All social networks are banned in our office. Which means, I can’t visit Friendster, Multiply, Facebook and all the others. Unfortunately, even Wordpress was banned.

So I spend my time in blogger instead and get my updates through email. I do wish I could get updates from my friends from time to time but since I could only open my accounts when I’m not in the office, I have to contend with the emails I receive.

Stop pestering me with your stupid questions. Stop asking me because you already know the answer.

I will, in my own time. I will, when I am finally prepared.

Don’t push me. Don’t force me.

I can decide for myself. I will answer all your questions when the time comes.

I will stay this way because this is my choice. I simply choose to be like this and nobody forced me to. I am like this because i prefer it this way.

No hitches. No hang-ups. No problems. No baggage.

A simple and free life.

A life I am not yet ready to leave.

Pansamantala po akong mamamaalam sa inyong lahat. Mamumundok po muna ang Prinsesang Palaka upang bisitahin ang aking mga constituents sa bundok. Hehehe…
Sabi ng mga sundalong naka-assign doon ay hindi naman daw delikado ang lugar but sabi ng naman ng mga taga doon ay delikado daw. Hindi ko alam…naguguluhan na rin ako.

pero kung sakali man na hindi ako makabalik…(pero babalik talaga ako promise!)…well, handa na rin naman ang aking last will and testament and natapos ko na rin ang programme para sa necrological service ko…

hindi naman ako pessimistic…prepared lang ako.

Ang tanging alam ko lang ay mahaba-habang lakaran ito at malamang ay reenactment ng death march. Sabi ni Colonel ay 2 hours lang naman daw ang lalakarin pero basta sundalo ang magsabi ng ganun ay wala akong tiwala. Ang 2 hours nila ay siguradong 5 hours namin. Mabilis silang maglakad at sanay sa ganun habang kami ay hindi. Kaya malamang ay aabutin kami ng semana santa bago matapos sa gagawin namin.

Ano nga ba ang gagawin ko doon? Okay, hindi po ako sasali sa NPA. Wag po kayong mag-alala. Hindi pa po ako nababaliw. Gagawa lang po kami ng documentary sa lugar na pupuntahan namin. Dati pong area ng NPA yun kaya medyo delikado daw.

At dahil matigas ang ulo ko ay mas may tiwala po ako sa mga sundalo ng 11th IB. Hindi po ako naniniwala na critical area ang pupuntahan namin dahil hindi naman siguro baliw si Col. Gacal para hayaan kami na umakyat dun kung delikado nga. Besides if may nangyari sa amin dagdag problema nila yun at mahaba-habang explanation ang gagawin nila…so naniniwala ako na hindi talaga ganun ka delikado doon..

besides, kung nakasurvive nga ako sa Mindanao, dito pa kaya?

Kaya mga friends, mga fans at mga echus na nagbabasa ng blog na ito…paalam na muna…magbabalik ako (hopefully) sa Sunday at ibabalita ko sa inyo ang lahat lahat…kung hindi man ako makabalik ay sigurado namang mababasa niyo yun sa balita…hehehe

either way…you will surely be informed!

Goodbye bloggers!!!

It has been a long time since the last time I’ve posted here…

whew!

I guess friendster is just so uninteresting for me lately. Maybe I’ll start posting here again…

just maybe…

I am green-minded and I am proud of it.

I care for the
environment and I am concerned of its fate. I believe that I can help
preserve, conserve and protect the environment in my own way. I believe
that doing little things for nature is one small step to protect it.

I
believe that as a human being, I am dependent to the environment. I
believe that no amount of industrial and technological success could
ever repay the damage that industrialization has done to the planet.

I
believe that we are living in delicate times. I believe that all of us
belongs to an intricate web of life where everybody is connected and
the loss of one means the eventual extinction of all species, humans
included.

The world is in peril and we are the cause of it.
We cleared forests so we can build high-rise subdivisions and
factories. We cut down the trees without thinking of other species
living in it. Deforestation has amde a way for industrial and
technological development but its killing our planet and our future.

I care for the planet and I care for future generation. I am green-minded.

Are you?

He never wipes my tears when I cry or even stay beside me when I feel
down and lonely. He doesn’t want to hug me nor ever want to be seen
near me. I never heard him say that he loves me, or that he cares for
me and we hardly even talk. He guards the house like a hawk, shouts at
me like a drill sergeant, scrutinize my clothes like he could tell the
difference between a mini skirt and a micro skirt, orders me like a
general, make me cry, make me crazy, pushes me to the edge of my sanity
and then calls himself my brother.

Barely a year and two
months older than me, my brother is probably the worst kind of bully I
could ever meet in this world. Growing up, the day would never be
complete without him finding a reason to make me cry. We are as close
as the north and south poles of the earth.

Though he never
said it allowed, I know my brother gets jealous when I’m with boys or
when boys looks at me. He would often frown and sometimes hold my elbow
and drag me home. Nobody mentions it, but my brother is more
overprotective than my parents and the rest of the family put together.

When we were in the elementary, I used to play patintero with my
friends after classes. I would be so engrossed with the game that
oftentimes I would barely notice that dusk has already set in. There
are times when I would see him standing by the gate of the school
looking at me like he could eat me whole. I would instantly stop
playing and gather my things and  walk all the way home. My brother
never walks with me, he would either walk ahead or walk behind me.
There are times when he would threaten me and at times he would just
walk silently until we get home. When we get home he would usually
scold me like he was some mixed reincarnation of our parents.

We grew up together and used to be playmates that my grandfather once
feared that I would grow up a tomboy. People expect us to be as close
as twins—and some even thinks were twins.

I remembered when
we were younger and discovered for the first time the rectangle-lake
like thing they call pond. We would wade and roll in the dark clay soil
and go home looking like refugees with clothes blacken by clay and
God-knows-what. I remembered Mama telling us that we would not be
allowed inside the house the next time we go home smelling like rotten
rats. We were so scared that it took us a month before we returned to
the pond.

We used to pretend that we were soldiers in some
kind of war. We would gather all the dolls my clueless aunts would give
me and make them as our hostages or use them for target shootings.
There are times when we would crawl in one of the canals in front of
our house and pretend that we are soldiers in training or that we were
being chased by enemies. We would often end up being spanked by our
parents.

There was a time that our father was so angry to us
that he made us look for something that we want him to use to spank us.
Grinning, I picked up the thinnest stick I could find thinking that
because its the thinnest it wouldn’t hurt that much. Teary, my brother
picked up a think looking piece of bamboo stick and handed it to our
father. My father looked at us and made us turn towards the wall. I
could never forget what happened afterwards. because my brother’s stick
is thick and heavy my father only hit him thrice and softly. Then he
turned towards me and with the grin still in my face hit me with my
stick almost a dozen times that I end up crying for hours. It taught me
one important lesson: next time my father would ask me to look for a
stick; I would get the biggest I can find.

Our childhood years are quite happy and full of misadventures. I used to think that my brother was my best friend.

Years passed and he changed. He no longer wants to play with me or
spends time with me. He found friends that are rowdy and spends most of
his time with them. We live in the same house but the most I could see
my brother is during meal times or sometimes none at all.

The
change in my brother is so drastic that I can’t believe that he used to
be the boy who plays with me, who crawls the dark, muddy and smelly
drainages with me. I can’t believe that he was the brother who once
told me that someday he would build a house for me with 24 hour lock
system that only he can open so that nobody can hurt me or take me away.

I missed the man who was once my brother but I guess he is long gone
now. In his place is a somebody I hardly even know. Somebody so
distant, so apathetic, cruel. Somebody who built a wall around him that
the memories of our childhood seemed like faraway dreams now. Somebody
that is never my brother.

I don’t know what exactly happened
or how it happened. What I know is, the boy who is always caring and
gentle, who never fails to say "please", "thank you" and "sorry" is
gone now. Somebody took his place. Somebody who now claims as my
brother.

My brother who can’t even remember all the good
things we did before. The brother who once taught me to dream, who once
told me that if our parents would separate he would take me away and
keep me. The brother I have now is somebody who is always bitter to the
world, who thinks that everybody hates him, who thinks of me not as a
sister or a friend but as an adversary, a rival. A brother in name only
but never in emotions.

I don’t know if he still cares. Maybe
he still do, maybe a part of his old self is still left inside him
hidden under all the layers of brainwashing his friends did to him. He
is still as overprotective as ever, still the bully, still the drill
sergeant, still the general but no longer my brother.

I
remembered when I was in high school and I went home later than usual,
he locked the gate and made me squat outside our home for almost an
hour. I never went home late again or ever went out of our house other
than go to school again. The experience taught me enough to make me
want to stay at home.

There are times when his actions would
get the better of me and i could not control my temper. There are times
when I am tempted to answer back and remember the day he slapped me for
doing so. I could still remember his words ringing in my ears, " No
matter what I had become I am still your brother and I am still older
than you and you can’t do anything about it".

Even when I am
already in a faraway place I could still feel my brother’s eyes
watching at me and scrutinizing my friends and everybody around me. I
could still feel the stinging pain after he slapped me and the pain in
my legs after he made me squat. I could not go out from his clutches.
He is still the general, the man who will always be in control.

Despite the hideous change in my brother’s personality, I still respect
him the way I used to when we would sit in our stairs and dream of
things that only children could dream. I still felt the same way to him
and still hopes that my true brother would return.

Every night
when I lay down in bed I pray the same things that God would return my
brother to me. I always hope that the brother that I used to know would
return and sit beside me again, dream with me, play with me or even
just sit with me. It doesn’t matter if he can’t build the house with
the 24 hour lock system, it doesn’t matter if he can’t cry with me or
comfort me as long as he would be there—just him back in his true
self.

I am still hoping for that day when the hideous monster
with eyes as fiery as hell would go away and my brother would return.
Until then, until that time will come, I will just sit in our usual
place and hope that one of these days my brother would sit with me and
laugh with me again.

There are so many things I want to say yet I can not find the courage
to do so. It’s either I am to ashamed to do so or I am just too proud
to do anything. There are a lot of things that I want to do for
everyone of you just to please you or show that I care yet I can’t seem
to do anything right.

To my parents: I am sorry for
everything. i know i had been a burden to you since the day I was born
and continue o be until now. i hope one day I can repay you. Please
believe me when I say that I do care for our family,I am not apathetic
as you thought me to be. Please believe me when I say that all I want
to do is to please you, even if what I do may not seem enough for all
of you.

To my brother: I miss you so much. More than you
ever think. I love you more than anybody else in the world and i never
cease to think of you or believe in you. You are always part of my
prayers, of my dreams, of everything that I do. What I am doing now I
do it for you. I always believed in you and will continue to. I don’t
care what others think of you, you will always be my brother and I will
never cease loving you—even if I never felt anything from you. I hope
you will soon realize that I am the only sister you’ve got and you’re
all that I have. We only have each other and we have to take are and
protect each other.

To all my relatives: I hope you
could learn to accept me for who I am and what I can do. I hope you
would realize that the past is not a good measurement of future
results. I hope you could learn to believe in me, to believe that I
could actually excel in something, that I could be a pride to you too.
I still pray for the day that you would learn to take me in as a part
of your family and not as a trophy you could only decorate.

To my classmates:
I’m sorry if I could be a pain in the ass at times, or maybe most of
the times. I just don’t like the way your minds work sometimes. Maybe I
am just more matured than you thought. There times when I could not
understand why you think that way and then there are times when I think
that you sound absurd. But believe me, I do care for you guys that’s
why I don’t want you to talk nonsense all the time. You are already
parts of my life and whether i like it or not I have to accept that
without you I would be nothing. Thank you for making me feel special,
thank you for being part of my life.

To my editors: I’m
sorry if I’m an inefficient writer. I’m sorry if my articles are
delayed. I’m sorry if I’m not the best you could get. Thank you for
everything you taught me. Big or small, all those had been a part of my
life and I became a better me because of it.

To Ate Minette, Ate Angelie, Ate Faith, Ate Aya, Ate Janice, Chichay:
Thank you for all the things I learned from you. Thank you for the
advices and everything. Thank you for being an Ate to me. I hope I
could meet all of you someday.

To Kuya Harvey: Thank you
for all the times you lifted me up when I’m almost giving up. Thank you
for telling me how special I am, you don’t know how much it meant.
Thank you for trusting me with little things that I did not expect you
to share to me. Thank you for everything—the space here will not be
enough to enumerate everything. I’m sorry if I could be so "makulit" to
you…I wish you’re my real brother [though I don't regret having my
brother]. your the brother that anybody could ask for. Please take care
of yourself.

To the VLACKX: Where are you guys? i miss
you so much. I miss the laughter, the fun and all the foolishness we
shared. Thank you for making me strong and allowing me to be part of
you lives.

To Shellane: We haven’t seen each other for
years now and I really hope your fine. Your one of the bestest people
I’ve met. Thank you for accepting me without reservation. I’m sorry if
I can’t aways be there to take care of you or lend a shoulder for you
to cry when your down. I hope your fine…

To Rodgie:
You’re certainly not the bestest friend anyone can have but surely your
the best and one of the few I have. Thank you for making me smile and
protecting me. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me. Thank you
for the memories that made me stronger. Thank you best…

To my TN buddies:
Thank you for accepting everything in me. My moodiness, my brattiness,
everything. I’m sorry if I could be so hardheaded sometimes. I love you
guys. you will always be a part of me.

To Carla mae: Thank you for allowing me to share to you the biggest burden of my life. You will always be my sisterette. Sorry for everything.

To the Seniors:
My momies and Ates, sorry for being bratty, spoiled and demanding. I
Love you peepz…I hope you wouldn’t forget about me after you
graduate. i will miss you.

Sometimes I could be so hard to
understand. I’m sorry. To those I hurt, sorry. To those who made me
happy, Thank you. i will never forget all of you

How could I forget that word. TONINONI. The sound of silence. High school days, memories of laughter, tears, bitterness, fun and friendship. How could I ever forget those years?

I graduated from high school bitter about so many things. I graduated with a heavy heart yet unwilling to look back. But why now? After years of staying away from all those things, here I am remembering those days.

I would admit that those years were still the best years of my life no matter how painful it had been for me. The camaraderie had been different, the personalities were strong yet not like now. They are unruly yet disciplined, noisy yet they know how to appreciate solitude.

If i were to choose, I will never change anything in that part of my life. All the pains I ahd experienced had taught me to be strong, the words hurled at me now by people around me are nothing compared to the betrayal I ahd experienced before.

What I am now is a consequence of what was did to me before. What i am now is a product of everything that had come to my life. Change is inevitable, it could eb for the worse or for the better. A part of me changed for good, yet another part changed to be the exact opposite.

Toninoni. How I miss those days. How I miss those people.

In my two years as a full pledge mass comm student and more than a year as a student journalist, i had experienced things that ordinary students do not experience.

If delivering the news to the public does not seem easy, gathering it is a lot harder. Even for a student like me who is only required to pass a single article for a week. Imagine, it’s only an article for a week!How much more if I am required to pass everyday?

The risk of gathering and delivering the news is so great that we always seem to walk on eggshells. Its like walking in a valley of thorns and making sure not to step on it.

As a student, safety is always important for us. We have to make sure of the people we interview, the place we go, the things we say, the questions we ask and even the clothes we wear.

Many times we have experienced rejection, harassments and threats [not from our interviewees but from the people around]. Each time we would either cry out of embarrassment, shudder in fear or laugh at the absurdity of everything.

Have you ever experienced staying so late at night in place you know you’re not safe? Have you ever tried staying until 1 am running after a street  child or be exposed to gangs and drug addicts just to meet a requirement? Have you ever tried waking up until the wee hours of the morning trying to string two words together and wondering if everything you see and hear still makes sense?

There are times when we are forced to eat biscuits and sandwiches only, not for utter poverty, but to avoid wasting more time and finish interviewing or writing our reports. Sometimes, it makes me wonder why some student complains a lot if they are required to write a one page reaction paper for a semester when we can’t even complain that we have to pass a minimum of three-page news article, every week. That is aside from our other requirements which always seem to require us to write.

There are times when we would swallow everything, pride, dignity and all, just to get an interview. At times we would pretend not to hear hurtful words hurled to us by our prospective interviewees, forcing ourselves to think that they are people with a lot of responsibility and pressure. Harassments, threats and dangers are never new to us, we are always subjected to it and though we do not welcome any of it, we cannot help but bear it.

I guess we have already embraced the realities of our chosen profession that we had already indoctrinated ourselves to be immune to those things. In a way, I am thankful for our instructors for allowing us to experience this things and exposing us to the realities of our career than keeping us in the four corners of the classroom. The real word will no longer be a shocking experience to us because as early as now we are already living in it.

We had already braved the rains, the wind, [both literal and figurative]. We had already experienced hunger, stress, pressure, and maybe every definition of the word embarrassing. We had been through a lot already, but i cannot say that we had been through everything. it’s still a long way to go, we still have to experience more and we know that what we are undergoing now are just specks of what we are going to experience outside. We are still on the first part of our journey, I just hope we would reach the finish line intact.

There are still more to come, we all know it. I just hope we are strong enough to pass all this tests. In the end, I know, none of us would be losers, because either way we are learning more than what an M.A degree or even a Ph.D could teach us. We are not merely learning the intricacies and technicalities of journalism, we are learning what life really is. And i guess, the lessons we have learned are more than worth a million dollar tuition.

At 10 in the evening, most children are already in bed, tucked under a warm blanket, hugging a favorite pillow and dreaming of a faraway fairytale land. Most children do, but not Elena.

Elena [not her true name], is a 10 year old peanut vendor at the Rizal Boulevard. According to her, she sells at least 12 packs of peanut a night at five pesos per pack. Together with her parents and younger brother, Elena peddles her goods even so late at night to help her parents make ends meet.

Hailing from the southern most tip of the province, Elena grew up in Bayawan City but her parents relocated in Dumaguete to find a better life for their family. She shared that her family is renting a house at Barangay Canday-ong. Despite the need to stay up late in the night, Elena related that she can still wake up early in the morning to go to CalindaganElementary School where she studies as a grade two pupil.

With dangers posing in every corner, Elena confided that she is scared staying up late and be exposed to the dangers of the street, but also bravely said that because her parents are with her, she feels alright.

Elena is just one among the more than a dozen child peddlers at the Rizal Boulevard and one among the thousands of child laborers in the country.

To many, the Rizal Boulevard is a place to stroll, relax and enjoy. Locals and tourists alike flocks the boulevard 24 hours a day, but none pays too much attention to the many child peddlers and beggars walking side by side with them.

Some of these children are carrying loads that are either big enough for them or heavier than them. Some of them sweaty and smelly from begging the whole day, sings their heart out to anybody who wants to listen to them and give them money afterwards.

Child beggars or those locally known as “badjao” starts begging early in the morning until late at night, sometimes even at the wee hours of the morning. Elena narrated that some of the children are being paid by the bars and restaurants along the boulevard to guard and clean the vehicles of their costumers.

For children like Elena, the Boulevard is not just a place of relaxation. Mingling with foreigners, relaxing locals, prostitutes, drug addicts and gang members, the children of the Rizal Boulevard roams freely from early in the afternoon until the siren starts wailing in the evening. The sound of the siren, a way of the city government of Dumaguete to impose the curfew policy, would warn the children that the time to go home or hide is near. The curfew policy affects all minors in the city; however, choosing the latter option is easier for children who are not allowed to go home unless they sell all their goods.

Seeing an officer from the Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD), a child peddle who is carrying a basket much heavier than him, had mistakenly assumed the officer for a policeman, hurriedly and fearfully walks away together with several minors hanging around the boulevard. As we tried to get to him and talk to him, the child fearfully and sadly said that he cannot talk to us because the “police” want him to go home. He then went to the nearby “balut” stall and sat together with the older peddlers and pretends that he is part of them.

“It’s like they have seen a monster…” the DSWD officer said.

For these children, getting caught by the policemen would mean a night in jail. However, observing the whole process, everything is a cat and mouse play for the children. Some of them would hide at the sight of the policemen or officers of the DSWD but would return to peddle or roam around the city when the officers are already out of sight.

According to the DSWD officer, who wants to remain anonymous, the department is helping the city impose the curfew policy for minors and they go to places like the boulevard every night and send the street children home.

Some children aging six and above confides that they cannot go home unless all their goods are sold otherwise they would be reprimanded. Some of the children would sing to the people at the boulevard in exchange for a penny or two. When asked about their parents, the children would shyly explain that their parents are at home, some knows they are begging at the boulevard while other oblivious of their children’s activity.

For the children of the Rizal Boulevard, the more people in the boulevard the more advantageous for their income. Not considering the dangers that these children are exposed to, some parents would force their children to beg and hurt them if they can not give money to them afterwards.

Sweaty, smelly, tired and boisterous the children, exposed to the evils of drugs, prostitution, and exploitation, continues to roam, sing, and with their easy smile innocently peddle their future. For Elena and the rest of the children, this is what life is at the