is actually 'Leoning', and she is called by everyone that nickname as a sign of not only respect for the woman she is but of endearment. Not that she is all sugar-and-spice-and-everything-nice. She is headstrong, was with the teaching profession for the longest time, went abroad to work, save up, be with her sublings, came home to Vigan, built her house and took care of everyone in need. In the middle of all that, she got married at about 50 years old (older, I think) to a man who was widowed and sought her after so many years of having only her in his heart. He passed away while married to her, and I looked at his photos with her when they were together based on which I can definitely say, his last and happiest days.  Today, she is sewing the...