published 28 July 2008, MST
Corazon dela Paz-Bernardo would not suffer being called “unpatriotic,” even if former Finance Secretary Jose Isidro Camacho, who was given the task of persuading her to be president and chief executive officer of the Social Security System in 2001, told her so in jest.
Now, at the beginning of her last week on the job, dela Paz-Bernardo goes with mixed feelings.
“I am sad,” admits the SSS chief in an interview last week at her agency's Makati building. “I have learned to love this office and its people, and they have shown me much appreciation.” She refers to a recent trip to Cebu where employees paid tribute to her and thanked her for her role in shoring up the agency's image to its members. “In a way I wish I can see to it that our reforms are continued.”
“At the same time, I am relieved. I will be free of the stress that comes from being accountable to millions.”
That dela Paz-Bernardo takes her accountability seriously has pushed her to work so hard in her first full-time stint in government. Her typical day when she's not traveling: Meetings, phone calls, paper work. She brings home more of the latter and works until midnight. In the last seven years, this frenetic lifestyle has worsened her scoliosis -- it is now deemed degenerative. She has also gone through a colon surgery. Actually, she came to the interview in a wheelchair, only standing up as she entered the conference room. She still has problems with her digestive system. So now she bows out with the perfect excuse.
And on Friday, former National Economic and Development Authority director general and acting Commission on Higher Education chairman Romulo Neri will take the reins of the SSS from Dela Paz-Bernardo. The transition fueled much speculation, but the outgoing president herself exhorted SSS employees, members and the general public to give Neri a chance.
He sent her a text message thanking her for her “kind words in the media.” She replied that he deserved it and reminded him that the agency's members needed nothing less. If not, “kawawa naman sila.” Neri texted back: “Yes. I will do my best.”
But really, Neri should be thanking dela Paz-Bernardo for more than her words. In the last seven years, she has worked painstakingly to make the SSS a financially viable institution and redeemed its image before the public. This mean feat now gives Neri a benchmark against which to measure his intentions, his diligence, his resolve, his results, his loyalties.
And maybe even his patriotism as well.
**
Dela Paz Bernardo initially thought one year would be a reasonable time to stay at the SSS. She figured that period was long enough to introduce a change or two. She thought herself a fast learner, even though her expertise lay elsewhere, having spent decades of her illustrious career at Price Waterhouse, an international audit firm.
But she was overwhelmed when she beheld for the first time the problems at the agency. When she came in, the employees were on strike. The agency was well in excess of the administrative costs allowed it by the SSS Charter itself. Benefit payments far exceeded collections. The actuarial life of the reserve fund was only good until 2015. Who knew what would happen beyond that? Worst of all, the SSS was perceived to be the epitome of all that was wrong in a bureaucratic agency, where lines were long and the processing of claims even longer. Clearly, its members were unhappy.
She broke the ice between herself and the employees by introducing herself this way. “Taga Pateros po ako. Galing po ako sa public school. Nagtatagalog po ako.” She listened to employees' presentations on their analyses of the problems and what could be done to address them.
Dela paz-Bernardo was amazed. Her predecessor as well as the employees themselves had plenty of good ideas. They knew their troubles and what caused them. They had all the solutions spelled out, too. Their main problem was implementation. These ideas needed to go beyond the drawing board to really make a difference. They already knew the what; the how was now the question.
Immediately, she created a task force to implement cost-cutting measures – drastic ones. Employees did not really have much choice as the perks they had gotten used to were stopped. Dela Paz Bernardo commends the SSS employees for this great deal of sacrifice.
And the people had to work longer hours, too, not to mention harder. They made a covenant of service in which they committed to act on members' claims in a shorter time. On the other hand, they also worked doubly hard to collect the payments. The SSS reached out to the people, improving its branch network, installing tellering functions in its offices and hooking up with malls, banks and bayad centers to make remitting contributions less of a hassle. All these to cater more effectively to the 26.7 million individual- and 781,763 employer-members.
Several years into the job, Dela Paz-Bernardo was able to increase contributions from employers. She made the rounds of business groups explaining the SSS’ dire need. She must have argued convincingly, as she was able to secure employers’ support. Ultimately, in 2005, collections surpassed benefit payments. The surplus amounted to P1.21 billion; in the following year, collections again exceeded payments by P421 million. The 2006 surplus would have been much higher if not for the 10 percent across-the-board pension increase adopted by the agency, much to the delight of its pensioners. Likewise, the actuarial life of the reserve fund has been extended by 21 years, to 2036.
**
So what should be at the top of Mr. Neri’s agenda?
First, he should not be complacent with the SSS’ early gains, dela Paz-Bernardo says. The financial viability of the agency must b improved even further. There will be more members coming in, and consequently, more who will require its services. Investments have to be prudent. The actuarial life has to be perpetuating.
Second, information technology facilities must be improved. Third, records have to made digital for easier storage and access. These are ways to make life easier both for the members and the employees.
Fourth, relate well to the public. Assure them that their hard-earned contributions are secure and would be available when it is their turn to use them. The SSS has to be relevant to people. Its services have to have value for them. Otherwise, it has no reason for being.
**
(More on Dela Paz-Bernardo’s international work and her reflections on her stint at the SSS in this space next week)
adelle_tulagan@yahoo.com
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
DNA
After eleven and a half years of occasionally talking about it, my dad (at this point, that's who I think he is) finally decided to subject himself and me to a Paternity DNA Test. He asked me if I was still up to it and I said of course I still was. "It would punctuate a lot of things for you and me," I told him. And so we are scheduled to go to a clinic in two weeks.
That would definitely make him less of a question mark. For the first 21 years of my life, he was nothing but a name and a distant (and angry) memory of my late mother's. Then, when I met him on Valentines Day in 1997, the name acquired a face and a voice. Since then, and over our occasional breakfast or lunch meetings about once every quarter, I have updated him on the goings-on in my life. Lately, he has been talking about himself as well. The face acquired character; the voice texture. Little by little, the person is being fleshed out before my eyes.
I guess it is true both ways. Our conversations are generally light and matter of fact, with a dose of advice here and there. These conversations, however, have not -- yet -- caused me to feel all fatherly towards the guy. (Right. As if I knew how "fatherly" felt.) Instead I regard him as a mentor in some select niches of my life. Sometimes it feels like he were just some superior at work I happened to get along with. I don't even address him any other way than "Mr. D." And when he drops me an email, he signs it with his initials. All businesslike. All safe.
A question keeps bugging me. I wonder what gave him the push to finally act on these possibilities. We have been flirting with the idea since the day we met. So why now? Why ONLY now?
Supposing the tests establish that I really am his daughter. Would that amount to a period? Shall I now feel freer to get in touch with him more often than what we are accustomed to? Shall I bring the kids to our meetings and tell them: "Meet your Lolo."? Shall it now justify the freckles, the talent, the aura which he says I share with his younger brother?
And supposing the tests say I am not?
That would be a sad day. Eleven years wasted. What would become of those talks that had progressed from the shallow to the profound? What of the mutual fondness that, while most certainly not yet filial love, has given me a semblance of feeling anchored and has made some blanks less empty? What of the secrets shared? If he should turn out to be a stranger, would there even be reason to have coffee even once a year? Who, then, is my father?
Definitely there will be a part 2 to this blog entry, when the results are in.
That would definitely make him less of a question mark. For the first 21 years of my life, he was nothing but a name and a distant (and angry) memory of my late mother's. Then, when I met him on Valentines Day in 1997, the name acquired a face and a voice. Since then, and over our occasional breakfast or lunch meetings about once every quarter, I have updated him on the goings-on in my life. Lately, he has been talking about himself as well. The face acquired character; the voice texture. Little by little, the person is being fleshed out before my eyes.
I guess it is true both ways. Our conversations are generally light and matter of fact, with a dose of advice here and there. These conversations, however, have not -- yet -- caused me to feel all fatherly towards the guy. (Right. As if I knew how "fatherly" felt.) Instead I regard him as a mentor in some select niches of my life. Sometimes it feels like he were just some superior at work I happened to get along with. I don't even address him any other way than "Mr. D." And when he drops me an email, he signs it with his initials. All businesslike. All safe.
A question keeps bugging me. I wonder what gave him the push to finally act on these possibilities. We have been flirting with the idea since the day we met. So why now? Why ONLY now?
Supposing the tests establish that I really am his daughter. Would that amount to a period? Shall I now feel freer to get in touch with him more often than what we are accustomed to? Shall I bring the kids to our meetings and tell them: "Meet your Lolo."? Shall it now justify the freckles, the talent, the aura which he says I share with his younger brother?
And supposing the tests say I am not?
That would be a sad day. Eleven years wasted. What would become of those talks that had progressed from the shallow to the profound? What of the mutual fondness that, while most certainly not yet filial love, has given me a semblance of feeling anchored and has made some blanks less empty? What of the secrets shared? If he should turn out to be a stranger, would there even be reason to have coffee even once a year? Who, then, is my father?
Definitely there will be a part 2 to this blog entry, when the results are in.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Anib
Isang taon na akong malaya, kaya nagpapansit ako kanina.
Kumpleto kaming mag-iina sa tanghalian. May bihon, litson manok, mainit na kanin, at macaroons na panghimagas. Lahat kami, ang daming nakain -- kahit na magkakaiba ang sentimiyento namin tungkol sa hiwalayang medyo matagal na rin pala. Si Elmo, hindi pa rin maintindihan kung bakit ako umalis at paminsan-minsan pa rin akong tinatanong kung bakit ko iniwan ang tatay niyang "kawawa naman." Si Sophie ay nakakaintindi na pero naniniwalang kaya pang magbago ng mga tao at malungkot pa ring nagsusumamo sa akin na umuwi na sa malaking bahay at buoing muli ang aming pamilya. Si Joshua ang pinakamaligaya sa lahat; di iilang beses nya na akong sinabihan na kahit bumalik ako sa ama niya ay hindi na siya sasama sa akin. Si Bea, nagsisikap na pahalagahan kaming mga magulang nya bilang mga indibidwal, ay nagtanong: Ganito ka ba talaga kasaya?
Oo, ganito ako kasaya.
Madami na ring nagyari mula ng Miyerkules na parang sinaniban ako ng espiritung ayaw akong payagang atrasan na ang mga plano ko. Pakiramdam ko noon, kelangan kong umalis dahil kinabukasan ay panghihinaan akong muli ng loob at hindi ko na mapapatawad ang sarili ko. Malabo na rin -- o matatagalan pa -- bago ako makaipon ng ganung klaseng lakas muli. At alam kong pag hindi ko sinunod ang idinidikta sa akin ng espiritung ito, malulugmok ako, mauupos sa kalungkutan at rurupok ang kaluluwa. Ayokong mangyari yon.
Nang lumipat kami ay halos wala kaming gamit. Nung unang gabi, sa sahig kami natulog at nanghiram lang ng bumbilya sa kapitbahay. Sa awa ng Diyos, ngayong anniversary ko ay kumpleto na ang mga gamit ko. Wala naman kaming maluluhong aksesorya -- nagkaroon lang kami ng kama, sofa, electric fan, dvd player, tv at ang bahay ay mukhang bahay na.
Ngayon, maayos-ayos na ang lahat. Naipaglaban ko ang karapatan nina Sophie at Elmo na maalagan ng kanilang nanay, at kasama ko sila sa mga araw na may pasok. Weekend na lang sila nasa kabila, kung kailan sila namamasyal kasama ang ama nila. Wala din naman kasi sya sa bahay maghapon kapag may pasok. Naisaayos ko na rin ang sustento ng mga bata at pagbabayad sa iskuwela. Gipit pa rin paminsan-minsan -- ang hihilig nilang kumain! -- pero nagagawan na ng paraan. Hindi na kami nahuhuli sa pagbabayad ng utilities. Natuklasan ko, ayaw na ayaw ko ang pakiramdam ng mga pinagkakautangan. lalo pa't kaya naman isakripisyo ang minsanang luho.
May mga kaibigan akong nagtatanong kung handa na raw ba akong makipag-date muli. Mayroon ding ilang nagtataka kung bakit inaayos ko na ang mga papel para sa declaration of nullity ng aming kasal. Akala nila, nagmamadali ako dahil gusto ko na uling mag-asawa.
Sa tingin ko, nagpapatawa sila.
Mag-asawa, gayong ang sarap-sarap ng buhay kong ako ang nagpapatakbo ng buhay ko? Mag-aayos ng pamamahay at pamumuhay nang ayon sa karapat-dapat sa paningin ko? Mag-asawa, gayong kulang na kulang ang oras at atensyon para sa apat na bata at sa aking sining? Gayong payapa akong nakasusunod sa sarili kong mga plano at nakakapagsaayos ng mga bagay-bagay? Gayong ngayon ko lang napapahalagahan at minamahal ang sariling minsan nang nalunod at muntikan nang di nakaahon? Mag-asawa, at isugal muling maranasan na kung sino ang taong pinakamamahal mo ay sya ring bumabasag sa iyo, at paulit ulit?
Ang totoo, mayroon din naman akong nakakausap sa text, sa chat or sa mga limang-oras -na-tanghalian. Sinungaling ako kung sasabihin kong hindi ako natutuwa sa ganitong mga pangyayari. Masarap maramdaman na may nagmamalasakit sa iyo at nakatutuksong isipin na tunay ang kanyang ipinapakita. Gayon din, nakakatulong sa paghilom ng mga luma at patung patong na sugat ang pakiramdam na di pa pala naglaho ang kapasidad kong magmahal. Sa tingin ko, hindi ito nauubos dahil isa itong biyaya. Kaya nakakangiti pa rin ako.
Pero mabuti na ring ganito lang ang aming sitwasyon at ganito lang ang kaya naming ibigay sa isat isa. Alinmang higit pa rito ay muli na namang magbabanta sa kapayapaang kailan ko lang uli nahagilap. Ayoko ng ganoon. Kailangan ako ng mga bata. Kailangan din ako ng sarili ko. At dahil alam ko na ngayon ang mga bagay na mahalaga, mas may kahulugan ang anibersaryo ng pag-iisang pinili at pinipili ko.
Kumpleto kaming mag-iina sa tanghalian. May bihon, litson manok, mainit na kanin, at macaroons na panghimagas. Lahat kami, ang daming nakain -- kahit na magkakaiba ang sentimiyento namin tungkol sa hiwalayang medyo matagal na rin pala. Si Elmo, hindi pa rin maintindihan kung bakit ako umalis at paminsan-minsan pa rin akong tinatanong kung bakit ko iniwan ang tatay niyang "kawawa naman." Si Sophie ay nakakaintindi na pero naniniwalang kaya pang magbago ng mga tao at malungkot pa ring nagsusumamo sa akin na umuwi na sa malaking bahay at buoing muli ang aming pamilya. Si Joshua ang pinakamaligaya sa lahat; di iilang beses nya na akong sinabihan na kahit bumalik ako sa ama niya ay hindi na siya sasama sa akin. Si Bea, nagsisikap na pahalagahan kaming mga magulang nya bilang mga indibidwal, ay nagtanong: Ganito ka ba talaga kasaya?
Oo, ganito ako kasaya.
Madami na ring nagyari mula ng Miyerkules na parang sinaniban ako ng espiritung ayaw akong payagang atrasan na ang mga plano ko. Pakiramdam ko noon, kelangan kong umalis dahil kinabukasan ay panghihinaan akong muli ng loob at hindi ko na mapapatawad ang sarili ko. Malabo na rin -- o matatagalan pa -- bago ako makaipon ng ganung klaseng lakas muli. At alam kong pag hindi ko sinunod ang idinidikta sa akin ng espiritung ito, malulugmok ako, mauupos sa kalungkutan at rurupok ang kaluluwa. Ayokong mangyari yon.
Nang lumipat kami ay halos wala kaming gamit. Nung unang gabi, sa sahig kami natulog at nanghiram lang ng bumbilya sa kapitbahay. Sa awa ng Diyos, ngayong anniversary ko ay kumpleto na ang mga gamit ko. Wala naman kaming maluluhong aksesorya -- nagkaroon lang kami ng kama, sofa, electric fan, dvd player, tv at ang bahay ay mukhang bahay na.
Ngayon, maayos-ayos na ang lahat. Naipaglaban ko ang karapatan nina Sophie at Elmo na maalagan ng kanilang nanay, at kasama ko sila sa mga araw na may pasok. Weekend na lang sila nasa kabila, kung kailan sila namamasyal kasama ang ama nila. Wala din naman kasi sya sa bahay maghapon kapag may pasok. Naisaayos ko na rin ang sustento ng mga bata at pagbabayad sa iskuwela. Gipit pa rin paminsan-minsan -- ang hihilig nilang kumain! -- pero nagagawan na ng paraan. Hindi na kami nahuhuli sa pagbabayad ng utilities. Natuklasan ko, ayaw na ayaw ko ang pakiramdam ng mga pinagkakautangan. lalo pa't kaya naman isakripisyo ang minsanang luho.
May mga kaibigan akong nagtatanong kung handa na raw ba akong makipag-date muli. Mayroon ding ilang nagtataka kung bakit inaayos ko na ang mga papel para sa declaration of nullity ng aming kasal. Akala nila, nagmamadali ako dahil gusto ko na uling mag-asawa.
Sa tingin ko, nagpapatawa sila.
Mag-asawa, gayong ang sarap-sarap ng buhay kong ako ang nagpapatakbo ng buhay ko? Mag-aayos ng pamamahay at pamumuhay nang ayon sa karapat-dapat sa paningin ko? Mag-asawa, gayong kulang na kulang ang oras at atensyon para sa apat na bata at sa aking sining? Gayong payapa akong nakasusunod sa sarili kong mga plano at nakakapagsaayos ng mga bagay-bagay? Gayong ngayon ko lang napapahalagahan at minamahal ang sariling minsan nang nalunod at muntikan nang di nakaahon? Mag-asawa, at isugal muling maranasan na kung sino ang taong pinakamamahal mo ay sya ring bumabasag sa iyo, at paulit ulit?
Ang totoo, mayroon din naman akong nakakausap sa text, sa chat or sa mga limang-oras -na-tanghalian. Sinungaling ako kung sasabihin kong hindi ako natutuwa sa ganitong mga pangyayari. Masarap maramdaman na may nagmamalasakit sa iyo at nakatutuksong isipin na tunay ang kanyang ipinapakita. Gayon din, nakakatulong sa paghilom ng mga luma at patung patong na sugat ang pakiramdam na di pa pala naglaho ang kapasidad kong magmahal. Sa tingin ko, hindi ito nauubos dahil isa itong biyaya. Kaya nakakangiti pa rin ako.
Pero mabuti na ring ganito lang ang aming sitwasyon at ganito lang ang kaya naming ibigay sa isat isa. Alinmang higit pa rito ay muli na namang magbabanta sa kapayapaang kailan ko lang uli nahagilap. Ayoko ng ganoon. Kailangan ako ng mga bata. Kailangan din ako ng sarili ko. At dahil alam ko na ngayon ang mga bagay na mahalaga, mas may kahulugan ang anibersaryo ng pag-iisang pinili at pinipili ko.
Monday, July 21, 2008
Lull
I have not been writing these days. Oh sure I've been able to cough up the thrice-a-week editorials for my newspaper and my Monday columns for the same. But those are things I HAVE to do. I feel that I do my best writing when I don't have to write at all.
To be sure, I've a got a dozen leads in my head. I have opened files for things I want to write about, mostly personal ones. But all I've got are a dozen empty documents with nothing but a filename.
I haven't been able to do much since I got sick two weeks ago. I'm well now and thankful to be so. I've even gotten used to operating the household without househelp again. But I'm not quite myself yet. Even when I am able to do a lot, there is this nagging feeling that I have not done enough. I'll only be able to say that when I do meet my blogging quota again.
Maybe I need to relax and write as the thoughts flow. Over the years I have grown to be particular with my structure. That's a good thing but maybe not when it comes to blogging. Hey, nobody will edit nor judge me here. So this is what I am doing. Just musing. And calling My Flash to life.
To be sure, I've a got a dozen leads in my head. I have opened files for things I want to write about, mostly personal ones. But all I've got are a dozen empty documents with nothing but a filename.
I haven't been able to do much since I got sick two weeks ago. I'm well now and thankful to be so. I've even gotten used to operating the household without househelp again. But I'm not quite myself yet. Even when I am able to do a lot, there is this nagging feeling that I have not done enough. I'll only be able to say that when I do meet my blogging quota again.
Maybe I need to relax and write as the thoughts flow. Over the years I have grown to be particular with my structure. That's a good thing but maybe not when it comes to blogging. Hey, nobody will edit nor judge me here. So this is what I am doing. Just musing. And calling My Flash to life.
Extraordinary
published 21 July 2008, MST
Fifty-one leaders. Seven chapters. One book, dense with wisdom -- both written and implied.
The Management Association of the Philippines, with help from the Philippine office of Development Dimensions International, has come up with Extraordinary: Stories for Aspiring Leaders, edited by Victor Magdaraog and Nikki Katherine Dy-Liacco. The book, released this year by Anvil Publishing, is an ambitious project. It attempts to tell the stories of Filipinos deemed the best and most inspiring leaders in both business and government.
It is a given that each of the 51 individuals featured in the book has his or her own wealth of experience that dates back to childhood -- privileged or not -- and on to his or her career. How, then, to bring out the essence of these individual journeys through insightful, incisive questions? Process the massive information obtained from the interviews and decide which aspects to use for the book and which to set aside for the moment? Pool these gems together, put them side by side, draw patterns and themes common to them? Determine whose stories most obviously exemplify an identified theme? String anecdotes together for continuity and logical flow? Present these leaders as real people with real-life dilemmas and triumphs, not gurus, lecturers or high-profile executives who are too busy to share their stories?
Finally, how to present these strung-together packets of insights, organized per theme, in a manner easily appreciated by young people whom the book primarily targets? The book tries to get the message across by engaging a team of young writers to do the interviews, process the answers, and write the chapters themselves. See for yourself if they get through you.
MAP President for 2007 Ambassador Albert F. Del Rosario, in his message at the beginning of the book, reiterates the organization's 2007 theme, “Country Above Self.” And it comes just at the perfect time, when “we are assailed by endless stories of mismanagement, and corruption, and of moral failure in both the public and the private sectors, not just in the Philippines but from all around the world.”
When you hear only bad news everywhere of how mismanagement and personal agenda have dominated the practices of most prominent people, it is easy to feel disheartened. Is this the way the system has become? Shall any attempt to challenge this be futile?
The book reminds us it is not. It shows us that that there are men and women who have carved their own legacies in their respective industries, and most of it is because they have attached the word “servant” to the word “leader.”
Chapter 1 (Inspiring confidence and belief in the future) stresses the importance of visualizing the future, forging partnerships, thinking positively, elevating skills and motivating others to dream. Inspiration is what drives it all. Chapter 2 (Passion for results) is about excellence in big and little things, and how one should not work for work's sake alone. Instead, every task should be seen as a masterpiece. Chapter 3 (Managing in uncertain times) acknowledges the existence of crises, and says that meritocracy and the humility to accept one's mistakes before moving on should help tide one through. Chapter 4 (Marked with unwavering integrity) qualifies a big word, integrity – it should be unwavering – and that real leaders must walk the talk in every aspect of their lives. The reader is reminded that a good name lasts forever.
Chapter 5 (Strong, not big, egos) establishes the difference between big egos and strong ones. Real leaders tend not to call attention to themselves and grab all the credit. Instead, their self-awareness is so great that they think nothing about working with the ranks and learning from their failures. Chapter 6 (Courage to make tough decisions) underscores the importance of courage and conviction in making painful decisions. Finally, Chapter 7 (Setting up others for success) says that leaders recognize other people's talents and contributions and must in fact prepare themselves to be expendable.
Each chapter is supported by anecdotes or pieces of advice coming from an average of 16 people among the interviewed leaders. Some of them appear more frequently, in more than one chapter. Some answers are quoted in full and some experiences are discussed extensively.
Apparently, the questions given the leaders were similar, if not identical. Each of the 51 resource persons were asked to communicate their thoughts on, for instance, whether they thought leaders were born or made. Success and the perception of success. Their influences and mentors. They were asked to describe their growth and learning as leaders, as well as the follies and miscalculations that in hindsight enriched their lives. They were made to identify their guiding principles, philosophies and values. What were some the dilemmas they faced and how did they resolve these? Finally, they were asked to analyze the causes of failures in leadership, in the broader context.
The postscript by Baltazar Endriga poses a practical question. If the country has this kind of business and government leaders, then how come “the country has struggled behind its Asian neighbors in various aspects of human development – economics, social justice, political maturity, stability, national consciousness, public morals, education, even cultural development [?]...We wonder what went wrong and how and what leaders must do to make our country and our people move forward....”
He includes the theories of some of the leaders they interviewed and concludes that business leaders of the future must not simply show fat bottom lines but consider the social meaning of business leadership. “The business leader of tomorrow will be expected to be heroic, patriotic and conscious at all times that many of the decisions he or she makes must contribute to building a nation unified in its decisions and actions to create a society that every Filipino can be proud of.” And yet, despite these conclusions, the book offers no fixed answers. Will tomorrow's leaders be up to par? Is it about leaders all the time? What about the quality of the would-be followers, which make up bulk of the population?
The reader is left with the impression that there was so much more to these leaders' stories. After briefly wondering what criteria was used in drawing up this list (why not 510, or 10, why these 51?), one yearns to discover how each of them answered each of the questions – not only the processed version. Maybe the way they answered would also provide a glimpse into their minds. In this aspect, the book becomes the proverbial tip of the iceberg. It is so wonderfully condensed that one cannot help asking whether some equally important aspects have been left out, for space considerations.
Ultimately, Extraordinary occasions introspection, especially if the reader is himself or herself possessed with the same love of country and desire to contribute to make this nation a better place. How am I faring thus far? Shall my own story be worthy of mention someday?
If the gauge is the ability to inspire, Extraordinary is a success. The book establishes that there are no fancy tricks or qualifications to becoming a leader. One can make a difference, first and foremost, only if one deliberately chooses to and embraces this calling. Everything follows.
Copies of the book may be obtained at the office of the Management Association of the Philippines. Call 751-1149 or visit www.map.org.ph.
Fifty-one leaders. Seven chapters. One book, dense with wisdom -- both written and implied.
The Management Association of the Philippines, with help from the Philippine office of Development Dimensions International, has come up with Extraordinary: Stories for Aspiring Leaders, edited by Victor Magdaraog and Nikki Katherine Dy-Liacco. The book, released this year by Anvil Publishing, is an ambitious project. It attempts to tell the stories of Filipinos deemed the best and most inspiring leaders in both business and government.
It is a given that each of the 51 individuals featured in the book has his or her own wealth of experience that dates back to childhood -- privileged or not -- and on to his or her career. How, then, to bring out the essence of these individual journeys through insightful, incisive questions? Process the massive information obtained from the interviews and decide which aspects to use for the book and which to set aside for the moment? Pool these gems together, put them side by side, draw patterns and themes common to them? Determine whose stories most obviously exemplify an identified theme? String anecdotes together for continuity and logical flow? Present these leaders as real people with real-life dilemmas and triumphs, not gurus, lecturers or high-profile executives who are too busy to share their stories?
Finally, how to present these strung-together packets of insights, organized per theme, in a manner easily appreciated by young people whom the book primarily targets? The book tries to get the message across by engaging a team of young writers to do the interviews, process the answers, and write the chapters themselves. See for yourself if they get through you.
MAP President for 2007 Ambassador Albert F. Del Rosario, in his message at the beginning of the book, reiterates the organization's 2007 theme, “Country Above Self.” And it comes just at the perfect time, when “we are assailed by endless stories of mismanagement, and corruption, and of moral failure in both the public and the private sectors, not just in the Philippines but from all around the world.”
When you hear only bad news everywhere of how mismanagement and personal agenda have dominated the practices of most prominent people, it is easy to feel disheartened. Is this the way the system has become? Shall any attempt to challenge this be futile?
The book reminds us it is not. It shows us that that there are men and women who have carved their own legacies in their respective industries, and most of it is because they have attached the word “servant” to the word “leader.”
Chapter 1 (Inspiring confidence and belief in the future) stresses the importance of visualizing the future, forging partnerships, thinking positively, elevating skills and motivating others to dream. Inspiration is what drives it all. Chapter 2 (Passion for results) is about excellence in big and little things, and how one should not work for work's sake alone. Instead, every task should be seen as a masterpiece. Chapter 3 (Managing in uncertain times) acknowledges the existence of crises, and says that meritocracy and the humility to accept one's mistakes before moving on should help tide one through. Chapter 4 (Marked with unwavering integrity) qualifies a big word, integrity – it should be unwavering – and that real leaders must walk the talk in every aspect of their lives. The reader is reminded that a good name lasts forever.
Chapter 5 (Strong, not big, egos) establishes the difference between big egos and strong ones. Real leaders tend not to call attention to themselves and grab all the credit. Instead, their self-awareness is so great that they think nothing about working with the ranks and learning from their failures. Chapter 6 (Courage to make tough decisions) underscores the importance of courage and conviction in making painful decisions. Finally, Chapter 7 (Setting up others for success) says that leaders recognize other people's talents and contributions and must in fact prepare themselves to be expendable.
Each chapter is supported by anecdotes or pieces of advice coming from an average of 16 people among the interviewed leaders. Some of them appear more frequently, in more than one chapter. Some answers are quoted in full and some experiences are discussed extensively.
Apparently, the questions given the leaders were similar, if not identical. Each of the 51 resource persons were asked to communicate their thoughts on, for instance, whether they thought leaders were born or made. Success and the perception of success. Their influences and mentors. They were asked to describe their growth and learning as leaders, as well as the follies and miscalculations that in hindsight enriched their lives. They were made to identify their guiding principles, philosophies and values. What were some the dilemmas they faced and how did they resolve these? Finally, they were asked to analyze the causes of failures in leadership, in the broader context.
The postscript by Baltazar Endriga poses a practical question. If the country has this kind of business and government leaders, then how come “the country has struggled behind its Asian neighbors in various aspects of human development – economics, social justice, political maturity, stability, national consciousness, public morals, education, even cultural development [?]...We wonder what went wrong and how and what leaders must do to make our country and our people move forward....”
He includes the theories of some of the leaders they interviewed and concludes that business leaders of the future must not simply show fat bottom lines but consider the social meaning of business leadership. “The business leader of tomorrow will be expected to be heroic, patriotic and conscious at all times that many of the decisions he or she makes must contribute to building a nation unified in its decisions and actions to create a society that every Filipino can be proud of.” And yet, despite these conclusions, the book offers no fixed answers. Will tomorrow's leaders be up to par? Is it about leaders all the time? What about the quality of the would-be followers, which make up bulk of the population?
The reader is left with the impression that there was so much more to these leaders' stories. After briefly wondering what criteria was used in drawing up this list (why not 510, or 10, why these 51?), one yearns to discover how each of them answered each of the questions – not only the processed version. Maybe the way they answered would also provide a glimpse into their minds. In this aspect, the book becomes the proverbial tip of the iceberg. It is so wonderfully condensed that one cannot help asking whether some equally important aspects have been left out, for space considerations.
Ultimately, Extraordinary occasions introspection, especially if the reader is himself or herself possessed with the same love of country and desire to contribute to make this nation a better place. How am I faring thus far? Shall my own story be worthy of mention someday?
If the gauge is the ability to inspire, Extraordinary is a success. The book establishes that there are no fancy tricks or qualifications to becoming a leader. One can make a difference, first and foremost, only if one deliberately chooses to and embraces this calling. Everything follows.
Copies of the book may be obtained at the office of the Management Association of the Philippines. Call 751-1149 or visit www.map.org.ph.
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Emotional Vampires
published 14 July 2008, MST
When the Bible tells us: “Love your neighbor as you love yourself,” the premise is that we do love ourselves, and, as it is recognized by Christ himself, it is never wrong nor undesirable to begin with. Indeed, self-love, self-esteem, self-confidence and (the instinct for) self-preservation are things that a healthy individual, with a sound mind and a balanced well-being, must have.
But there are those who take the love-of-self thing a bit too far. The conceited, the boastful, the pretentious, or those who simply have a very high regard of themselves are not exactly people we are thrilled to hang out with.
Still, these are mere personality traits or individual quirks that we see among people we work with, live with, go to school with or have any other dealings with. Nobody's perfect, and these differences make life much more interesting, more colorful.
Don't they?
But what if a person is is convinced he is better than everybody else? Fantasizes about power, wealth, success or attractiveness? Desires to possess the best in everything and be associated with “important” people? Exaggerates his own achievements or talents and expects constant praise and admiration? Sets unrealistic goals?
What if he feels entitled to deferential treatment? Fails to recognize other people's emotions and preferences and expects them to automatically go along with his ideas and plans? Worse, what if he takes advantage of others to advance his own ends and expresses disdain for those he feels are inferior?
Despite these, this person is easily envious of others and believes them to be envious of him. He easily feels hurt and rejected. Under the tough exterior, he has a fragile self-esteem. Needless to say, this unfortunate person has difficulty keeping healthy relationships.
**
These characteristics, taken together and observed over a considerable period of time, form a pattern of behavior that creates problems in a person's cognition (perception, thinking and interpretation of oneself, other people and events), affectivity (emotional response in terms of range, intensity, liability and appropriateness), interpersonal functions and impulsivity.
Simply put, when this behavior hampers the normal functioning of how a person perceives himself, relates with other people and does his work, and in all counts gravely or severely, it is no longer a quirk. It may be a pathological disorder, which can be quite debilitating.
This one in particular is known as Narcissistic Personality Disorder, after Narcissus, the mythical figure who fell in love with his reflection in the water.
Psychological experts around the world use either of two classification systems that govern the way they analyze numerous personality disorders and thus find ways to work on their patients. European countries refer to the International Classification of Mental and Behavioral Disorders, published in 1992 by the World Health Organization.
Philippine practitioners, on the other hand, refer to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the classification system used in the United States. The Philippines uses the criteria listed in this manual to aid petitions for the declaration of nullity of marriages. Article 36 of the Family Code that says psychological incapacity is a ground for such judicial declarations. The manual also helps in corporations' human resources decisions in hiring or firing employees.
The DSM lists NPD as one of the nine major types of personality disorders. Broadly defined, NPD is "a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and a lack of empathy." There are several symptoms of this disorder, those which I mentioned above. To be deemed disordered, a person has to exhibit five or more of these traits. The manual estimates that 50 to 75 percent of those with NPD are male.
**
So what made me single out the self-lovers' disorder above the eight other types? The clinical descriptions can go and on. The books and articles are many. Ultimately, however, they don't mean a thing unless you actually know somebody exhibiting these characteristics. (I do and it ain't pretty.) And then you begin to imagine the ordeal that people closest to the narcissist are subjected to every day (even uglier).
First, once it is established that the disorder is severe, change becomes more unlikely than ever. While not totally impossible, the chances of somebody actually shedding the disorder are very slim. Therapy may be introduced, but owing to the nature of the disorder, the idea of receiving psychological help would be repugnant to the narcissist. That would be an affront to the superiority they try so hard to exude. As a result, they are likely to refuse external help. They may say they want to, in the beginning, but they will eventually grow tire of it given their characteristic short-lived enthusiasm.
Even more importantly, how do these people's families – spouses and children, most of all – fulfill their equally important need for a peaceful, healthy environment in which to nourish their own growth? Their narcissistic spouse or parent may think otherwise, but the well-being of the other members of the family, especially that of young, impressionable children, must never be subordinated to anybody's.
Imagine thus living in a household where a member considers himself or herself to be more important than you are. Imagine constantly subordinating your wishes, preferences, opinions and even little conveniences for this person who believes the world owes him something. Imagine your concerns and feelings being dismissed outright. You adjust and make sacrifices, and after everything, you are still second-rate. Maybe that's how it feels to be treated like dirt.
Doctors agree that the best compromise for this situation is non-constant interaction with the narcissist. In this way, conflict points are minimized and the narcissist, as he does in any initial encounter, watches himself to make a favorable impression. But of course this is not possible all the time because families are families and one of the spouses' rights and obligations is to live together. Real relationships, after all, are founded on everyday exposure to one another.
So a dilemma sets in. Other members of the family need to look out for themselves as well – that healthy version of self-love – for their own development. It is unfortunate if they simply spend their time catering to the needs of the narcissistic housemate while forsaking their own. It's the psychological equivalent of getting the blood sucked out of their system.
When the Bible tells us: “Love your neighbor as you love yourself,” the premise is that we do love ourselves, and, as it is recognized by Christ himself, it is never wrong nor undesirable to begin with. Indeed, self-love, self-esteem, self-confidence and (the instinct for) self-preservation are things that a healthy individual, with a sound mind and a balanced well-being, must have.
But there are those who take the love-of-self thing a bit too far. The conceited, the boastful, the pretentious, or those who simply have a very high regard of themselves are not exactly people we are thrilled to hang out with.
Still, these are mere personality traits or individual quirks that we see among people we work with, live with, go to school with or have any other dealings with. Nobody's perfect, and these differences make life much more interesting, more colorful.
Don't they?
But what if a person is is convinced he is better than everybody else? Fantasizes about power, wealth, success or attractiveness? Desires to possess the best in everything and be associated with “important” people? Exaggerates his own achievements or talents and expects constant praise and admiration? Sets unrealistic goals?
What if he feels entitled to deferential treatment? Fails to recognize other people's emotions and preferences and expects them to automatically go along with his ideas and plans? Worse, what if he takes advantage of others to advance his own ends and expresses disdain for those he feels are inferior?
Despite these, this person is easily envious of others and believes them to be envious of him. He easily feels hurt and rejected. Under the tough exterior, he has a fragile self-esteem. Needless to say, this unfortunate person has difficulty keeping healthy relationships.
**
These characteristics, taken together and observed over a considerable period of time, form a pattern of behavior that creates problems in a person's cognition (perception, thinking and interpretation of oneself, other people and events), affectivity (emotional response in terms of range, intensity, liability and appropriateness), interpersonal functions and impulsivity.
Simply put, when this behavior hampers the normal functioning of how a person perceives himself, relates with other people and does his work, and in all counts gravely or severely, it is no longer a quirk. It may be a pathological disorder, which can be quite debilitating.
This one in particular is known as Narcissistic Personality Disorder, after Narcissus, the mythical figure who fell in love with his reflection in the water.
Psychological experts around the world use either of two classification systems that govern the way they analyze numerous personality disorders and thus find ways to work on their patients. European countries refer to the International Classification of Mental and Behavioral Disorders, published in 1992 by the World Health Organization.
Philippine practitioners, on the other hand, refer to the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, the classification system used in the United States. The Philippines uses the criteria listed in this manual to aid petitions for the declaration of nullity of marriages. Article 36 of the Family Code that says psychological incapacity is a ground for such judicial declarations. The manual also helps in corporations' human resources decisions in hiring or firing employees.
The DSM lists NPD as one of the nine major types of personality disorders. Broadly defined, NPD is "a pervasive pattern of grandiosity, need for admiration, and a lack of empathy." There are several symptoms of this disorder, those which I mentioned above. To be deemed disordered, a person has to exhibit five or more of these traits. The manual estimates that 50 to 75 percent of those with NPD are male.
**
So what made me single out the self-lovers' disorder above the eight other types? The clinical descriptions can go and on. The books and articles are many. Ultimately, however, they don't mean a thing unless you actually know somebody exhibiting these characteristics. (I do and it ain't pretty.) And then you begin to imagine the ordeal that people closest to the narcissist are subjected to every day (even uglier).
First, once it is established that the disorder is severe, change becomes more unlikely than ever. While not totally impossible, the chances of somebody actually shedding the disorder are very slim. Therapy may be introduced, but owing to the nature of the disorder, the idea of receiving psychological help would be repugnant to the narcissist. That would be an affront to the superiority they try so hard to exude. As a result, they are likely to refuse external help. They may say they want to, in the beginning, but they will eventually grow tire of it given their characteristic short-lived enthusiasm.
Even more importantly, how do these people's families – spouses and children, most of all – fulfill their equally important need for a peaceful, healthy environment in which to nourish their own growth? Their narcissistic spouse or parent may think otherwise, but the well-being of the other members of the family, especially that of young, impressionable children, must never be subordinated to anybody's.
Imagine thus living in a household where a member considers himself or herself to be more important than you are. Imagine constantly subordinating your wishes, preferences, opinions and even little conveniences for this person who believes the world owes him something. Imagine your concerns and feelings being dismissed outright. You adjust and make sacrifices, and after everything, you are still second-rate. Maybe that's how it feels to be treated like dirt.
Doctors agree that the best compromise for this situation is non-constant interaction with the narcissist. In this way, conflict points are minimized and the narcissist, as he does in any initial encounter, watches himself to make a favorable impression. But of course this is not possible all the time because families are families and one of the spouses' rights and obligations is to live together. Real relationships, after all, are founded on everyday exposure to one another.
So a dilemma sets in. Other members of the family need to look out for themselves as well – that healthy version of self-love – for their own development. It is unfortunate if they simply spend their time catering to the needs of the narcissistic housemate while forsaking their own. It's the psychological equivalent of getting the blood sucked out of their system.
From This Day Forward
When one has spent an entire week bogged down by sickness -- lethargic and cranky and totally unproductive -- one needs a source of inspiration to get back to life. I found mine, just tonight (Friday). And because I'm having all these feelings now, I know for sure I'm well.
That inspiration comes from a book of essays, From This Day Forward, edited by Erlinda Enriquez Panlilio and published by Anvil in 2002.
Re-discovery would be a better description, actually. I have had this book for three or four years now, buying it primarily because of 1/ my bias for nonfiction narratives and 2/my close acquaintance with one of the contributors to the anthology (she was a partner at the law firm I used to work for). This afternoon I scanned my bookshelf looking for something to awaken some fires that had been doused by days of lying around taking medicines and throwing up. From among my modest collection the book seemed to blink at me. I have not put it down since.
The sub-title, Widows and Widowers Write, is self-explanatory. It's a book of one poem (some sort of preface by Karina Bolasco) and twenty-one essays from men and women who have lost a life partner (some more than once) talking about their beloved, their grief and their coping.
Some of the authors have remarried; in fact there are two pairs of contributors who are each other's Second Chance. Some have chosen to devote the rest of their lives to their children, grandchildren, and careers. Some remain open to the idea but are not actively searching for the next mate, believing that would take care of itself.
That the pieces are borne out of such powerful and lingering emotions make them a riveting read. The authors vary in their tone, angle and resolution but one thing stands out: A whole lot of love. It makes one grovel in envy to experience that kind of devotion that braves even death. Or especially that.
And these are not sweethearts who have been together for a few months, giddy and blushing, ecstatic with the special occasion of falling in love. No, they are married couples who have known each other for years, no, decades – built homes, established careers, raised children, bred familiarity, shared the mundane and generally been the other's companion, for the longest time. And suddenly or cruelly, or both, Death comes and yanks one away from the other. That kind of pain, arising from that kind of love, must be palpable.
I don't know whether it's a blessing or a curse that I won't ever feel that kind of pain. I'm not married myself anymore (not where it counts, in spirit). My solitude is elected.
I wonder how many other parties to a failed relationship would be able to write pieces as poignant...or whether anybody would be able to. Maybe the ill feelings will take charge and run the show. Maybe the pieces won't come out as romantic, as only Death, non-negotiable as it is, could be romantic. On the other hand, separation could only be ugly. Anything that has the semblance of free will does not sound as mystical.
Still, these heartwarming feelings are nice to take to bed tonight. It's officially my weekend and I'm claiming it anyway, despite the fact that in the last five days, I have neither been deliberate or busy or prolific: I've just been sick and helpless. I assert the right to take that delicious break, and look forward to the next days when I can again take charge and do as many things as I can write down in my white board. For tonight, though, I will just revel that despite all I have been through, and despite that I never uttered any vows, romantic or otherwise, during my own nondescript civil wedding in the rickety chambers of a bored-looking judge, I am able to experience From This Day Forward (to have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part) vicariously.
For now, that is enough.
That inspiration comes from a book of essays, From This Day Forward, edited by Erlinda Enriquez Panlilio and published by Anvil in 2002.
Re-discovery would be a better description, actually. I have had this book for three or four years now, buying it primarily because of 1/ my bias for nonfiction narratives and 2/my close acquaintance with one of the contributors to the anthology (she was a partner at the law firm I used to work for). This afternoon I scanned my bookshelf looking for something to awaken some fires that had been doused by days of lying around taking medicines and throwing up. From among my modest collection the book seemed to blink at me. I have not put it down since.
The sub-title, Widows and Widowers Write, is self-explanatory. It's a book of one poem (some sort of preface by Karina Bolasco) and twenty-one essays from men and women who have lost a life partner (some more than once) talking about their beloved, their grief and their coping.
Some of the authors have remarried; in fact there are two pairs of contributors who are each other's Second Chance. Some have chosen to devote the rest of their lives to their children, grandchildren, and careers. Some remain open to the idea but are not actively searching for the next mate, believing that would take care of itself.
That the pieces are borne out of such powerful and lingering emotions make them a riveting read. The authors vary in their tone, angle and resolution but one thing stands out: A whole lot of love. It makes one grovel in envy to experience that kind of devotion that braves even death. Or especially that.
And these are not sweethearts who have been together for a few months, giddy and blushing, ecstatic with the special occasion of falling in love. No, they are married couples who have known each other for years, no, decades – built homes, established careers, raised children, bred familiarity, shared the mundane and generally been the other's companion, for the longest time. And suddenly or cruelly, or both, Death comes and yanks one away from the other. That kind of pain, arising from that kind of love, must be palpable.
I don't know whether it's a blessing or a curse that I won't ever feel that kind of pain. I'm not married myself anymore (not where it counts, in spirit). My solitude is elected.
I wonder how many other parties to a failed relationship would be able to write pieces as poignant...or whether anybody would be able to. Maybe the ill feelings will take charge and run the show. Maybe the pieces won't come out as romantic, as only Death, non-negotiable as it is, could be romantic. On the other hand, separation could only be ugly. Anything that has the semblance of free will does not sound as mystical.
Still, these heartwarming feelings are nice to take to bed tonight. It's officially my weekend and I'm claiming it anyway, despite the fact that in the last five days, I have neither been deliberate or busy or prolific: I've just been sick and helpless. I assert the right to take that delicious break, and look forward to the next days when I can again take charge and do as many things as I can write down in my white board. For tonight, though, I will just revel that despite all I have been through, and despite that I never uttered any vows, romantic or otherwise, during my own nondescript civil wedding in the rickety chambers of a bored-looking judge, I am able to experience From This Day Forward (to have and to hold, for richer or for poorer, in sickness and in health, till death do us part) vicariously.
For now, that is enough.
Friday, July 4, 2008
My week with Andy
He has to know it is ending. Tomorrow morning, I shall work up the courage to say it.
Andy is a boy I've known for a week or so. His mother, Merlie, helps me around the house. She had been with me for a month until she started springing surprises. First, she asked if she could be a stay-in helper. Then she requested whether she could bring her boy, Andy, to live with us. An aging aunt had refused to mind the three-year-old because of his playfulness. I figured having somebody around to help far outweighed an invasion of the privacy and solitude I so treasured. I surely understood how having your kid around completed a woman, no matter her day-to-day hardships. I picked up hints that the husband was not only a rotten provider but also an abuser. How could anybody claiming to have a heart refuse?
Five days, though, and I've come to some conclusions. And decisions.
I would not have minded much if the boy behaved well. But he was a toddler, for crying out loud, and it was in his nature to take "playfulness" to a whole new level. On the first day, he was naturally shy, and thus restrained himself from running about too much. But by Day Two, he was calling me Mommy. That same morning, he started arguing with my six-year-old son, Elmo -- fiddling with the contents of his bag, inspecting his lunch box, claiming his toys as his own.
By Day Three, his wailing at six in the morning woke the entire household up -- although we were thankful for that because the three older ones had to get moving for school. Yet, he did not stop there. He gobbled up Elmo's pandesal and started hovering about the buttons of the tv set, looking as though he longed to push each and every one of them. He argued with Elmo on tv programs . He started throwing his tiny frame against the sofa and did headstands on the floor. That evening, as my other son Josh was sleeping on the couch, Andy banged his little head onto Josh's -- which gave the 12-year-old a headache that lasted well into the next day. Andy, though, seemed unscathed.
Oh he would stop and sit down when you told him to stay away -- for the next sixty seconds. And then, after you have turned your back, he would be doing the exact same thing you asked him not to do. Woe to any documents or gadgets lying around on a table, even of that table was in somebody's Home Office and was thus off-limits to children. Unwritten rules did not apply to Andy. It did not help, either, that the mother only occasionally reprimanded him -- much too lovingly, I think -- with "Potpot, huwag naman masyadong makulit..." I thought, what a funny name. But maybe Pol Pot would suit him better.
Tomorrow, then. My weekend starts tonight and I have a line-up of films I would want to watch, essays I want to write, books, or their saved online versions, I want to read. I even have some sideline work to catch up on. Nobody is going to spoil that for me.
And so I will talk to Merlie and tell her of my brilliant win-win solution. I would not want to fire her. She does not deserve it. She's been working so hard, and joyfully. I do not even want to tell her what I want done! I just wrote down a schedule of major chores (and their corresponding days) on my white board and she follows them to the letter. The drawers are fixed and the rooms are always clean. The kind of clean that glimmers. I'm allergic to dust so you know what that means.
What I would do is to ask her to come over every Tuesday and Friday to do the laundry and all other chores she could squeeze in. Knowing how efficient she could be, she would be able to do a lot. Nobody has to do some sleeping over afterwards. And I gather she has started living with an aunt instead of with her husband. Why, her Potpot could tag along sometimes. She would even be free to accept other day jobs to augment her income -- the same amount I would be paying her if she were staying in, six days a week. Meantime, I realize I wouldn't mind going back to the same chores I'd been used to doing myself, plus I get to revel in my glorious alone-ness. How's that for a bonus?
I've gone over this tens of times in my head. I know I sound a bit defensive of my resolution. Part of me wonders whether I'm just being tested for goodness and compassion on this one. Tomorrow,shall I have failed this test and been deemed heartless? Damn this pressure to aways be the Nice Girl. This has caused me much trouble, you know.
In the meantime, I have a secret. I am looking forward to a quiet, Andy-less weekend. Shall lighting strike me now?
Andy is a boy I've known for a week or so. His mother, Merlie, helps me around the house. She had been with me for a month until she started springing surprises. First, she asked if she could be a stay-in helper. Then she requested whether she could bring her boy, Andy, to live with us. An aging aunt had refused to mind the three-year-old because of his playfulness. I figured having somebody around to help far outweighed an invasion of the privacy and solitude I so treasured. I surely understood how having your kid around completed a woman, no matter her day-to-day hardships. I picked up hints that the husband was not only a rotten provider but also an abuser. How could anybody claiming to have a heart refuse?
Five days, though, and I've come to some conclusions. And decisions.
I would not have minded much if the boy behaved well. But he was a toddler, for crying out loud, and it was in his nature to take "playfulness" to a whole new level. On the first day, he was naturally shy, and thus restrained himself from running about too much. But by Day Two, he was calling me Mommy. That same morning, he started arguing with my six-year-old son, Elmo -- fiddling with the contents of his bag, inspecting his lunch box, claiming his toys as his own.
By Day Three, his wailing at six in the morning woke the entire household up -- although we were thankful for that because the three older ones had to get moving for school. Yet, he did not stop there. He gobbled up Elmo's pandesal and started hovering about the buttons of the tv set, looking as though he longed to push each and every one of them. He argued with Elmo on tv programs . He started throwing his tiny frame against the sofa and did headstands on the floor. That evening, as my other son Josh was sleeping on the couch, Andy banged his little head onto Josh's -- which gave the 12-year-old a headache that lasted well into the next day. Andy, though, seemed unscathed.
Oh he would stop and sit down when you told him to stay away -- for the next sixty seconds. And then, after you have turned your back, he would be doing the exact same thing you asked him not to do. Woe to any documents or gadgets lying around on a table, even of that table was in somebody's Home Office and was thus off-limits to children. Unwritten rules did not apply to Andy. It did not help, either, that the mother only occasionally reprimanded him -- much too lovingly, I think -- with "Potpot, huwag naman masyadong makulit..." I thought, what a funny name. But maybe Pol Pot would suit him better.
Tomorrow, then. My weekend starts tonight and I have a line-up of films I would want to watch, essays I want to write, books, or their saved online versions, I want to read. I even have some sideline work to catch up on. Nobody is going to spoil that for me.
And so I will talk to Merlie and tell her of my brilliant win-win solution. I would not want to fire her. She does not deserve it. She's been working so hard, and joyfully. I do not even want to tell her what I want done! I just wrote down a schedule of major chores (and their corresponding days) on my white board and she follows them to the letter. The drawers are fixed and the rooms are always clean. The kind of clean that glimmers. I'm allergic to dust so you know what that means.
What I would do is to ask her to come over every Tuesday and Friday to do the laundry and all other chores she could squeeze in. Knowing how efficient she could be, she would be able to do a lot. Nobody has to do some sleeping over afterwards. And I gather she has started living with an aunt instead of with her husband. Why, her Potpot could tag along sometimes. She would even be free to accept other day jobs to augment her income -- the same amount I would be paying her if she were staying in, six days a week. Meantime, I realize I wouldn't mind going back to the same chores I'd been used to doing myself, plus I get to revel in my glorious alone-ness. How's that for a bonus?
I've gone over this tens of times in my head. I know I sound a bit defensive of my resolution. Part of me wonders whether I'm just being tested for goodness and compassion on this one. Tomorrow,shall I have failed this test and been deemed heartless? Damn this pressure to aways be the Nice Girl. This has caused me much trouble, you know.
In the meantime, I have a secret. I am looking forward to a quiet, Andy-less weekend. Shall lighting strike me now?
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Eight
Eleven p.m., Monday night, 30 June. I am here downstairs unwinding after another roller-coaster, busy day. The music of trumpeteer Chris Botti, featuring Paula Cole singing My One and Only Love, is a balm for my spirit.
With me here are Joshua and Sophie. (Bea and Elmo are upstairs in our room.) But they are asleep, as they have been when I arrived about 45 minutes ago. So it is really just me, with My Flash just right around the corner.
It wil be Sophie's birthday tomorrow. She is turning eight. Our day, as I imagine it, will be quite full. She will, of course, go to school. I will cook baked macaroni for lunch. By mid-morning, Elmo and I will pay the utilities bills at the mall and then get some cake roll for our lunch celebration. But Sophie won't even be home for lunch. It will just be myself and the three others.
She will be home by 130. I am supposed to fetch her. Then she will change into the outfit we purchased yesterday with her gift certificate in Greenhills. Brown capri pants, aqua green polo shirt, and nice strappy sandals. She will go with me to my office. We will say a silent prayer at the Sta. Cruz Church and maybe grab a plate of rice and chicken in nearby McDo. I will try to finish my work early, so she can sneak in a ride at the rotating cups and saucers at the SM Amusement Center. A token costs eight pesos and is good for a three-minute spin.
Before all that however, is my lovely pause tonight. I type this as I am slouched on the couch right beside her sleping form. I told her (I do not know if she heard me) that I would wake her up at midnght so I would be the very first one to greet her a Happy Birthday.
My sister, Unica, who is now twenty-four and has two children of her own, certainly did not have this luxury. On the day she turned eight, our mom died.
October 3, 1992. I was in high spirits. I would be seeing Martin Nievera's concert that evening with my boyfriend and an accompanying cousin. A chaperone, because I was only sixteen. It was a Saturday. In the morning, however, I was asked by my grandmother to bring a thermos of freshly-boiled water and some laundered blankets to the hospital. See my mother had been coonfined at the Chinese General where she was undergoing treatment for cancer of the colon. My boyfriend even accompanied me, hyped as we were for our first “legal” date (i.e., with permission).
But when the elevator doors to the fourth floor of the new wing building opened, it was a totally different world. The nurses at the station were sobbing. Upon seeing me, they told me to hurry before it was too late. Mommy had spent three or four months in that room and had grown close to her caregivers. When we arrived at Room 404, my uncle, my aunt, and my cousin were there. They were all crying. On the bed, my mother lay, gasping for breath. She looked at me and her eyes told me she knew the end was coming. The tears on her cheeks told me she was fighting valiantly,but was not succeeding.
In a few minutes, she was gone.
More relatives arrived, including my stepfather, Tatay Rudy, and their three girls, Shelby, Unica and Raissa. Nobody seemed to have remembered it was Unica's birthday. The girl looked arund in the room with a blank expression. Maybe at that age one did not realize how non-negotiable death was.
I told my boyfriend it was my sister's birthday, and after a while we excused ourselves from all or friends and relatives and the outpouring of grief at my mother's loss and relief that her long painful suffering has ended. We motioned for Unica to join us, and she broke away from her father's hand. We rode the elevator,walked to the gate and along the crowded Blumentritt market where vendors lorded it over the road. There was a Jollibbee there. We went in and ordered spaghetti and sundae. We told the girl, happy birthday. And then we went back to our relatives, to our bereavement.
Fortunately for Sophie, her special day tomorrow is her own. And I am very much here. Nobody has to feel sorry for her. My boyfriend, who ended up being her father but from whom I have been separated for a year already, probably has his own idea of celebration. She will find out this weekend, when it is her day to be with him.
Her expression does not have to be blank. I will try to be around for as long as I can, explaining everything along the way, and lovingly, patiently. I will educate her, as nobody has done me nor to my sister, on how a girl has to learn to fill her own gaps, deal with her sadness, face her fears and answer her questions. She should not expect a boy to do that for her. He probably never will and will just end up breaking her heart, or worse, her spirit. Look at me. I will also tell her that what does not kill her will make her stronger. And look at me again.
I end up looking at the clock. It is almost midnight. It's time to greet my Angel.
With me here are Joshua and Sophie. (Bea and Elmo are upstairs in our room.) But they are asleep, as they have been when I arrived about 45 minutes ago. So it is really just me, with My Flash just right around the corner.
It wil be Sophie's birthday tomorrow. She is turning eight. Our day, as I imagine it, will be quite full. She will, of course, go to school. I will cook baked macaroni for lunch. By mid-morning, Elmo and I will pay the utilities bills at the mall and then get some cake roll for our lunch celebration. But Sophie won't even be home for lunch. It will just be myself and the three others.
She will be home by 130. I am supposed to fetch her. Then she will change into the outfit we purchased yesterday with her gift certificate in Greenhills. Brown capri pants, aqua green polo shirt, and nice strappy sandals. She will go with me to my office. We will say a silent prayer at the Sta. Cruz Church and maybe grab a plate of rice and chicken in nearby McDo. I will try to finish my work early, so she can sneak in a ride at the rotating cups and saucers at the SM Amusement Center. A token costs eight pesos and is good for a three-minute spin.
Before all that however, is my lovely pause tonight. I type this as I am slouched on the couch right beside her sleping form. I told her (I do not know if she heard me) that I would wake her up at midnght so I would be the very first one to greet her a Happy Birthday.
My sister, Unica, who is now twenty-four and has two children of her own, certainly did not have this luxury. On the day she turned eight, our mom died.
October 3, 1992. I was in high spirits. I would be seeing Martin Nievera's concert that evening with my boyfriend and an accompanying cousin. A chaperone, because I was only sixteen. It was a Saturday. In the morning, however, I was asked by my grandmother to bring a thermos of freshly-boiled water and some laundered blankets to the hospital. See my mother had been coonfined at the Chinese General where she was undergoing treatment for cancer of the colon. My boyfriend even accompanied me, hyped as we were for our first “legal” date (i.e., with permission).
But when the elevator doors to the fourth floor of the new wing building opened, it was a totally different world. The nurses at the station were sobbing. Upon seeing me, they told me to hurry before it was too late. Mommy had spent three or four months in that room and had grown close to her caregivers. When we arrived at Room 404, my uncle, my aunt, and my cousin were there. They were all crying. On the bed, my mother lay, gasping for breath. She looked at me and her eyes told me she knew the end was coming. The tears on her cheeks told me she was fighting valiantly,but was not succeeding.
In a few minutes, she was gone.
More relatives arrived, including my stepfather, Tatay Rudy, and their three girls, Shelby, Unica and Raissa. Nobody seemed to have remembered it was Unica's birthday. The girl looked arund in the room with a blank expression. Maybe at that age one did not realize how non-negotiable death was.
I told my boyfriend it was my sister's birthday, and after a while we excused ourselves from all or friends and relatives and the outpouring of grief at my mother's loss and relief that her long painful suffering has ended. We motioned for Unica to join us, and she broke away from her father's hand. We rode the elevator,walked to the gate and along the crowded Blumentritt market where vendors lorded it over the road. There was a Jollibbee there. We went in and ordered spaghetti and sundae. We told the girl, happy birthday. And then we went back to our relatives, to our bereavement.
Fortunately for Sophie, her special day tomorrow is her own. And I am very much here. Nobody has to feel sorry for her. My boyfriend, who ended up being her father but from whom I have been separated for a year already, probably has his own idea of celebration. She will find out this weekend, when it is her day to be with him.
Her expression does not have to be blank. I will try to be around for as long as I can, explaining everything along the way, and lovingly, patiently. I will educate her, as nobody has done me nor to my sister, on how a girl has to learn to fill her own gaps, deal with her sadness, face her fears and answer her questions. She should not expect a boy to do that for her. He probably never will and will just end up breaking her heart, or worse, her spirit. Look at me. I will also tell her that what does not kill her will make her stronger. And look at me again.
I end up looking at the clock. It is almost midnight. It's time to greet my Angel.
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