Backpacking one Saturday

I didn’t carry a backpack, but that’s not the point.

I was in Santa Rosa Laguna last Saturday for some extra work. Hitching a ride with the other members of the team did not seem good because they were both from the south (Alabang). I on the other hand live in the northern tip of the metro – even faraway Makati was just a halfway point.

And so I decided to take public transportation, going out of town. 

I found a shuttle at the Shaw Blvd Station of the MRT.  Only it didn’t go straight to Santa Rosa, only to Balibago, a junction just after the famed Enchanted Kingdom. Fellow passengers told me the mall I was going to was still far and that I had to take a jeep, one that was bound for Calamba. “Go left, not right,” a woman told me, but her input was useless because by the time I got down from the van we had turned many ways and I could no longer tell left from right. I was thoroughly disoriented.

But there will always be kind strangers.      

                  

Another woman from the van seemed to take delight in waiting for a jeep with me.  “I am going to that mall, too, but I have to go someplace else first. I will just talk to the driver for you,” she offered.  In my gratitude all I could think of was to pay her fare – eight pesos. It was refunded to me anyway because we found out that while I was on the right jeepney, she was on the wrong one.

I did find that mall, covered an event, produced copy, submitted it, and rushing home soon. I wanted to be home before dark.  It was, by then, 4pm.

The way back was easier. A tricycle driver offered to take me to the bus stop but wanted to charge me an exorbitant P100. I guess he figured I was not from the area.  I said no and hopped on a jeep. I sat behind the driver and asked him to drop me off at a place where I could catch a bus to Manila.

I had my choice from many buses, actually. I figured that, it being a weekend, there would be a traffic jam on Edsa so I avoided the Cubao-bound buses.  I took an LRT-Buendia bound one and promptly opened my laptop to see if the Wifi-ready sign was true (It was not so I used by prepaid Tattoo stick instead). I was back in familiar territory by 515.  I took the LRT to Monumento.

If it weren’t for the traffic in Caloocan, I would have been home sooner.  Too, I had fun shopping for tinapa and boneless bangus. 

I was wiped out by the time I got home.  But I felt accomplished.  I remembered my time in Germany when I went out to explore and find my way to places without my knowing exactly how I would get there. I got lost sometimes, but I always found my way. And back.

I think, wherever you put me, I’ll be fine. 

Misadventures

People may see me as a really serious professional and a no-nonsense mom.

I am those, sure, but I am other things, too.

My kids say I am funny and a "troll". I won't protest. It's true, too, at least sometimes.

We complain about our neighbor's kids crying a lot. In our house, we laugh a lot, insanely, even at unholy hours.

With the Big Kids -- waiting for pizza during my graduation dinner

It's Friday and in lieu of my not having a weekend (going out of town raket in the next two days), I will share some of my more recent misadventures as a way to create a break.

Sometime in January, I was looking for an extra writing gig and was exchanging text messages with a prospect.

Horrors, I mistakenly sent "Combo20".  My unlimited texting facility had just expired, i was trying to register anew and sent it to the wrong number.

Needless to say, I didn't get the gig -- it was an upscale publication anyway whose readers do not probably require unlimited texting.

Last month, I had an anonymous texter who told me, out of the blue, "ah, ganon pala?"

I truly felt it was somebody who was trying to strike a conversation (had my share of those before), for which I was not in the mood.  I immediately typed back: "oo, ganun talaga. Epal ka."

The same message was sent to me during the day. I ignored it, as I ignored frantic calls from the same number.

And then, another text. "I may have misrouted a text message to you. Sorry about that."

I gulped, because nobody who could speak that kind of English could be too desperate about a textmate. I forced myself to forget about it. I did not reply.

A few days later, I got an email from one of my columnists, a former newspaper publisher who was later appointed Philippine ambassador to a European country. He apologized again for a "misrouted" text message. He added: "I got a reply which I was not sure came from you."

I wanted the earth to swallow me.

And then yesterday, I got a phone call from somebody I was supposed to be working with for a part-time engagement.  She had been calling me but I was mobile and did not hear.  So I texted her to say "Sorry I missed your call."

Wouldn't you know it, I pressed "Send" after typing only "Sorry I missed you".

I know. It's crazy and I am reminded of Sarah Jessica Parker in the movie "I don't know how she does it" where she sends a message intended for her best friend to her boss, and vice versa.

The most hilarious, by far, is perhaps what happened last Friday night. I was with Sophie and Elmo catching a bus at SM North Edsa. The crowd was impossible, but i thought i saw a familiar face -- Bea's high school classmate, who used to hang out at our home. I grinned widely and waved despite being crushed by the crowd. "JS!" I called out.

To my ultimate shame, the young man stared at me, perplexed.

I turned to Sophie: "Hindi ba si JS yon?" She shook her head.

By then Sophie and Elmo were laughing like crazy.

With Small Kids -- Goofing around in front of the Web cam 

We did not get into that bus so we moved further out front. The guy was still behind us -- he didn't get his ride as well -- and I dared not look back because I was mortified.

We were still laughing. Imagine that, a sea of people stranded during rush hour, chasing very few, jampacked buses, and we were laughing.

When we were finally seated, Sophie told me that the boy would be posting a status message on Facebook: "Some crazy woman waved at me today."

I hope I do not see that young man ever again.

My kids too are not strangers to weird text messages and knock knock jokes from me. Some of the legends:

Me: Knock knock
Them: Who's there?
Me: Divisoria
Them: Divisoria who?
Me as Craig David: Divisoria...wooh. Divisoria...wooh (Insomnia)

Me: Knock knock
Them: Who's there?
Me: Schedule
Them: Schedule who?
Me as John Mayer: There I just said it, schedule forget about me (Scared you'll forget...Edge of Desire)

I once told Elmo I was a champion skateboarder, competing against representatives from other Asian countries. He believed me for many months.

People have told me I looked too young to be a mom of teenagers. I am really too young, but I feel young, too -- despite my troubles. We really must learn to laugh at ourselves.

The overrated home office

Work from home. Sound like a dream?

Think again.

I have been fortunate to settle in a career that gives me professional fulfillment, makes me feel I am doing something worthwhile, and offers arrangements that could be the envy of many working single mothers out there.

At my newspaper, I am not required to put in eight hours of work every day.  On the average, I work anywhere between one and four hours depending on what day it is.

Those short hours, however, could well be eight hours compressed if we go by the level of concentration required.  I edit columns and three days a week write my newspaper's editorial. I do this seven days a week including holidays (except Holy Wednesday, Maundy Thursday and Good Friday).

Needless to say, I love my job, and even more so that I have the option to not work in the office -- so long as I put my pages to bed at the time required.

(I don't count here the hours I spend outside talking to people and writing about them in my own column. That's not work -- that's...me.)

This arrangement was a big help when I was studying, and also during stormy weather, or when I am needed at home by the kids, when I am sick, or when I just want to chill.

That I save precious, precious time on travel means a lot.  That I can work from home, and multi-task (not uncommon to fine me cooking dinner while working) is also a great privilege, one I hope I will never squander. My kids enjoy the time with me and we are able to enjoy more stories, more laughs.

I have also set up a mini-home office in my room -- a desk with small shelves on either side and a corkboard to remind me of all the things I need to get done. Above the boards are my diplomas -- proof of my hard work and achievement despite setbacks.

It's not always easy, though.

Perhaps because it's summer and I'm feeling cramped. The kids are on vacation and since we are a close knit bunch, we sleep in the same room anyway despite the fact that I'm renting a three-bedroom townhouse.

I have installed an imaginary wall -- a piece of masking tape -- to remind everybody that this was my private work space. Of course, the wall gets demolished every time. Everybody wants a piece of Mommy.

They put stuff on my table, sit on my chair and borrow my phone or computer. As a result, i don't get any decent work done until they're all dozing. This is why I still have zits at the age of 37 and am often dizzy.

Today all that changed.

I found a coffee shop that offers free wifi and has great tables that make you think you're really working in an office. There are plenty of sockets so you don't run out of power. Because you have to shell out extra cash to buy coffee, you make sure you get real work done. A lot of work.

This is good for me because aside from the newspaper, i juggle many other...ugh...commitments.

It's a long ride home, but at least you're in an airconditioned bus, relatively safe, and it's really just a single ride.

All this, so when I get home, then I'm really home. One hundred and ten percent.

Giving up and then changing her mind

published May 11, 2013, MST page A5

This is the first of a two-part series on the Governance Commission for GOCCs, which was established in October 2011 through Republic Act 10149, the GOCC Governance Act.

Forty-year-old Maria Angela Ignacio used to make a living as a financial analyst, telling clients which stocks to buy, sell or hold.

Her double degree in applied economics and in commerce, major in Management of Financial Institutions, from De La Salle University gave her ample ammunition. She was a licensed stock broker, had stints in banks and brokerage houses. She was also president of a company providing technical analysis of the market.

She was advancing fast in her career and was making a lot of money. She was starting a family. Life was supposed to be good.

But something was amiss.

Ignacio felt that the Philippines was not progressing as it should and its leaders were more concerned about their own interests than the welfare of the people they were supposed to serve. She was also worried about the opportunities that might, or might not, be available to her young son.

And so she gave up on our country.  In 2006, she and her husband decided to try what life was like in Australia. For the next few years, it appeared as though they had made the right decision. They obtained permanent residence found stable jobs and had another child.

A single call changed all this.

The reluctant balikbayan

Sometime in 2010, Finance Secretary Cesar Purisima called to ask Ignacio whether she would consider working for the government. She had previously worked as a consultant for one of Purisima’s projects.

“I was shocked—why me?—and asked for some time to think it over.”

She had no prior experience in government. In fact, between her husband and herself, it was the former who had some form of public service experience, being a member of the provincial board of Oriental Mindoro.

They decided to return, eventually.

“At that time, we had a new President and his reform agenda resonated with us,” Ignacio said. “I was also struck by a video I had seen online.  I was reminded that I did not have a right to complain about what is wrong in our country when I personally have not done anything to try to improve the situation.”

Now Ignacio enjoys the rank of undersecretary as commissioner at the five-member Governance Commission for GOCCS (government- owned and -controlled corporations). The other two appointive members are Chairman Cesar Villanueva and Commissioner Rainer Butalid; Purisima and Budget Secretary Florencio Abad are ex-officio members.

“Awesome” powers

“We really started from scratch,” says Ignacio.  “In the beginning, the Office of the Executive Secretary lent us a few of their people.  Now we are still building our plantilla—these organizational concerns come on top of the mandate of our commission.”

Among the GCG’s tasks are the identification of which GOCCS—there were 157 in all when they started—should be privatized, abolished or maintained. Here is where Ignacio’s financial expertise comes in.  “I used to recommend to investors what to do with certain stocks, based purely on the numbers. What I do now is not much different.”

She says they have trimmed the number to 130; the goal is to bring it down to 100. Some of the GOCCS are subsidiaries of existing ones, created primarily to avoid the reach of the Salary Standardization Law.  The cold number-crunching has had its effects—“some unions are not very happy.”

The GCG also regularly reviews the performance of appointive directors, limiting their tenure to one year and making their re-appointment a function of the evaluation results.  This is the most political aspect of the job because, as Ignacio says, “some people have their backers.”

“We are fortunate that we enjoy the support of the President and that he is very objective,” she says.  The ultimate goal is to lessen the dependence of GOCCs on government subsidy, which is the pervading culture, and have them deliver a return on equity to their shareholders— the Filipino people.

In the span of a year and a half, the GCG has also taken steps to correct excessive compensation of the board members and employees of some GOCCs. Small wonder that its constitutionality is facing a challenge before the Supreme Court —the commission enjoys “awesome powers,” its critics say.

“We’ve done quite a lot, despite our start-up challenges,” Ignacio concedes.

Work-life balance

Despite the “awesome” challenges in the commission, Ignacio makes it a point to maintain a work-life balance.  She is up early to have breakfast with her family, especially her son, nine-year-old Javi, before he goes to school.  She then goes to the gym, goes back home, gets ready for work and spends a full day in the office.

She likes to think she gets along with her fellow commissioners despite her being the only woman, the only non-lawyer, and the youngest in the group.  “Chairman Villanueva is open to new ideas, if you argue your point well, then he will agree with you.”

She also makes it a point to be present in her son’s school activities—“these are non-negotiable for me”—and reserves weekends, especially long weekends, on vacation with her young family.   The Ignacios also have a three-year-old daughter, Kimi.

Three years after she made that drastic decision to return to the Philippines, Ignacio says she has no regrets.  The pay is smaller, the work is more demanding and more stressful, but in the end it is good to know that one is able to chip in, however slightly, to the building of a nation.

It’s a priceless gift to pass on to one’s children.

Stronger institutions

published 04 May 2013, MST page A5

These days, institutions take a backseat to individuals.

It is nine days before elections and many of us are busy evaluating individuals running for various national and local positions in government.

The natural tendency is to look at each candidate for his or her own merits. How is the track record? The knowledge of issues? Affiliation, or lack thereof, to other politicians?

Indeed it seems far-fetched to be focusing on anything aside from the personalities of these individuals at this time.

But the business of governing is not entirely about politics and politicians. Key government agencies are run by individuals whose names don’t quite ring a bell and who work long hours away from the limelight.

The Institute of Solidarity for Asia held its Public Governance Forum last March 19, bringing together numerous public agencies, some national and some local, that have embraced the Performance Governance System.

The system is not a vague, feel-good invocation of big, fancy words. It is a method that involves determining a mission/vision, outlining targets, plotting the actions needed to get to the destination, including their timing.  It also involves periodic assessment of progress.

That gathering’s theme was “Kickoff: The Race to 2015.” Why 2015?  On that year, the Philippines will take the chairmanship of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation and will host the series of meetings of representatives of member-countries.

The organizers of the forum said this is a make-or-break event that would show whether the Philippines has already significantly gained the capacity and the competitiveness it lacked before. A successful hosting with infrastructure and services with post—Apec use, livable cities, policies aligned to Philippine priorities and a perception that the Philippines is modern and progressive—the place to be and a place to invest in.

There have been gains, to be sure, but we continue to be a work in progress.

The sports analogy was not lost on the National Competitiveness Council, whose private sector co-chairman Guillermo Luz was one of the speakers during the forum.

The competition is for investments, trade, tourists, and even people—Filipinos who decide whether or not they should stay here and wait for better times or take matters into their own hands and venture into other countries hoping to earn more.

It’s a game of image and branding—one that we will not win if we do not have an inherently good product to begin with.

Right now, Luz said, one of the weak spots is our political system. The election that is taking place just illustrates our lack of organization, poor choice and limited options.

“How can you expect a good meal from a bad menu?” he asked.

He suggested asking candidates, in public gatherings, the real tough questions like which economic provisions in the Constitution they wish changed.

The gathering also underscored the importance of opening up the economy, not only to money from foreigners, but expertise, as well.

***

Unfortunately, continuity is not a strong suit among our national and local leaders.  We often hear stories of how incumbent officials demonize their predecessors and discontinue his or projects, even the worthy ones, just because the new leaders want to build their own legacy and give all projects their own stamp.

But the governance system that the ISA tries to guide the government agencies through enables them to focus on the essence and the substance of programs rather than the personalities behind them.

There were several organizations who made a presentation about their progress pertaining to the scorecard system. There were executive agencies, local government units, independent commissions and government-owned and -controlled corporations. The police and the military were also there.

Next week I will write about one fairly new government commission that made a presentation during the forum.

The cardinal and the businessmen

photo courtesy of cbcpnews.com

**

published April 26, 2013, MST page A5

The Institute of Corporate Directors’ regular Breakfast Roundtables normally pack a crowd of anywhere between 60 and 80. Often, the gatherings are held at the Tower Club in Makati City.

But yesterday’s event featured an extraordinary guest—so extraordinary that 250 people, mostly directors of private corporations, showed up.

The unassuming Luis Antonio Cardinal Tagle sported a gray short-sleeved barong and exuded an aura of calm amid the glowing introductions by former ICD President Rex C. Drilon II.  Tagle, as we know, just returned last month from the Vatican where he was part of the conclave that selected the new Pope of the Roman Catholic Church, Pope Francis.

Many Filipinos prefer to think of Tagle as the man who could have been the next Pope.

Cardinal Tagle started by saying he had a hard time thinking about what to say about the topic “Bringing God back in the boardroom” because it would mean that God was in the boardroom but decided to get out, or was never there in the first place.

“And I thought God was omnipresent,” he joked.

The Cardinal’s light, anecdote-filled, animated and at times self-deprecating humor engaged the audience.  “I presume you invited me here as a priest and not as an expert on corporate matters. So I am allowed to talk like a priest,” he said.

A priest who has the gift of communicating, one may add.

Tagle reminded the audience of “God’s brand of governance” rooted in righteousness, justice, peace and mutual upbuilding. Working in a corporation devoid of these values would be draining and exasperating, such that any decent person would know better than to stay.

Acknowledging that he was perhaps in a roomful of movers and shakers of Philippine business, Tagle said that the tendency was to make one’s “importance” felt. Rank and hierarchy are important to those who feel entitled to lord it over.

But the leader whose brand of governance he adheres to tells a young man to sell his riches to give to the poor, and washes the feet of others – a task reserved for the lowest of the slaves.

Thus, the prospect of “bringing God back to the boardroom” could be dangerous and threatening.  It means challenging the status quo and getting out of one’s comfort zone.

Finally, a lesson in humility: “Do not  raise yourself; wait for others to do it for you.”

***

In the aftermath of Pope Benedict XVI’s surprise resignation, Tagle was touted as one of the “frontrunners” in the search for the new pope.  He became the focus of so much media coverage that he did not recognize himself anymore.

People bet on his chances of becoming the next leader of the Catholic Church.  “All of sudden, like a stock, I was the subject of speculation.” He felt so uncomfortable that before he left for the Vatican for the conclave, he stopped reading the newspapers and watching television.  He was glad to leave the hype behind in the Philippines.

Once he got to his destination, however, he realized that  social media had enabled the hype to reach foreign shores.  Diners in restaurants or pedestrians, even school children, recognized him.  People asked to have their pictures taken with him. “I felt like hiding; I did not deserve this.”

He felt this way until a Filipina domestic worker thanked him profusely.  “Because of you, our employers have become kinder and more considerate to us Filipinos. They now give us a bit more dignity,” she said.

And then it hit him. He realized that all along, the attention had not been for him but for the “little ones”.  “I had a change in perspective—and since then I began to agree to more requests for photo ops.”

Equally interesting was one question posed by a member of the audience. He wanted to know whether the church sector, like the private sector and some government agencies including government-owned and -controlled corporations, was undergoing governance training specifically for purposes of fairness, accountability and transparency.  Cardinal Tagle said that there were measures  in place within the hierarchy; whether these are observed, however,  is another matter altogether.  They are also working to impress upon priests that they are subject to the laws of the land, not just the protection of the institution.

The Cardinal soon left the meeting to rush to Quiapo Church to celebrate Mass for the disappeared—Jonas Burgos and the many others like him whose names we don’t even know.

More than that, he also said he would be praying for those who are physically still here but who are absent in the consciousness and memory of many.

Tomtom's house

published April 19, 2013, MST, page A5

On a row of townhouses in the generally middle-class neighborhood, the house of Tomtom—a small, thin boy who is perhaps four but could be eight—sticks out.

All the houses are the same. Each unit has a respectable floor area, with three bedrooms upstairs. There are two bathrooms, one for each floor. The kitchen is separated by a wall from the dining area. Aside from the individual gates for the residents, there is also a big gate at the entrance to the compound—never mind that the guard is too old and too slow for the job. There is not much guarding to do, anyway, just opening and closing the wide gates of the “Townhomes”.

The residents, either homeowners or lessees, are also generally comfortable. They are not rich but are able to meet their basic needs —plus a bit more, occasionally. They have cable tv and Internet access. One unit, for instance, is occupied by a lawyer; beside lives a large family running a mom-and-pop store. On the opposite block are households with a migrant worker, a teacher, a  businesswoman. A mix of SUVs and AUVs, sedans and tricycles, comprises the daily parade of vehicles. The children, most of whom attend private schools, feel safe enough to play outside.

Tomtom’s house is of the same size and structure as the others, but the similarity ends there. While all the others make a little effort to make the exterior presentable, or at least organized, Tomtom’s family does not seem to care. There are piles of wood, discarded items, old sacks, broken glass, makeshift curtains.

One would know if Tomtom’s father is home. He is usually drunk, loud and emotional. He yammers on about the rich and the poor being equal. Mostly, he picks a fight with members of his household—his wife, his mother, another male housemate. From the shouting matches, one can eavesdrop enough to get to the root of the confrontation—hanging clothes in non-designated areas (apparently the members of the household have their respective clotheslines) or failing to contribute to a fund to pay for utilities.

But these are perhaps the adults’ individual quirks. What is disturbing are the children’s stories. There are at least five kids of grade school age in that house.

Tomtom does not talk at all, but his constant presence outside their gate and his piercing gaze are most troubling. He asks passers-by for coins or food, and sometimes if does not receive anything, he flashes his middle finger or spits at the passer-by. He does not go to school.

Older brothers throw stones from their window to the windows of neighbors. They have boasted of committing petty theft to the other children in the compound, whom they bully and curse when they get the chance.

Two girls cannot be more than five years old. They may be small but they are certainly heard.  They don’t just cry; they wail. These episodes last for more than half an hour at a given time, numerous times a day. One wonders why there seems to be no effort by the adults to hush them up and comfort them. What could be happening to merit that kind of agitation? Are they hungry or thirsty or sick? Are older siblings playing pranks on them? Are their parents hurting them? Horrors—what unthinkable, unsayable things could they be enduring?

Worse, in the past month or so, there has been no power at all in Tomtom’s house.  Perhaps somebody neglected to pay the bills, or refused to do so to spite some other housemates. I cannot imagine how the kids could live, day in and day out, in this scorching heat, without electricity.

Some neighbors say they are tempted to call the Department of Social Welfare and Development to investigate what makes those children cry that much. Then again, they are held back by the fact that it’s a family thing, that they should not step in, that at least the children have a roof over their heads—a townhouse unit, no less.

But how can we expect Tomtom and his siblings to grow up into productive, persevering, responsible individuals when this is the environment they grow up in? If and when they do something wrong, how quickly will society judge them for being “bad” without giving any thought to the forces that shaped them in the first years of their lives?

Some tragedies occur occasionally and are caused by nature. Other tragedies happen day after day and are overlooked as “life”.

Balik pier

Higit isang buwan na simula nang bumalik ang aming opisina sa Port Area, Manila mula sa mas magandang kinalalagyan nito sa Makati.

Walang may gustong bumalik noong una, pero ano nga naman ba ang aming magagawa?

Ako mismo, ayaw na ayaw kong bumalik. Malayo ang Makati pero ligtas ang dadaanan at sadyang mas maaliwalas sa paningin.

Ang Port Area, parang bituka ng Maynila. Dito walang nagtatataasang gusali at magagandang kainan. Ang mga tao dito, hindi sanay sa corporate attire.

Ang Port Area, pugad ng mga squatter, ng mga rugby boys, pulubi, barker, porter, snatcher.  Maraming madungis at mahirap. Mapanganib sa gabi, at kahit anong oras din.

Unti-unti, nasasanay na akong muli.

Una, nangalahati ang distansyang ibinibiyahe ko, kahit na halos parehas din ang oras ng paglalakbay.

Mas tipid rin sa pamasahe at pagkain. Kaya kong pagkasyahin ang P50, papunta at pabalik. Di ka rin matutuksong kumain sa labas dahil wala kang kakainan sa labas. Kung gusto mo, bumili ka ng baon habang papunta. Ibang-iba sa pagiging kapitbahay ng Greenbelt 1.

Pinakaimportante sa lahat, hindi ako nakakalimot.

Sa Makati, ang daling masilaw sa magagandang bagay. Ang daling ma-engganyong kumita ng malaki para makabili nito, niyan, noon.  Ang dali rin sumama ang loob kung sakaling may mga pangangailangan pang hindi matustusan.

Sa pier, araw-araw mong maaalala kung bakit mo pinili ang ganitong propesyon. Hinding hindi ka makakalimot sa mga bagay na kailangang ayusin sa ating bansa.  Magtatanong ka kung ano pa ba ang pwede mong gawin sa lipunan. Madudurog ang puso mo sa mga maliliit na batang sumisinghot ng rugby, humihitit ng sigarilyo, o namamalimos. Di kaya sa matatandang natutulog sa kalsada, na walang ibang pinoproblema kung hindi san nya kukunin ang susunod nyang kakainin.

Hindi dapat ganito! HINDI DAPAT GANITO!

Aaminin ko -- hindi naman ako araw araw na nagpupunta sa pier. Minsan sa bahay lang ako nagtatrabaho para makatipid sa oras ng byahe -- sadya kasing maraming gagawin at panghihinayangan mo ang tatlong oras ng paglalakbay. Minsan, sa labas ako gumagawa lalo na't may meeting para sa iba ko pang hanapbuhay.

Pero hindi na ako nagrereklamong bumalik ang aming opisina sa pier. Mag-iingat na lang ako at magiging mapag matyag para ingatan ang sarili ko. Nagsisilbing inspirasyon sa akin ang nakikita kong dumi, panganib at kawalan ng pagkakapantay pantay para gawin ng mas mabuti ang trabaho ko, at mag-isip pa ng ibang paraan kung paano, kahit kaunti, makatulong sa pagbabago.

The dreamer

For several weeks now I have been wondering what the reason could be for my frequent dreams about a particular fellow, with whom, in real life, I have no substantial interaction.

This question has been plaguing me but I dare not write it on Facebook, lest I transmit the wrong idea to friends and virtual friends and even the fellow in question.

I wish one day I can read this post again and have a "so that's why!" moment.

Okay. So now back to regular programming.

Girls' Getaway

Fabulous dinner, fabulous company

I spent the weekend with three of my high school friends -- kumares now -- at a serviced apartment in Makati City. One of them, Anna, got a really good deal; she only had to book way in advance.

The overnight tradition started last year, on Mother's Day weekend. There were six of us then (the other two are now abroad). We figured we deserved to take a break from our domestic responsibilities, catch up on each other's lives, and enjoy many laughs like we were still teenagers.

Our barkada's name is Teen Petite. Certainly we're not in our teens and the pictures will tell you we're far from petite, either.

These girls surprised me at my then-in laws' house for Bea's first birthday. 

My three companions are all married and two of them are moms, too. Anna has three daughters; Imee has two.

(Tummy would have joined us...but she died nearly five years ago from a decades-old heart illness. She was neither married or a mother.)

Buffet breakfast at Strands

I feel lucky to be blessed with such good, long-standing friends. I think I speak for all four of us when I say we feel no pressure to show just how successful, or rich, or accomplished we have become.  The others will be ready to whack us on the nape if we did that. We've seen each other when we were awkward adolescents struggling with problems both shallow and profound. It would be a violation of our bond if we suddenly decided to get swayed by these external trappings.

And so we ate and talked and laughed and gave advice and ate and I worked and slept and went swimming and took pictures and ate and went back to our respective homes happy and energized.

I look forward to the next time.

She knows what to do

(Note: This is the original headline for this story. It was tweaked for a more business-like ring for the paper. Same difference -- it's the content that matters :) )

published April 14, 2013 MST Sunday

Leonor Magtolis Briones remembers her late father’s words like he just said them yesterday. “There are only three kinds of people in the world. One, those who already know what to do and do it without being told. Two, those whom you can show what needs to be done, and after a while they do it on their own. Three, those who do not do anything even though they know what it is they should do. Aspire to be in the first group.”

‘Being Lola is the best thing that can happen to a woman!’ —Briones and granddaughter Cheyanne in a 2010 photo

She was a precocious 13-year-old when she started attending Silliman University in Dumaguete City as a business administration and accounting scholar. The family was poor—Liling was fifth among eight children and her parents were humble school teachers. “In the province, you were either landed, or you were not. We belonged to the latter group.” She remembers difficult times when her parents, saddled with debt, could not afford to give allowances to children to attend school. She had to resort to working as a bookkeeper when she was 15. “I did not want to be a burden.”

It was in Silliman, a Christian university, where she learned that one could be respected and admired despite one’s lack of material wealth.  “So long as you had knowledge, you were somebody.”  Her father, for instance, was regarded highly in the community. They were also taught that education was the key to success.

The young Liling enjoyed her literature classes most of all and thrived in university life.  She persevered in her business degree and graduated magna cum laude four years later, at age 17.

A taste of the real world

Two years later, she found herself in Manila, pursuing graduate studies in fiscal management in UP Diliman.  She also worked at the government’s budget agency as an on-the-job trainee. On her first day, her supervisor asked her to write an essay on what she wanted to do with her life. “I just wrote that if I was able to buy all the books I wanted to read, and all the music I wanted to collect, then I would be really happy.”  Her supervisor laughed, but the girl was just being truthful.  The accumulation of wealth for its sake has never been a goal.

It would never be.

Briones and the Manila Concert Choir with Gary Granada during their April 6 concert.

Leonor’s life in UP was starkly different from the one she knew in Dumaguete, where life was simple and idyllic.  In Manila, she came face to face with poverty rooted in injustice and exploitation.

She observed that the poor enjoyed no respect and no dignity and even if they tried to get out of it, they were consigned to desolation. “It was no longer their fault; it was the fault of the system.” She became an activist in the late 1960s to early 1970s, joining rallies and denouncing the social situation. “I became aware of social problems and again I felt a tremendous sense of duty.”

She went underground for many years upon the declaration of martial law, settling in the rural slums of the Visayas. She overhauled her identity and posed as an elementary school teacher, leaving her life as an academic. She fled with only the clothes on her back and a typewriter.

She thought she fit in well because she could speak Cebuano and  Ilonggo.  But their former neighbors later on said they knew there was more to this family than they had let on. For one, Briones and her husband never quarreled—this was strange in an environment where people screamed at each other all the time.   She frequently wore a watch— nothing fancy, just something to make her conscious of the time at all times.  As treasurer of a group, she demanded receipts every time cash changed hands. Finally, washing clothes in the river, her neighbors gossiped about how her laundry looked the same before and after she washed them.

After martial law, Briones returned to her social involvement, becoming active in the Freedom from Debt Coalition and convening Social Watch Philippines. Other stints included being secretary to the commissioner of the Commission on Audit, vice president for finance of the University of the Philippines and eventually, National Treasurer, appointed by former President Joseph Estrada. She has formed a party-list organization that seeks to push budget reforms and foster a more transparent process in budget deliberations.

Briones now enjoys professor emeritus status at UP—a process that took two and a half years and serves as a recognition of her academic work.

The maverick

Long before she was National Treasurer, Briones had had some experience with treasury bills.  She had a small amount she had wanted to invest—she does not remember of it was P25,000 or P10,000  “So I went to bank and told the people there that I wanted to buy treasury bills. They looked at me as though I were crazy. The highest denomination was P100,000.”

At the Bureau of Treasury, one of her pet projects was the small investments program, where treasury bills were made available to retail investors first for P50,000, then P25,000, and down to P5,000.

Banks were not happy with this, just as they found odd her adamant rejection of the market-driven pressures to increase interest rates. Briones believed that such moves would have disastrous consequences on the country’s debt profile.

In one gathering of money market executives, Briones challenged the audience to take a few steps out of their posh hotel and offices and see the living conditions of Filipinos who may not even have heard of their services. “I am their [the people’s] national treasurer.”

Her many loves

Anyone who thinks Professor Briones is all about numbers and serious stuff would be wrong. For one, she loves music. “I listen to classical music when I am stressed. When I am especially stressed, I listen to opera.” Living in a low-cost housing project for UP professors in the 70s and 80s, Briones used to play opera music every Sunday on full volume. “My sons would close the windows and tell me to turn it down, because nakakahiya sa kapitbahay.”

It was during her stint at the Commission on Audit that she started taking voice lessons. “You have no choice but to forget about your problems when you sing. It’s very exhausting, physically. It’s not just your vocal chords that are at work—it’s your entire body.”

The training has paid off—Briones is a soprano for the Manila Concert Choir, a choral singing group founded in 1951.  The group, composed of members aged 17 to 70 coming from all walks of life, staged a concert on April 6 at Colegio San Juan de Letran.  They performed all-Filipino songs from several regions and eras.

“For me, music is the best way of communication. God speaks through music—the clearest language.”

She is also a fan of The Lord of the Rings.

Professor Briones maintains close ties with former students, who graduate to being her friends. “They have several groups and they include me in their activities,” she proudly says. One such group is into fine dining. Another is into karaoke singing. “I sing along with them—although I don’t join them for the drinks.”

She counts herself blessed for having a supportive husband who lets her do what she wants. “His only request is that I don’t drag him or the children into the spotlight.” The Brioneses have two boys who are now in their 30s, and on the morning of the interview, Briones happily played the part of proud lola. Her only granddaughter, Cheyanna, received an award for English proficiency “even if we all speak Tagalog at home.”

Guiding force

At 73, Briones shows no signs of slowing down. She wants to have a bigger audience for her advocacy—hence the party-list group. She wants to keep on singing—the Manila Concert Choir’s activities for the rest of the year are all lined up. She wants to enjoy the company of her family and former students. She goes home to Dumaguete every once in a while—she is now chairman of the board of trustees of her alma mater.

All these, she figured out on her own, just as she took it upon herself, back then, to excel in school, to apply for scholarships, to help her siblings and her extended family, to rail against injustice in society, to channel her passion and expertise to advance good governance in the country —and even to sit back a little and enjoy life through music and art.

“My parents never told me to do this or do that. All my life, I just aspired to be the kind of person my father said I should be….and I will only stop reaching for more when I am no longer physically able to do so.”

Finding their voice

Animated discussion with Thalea, Carmelita and NGO workers championing children's issues

published April 12 2013, MST page A5

Sixteen-year-old Thalea Manacho is looking forward to her freshman year as an AB English student at the University of Caloocan City. She is hoping it will help her become more articulate and confident in her work in the children and youth organization in her area—Barangay Bagong Silang in the same city, the biggest barangay in the country in terms of population.  When one talks about the urban poor, Bagong Silang is the community that easily comes to mind.

Her friend Carmelita Castanares, 15, is an incoming third year high school student who is as active in the group as Thalea is. Carmelita has been volunteering since she was 11, taking after an older sister.

The girls are just two of the more articulate campaigners of Bata Muna, a program launched by a consortium of non-government organizations challenging candidates, national and local, for the May 13 polls to commit to championing children’s issues beyond the rhetoric and “photo ops”.

According to Thalea and Carmelita, the top issues affecting children and the youth in their community are corporal punishment, child labor, unsafe surroundings and lack of access to reproductive health services.

As they elaborate, it becomes apparent part of the problem is the mindset of the adults that shape their world.

***

There is an anti-corporal punishment law that has been passed by the House of Representatives but not by the Senate.  The bill seeks to prohibit corporal punishment in its many forms—beating, spanking, cursing, and many others.

It is teachers and parents that often commit acts of corporal punishment.  For teachers, the Department of Education has issued its Deped Child Protection policy on May 12 last year where it articulated its zero-tolerance policy for any kind of child abuse, exploitation, violence, discrimination, bullying and other forms of abuse. Different teachers have reacted in different ways to this policy—some have felt that their authority to discipline children as they see fit has been diminished while some say they agree.

The home is a different story.  Parents will always feel that they have the sole discretion on how to enforce discipline on their children. It is also the thinking that sparing the child from the rod will turn them into spoiled brats. This has governed Filipino families for the longest time.

What is not often acknowledged is that corporal punishment brings physical and psychological harm to the child and breeds resentment towards the authority. The punishment is sometimes disproportionate to the wrong deed committed, degenerates to a brazen display of power. Unfortunately, the child is not made to understand exactly why he or she is being punished in the first place.

***

According to Thalea and Carmelita, there are many children in their community who are working as scavengers and traders of scrap.  These kids have stopped schooling altogether—with the blessing, sometimes the encouragement, of their parents. The idea is that it is much more beneficial to the family to have even its younger members earn.

Laws prohibiting child labor protect kids from harsh conditions in the formal sector—factories, farms, mining sites and the like. The informal sector is much harder to track, and all the more so because the kids work with their families where each has a role —one scavenges, the other sorts, the other sells.   Some parents see no incentive at all in keeping their children in school when they can be tapped to increase income for the household.  The conditional cash transfer program only says that children under 14 must be kept in schools—“what about those who are over 14 but want to keep on studying?” Thalea asks.

The apparent solution is the provision of jobs for the parents, specific to their skill level.  They should be enabled to provide for their families without having to ask their children to quit school and help out.

Thalea and Carmelita also complain that there are no safe places for children to play in the community. “We don’t feel safe in our barangay. Crimes thrive in places without street lamps, there are gang wars, and children cannot play on the roads because they will get run over by vehicles.”

Unfortunately, open spaces helped established by local politicians normally serve as basketball courts for adults or older kids who drive away the younger children when they want to play.  Worse, law enforcers treat children as offenders that must be punished instead of vulnerable citizens that must be protected.

Finally, the children say they need information, not about sex per se but about the many changes that they have to face and decisions they have to make while growing up.  Thalea talks about her friends getting pregnant because of their ignorance “they did not think they would get pregnant.”  Parents, enraged upon discovering the pregnancy, would simply drive the children away from the house, or force them into marriage that would most likely be disastrous.  And while pregnant adolescents can use the services of health centers, they don’t—health workers embarrass them in public about being pregnant at such a young age.

Children cannot vote yet and may not seem able to demand answers from their leaders. Thalea, Carmelita and all the others however remind us that even young people must be heard, because despite their tender ages, they do know what they are talking about.

Bahay sa tapat

Nangungupahan ako ng isang tatlong-silid na townhouse dito sa Valenzuela. May isang malaking gate na main entrance para sa lahat ng nakatira dito. Pagkatapos, bawat unit, may sarili ding gate.  May guard kami, kahit na medyo matanda at mabagal na sya, at mukhang mas mahusay sa huntahan at pagmamasid sa buhay ng may buhay.

Hindi ko alam ang takbo ng buhay sa bandang itaas. May ibang bahay doon na tig isa’t kalahati o di kaya’y dalawang unit na pinag-isa. Naggagaraan din ang mga sasakyang nagdadaan. Balita ko, ilang mayayamang Intsik ang nakatira doon.

Dito sa may bandang ibaba (pangatlong bahay lang ang sa amin mula sa main entrance), halos di nagkakalayo ang mga estado ng nakatira. May propesyunal na katulad ni Attorney sa tapat, na laging umaalis alas siyete empunto sa umaga sakay ng pula niyang kotse. Walag bata sa bahay nila pero maraming aso.

Nariyan din sina Nanay at Tatay na may ari ng sari sari store. Nakakaaliw ang mag asawang ito dahil si Tatay na palaging nakaupo at nagmamatyag ng mga taong dumadaan ay masyadong nakaasa kay Nanay. Makikita mong nagkakandakuba na si Nanay sa kakalaba pero si Tatay ay tuloy ang kwento kay Manong Guard. Si Nanay naman ay minsanang nakikisalo din sa usapan – magiliw pa rin kahit pagod na.

Kadalasan, tumatao si Tatay sa tindahan. Pero hanggang dun lang ang papel nya. Pupunta ka at bibili ng kahit ano – kendi, itlog, softdrinks, load – at sisigaw na sya ng “Naaaay!” Hindi nya alam ang presyo ng mga tinda sa sarili nyang tindahan. 

Yung anak nilang babae, minan ay nagluluto ng banana cue, turon at cheese sticks na diunudumog ng mga nursing students kapag may pasok. Yung anak nilang lalaki, nakiki parada ng asul nyang AUV sa tapat ng bahay namin. Hindi naman ako nagrereklamo dahil wala naman akong sasakyang dapat iparada dito.

Sa tabi namin ay ang bahay ng kaklase ni Elmo na si Kelly – OFW yata ang kanyang ama.

Sadyang naiiba lang talaga ang bahay sa tapat. Ang bahay ng batang si D.  

Tingin pa lang, alam mo nang iba ang timpla ng mga tao sa bahay na yon. Lahat ng kapitbahay ay may kaunting pagtatangkang ayusin ang harapan ng bahay nila. Kina D wala. Kung ano-anong tambak at sampay ang tatambad sa paningin mo. Sira-sirang kahoy, lumang sako,basag na bintana. Hindi uso ang blinds o kurtina – tabing, pwede pa.

Ang tatay ni D ay halatang aburido sa buhay nila. Tuwing malalasing sya, nag-iingay na ito. Wala naman syang inaaway na kapitbahay. Mga kasambahay nya ang kanyang ginugulo. Hindi ko rin alam kung ilang pamilya sila sa loob pero parang ang dami nila doon. Walang pinipiling oras ang kanilang pagsisigawan. Nung bago kami dito, natakot ako nang bigla syang magbabasag ng bote sa daanan. Si R ay payat na lalaki pero pag lasing ang isang tao, hindi mo rin talaga masasabi kung ano ang kaya nyang gawin. Madalas din nyang dialogue – “walang mahirap, walang mayaman, pantay pantay tayong lahat”.

Minsan naman ang nagsasagutan ay ang asawa nya at ang anak nyang tinedyer. Matinding mag-away ang mga ito, Ang daming pagbabanta. Sana salita lang talaga yon. 

Ang ina ni R ay kasama din nila sa bahay. Maya’t maya sumisigaw ng “Tama na!” ang matanda pero walang pumapansin sa kanya.

Minsan na rin daw may tumawag ng pulis para ireklamo sila. Daanan din naman talaga ng roving vans itong lugar namin. Hindi naman naisama ng pulis si R dahil walang may gustong maghain ng demanda. Natatakot sa resbak, siguro.

Pero ang pinaka nakakabagabag sa lahat sa bahay na yon ay ang mga bata.

Mayroong di bababa sa apat na batang maliit sa bahay na yon. Si D ang nabanggit ko. Sya kasi ang palagi mong makikita na lalakad lakad sa paligid. Siguro mga anim na taon si D pero hindi pa sya nagsasalita. Alam lang nyang mangalabit at manghingi sa iyo ng barya, ng pagkain, o ng kahit anong dala mo. Pag wala kang inabot sa kanya, mabilis nya ring ilalabas ang kanyang dirty finger. Mag ingat ka rin sa bag mo at huwag moing hahayaang nakabukas ito. Ganun din ang iba nyang nakatatandang kapatid. Nalaman kong pumupunta sa mga malalaking bahay sa itaas ang mga batang ito at kumukuha ng kahit ano basta naiwang bukas ang gate.

Naiinis si Elmo kina D at mga kapatid nito dahit palagi daw saying inaasar at minumura ng mga bata. Pinagsabihan kong huwag nyang patulan. Kung may kailangang pagalitan, ito ay ang mga magulang – paano matututo ang bata ng kabutihan kung walang halimbawang nakikita sa bahay?

Kung minsan kung ano ano ang naiisip ko tungkol sa mga batang ito. May dalawang batang babae na wala pa siguring limang taon. Grabe kung makaiyak ang mga bata. Wagas. Bigay na bigay. Hindi ba kung magulang ka, aalamin mo kung bakit umiiyak ang anak mo sabay susubukan mong patahanin ito?

Hindi ganoon ang sistema ng bahay sa tapat. Hinahayaan lang ang mga batang ngumawa, kung minsan ay walang puknat, dere deretso ng kalahating oras hanggang mapagod na lang ang mga bata o makatulog kaya. Dinig na dinig dito sa amin ang pag iyak. Nagugutom kaya sya? Nag aaway kaya ang magkakapatid? Sinasaktan kaya ang bata?  Ano pa bang sama ang pwede nyang sapitin? Diyos ko – huwag naman sana!

Ngayon ay ilang linggo nang walang kuryente sa bahay sa tapat. Awang awa ako sa mga bata kapag iniisip ko kung gaano kalupit itong tag-araw. Kami nga lang ay nagrereklamo kahit na ilan ang bentilador dito sa bahay. Paano kaya ang mga bata kung matulog sa gabi?

Alam kong kanya-kanya lang tayo ng problema. Alam ko ring marami pang mas matindi ang situwasyopn kaysa kina D -- at least sila, may bahay sila, at townhouse pa. Pero sa tingin ko, kailangan ng tulong ng mga bata sa tapat. Sana alam ko kung paano mag-umpisa bukod sa pagsulat ng sanaysay na ito.   

The surrounded

I come home exhausted and impatient and grimy, and I go up the stairs looking forward to the solace that my room normally gives me. It is neither big nor grand.  The curtains are made of light bamboo. My single mattress lies on the floor. My dark brown closet and drawers and desks are just the way I left them – clean and neat and organized, and I know exactly where everything is. Ah, sweet solitude.

Not so, these days. It’s summer and the kids are on vacation and did I say we like hanging out with each other?  The aircon is with me and we try and we eliminate the need for exhaust fans just by bunching up in a single room. Josh has declared that his own single mattress is taking a vacation in my chamber.

And so on any given time there is an assortment of things that aren’t really mine.  Aside from his mattress, there are the fluffy pillows, the violin, the speakers, the books, the bey blades and the accessories that go with all these.

More than things, there are warm bodies. There is music and talk and banter and laughter and storytelling and, occasionally, gossip and tampuhan.

Sometimes they succeed in cajoling me to get hotdogs from the nearby Mini-Stop even at midnight.

Sometimes I feel I could just scream.  I resort to either of two things – going downstairs for some me-time, or drifting off to sleep.

These days I feel I need to be alone some more. I have some serious thinking and strategizing to do. On the other hand, I also need to plan the nitty-gritty of the every day. How, then, can I do all that when I am just surrounded all the time?

Am I complaining? Yes. But will I have it any other way? Of course not. I guess I just need to plan some more, even for those precious minutes of peace and quiet. Like now, when I do manage to get away, be alone, and write. 

This fisherman is a woman

Meeting people like Nanay Sario and telling their story are the reasons I love my job. 

published April 5, 2013 - MST, page A5

Sixty-one-year old Rosario Mendoza, known to friends as Ka Sario, left her shoreline home in Naic, Cavite at five in the morning to make sure she’s not late for her 11 a.m. appointment in Quezon City.

“I’m never late for things like this,” she says.  Indeed. She was two hours early.

Ka Sario is one of a several ambassadors handpicked by Oxfam in the Philippines to champion its key issues of achieving food security and coping with the effects of climate change. She’s a fisherman – err, woman.

Ka Sario’s parents, also fisherfolk, taught her and her siblings the trade early on.  She dreamed of an office job as an accountant, though, because she loved numbers. She started an associate course in commercial science at the Philippine College of Commerce (now Polytechnic University of the Philippines), but it was the early 1970s and classes were routinely disrupted because of political rallies.  Sario decided to work as a contractual employee at the Philippine Postal Savings Bank, manually computing interest on loans.

She soon fell in love and settled back to Naic with her boyfriend Rafael, whom she had known a long time from their school days in the province.

The couple had seven children with ages now ranging from 22 to 41. Despite their modest means—fishing for hasa-hasa, bisugo and salay-salay enables them to have food on the table but leaves room for little more—the children have managed to finish courses from management to fisheries to computer technology.

They all live in the same barangay and continue to be active members of their fishing community. Mang Rafael used to be councilor, one child became a Sangguniang Kabataan chairman, and Ka Sario is also a barangay health worker.

The business of fishing

Until last year, Ka Sario refused to be that traditional wife who waited for her husband on the shore, praying for good catch and fretting for his safety.  Instead, for more than 30 years, she went out to sea with him, providing a steady hand and a watchful eye. “We have our roles. We work with each other.”

She observes that fishing in Manila Bay has become more difficult; the water has become dirty and they face competition from big commercial fishing companies and illegal fishermen.

The weather is also a challenge, becoming more volatile and unpredictable.  One sails under clear skies, and all of a sudden finds oneself amid heavy rain and big waves.

Often, even after long hours waiting, there is no catch. On some good days, there is plenty. “That is the difference between fishermen and farmers. Farmers know they are going to harvest something. Fishers go out there without that certainty,” Ka Sario explains.

Family lessons

For the Mendozas, fishing is an exercise in livelihood as well as in family communications. Ka Sario narrates that when she and her husband need to discuss something—even argue—they board their fishing boats and air their sentiments while at sea so the children could not hear them.

A family tragedy one New Year’s Eve claimed the life of a daughter, who left behind one daughter who is now six years old and who is very close to her Lola Sario. It is good that everybody lives close by. “One thing we taught out children is that they should always be there for each other.”

Her husband could be a disciplinarian, but over the years their children have found ways to go beyond the strict exterior and engage their father in conversation, sometimes banter.   As for herself, Ka Sario says her hobby is to document everything that takes place in her family’s life—dates and events, seminars attended, courses completed, awards received. One of these awards was a Model Family citation in the community.

Embracing the unknown

She does realize that she and her family live in an especially vulnerable area, given the threats posed by climate change.  “We have lived here for many years and we know what to do when a storm is coming,” she says, launching into a complicated discussion of what everyone in the family does during a storm to push the water back to the sea.

Her tone shows her innate optimism and sense of adventure.

Ka Sario likes going out even to places she has not been to before. Her family gets worried, especially since she refuses to carry a cell phone with her. But no one rains on her parade.

“This is what I tell other women in our barangay,” she says. “Go out of your houses. Don’t be afraid to have new experiences. Look at me: Every time I go out, I gain 3 Ks—kakilala (acquantaince), kasanayan (skill), kapaligiran (environment).”

The meeting ends and Ka Sario gathers her things, including an umbrella —“you never know when you need it!” —and a bag bulging with documents and notes. She actually prepared a statement, afraid she would not know what to say.  But the words flowed easily because she spoke of matters close to her heart.

“I will have another good story to tell my granddaughter.”