I knew I'm sick when I received a text message,

"Si Jb talaga. Kahit na seryoso na siya (kay Say), mukhang nambobola pa rin."  [Look at Jb. Even if he's being true, he still seems faking it.]

I didn't feel that while I was watching Pinoy Big Brother last night.  As a matter of fact, I was close to sobbing that time.  It was as if suddenly, the future flashed before me and I knew I would want a hundred seconds with Cathy one day.  If only I will be granted that privilege, I'd hug her tight like what Jb and Say did, and unzip all the missed stories we will have had.

I knew I acquired the PBB fever when I suspended critical judgment on how faux everything in PBB is.  When I focussed instead on my emotional connection with the cast rather than the sad fact that everything on TV is all for the ratings--imagine, bending rules to make a musically-scored reunion of two lovers, dismissing all suspicion on the intentions of contestants in falling in love with housemates and underscoring only romance in love.  PBB is playing with the emotions of the contestants and the audience alike.  The text message grounded me back to reality, waking me from my dreamy romantic state.

But then again, I'd rather be tagged as sick sympathizing with Jb and Say.  I'd rather forget how falsely a reality show PBB is, only for me to cope with the hard fact that by Saturday next week, I'll start wishing I'm granted even a hundred seconds each day to see, hear and feel Cathy again.

If only love were as easy as a reality show.

I do exercise.  Regularly!  Religiously.

I eat healthy.

I don't smoke.

I give myself 6 to 8 hours of sleep per day.

I take vitamins.

I drink water. A lot!

What else could I have missed?

This has never happened to me before. I'm only sick once a year! And this is the second time this year that I'm down with a fever.

I've had this since Friday with no signs of getting better.  Two doctors I asked, they both said, "Rest."

We have remedies for our illnesses but their exact causes really we cannot ascertain.  Even so, they tell us something which we must be mindful of.

In my case, rest. *sigh*

This is what I've been fearing--that I be found inadequate.  How can I take her for granted?  I have valid excuses for not doing what I was expected to do.  But I know however valid they may be, they are excuses nonetheless which I must admit have no place in a relationship.

You know that this is my passion and that there are non-negotiables in this line of work.

Yes, teaching is my passion.  I draw strength from interactions with students.  I am sharpened by their wit and youthful idealism.  My own position on things is challenged by the myopia of their private worlds, and so is better defined.  Once I enter the classroom, a different me comes into being.  I'm rejuvenated everytime I'm in the room, in front of the class, blackboard behind me.  There's a mystical force driving me wild and free while I'm holding a piece of chalk or I'm on the platform.  It's a play.  It's play.  It's performance.  It's showtime.  I'm in the arena of learning and I can see the birth and rearing of knowledge right before my eyes each time.  I'm blessed that the subject I teach is about life and all I need to do is to make them live life and be with them in experiencing it.  This is the beauty of what I teach.  This is the beauty in what I do.

But like every play, there are things behind-the-scenes which are of equal importance and to all these, a lot of energy and time are required. Time which knows no limit, is spent listening to students, guiding them to reflect, and clarifying with them the choices they are about to make.  Some require much more than pep talks.  Some need full counseling and one-on-one companionship even when I'm really spent, even when I'm down, even when I'm trying to rest.  These become points of misunderstanding for us in relationships because it seems to violate the exclusivity clause especially when students infringe on your alone time together.  Likewise, small things such as checking quizzes and papers, recording, and giving feedback are being demanded by students as soon as the paper has been submitted.  These too, take much thinking/worrying time for me, especially when sensitive things are brought up in papers or when the lesson is seen to be grossly misunderstood by students.  I begin to panic and think of extraordinary ways to bridge philosophy to students who are initially already in the I-hate-philosophy mode.  Preparing materials for the lecture and the lecture itself is also quite a heavy task.  I have to literally plan my way through my students--motivating them to listen and then later, to open up.  Sometimes, I need to be a clown, a slapstick comedian, or what have you just to catch their attention and sustain their interest.

Teaching is not as easy as many people think.  It's not just about mouthing things to be memorized and later graded; it's a vocation   where selves are molded, broken, affected, and transformed.  It's one's whole being who's in the play.  Keep some and you're a phony.  I'm no phony.  I am a teacher, a companion.  It's physically taxing and emotionally draining.

But I am no longer only about myself.  I am is not only about what will make me happy.  I am also a partner to someone who deserves better and more time from me.  If I give so much of myself to my work and my students, the least I can do is to give her equal attention and quality time.  My work can be no excuse for misgivings in the relationship.  That's a lot of bull.  The question on priorities or preference even, should never have been brought up had I not rested on my laurels.  It shouldn't have gone to that.   And now, I cannot evade that question.  If I stay teaching knowing full well that my physical well-being and personal life's on the red,  I might lose the very reason why I am tiring my heart out--you.  I don't wan't that.

This is just about the sign I need.  Tuesday's discussion was an eye opener.  I can't have it all; I'm taking in more than I can chew.  That's probably why I'm sick for the second time around this year.

I've decided.  I'm going with you.  Wait for me.

Disclaimer:  All characters are figments of the author's imagination.  Any similarities with real life persons are purely coincidental.

What right do I have to cry?

I have only temporarily lost a fiancee.  Tita Fe lost a "daughter"; Bebe a sister at home.  Nothing's gonna be the same after today in the house along Chico Strip.

Tita Fe

For a woman who has devoted her life caring for her sibs and their kids, she has treated them all as if they were her own, every parting is death, every goodbye is the end.  This is the fourth of a battery of goodbyes she is bearing. She's a tough woman to penetrate but she shared her most vulnerable self through her bed.  It is there where the grunts and sighs, the loaded oohs and aahs, the coughs and deep breathing spoke of inner restlessness and external restiveness.  The tita no one knew but the one who lied next to her in bed each day will be hid unnoticed again.  Cathy, who is beside her in the steep of the night and right at the moment she exits dreamland for years, her comfort pillow, her literal security blanket, now is gone.  The bed is barren.  Sleep is no longer rest.  It becomes a sorry reminder of loneliness which can not be undone.

Although Tita Fe may not show this side of herself, she hurts.  How many a tear has she cried from within afraid she'd breakdown and drag her loved ones along her?  Yes she cries too.  She does, in her bed.  At night, now alone, until someone notices again.

Bebe

Bebe lost a sister.  She lost someone at this crucial stage in her life--while she's searching for her self.  Now she has to shuttle from her responsibilities at home to her personal needs.  All of a sudden, she is expected to crack her shell open and not be confined solely to her needs and fears.  She must now learn to stand up to Tita for herself and for her kid brother, Rodney.  She must now stand on her own, think on her own, decide on her own, bargain on her own, and face her choices' consequences on her own.  Ate will not be there to do these things for her anymore.  She is now beckoned to grow up, quick.  Growth is painful as it is, all the more painful when forced.  She cries now out of fear, but when she has rechanneled it, every drop will make her strong.

She continues to weep as of this writing.  I cry with her because I understand how overwhelmed she is looking at the big shoes she has to fill.  I cry with her because she doesn't seem to realize that she is her own self, she need not be like her Ate.  This is her own story, her own stamp in their story.  And Tita is just waiting for her to begin writing.

What right do I have to cry?

Cathy has filled me and healed me before she left.  We sealed our fate squarely and signed our destinies with God's kiss.  There's no business left unfinished.  What is there to cry about?  Jealousy?  Insecurity?  Loneliness?  Distance?  How are these compared to the pain Cathy's departure brought upon Tita Fe and Bebe?  I've only been with her for more than a year; they have been cemented with her for ages.  We are together for no functional reason; they are able to hold up because they are together.  Her leaving is for us to build a home someday.  I have no reason to cry.  Her leaving is for them a removal of an important brick in the house along Chico Strip.  They weep because although the house won't crumble, it will never be the same again.

As Cathy slowly faded into the background, I bade her goodbye with a full smile:

                

                

"Face your past without regret
Handle your present with confidence
Prepare for the future without fear
Keep the faith and drop the fear
Don't believe in your doubts
Trust God."

A text message kept me free from worries.  I felt a deep sense of assurance, "It was God who brought us together, he will take care of us.  I trust him."  This will be my mantra for the next six months.

We'll be alright.  Trust him.

Aim

Someone asked me if I plucked my eyebrows because they look different.  I'm sure he asked not because it looks queer but because he wants to make fun of it.  You can get it from the tone of the question, non-verbals included.

Time

An examinee gave me a run-down of everything, as in totally, everything we discussed in class from day one.  Of course, she won't make it all in seven minutes.  She did try and ended up not being able to discuss the meat of the course.  I asked her what she aimed to do after and commented that it was an impossible undertaking.  She narrowly missed an F.

Value

It was one quiet day, I was in the bathroom when someone marched straight to the urinal beside me.  "You started your oral exams early, when are you ending it?" "Friday." "Still that late huh?" "Yes."  I left the bathroom baffled.  What was the point of that exchange?  It was an unnecessary one, is it not?

Engage

I had a computer assembled at PC Express Wednesday. Sitting, waiting on the bench, an American customer approached me and said in jest, "Starting all over again eh." I smiled and he began talking about his old computer and the computer he brought for repair as if we were kindred spirits.  We conversed, he even helped me with my illiteracy on computers.  No frills, no charge. 

Moral

Speak, don't talk.  Open your mouth when you have something worthwhile to say.  Interrogation is not the way to open a conversation.  Converse.  Start with yourself then I'll follow suit.

.

Am I a "May I please speak with X" person or  a "May I talk to X" one?  It's high-time we take note of what we say and how we say it.  It will spell out our chances in winning the other and gaining our person.

This is the fifth doctor (sixth if an intern can be counted as one!) I consulted for my long standing sickness.  First I was down with flu-like symptoms for a week till last Friday, felt heavy over the weekend which is perhaps due to more obvious reasons, then second, I have difficulty swallowing and gulping since Monday.  Last Tuesday,  I again caught a slight fever and headache which brought me worries.  How long still before I can get back to tip-top shape?

So on I went to the Loyola Schools Infirmary to strike it out with the doctor for the nth time.  You know, doctors amaze me.  They have to sift through the medyo-ganito and medyo-ganyan, the inexact haphazard descriptions of their patients and are tasked to come up with one-time-big-time diagnosis.  But really, the idea plays on in me.  I feel like wanting to become a doctor.  Seems like fun.  Will I still be allowed to med school?  Anyway, I described the spell I've been under (cf. paragraph 1) when suddenly, the doctor frowned; her face literally dropped in anxiety.  "The puffy eyes, the sore throat... this might be a kidney..."

For some strange reason, after being entranced in the tear-jerking-doctor-says-wag-po-kayo-mabibigla-moment, I was hit by an adrenalin rush.  It's like, yes, finally, after all those boring days!  I now know my problem and it's a biggie!  Everybody should know.  Roll out the barrel... let's huddle and plan our attack!  I'm excited, really.  I texted my mom and my fiancee about it.

I had to have a urinalysis asap, prescribed the doctor.  Went to Medical City, my suki hospital.  I've been there four times this year.  First, when I got sick the first time.  Second, with Cathy, I had to accompany her because of severe headache--apparently classic migraine (wonder if she's taking her medicine. hmmm?)  Third, when I was again downed by fever.  And fourth, this time for the urinalysis.

The receptionist asked me who my doctor is and to my embarassment, I didn't know.  (And I admire them doctors eh?!)  I don't even know her name!  The receptionist let me by this time.  She faked referrals so I can get through.

So I went to the toilet with the plastic cup on my right and the big thing on my left.  Medtech told me to get the midstream.  Man, what midstream? What the--how can I possibly know it's midstream when I don't know when it's gonna end?  She says I have to get the mid piss for no articulated reason.

After, I suggested handing her the cup which threw her off.  What a laugh the look on her face was!  She pointed to the table and man, there were like a dozen of urine cups filed to be tested.  I wouldn't want to be a medtech if that were the kind of thing I'd do all my life!  It's friggin 9 in the morning and I'm packed with cups of urine samples.  Whattalife!

An hour later, I came back for the results.  I'm no doctor but I browsed through the print-out and found no significant results.  Blood-no; Mucus-no; Bacteria-few; light yellow.  Think about it, don't you find this disgusting?  Yeah, we know it reveals something about the W-W makeup of a person, but geez! It's urine!  It's like fecal exam.  Ulk.  Have you tried scraping off a portion of your poop before it plunks down the toilet? I did it with my fingers once. That's sick!  And urinalysis--imagine, the process of getting a specimen, the medtech examining the urine and deciphering its color and content:  is it yellow? light yellow? yellow orange? off white? do they discuss these things among themselves? how did they study the hues of feces? does it contain blood? mucus? protein? sugar?, and the act of actually having these things encoded and printed out for one's perusal.  Walking back to my car, I have in my hands my urine!

Later that afternoon, I revisited my doctor-whose-name-I-don't-know (still).  I handed her my urine and past CBC results.  She smiled apologetically, "I must have alarmed you."  It's a simple case of tonsilitis, that's the diagnosis.  And you know what she prescribed me, salabat (ginger ale)!  She says it has antiseptic powers and the warm water soothes the soreness.

Immediately I texted my mom and my fiancee.  There's nothing to worry about.  I'm good.  Now mine's been named and I know what I'm battling with.  Finally. (Or at least this time around.)

I have to give my doctor-whose-name-I-still-don't-know my own Rx though:  No more coffee for you, doc.  You need to calm down.  But then again, thanks for the adrenalin rush.  Was pumped and ironically, i liked it.

Sick, am I not?

Going to my room for the final day of my oral exams, down to the last 20 students, I heard someone announce with pride along the walkway, "Yes! C+!"  with matching punches in the air.  I can't keep myself from raising my brow, "Since when did a C+ become a source of joy?"

When you go to oral exams, your target is to ace the exam.  Your eyes are fixed on A, you prepare hard for the 10, 12, 15, or 20 minutes of that one-on-one with the teacher.  You don't estimate your speech as to whether it will pass for a C or a B.  You want the A and you work hard to achieve that.  That's why I don't understand my student who said after getting a B+ as her final mark, "had I known, I should've not burned the midnight oil for the oral exams.  I should've just studied for my other courses."  How can one actually calculate what grade one will get for a preparation?

Come oral exams, as much as possible we will not make the examiner open his/her mouth for any comment or question.  There is a lot to say, there's so much to explain with so little a time. Think about it, one reading is discussed in class for at least three hours.  How can one condense in a few minutes the whole course (with at least ten readings) without losing substance?  During the exam, the mouth rants on like a machine gun until halted.  It breathes out fire as it tries to hit the jackpot A.  So when one gets a B+, a B, or a C+, what does that mean?  It simply means that one didn't hit the mark.  What's to be jubilant about that then?  It's like going to the fair--you know that booth where one flings a ball to a device attached to a lever which dunks the girl in bikinis down the tub once hit?--that's how exams go!  You want to stump the teacher with your brilliance!

There is no other goal but to do a strike.  You do, or do not.  B+, B, C+, C, D, and an F are nothing but levels of nearness and farness from the goal.  And no one wants to be anywhere near or far from the mark, you want it right there!  Otherwise, you simply didn't hack it. There is no reason to do the dance of joy! No crappy stuffed toy to bring home, no juice-driven-punching-in-the-air. 

Let it be put on record:  There is no other grade than A in an exam.  Anything other than an A is no different from an F.

Note:  This is not about grades.  If it were so, then a B+ or a B would suffice. But, this is not about grades; this is about the philosophy of education.  The question is whether I learned or not.  A B+ or a B simply isn't good enough.  I should begin asking myself what I missed and start prepping for the next test.  I want an A!

It's inevitable. It was bound to happen. I only wanted to get my emails,  read Cathy's blog, upload my grades, answer Cathy A's tag, and save my files--live in peace.  I didn't plan for this to go off but again it did.  And I've no choice but to return a hit with a few blows, a quick punch. I probably gave him five or ten or twenty fists and still he wouldn't budge.  Until finally, he gave in and the monitor was back on.  But, the whacks probably shocked the CPU, he hanged on me.  I've read only the first two paragraphs of Cathy's entry and now, I have to reboot to complete it, to calm my curiousity.  And you know how long it takes for him to reboot?  Ten minutes to say the least.  Ten minutes I should hold off before I learn of what she might be feeling, thinking. Never again will I use this computer.

Salvation is at hand though.  I have a new one in my room but cursed as I am, I have no telephone line for internet connections.  He's been in there for almost a week now and I've yet to wait for my dad to complete saving his files to disk so we can finally rest the old one six feet under.

Wait.

The sky is gray.  It's drizzling outside.  You can hear the thunders roll.  This will be a big pour like previous afternoons.  But it's been an hour since, and it hasn't come yet.  The fantasies of you dancing in the rain or washing your car out there is put on hold.  Wait.  You know it's there, you can see it coming yet it delays itself-- building you up and suspends you.  You know, the feeling of almost ready to explode but the thing stops and you're like going to implode if you won't get it out.  It's an orgasm you hear but hasn't happened yet which leaves you wondering on what else you need to do for her to scream her lungs out and so you pump and pump but because you broke concentration, the players die down--your weiner and her beaver, your ego and her femininity--while both of you still desire to complete the juncture until you're both satisfied.  Only, you know that it won't happen in the next five minutes.  You've got to wait and prop it all up, start all over again unsure if it will still come.

It's a disease which you feel but won't go full blown and so you lay in bed in anguish tossing and turning, feeling all right but not quite.  It's a dream most wanted, you sell all you have and leave for a distant country, but die in boredom realizing you have to wait six, nine months.  It's pent-up anger whose cure is release. You provoke your enemy by doing this and that but he doesn't give a damn anymore.  You die defeated without actually fighting.

Wait.

Unfortunately, there is no formula for life's woes and wonders.  After typing this in my new computer, I'll go downstairs to use the old one again contrary to what I earlier promised.  Slaps and slams, my fist will hurt and I'll be able to deliver after so many tries and so many hours wasted on just one entry.  What am I to do?

It's still drizzling outside, stronger this time.  But the sun is out, the dark clouds gone.  The unexplainable is felt; one has to succumb to the uncertainty of waiting and the contingency of desires.  Hope.

I started collecting films when betamax was still in.  I probably have gotten it from my dad who loved renting tapes back then in Virra and Ali malls.  I've seen him record  from tape to tape his favorite titles and the TV shows he'd miss.  In grade school when our betamax was passed on to me, I recorded my first film--was it Ghost or The Little Mermaid or Die Hard?  I've also learned how to clean the betamax tape head and join tape strips which have been cut.  Audio and Video ins and outs I mastered.  I am as good as my dad.

At the advent of Laser discs, my dad and I weren't to be outplayed.  We bought one and I started collecting titles.  I got me As Good as It Gets, The Piano, Backdraft, Total Eclipse, and Boogie Nights to name a few.  And when laser discs were being phased out, I didn't quit collecting them.  I scavenged for LDs on sale in video shops.  I just can't get enough of the crisp quality of laser discs even if VHS and VCDs run aplenty and are cheaper.

I did buy VHS and VCDs too but, I quit them as soon as DVDs came out.  Bootleg copies from Malaysia were being sold for as low as P180 then.  Their quality is irreproachable, they're as good as originals.  My first is Memento.  I bought it in Virramall with dad.  I've no player then, but I started buying dvds to force myself to save so I can buy my own player. Blue Lagoon and Shrek followed.  And then the list expanded and I was able to get a 12k player.  Dad wasn't so into it anymore.  I don't know why he lost appetite in video technology.

My dad and I drifted apart. He got stuck somewhere along the way with betamax and I ventured into new technologies.   I love him yes. We have our moments together and I relish those times but we just--no.  If we'd get stranded in an island all by ourselves, we'd probably end up drawing lines of space exclusive to each alone.  No trespassing.

Last weekend, mom attended a seminar leaving only dad and myself at home.  There were times I wished mom was there so I can go on doing my stuff which dad might disapprove of while mom won't mind.  But since mom couldn't bilocate, I reluctantly settled upholding the status quo to avoid unwanted confrontations with dad.

We ate lunch together Saturday and he started talking about basketball and the maneuvering some schools do to get players.  He cited his teammate in the UAAP before and how after he long graduated, his teammate still was a part of the team.  He said the coach knows about that and he went on casting doubt on Pumaren's assertion that he is not privy to the case of his player who frauded his way into the team.  He asked me what Ateneo says about this.  Too bad, I haven't been in the circulation lately so I don't know anything.  That's not my point though, my point is I have heard him inject his UAAP stint not only a few times before, why didn't I bother to ask?  He's been my dad ever since, why don't I know anything about him?

Sunday morning, I cleaned my room.  I looked at my DVDs stacked up on the shelf.  I updated my list of titles and counted they were a couple less than three hundred.  I got a box, took down all my DVDs, and hid them for storage and soon, for selling.  I'm done with DVDs.  Once you've seen them, they're of no use.  I no longer get any satisfaction staring at them motionless in my cabinet and shelves.

I'm saying goodbye to them; I want to rekindle my relationship with my father.  I'll look for him in the tech I last saw him wholly in--betamax.  I pray betamax hasn't been totally eradicated.  Will I still get my chance?

I'm off home after submitting my grades, a consultation by a student, and last instructions from the JVP program officer.  I drove leisurely as traffic wasn't as heavy yet, passed by the mall to get a Photoshop installer, and then drove home.  I plugged my cd and was singing along to U-Turn's Make It Real when I realized something amiss on my ring finger.  The RING!

Computer area. My cubicle. The saleslady. The Cds. It sliding off my finger. My car.  My pocket. The parking ticket man.  Everyone was suspect.  Now, where should I begin?   The surest one was the my cubicle option because that's the only time I purposedly took it off to do my routine alcohol-sanitizing.  So I made a u-turn back to Ateneo.  I was only about five kilometers away from my house.

Should I call anyone in the office, describe what happened and ask that he/she hold on to first it for safekeeping?  Should I inform my fiancee that mine got lost?  Should I give it up, just go home and call it a lost case?

I drove hurriedly.  I believe this was one of the fastest and reckless-est driving I did--chasing past cars and trucks, doing a slalom with jaywalkers, it was no thrill ride though.  Reaching Ateneo, I jumped off the car and ran to the department.  I paused to catch my breath.  Do I really want to see if it's there?  What if it's not on the pile of books I thought I left it onto?  That would be devastating, that would kill me.  The ring was the only thing making me remember Cathy.  Yes, the pictures, the gifts, the emails, and the texts too, but the ring is special.  It is a symbol of our promises.  We even had it blessed in the first Catholic Church we celebrated mass in, Antipolo.

Our rings are not your typical wedding bands.  The typical ones are monotone or two-toned gold bands with diamond setting.  Ours do not close--the band is tied together by a piece of diamond.  Tension ring is what it's usually called.  The Catholic Church requires a closed band to symbolize the eternity that is in love's promise.  We broke that rule.

                    

I asked Cathy once what our rings could mean given their design.  She said the two hands of the ring symbolize us who are joined by love, the diamond.  I thought that that was the cheesiest thing I've heard from her.  And we both broke into laughter. 

I like our rings because they are unique.  Like the both of us, like our plans for our wedding.  Unique, out of the ordinary, non-conventional.  We don't want kissing pigeons, veils and cords, candles, videos, traditional poses in front of the camera, bridesmaids and groomsmen, ninongs and ninangs marching before us, a big wedding.  We just want a simple one where we can both enjoy making public our private oaths.

Our ring bands don't meet because a circle doesn't grow after it's been locked.  It's perfect ayt, but it's just that, a circle.  Our rings are nothing static like that.  Our rings are unlocked because love is about growth.  And our rings should symbolize what we have and what we want our love to be.  The diamond embodies eternity and eternity came to be in our love.  We are what we are because of love, however mundane, however trivial, however fanciful as it may be in us.

I walked straight to my cubicle without greeting anyone seated near the door and in the reception area.  I was bracing myself for the best and the worst.  I went to the adjacent cubicle to peek at my own.  The table, the books... the RING! Actually it appeared last first--the ring, the books, then the table.  It was as if my eyes zoomed in on the ring alone not seeing anything else other than that and then later widened its field of perception.  I've never seen a ring this big! I ran out and to my cubicle, ran to my precious, wore it on my right, and left the department quietly.

Driving home, I again plugged in my CD.  I sang to Viktoria's single and sighed in relief, "I don't care, I would do anything to be near you. I would go anywhere to be near you..." over and over again til the memory of my ring being lost faded.

My antibiotic regimen ended yesterday and I feel better now.  Actually, I already resumed my weight training yesterday morning while Cathy sat in front of me through a webcam.  But because I've been on an unhealthy lifestyle the past three weeks, my body's sore after the heavy training.  It's good pain though.  I can feel my muscles stretched.

Cathy says I look fat now.  I am and I hate it.  Was looking at myself in the mirror and the first thing I noticed is my belly.  I have barely a week left to exercise before another break till November 5.  By then I should be on a strict diet and regular exercise both aerobic and anaerobic.   It'll be Christmas soon hence another unhealthy season.  I must up my exercise.

Mom and I put up the Christmas tree yesterday.  It's a tall one, standing about nine or ten feet.  I bought it three years ago in Duty Free and this is the first time, we were able to pack the tree full.  Because it's a big tree, we had to use more than 20 Christmas series light packs and over a hundred balls and flowers.   Too bad, Cathy isn't here to join us decorate the tree.  She was with us when we bought the ornaments in Divisoria the day before I officially got sick.

Burn out.  That's probably what caused me my health.  I've been working for six years straight without any breaks.  I've been all out at work both in school and for JVP.  I allow myself to be always on call for any student counseling emergencies or simple academic consultations, for manpower needs in JVP, for pop-up assignments by the department chair, for invitations to give seminars or talks here and there, anything. I felt it struck me while hearing oral exams last week.  At one point, my body literally wanted to explode, to vomit out all the negative energy I took in from students.  They turned the oral exams into one counseling marathon where they shared their struggles with their selves and the learnings they got in the process minute after minute after minute, day after day after day.  I appreciate how useful the course turned out for them in their personal lives but it was an oral exam and it was not the time for personal sharing.  At the end of each oral exam day, I suffer a relapse, folding into fetal position in bed at night, chilling.  I'm sad; I feel it's my fault as a teacher.  I feel I haven't been as effective as I thought I am.

Immediately after the oral exams, it's JVP's turn.  I was offered to lead a training seminar for teachers somewhere in Leyte.  I couldn't say no because this is service calling and the need is urgent.  But realizing the work lined-up to be accomplished and that I just came from a bad case of health failure, with a heavy heart I had to turn it down, and in effect turn the teachers down as well.  I heard a voice in me complain how the organization wrings its members dry while one gives himself to her freely.  I felt confused, disgusted, and overwrought.  I want to quit. To just sit down and do nothing.  To not think.  To be quiet.  To be alone.  To be back at home.

But where is home?  Back home, I also have to give a listening ear to my mom who's also tired hearing the non-stop complains of her balae.   My brother and sister-in-law's having their house renovated, but they are hands-off owners. And so my mom has to oversee the project lest it literally breaks down into pieces.  I told her to back off somehow and let the owners handle the problems themselves but since, it's my sis-in-law's mom who doesn't stop calling my mom, my mom can't help being dragged along who can't help tagging me (and my dad) along the way too.  It's tiring. I'm tired.  Dried-out.

If only there's a pill to cure burn-out problems.  If only in seven days, one is restored back to sanity and health.  Life would be easy.

I chatted with Cathy yesterday morning.  It was the only time I was able to breathe.  I was at home with her.  I was at home.  Good thing there's internet to bridge the distance that separates.  Through a webcam, our houses were joined into one stream and the energy that bound us, bound us tight again.  We are both burned out and we were both comforted by the sight of each other winning back our smiles, regaining momentum as we encourage each other to move on.  It will be an uphill climb; we will be by ourselves.  It won't be easy; we have our antibiotic-partner with us.

Christmas is soon coming.  We will soon be (eating) together again.

"Non-violence is not a cover for cowardice, but is the supreme virtue of the brave. ...Cowardice is wholly inconsistent with non-violence... Non-violence pressuposes the ability to strike. (I-59)  He who cannot protect himself or his nearest and dearest or their honor by non-violently facing death, may and ought to do so by violently dealing with the oppressor.  He who can do neither of the two is a burden." (I-77)

I purposedly sought solace in my undergrad notes on Gandhi after a close encounter with evil personified.  His words strung a chord and I almost gave in to an untethered verbal or physical combat with him.  But I held back and calculated my position.  I'm in front of his baby, the baby's nanny, and my mother, I don't want a commotion as weekend closes and a new week begins.  I walked away shaking in anger and took a shower to release the emotion.

Was I just being a coward?  Why can't I just strike a punch to end this cold war once and for all?  Was I being falsely ethical and tolerant in front of the nanny and my mom?  Was this a show of co-dependence?  I cannot allow his impudence to remain unrectified.

Gandhi says,  "It is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of non-violence to cover impotence.  Violence is any day preferable to impotence." (I-240)

I know I can stand up to him and give him a beating.  I can throw my weight-plates at him till he breaks or stab him till he bleeds to death.  I can.  I have pictured this in my mind for so long and I'm just waiting for a provocation to warrant violence.  But then what?  Will I have proven anything?  Will I have won peace?

I have mastered the power of the word.  I have inflicted a curse on a number of people and I saw them writhe to their deaths.  I was near summoning the spirits of the curse to give my brother a taste of karma but was held back by thought of his baby, my godchild, inevitably suffering along with him.  I will not allow our personal conflict affect the innocent baby, Joaqx.

"It is the law of love that rules mankind.  Had violence, i.e., hate ruled us, we should have become extinct long ago.  And yet the tragedy of it is that the so-called civilized men and nations conduct themselves as if the basis of society was violence." (I-266)

How sad it is to see people insist on violence as the means to have their way and win the game.  But this is no contest!  The life of a baby is no game.  A family is not built through a bloody gladiator match.  A world is not created through wars.

How equally sad it is to see peace-loving people overpowered and oppressed by misguided men.  They die beaten without seeing any sign of remorse in the oppressor.

But Gandhi provides us with something to look forward to, "He who meets death without striking a blow fulfills his duty cent per cent.  The result is in God's hands."  (I-284)

Please God, do not delay.

This is the second time the Pinoy Big Brother House is a host to non-contestant guests.  The first was when two kids were left to Sam Milby's care which the latter pathetically handled with ooh-ooh-aah-aah's, bah-keet's, and uh-uhm-uhm's.  I understand that that was a task assigned to Sam but I just can't help wonder how the conditions in the house plus the Sam Milby language might have affected the kids psychologically.  What were the kids instructed before they entered the house?  Was there a debriefing accorded them after?

Now, yet again, there are guests in the house.  Two aetas interact with the housemates.  First lesson they got was how to brush their teeth.  Hours later, they engaged in chit-chat where Jayson was leading the male-aeta to a discussion on aeta extra-marital affairs.  Good thing that the man has intact moral values in him. He told Jayson that entering into extra-marital affairs is a sin.  But there's no stopping Jayson, he continued on by saying that to have more women is still best. He added that they probably just content themselves by looking at other women and maybe a little touching on the side.   I don't mind the sharing of opinions.  I respect Jayson's view but I felt that this is too much too soon for the two aetas.

Come lunch time, controlled giggles are heard while the housemates try to repeat idiotically the prayer the male-aeta was religiously offering.

I do not fault the housemates for their demeanor. Actually, they should be commended for trying their best to be hospitable and respectful to their guests.  They always see to it that their guests are having a good time as they are in the house.  They talk with them, discuss their practices and traditions with them, teach them the technology of the modern world, listen to them.

It's disturbing however to see the housemates teach the female-aeta how to use the microwave oven and comment that through the microwave there will be no more use for the panggatong. It bothers me to hear them comment in shock why the aetas don't eat meat and only gulay, and later ask if they have other gulays other than kamote.  The conversation carries on with a question on whether they use plates or just dahon and whether they clean the dahon first before they use it.  And because the aeta uses the leaves straight on without rinsing it with water, the curious housemate reacts in total horror.  (As of writing, Say continues to ask the aeta about eating habits and food and what not... I hope the interrogation ends, not to put a stop to the sharing of information but to end the insensitive comments given unconsciously.)

I fault the producers of PBB for this kind of experimentation.  Yes, I know that it's a no holds barred thing in the house.  Whatever happens, happens and that's the story of real people.  But the experimentation must have its limits.   We cannot experiment on people because we cannot foresee the effects any alterations we do in their native environment may bring upon the subjects.  In the case of the aetas, I'm afraid their interaction with the housemates might have a lasting, if not irreversible, damage on their psyche.  I hold the producers of PBB accountable for the well-being of the innocent people they bring into the house for the sake of tasks, challenges, or new twists to a dragging plot.

We cannot fault the housemates.  They are just being themselves.  And kuya knows about this.  He couldn't have not seen this coming thus, should have avoided this from happening from the start by not using kids or aetas or any other innocent individual in partaking in the experiment, that is, the Pinoy Big Brother.

What could be the objectives of the tasks in PBB?

I pray that the values of entertainment and profit don't outweigh the value of the human person otherwise, that ain't very pinoy anymore.

"Nothing contributes more to happiness than the habit of looking at the good side of things because the good side is God's side."

At first I thought this is a call to optimism.  To look at the brighter side of things, to "Ac-cent-chu-ate the Positive" as Nick Hornby's character in Otherwise Pandemonium says, "otherwise, according to the song and [his] mom, pandemonium is liable to walk upon the scene."

Honestly, optimism doesn't appeal to me for its lack of a wholistic view of the picture.  I've learned this from Philosophy classses under Fr. Ferriols who got it from Gabriel Marcel.  Optimism is no different from escapism.  One doesn't face the real darkness at hand and turns instead to an idea of lightness, of a bright future, never living in the present.  An optimist is not truly immersed in the situation. Detached, he knows nothing and so, it's easy for him to accentuate the positive.  He watches from a safe distance that's why he can say that everything is all good.  He rationalizes that the dark patches are there to highlight the colors.  There's always the good in the bad.

Nothing's wrong with the optimist's position.  By maintaining a positive frame of mind, one is able to keep steady while everyone is being sucked into the draft.  It works for some, but the question is for how long.  And by being an optimist, are we able to address the root cause of the problem or are we simply sugar-coating the problem for temporary relief?  Optimism fails to recognize the reality of evil and its nature.  That evil is the absence of where good should be.  That evil should not be there, but because men make it happen, the good is purposely taken away.

Avoiding a hackneyed interpretation of the quote, that is, an optimistic version, the quote would then require a more creative and radical understanding of "the good".  The good will have to mean the universal call to duty, as Kant would say.  We are fundamentally called to follow the moral law as expressed in the categorical imperative through concrete actions.  We should do the good out of duty and not for anything else.  We do the good because it is good and because through the good (here I depart from Kant and run to Scheler, another philospher) man will come to his fullness.

Man is the microcosm of the eternal valuer, God.  He is called to re-enact, so to speak, in his own life the eternal call of the good, the positive values, that is, the adherence to the call of the universal order of love.  In focussing one's eyes on the good and the succeeding efforts to actualize this call through actions, he is able to reach his destiny, his value-essence, hence, fulfilling himself, granting himself happiness. In other words, happiness does not happen by going past through evil, by turning a blind eye on evil.  Happiness will come through a direct insight into what is good and the actualization of its call.

The quote, therefore, does not only invite us to be optimistic but more so, to listen to the call of the good and stay with that.  Only in doing so, can we be happy because we've seen through evil the call to eradicate it and make the good present in the here and now.  Only then, can we be truly in God's side because in God's side can we be unequivocally happy.

This is the end of the road for me.  I am too tired to do anything.  I'm too tired to think.  I'm too tired to write.  I'm too tired to talk.  I'm too tired to ask why I'm too tired.  I want to be left alone and be quiet.

You know, sponges have their saturation point too.  When they're too soaked up with soap and water, they couldn't function without spilling some of what it carries.  It couldn't be moved without losing water.  It has to lose some of its weight before it can be functional again.

I am a sponge.  I've absorbed all there is to absorb and been the pleaser I am to everyone in need. But five years into work, fifteen years of self-donation, twenty years of existence, I've lost all desire to move.  It's payback time and the only way for me to receive now is to release all that I've acquired--career, connections, thoughts, ideas, desires, properties, relationships.

I want a make-over, a reformat, a restart.  I'm burnt-out.

The oracle is true, it's death for me on the 28th year.