REMEMBERING A BOY NAMED SATURDAY

This is one of the very few songs I can't sing without getting my eyes welled up with tears.

For most of us who have loved ones who are presently battling cancer and whose lives were claimed by cancer, or are fighting against, and whose lives were claimed by any disease actually, this song strikes a major chord. Each word is accompanied with a tear, every line pounding on our hearts as if they were fragile but unbreakable drums.

David Cook dedicates this song to his brother Adam Cook who fought against a brain malignancy for 11 years. On that light, I start to miss and remember my Uncle John D each time I hear this song. He is currently on his fight against lung cancer. Another lung cancer patient, who was just recently diagnosed, also comes to mind, Father Bong, B's paternal uncle.


I also remember Matthew, my childhood friend, whose passing away was the first time I came to terms with the reality of life and death. Matthew, Rex, Joey, Thaddy, and I practically grew up together. We played all kinds of outdoor games together. Matthew was the patient one who would fix my matchbox car for me each time we would race our toy cars together.


I remember there was a time when Matt and I talked about what we wanted to be when we grow up. I could remember very well that he wanted to be a doctor, someone who specializes more on the body parts from the neck up. Our young minds both didn't know then exactly what type of physician that was, but now, I think he wanted to be either a neurosurgeon or an ENT specialist. My last memory of him was when he was walking home with his mother and he waved his hand in my direction as a greeting. That was the last time I saw him alive, but he did not see me then. His disease claimed and did not spare even Matt's eyesight.

Matthew passed away around 14 years ago when we were yet in high school. He succumbed to blood cancer or leukemia.


It's a pretty unusual thing to ponder upon this day, the day when I started life on this world, to celebrate life itself and at the same time to recognize the existence of death. I myself am surprised that Matt visited my thoughts today and I realized that the probable reason could be because my birthday falls on a Saturday this year and Saturday, in fact, is his second name. Thaddy, who's more popular in this nation's music industry as Jude Thaddeus Gitamondoc (He wrote and composed songs for Gary Valenciano, Ariel, Rivera, and a lot more, including KC Concepcion's Imposible) even wrote a song for Matt entitled "Saturday's Child."

But when we put more thought into it, it should not be treated as unusual at all. Because life would not be life, without death itself. They are both realities on opposite ends of the spectrum, giving distinction and meaning to each other's existence, to each other's reality. Death is a fact of life, and when it stares you in the face yet you are able to escape it's embrace, life takes on a different meaning. Death is our ultimate graduation from this life, a breakthrough that we have to move on to the next stage, to whatever is waiting on the other side.


This song serves as a reminder to us, friends and families of the sick - whether they are still on their fight or have gone on to the next life, that nothing - absolutely nothing - can create a distance between us and them. Not any dreaded disease, and not even death. Because yes, they are permanent.

PERMANENT

By David Cook

Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?
Forgive my broken promise that you'll never see me cry
And everything, it will surely change
Even if I tell you I won't go away today


Will you think that you're all alone,
When no one's there to hold your hand?
When all you know seems so far away
And everything is temporary, rest your head
I'm permanent


I know he's living in hell every single day
And so I ask, Oh God is there a way for me to take his place?
And when you say it's all touch and go
I wish I could make it go away
But still you say


Will you think that you're all alone,
When no one's there to hold your hand?
When all you know seems so far away
And everything is temporary, rest your head
I'm permanent, I'm permanent


Is this the moment where I look you in the eye?
Forgive my broken promise that you'll never see me cry

WRITER KA LANG PALA

By Conrado de Quiros
Philippine Daily Inquirer
June 17, 2009

I remember an experience I once had with the Bureau of Internal Revenue. This was way back during Cory’s time when I was still paying my taxes. I am not paying my taxes now—not since 2005, when the “Hello, Garci” tape came to light. I was paying my taxes then, but for one reason or another failed to do so one particular year. Being a dutiful citizen, and having no problems recognizing Cory as a perfectly legitimate president, I resolved to rectify it.

I went to the BIR, waited a couple of hours for my turn, and finally got to talk with an appraiser, or whatever they call the people there that deal with these things. He took the documents I handed over to him solemnly, flexing his hands like a doctor about to perform a delicate operation. His solemnity vanished in an instant as he scanned my documents, and dismay overran his face like the hordes of Atilla. He suppressed an expletive and groaned, “Writer ka lang pala!” (You’re just a writer!)

I took it those words were a reaction to the couple of hundred pesos I owed government. I took it moreover that those words were a reaction to my entry in the box “occupation,” which was “journalist.” Whatever plans he might have had about negotiating a deal with me were dashed to pieces by that proclamation, or admission. His deflation was a thing to behold. “Writer ka lang pala,” he repeated.

He stamped my papers and dismissed me with a wave of his hand. He probably wondered what he had done to make God punish him that day by sending him someone who wasted his precious time.

That is the one phrase that has stayed with me all these years, one I wear proudly like a medal, and humbly like a reminder: “Writer ka lang pala.”

I remembered this in connection with something I’ve encountered over the years while writing a column for the Inquirer. It’s what detractors tell me when they cannot find a way to refute or get around, my argument. Which is: What you say is all very fine. But those are just words, they are not actions. When will you stop writing and act?

Sometimes, friends, and not just detractors, say this as well. Particularly those who have wondered why I do not entertain going into politics. “Why don’t you run for this or that?” they ask. “With the exposure you have in the country’s number one newspaper, you have an advantage which you can turn into votes. If you win, you can be in a position to do something for this country.”

My answer to this is not that I see no way of winning, although that’s probably true too, since the vote-friendly medium is TV. My answer to that is: “I’m already a writer, as ascertained by the BIR. Why should I want to demote myself and become a politician?”

I am not being entirely facetious when I say this. My point is simply, if a bit airily, that I cannot think of a better way to do something for the country than by writing.

Doctors will never be accused of merely saying and not doing. I do not know of another profession more resolutely associated with acting. You either cure or you do not. The patient either lives or dies. No action could be more fraught with meaning, no action could be more laden with consequence.

It is writers who routinely get to be charged with saying and not doing, of talking and not acting. It is writers who routinely get to be told: That’s all very fine, but when will you act?

It is the most astonishing thing because writing is acting. That is why we call it “the act of writing,” because it is an act. And like physically ministering to the sick, it is a vital act. It is spiritually ministering to the sick, an act that is fraught with meaning, an act that is laden with consequence. When you write, you either cure or you do not. When you write, the world either lives or dies.

What the writer does specifically, an act of awesome reverberations, is to articulate. It is to put reality into words. It is to make reality real.

We’ve all heard Socrates’ famous aphorism, “A life unexamined is a life unlived.” It is a profound insight into life. It is the difference between merely existing and living. Just drawing out the length of your days without looking at where you’ve come from and where you are going, without looking at whether you have been of service to others or only to yourself, without wondering what all this means or what all this amounts to, is not living, it is just existing. You may as well not have been there at all.

It is writers most of all that make that examination, of themselves and the reality around them. It is writers most of all who make that interrogation, of themselves and of the reality around them. It is writers most of all who articulate themselves and the reality around them.

Without that articulation, the world and ourselves are just as unreal as ghostly apparitions. Without that action, the world and ourselves are just a jumble of sense impressions.

We often speak of “grasping” things when we are able to understand them. The word “grasp” is only too apt. The action, like seizing something with the hand, is seizing something with the mind, turning it around, feeling its shape, marveling at its texture, realizing (there goes that word “real” again) that it is there.

You put things into words, you make things real.

It’s not true at all that sticks and stones may break your bones but words can’t. The opposite is true: More than sticks and stones, or indeed more than Manny Pacquiao’s fists, words crush bones. At the very least, you see that in the many knife fights that break out during drinking sprees in dingy neighborhoods because someone called another names.

At the very most you see that in what writers have done. In what a writer of no mean talent named Jose Rizal has done. (To be concluded.)

HINDI AKO PAPAYAG

The people behind the Register and Vote Movement need at least a whooping Php. 2.0 million to air this ad on television. Let's help raise awareness by spreading this ad on the internet while they are cramming up for funds.

This video wants to convey an urgently important message to all of us Filipinos. Let us be aware of what our government leaders are up to again and let us not be distracted by issues such as sex scandals. While the sex scandal brouhaha was hot in the media, your elected leaders were working on a ploy to extend their stay in power and have more time to dip their hands into whatever is left of the country's coffers.

Certainly, I would not want to wake up to a country where it's people's confidence and nationalism are in tatters. Definitely, I do not want this country to be thrown to the dogs.

Hindi ako papayag.

FILENAME: SURPRISES

I'm sure everyone is into the downloading frenzy these days. I particularly mean those who are curious and interested to take a peek of the much talked-about sex video scandals of Hayden Kho and Katrina Halili. Those who are not computer techies may also be scouting for the DVDs in their favorite pirated DVD outlets at the bangketas. The video had probably reached blockbuster status in just one week, selling like hot pancakes, or in Pinoy streetsmart scene, selling fast like your favorite tempura, kwek-kwek, fishball, adidas, betamax, etc., and maybe selling even faster than you can say Hayden Kho.

After Aling Dionisia, Katrina Halili is all around television, crying, telling everybody that she did not have the slightest idea their sexual escapade was recorded on video by her erstwhile lover. She says she will do what she can to strip the doctor of his medical license and that she is doing all that she is doing now to protect all other women who are the doctor's victims.

Though I want to sympathize with Katrina, sadly, I could not seem to. I do not hate her. I do not pity her. I just don't feel anything for her. I am merely an apathetic onlooker. She knew what she was playing with when she entered into a liason with Hayden Kho. She was playing with fire and thought she wouldn't get burned but she is - she is burning big time. No matter how she licks her burns now, it'll keep on hurting because the fire - this time, the repercussions of all her decisions - are getting back at her.

Surprisingly, a senator comes to her rescue. Senator Bong Revilla, the most unlikely character to be Katrina's night in shining armor, made a privilege speech about the scandal, calling Kho a maniac, among all other things. Yup Stella, you're right, this is a case of the pot calling the kettle black. Maybe the senator should also be warned that when you are pointing your finger on somebody, dont forget that the other four fingers are pointing back at you.

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Another surprise that shook the entire world is the results of this season's American Idol. Everybody was counting on Adam Lambert to win. This is the AI season that I have watched most intently and I could tell that even from the start, Lambert was a favorite and the judges were really rooting for him to win. It was almost a giveaway.

But even Kris Allen could not believe it when Ryan Seacrest announced that he is the new American Idol. It was like looking at a male Sushmita Sen minus the cupped hands covering the mouth. In front of the television, I could not be happier.

I was rooting for Allen. Yes, Lambert could sing. There is no question to that. He's got great pipes and has a undeniable commanding presence once he is on stage, as he was backed up by a lot of experience on the theater stage. However the viewing public could only love him to a certain point, I guess. I got tired of his screams and as the season was nearing to it's end, Lambert's style became more and more predictable. You will know what he'll do when he steps on the stage - scream.

Allen on the other hand grew in terms of confidence and style as the season progressed. For others, most of his performances might be forgettable but he was a breath of fresh air from a suffocation of screams and sometimes mere theatrics. I particularly loved his arrangement of Kanye West's Heartless and his acoustic rendition of Bill Wither's hit, Ain't No Sunshine.

Die-hard Lambert fans are sulking and a lot of theories are emerging which are trying to explain Kris Allen's win. There's the Gokey Factor, the Christian Vote, the votes of the liberated states versus the conservative ones, and many others. However the votes had been cast and Allen was already crowned the new Idol. Getting the crown does not really give an Idol a sure shot at a very good career and not winning it means the loser is at the pits so let's wait and see who get's a sure shot in the real world out there waiting for these two new artists and even those who made it to the Top 13. Who know's we may be in for another surprise and a lot more.

AND NOW, IT'S PAC-MOM

Along with her son's rise to ultimate stardom, Aling Dionisia has recently acquired celebrity status - indeniably.

For those who are not exactly Philippine-based, yes, you read it right - Dionisia Pacquiao, Manny Pacquiao's mother, and better known as Aling Dionisia, is now a celebrity on this side of the planet. We may have seen her before, occasionally featured when Manny has an upcoming boxing event, but we all have to admit that she has never been this famous. Her star is shining as bright as ever, that it is almost a threat to her son's popularity. But of course, that is just to nail the point that the mother has become famous as the son. Behind every man's success is a woman, and in Manny's case, it's his mother. (Yes, Jinkee too, alright...and probably, hmmm...never mind.)

In case you have been living in a cave, or got a sudden bout of amnesia, Manny "PacMan" Pacquiao is the currently the IBO and Ring Magazine Light Welterweight champion and is rated by the Ring Magazine as the Number 1 pound-for-pound boxer in the world. He is also the first boxer to win the lineal championship ("the man who beat the man") in four different weight classes. His professional boxing record: 49 wins (37 knock-outs, 12 decisions), 3 losses, 2 draws. He recently put Britain's pride, Rikki "The Hitman" Hatton (and his boxing career, more likely) to deep sleep on the boxing ring in Mandalay Bay, in Las Vegas, last May 3, blowing up his net worth to a whooping USD 50M, an amount of money most of us will not get to even hold in a lifetime.

Back to Aling Dionisia, during the evening of May 15, every news program in the country featured her dream birthday bash like crazy, the way members of the media do when they air out blow-by-blow accounts of his son's fights. Her birthday bash, which was held in General Santos City, revolved on a debutante's theme, and was entitled, Sweet 60. The debutante (let's give Nanay a chance), wore no less than five expensive gowns which she brought during her shopping spree in the United States. Everybody was dying to find out whether she will wear her Php. 300,000.00 Rolex wristwatch which is a gift from equally famous daughter-in-law Jinkee, or sport her new Louis Vitton handbag worth Php. 150,000.00.

Suddenly, everyone is aching to get a look at or know the price tag of everything that Aling Dionisia owns. If money talks, popularity and power would be its official language, both of which Aling Dionisia now has in her hands. Secretly, every personality, both coming from the political arena and from the world of show business, is probably wanting to be on the list of guests who are invited to the party.

For the politically-inclined, it would be useful to be seen around Aling Dionisia. A little exposure of being seen with someone (who would probably be the last person they would ever think of had it not been for her son's status) would do some good, especially that the 2010 elections is just around the corner.

For those in showbiz, for whatever it's worth, going to Pac-Mom's birthday bash will give a boost to their careers or may breathe life to a showbiz career which is badly needing some resuscitation.

I read on a national daily that no less than Imelda Marcos is among those who are invited to the party. Wow - I thought - not because I was starstrucked or shocked but because I was amused with the way destiny plays it's way in this game called life.

Let's travel back through time.

1970's. Imelda Marcos is a household name. Elegant, beautiful, powerful, rich. She is seen all around television, whether she is busying herself seeing her projects to completion or dancing with almost every diplomat visiting the country. She waddles in money, owning precious and flawless jewelry, a number of Philippine ternos, and her famous collection of shoes, roughly 3,000+ pairs of them, some of which haven't even touched to tip of her toenails. Everybody, including the most powerful man in the country, is at her beck and call. She's everything a man/woman/child wants to be. She is a god.

Still in the 70's, from the north, let's move to the south. Meet Aling Dionisia, a poor, ordinary, prayerful street vendor. She sells kakanin (the Filipino term for street foods) infront of a public school here. At the end of the day, if all her goods don't get sold, Aling Dionisia walks around the neighborhood, just so she could sell all her kakanin.

She was abandoned by her two husbands - there were two of them - and left her with a number of mouths to feed including that of the Pambansang Kamao (National Fist), Manny's. Probably, the word dirt-poor is Aling Dionisia personified. She's every poor man's ugly reality. Nobody wants to be her.

Fast-forward to the future, which is actually the present. Aling Dionisia is seen all over the television without the slightest hint of the kakanin vendor that she was. You would think that was her past life, literally. I imagine every cameraman would be yelled at by his anchor in case he misses to capture Aling Dionisia on video as she shows off her own boxing moves. You could tell, by the way she throws her punches in the air, "May pinagmanahan talaga 'tong si Manny" (Manny indeed got his boxing prowess from his mother.) On the other hand, you wonder and ask, and slap yourself at the same time, "Am I really looking at Aling Dionisia, or is this just Manny sporting a longer hair?"

Every cameraman would probably be scolded at if he didn't catch Aling Dionisia praying fervently like there's no tomorrow, while her son is out on the boxing ring. Video clips featuring Manny Pacquiao would never be complete unless they include scenes showing his mother in deep prayer all throughout the fight. I saw one where she just collapsed without warning when in the middle of her prayers, someone approached her and whispered in her ear that the boxing fight was over and that Manny won. She suddenly lost consciousness and I quivered because to me it looked like she was about to have some kind of an episode. Good for her she has a lot of kasambahay (housemates) to catch her and keep her from hitting the concrete floor.

The loss of consciousness didn't last very long, probably it lasted for only a few seconds. I gave out a sigh of relief as she regained consciousness as fast as she lost it a few moments before that, without rolling her eyeballs and with no foamy white liquid coming out from her mouth. But the next time I looked, Aling Dionisia was already jumping because of happiness. She was jumping and shouting, jumping and shouting, shouting and jumping - both her hands held tightly by the kasambahay as if to keep her from hitting her head on the ceiling in case she jumps so high enough. By that time, I was really hoping I was not witnessing some kind of an episode.

I imagine every cameraman would get some nagging if he missed Aling Dionisia while she is applying powder on her face, or while she is applying lipstick (Hey, i saw that on national television! I'm not kidding!) or while she is showing off what she learned in her ballroom dancing classes. Truly, Aling Dionisia has become a scoop.

As for Imelda, uhmm..who? She may still be famous but probably not as famous as she was before. She is rarely in the news, and these days, everybody is not as interested with what she does, what she owns, who she's with, what she wears, and maybe even where she's at. She has become a victim of what most Filipinos are good at - forgetting. You decide whether that worked to her advantage or not but after all that she's been through -and more importantly, after what the Filipino people had been through because of her (and her husband), probably the only thing we (all want to) remember her by is the word Imeldific.

Before the party, no word has been said from the former first lady's camp whether she is going to Aling Dionisia's party or not. That was the least of Pac-Mom's worries, actually, since she had somebody to take charge of the invitations. (Ganyan ka-sosyal ang lola, mo, te!) Whether those who came were celebrities, political bigwigs - all has beens and wannabes - or not, Aling Dionisia didn't seem to care at all. During her interviews before the party, she talked mostly about the gowns she would be wearing and her dance numbers. It was crystal clear that Aling Dionisia just wanted to enjoy her party and dance the night away. She couldn't worry less about who's coming or not, she has done her share of worrying before. Besides, her life now is probably worry-free compared when it was a few years back. What else can one expect, she has acquired (almost-) Imeldific status. But hey! - we all know, she deserves a better word than that.