Let's flourish all we want.
If there is something I wish I had more time for, it is to be able to do some more spring cleaning. It may not sound cool and appealing to many, but it is probably one of the most psychologically rewarding things one can routinely do to keep one's sanity.
I did some of this last October, leading up to my and the children's semestral break. And since I am moving houses in mid-January, I will have to find time to do it again soon -- and in greater doses.
First, the clothes. Two months ago I got myself one of those big, dark brown closets with several divisions. I gave my old closet to my 17-year-old daughter Bea, who gave her old closet to 11-year-old Sophie, who moved her things out of the closet she had been sharing with 9-year-old Elmo.
Along with the transfers came the “evaluation” of our present clothes. I was able to remove those which I did not need or want anymore and found better use for them. By better use I mean offering rights of refusal first to Bea, then Sophie, then my aunt who stays with us during weekdays, then our helper Cathy. Whatever is left of this, as long as it remains in good condition, went to The Sack, which was on standby for relief in the event of disasters.
I also finally decided to tackle the five tall baskets of clutter that had been lying on the very short corridor upstairs. The contents belonged to me and to the kids, and mostly consisted of paper products. The stuff in the baskets were deemed not worthy to be in our respective tables or shelves. Plodding through the contents, I found out that about half of it belonged to the trash.
The exercise was instructive. I learned:
How to compartmentalize.
I like drawers and labels and putting things under categories. For this purpose, there are several groups to which the baskets' contents are directed: "Trash". "Book shelves". "Old textbooks for donation". "Old test papers". "Things to return to individual desks". "Grooming". "Electrical and household". "For cleaning/washing". These groups remind me that everything has its place and there is a place for everything.
How to focus.
It is easy to get distracted when you see an old manuscript, for instance, or stumble into a pre-teener’s diary, or old photos. You don't have this luxury. I force myself to be mechanical so that I finish everything within the allotted time. Don't try to do everything at once, as well, because then it is easy for your mind to wander. Setting aside an hour or two every other day – or every weekend if you're really swamped with other things – will yield better results. So long as you stick with the plan, of course.
How to let go.
Most of the time, the decision to consign something to the trash is not easy and automatic. For instance, you think you might want to keep a printout of the lyrics of a favorite song, or a nice bottle of perfume that an old friend gave you. But then you remind yourself that these days, there are entire Web sites devoted to supplying the lyrics of practically any song. There are those who have need for used paper all the time. And "perfume" refers to the content, not the container. Nobody wants to be a hoarder.
How to separate the important from the superfluous.
Spring cleaning also makes you do a double-take. What is important to you? Should you hang on to the souvenir program of some event you’ve been invited to? Probably not – especially since you have already written about it and have likely recorded the important details. What about the flats you bought in some European city, that which you have had repaired three, maybe four times? One hundred percent sentimental value, zero functionality. What about the tiny origami dinosaurs Elmo made using a post-it? Priceless. There’s a special envelope for that.
How to start and maintain a good habit.
Nothing compares to the feeling one gets after clearing out and de-cluttering. You feel light and sweet and optimistic. There is a feeling of being in control – why, you have just mastered your objects, fixed them as you saw fit. Some people are so unfortunate that they are controlled by their possessions.
There is, however, a tinge of worry. Clutter does build up. Can you maintain the order? Or are you going to slip into disarray again sometime soon? Worse, what if the children you are trying to teach by good example just won’t commit? I think the best way to prevent this is to remember how good it feels to have some sense of order. Because your mind is clear, you are capable of doing bigger things, better things.
The kids and I are looking forward to moving into a new home where everybody will enjoy a little more personal space. Because of this, I feel even more ready for the year ahead. It won't be easy. Sending two children to college will be hard. Growing pains will get more painful. There will be challenges at work and in school. Discontent in society will remain. Disaster will descend upon one region or another. But happiness is knowing that you will be all right despite all imperfections. And we will be.
There's only "wet" and "dry" in the Philippines but it is quite easy to imagine how the term “spring cleaning” came to be. Spring brings a nice feeling. The past is over and done with. It’s a fresh start, and we can flourish all we want.
Happy New Year to all.
Tuesday, December 27, 2011
Thursday, December 22, 2011
The mad scramble
published Dec 21, 2011, MST, page 5
Raquel del Rosario-Fortun is new to Twitter. It was her daughter who had convinced her to sign up. Her first tweet, posted on December 11: “Still trying to figure out how it works.” Three days later, she pondered whether the right word was “tweet” or “twit.” “Haven’t finished reading Twitter for Dummies yet.” She also talked about enjoying the UP Lantern Parade.
But it did not take long for the foreign-trained forensic pathologist, who is also a professor at the University of the Philippines College of Medicine, to find something close to her heart to tweet about. On Saturday, December 17, tropical storm Sendong battered Cagayan de Oro, Iligan, Dumaguete and nearby areas, bringing in floodwater and devastation that took the entire nation by surprise. Almost a thousand have been confirmed dead; hundreds more are missing.
As survivors pick up the pieces of their washed-away lives, the more immediate concern is dealing with the sheer number of casualties. What should be done with the corpses piled on the streets? Who’s supposed to be in charge?
Fortun thinks that what’s happening down south shows the inability of our government in dealing with mass disasters. “They are all scrambling. They are always scrambling. This is exactly how it was after the Ozone tragedy,” she says, referring to the fire that razed a disco house in March 1996, claiming 162 lives.
At that time, Fortun had just come back to the Philippines from her studies abroad. Fifteen years ago, she was the only forensic pathologist in the country (now there are two of them, and the other doctor is also in the faculty of the UP pathology department). She was aghast to discover she could not even apply her expertise here because systems lacked the most basic of processes. Still, she volunteered to help the Quezon City government. She then saw how the agents of the state did not act according to established systems, and failed to coordinate their work.
Fast forward to 2011, and nothing much has changed. “We don’t plan; we just react,” she says.
Foremost, it is not clear which agency should be in charge of the dead. Is it the Philippine National Police or the National Bureau of Investigation? There is apparently a “policy” that if the disaster is man-made, it is the police that’s in charge. The NBI takes charge in the event of natural calamities. Given this, the NBI was reported to have sent a 15-man team to Cagayan de Oro. “There are hundreds of dead bodies, each of which must be properly identified. Fifteen people simply cannot do the job,” she says.
Refrigerated trucks would be a good idea. “It would buy the relatives time,” Fortun adds. But of course we’re dreaming—there are no refrigerated trucks. She also wonders what Philippine National Red Cross chairman Richard Gordon means with “dignity “ being given to the dead. Is it gathering them in warehouses until their relatives find them? Putting them in caskets and constructing apartment-type niches for them? “There is no time for the cement to even harden!” she exclaims.
Fortun has a simple yet basic solution: Body bags. Unfortunately, our authorities do not seem to have stacked up on body bags, procuring them only when there is a need to do so. Putting each corpse in a body bag, tagging it (gender, estimated age, clothes worn and perhaps a photograph of the face, if it is not too bloated to be unrecognizable) and then giving it a temporary ground burial, if it could not be refrigerated, would be a better way to handle the dead.
Fortun says she is jobless in her field of expertise; she is employed by the state university to teach. Commenting and criticizing are all she could do in the meantime, but at least she is free to speak her mind. She is especially critical of those who misrepresent themselves as experts when in fact all they have is a position at some agency. Her tweets in the past few days are a mix of practical advice and reactions to the statements of some officials. Here are some more of them:
“Re postponed mass burial: What to do with the dead is now a political issue. Why don’t they try the forensic science approach?”
“There should be a SYSTEM of recovery and post-mortem examination to match with antemortem information.”
“You do NOT store bodies inside warehouses. Keeping the bodies in warehouses for people to claim will not work.”
“How will you produce, procure, transport and bury hundreds of caskets?”
“No coffins, just body bags. No apartment type nichos, just temporary fast ground burial. AND interview relatives for antemortem information.”
“How to manage the dead? SYSTEMATIC recovery, tagging, bagging, postmortem examination.”
“Refrigerate to buy time. No embalming.”
“Dead bodies do not cause epidemics.”
“And you cannot embalm all of them for sure.”
“You do not freeze dead bodies; you refrigerate.”
“Surely, this is not our first mass disaster; we never learn. We still do not know how to handle dead bodies or take care of our dead.”
These all pertain to the dead. After all, Fortun’s Twitter name is “doc4dead”. As for the living, and on what to do so that disasters of this magnitude do not cause as much damage as Sendong just did—that’s another story.
Unfortunately, that story is likely to have the same plot as this one: there is media hype, blame tossing among officials. Maybe because of public pressure, a few things—some ad hoc remedy—will be done. There is a lot of scrambling as if disasters were entirely new to our country. When the next big story hogs the headlines, though, the nation forgets.
That is, until the next calamity comes along. And then, like fools, we scramble all over again.
adellechua@gmail.com
Raquel del Rosario-Fortun is new to Twitter. It was her daughter who had convinced her to sign up. Her first tweet, posted on December 11: “Still trying to figure out how it works.” Three days later, she pondered whether the right word was “tweet” or “twit.” “Haven’t finished reading Twitter for Dummies yet.” She also talked about enjoying the UP Lantern Parade.
But it did not take long for the foreign-trained forensic pathologist, who is also a professor at the University of the Philippines College of Medicine, to find something close to her heart to tweet about. On Saturday, December 17, tropical storm Sendong battered Cagayan de Oro, Iligan, Dumaguete and nearby areas, bringing in floodwater and devastation that took the entire nation by surprise. Almost a thousand have been confirmed dead; hundreds more are missing.
As survivors pick up the pieces of their washed-away lives, the more immediate concern is dealing with the sheer number of casualties. What should be done with the corpses piled on the streets? Who’s supposed to be in charge?
Fortun thinks that what’s happening down south shows the inability of our government in dealing with mass disasters. “They are all scrambling. They are always scrambling. This is exactly how it was after the Ozone tragedy,” she says, referring to the fire that razed a disco house in March 1996, claiming 162 lives.
At that time, Fortun had just come back to the Philippines from her studies abroad. Fifteen years ago, she was the only forensic pathologist in the country (now there are two of them, and the other doctor is also in the faculty of the UP pathology department). She was aghast to discover she could not even apply her expertise here because systems lacked the most basic of processes. Still, she volunteered to help the Quezon City government. She then saw how the agents of the state did not act according to established systems, and failed to coordinate their work.
Fast forward to 2011, and nothing much has changed. “We don’t plan; we just react,” she says.
Foremost, it is not clear which agency should be in charge of the dead. Is it the Philippine National Police or the National Bureau of Investigation? There is apparently a “policy” that if the disaster is man-made, it is the police that’s in charge. The NBI takes charge in the event of natural calamities. Given this, the NBI was reported to have sent a 15-man team to Cagayan de Oro. “There are hundreds of dead bodies, each of which must be properly identified. Fifteen people simply cannot do the job,” she says.
Refrigerated trucks would be a good idea. “It would buy the relatives time,” Fortun adds. But of course we’re dreaming—there are no refrigerated trucks. She also wonders what Philippine National Red Cross chairman Richard Gordon means with “dignity “ being given to the dead. Is it gathering them in warehouses until their relatives find them? Putting them in caskets and constructing apartment-type niches for them? “There is no time for the cement to even harden!” she exclaims.
Fortun has a simple yet basic solution: Body bags. Unfortunately, our authorities do not seem to have stacked up on body bags, procuring them only when there is a need to do so. Putting each corpse in a body bag, tagging it (gender, estimated age, clothes worn and perhaps a photograph of the face, if it is not too bloated to be unrecognizable) and then giving it a temporary ground burial, if it could not be refrigerated, would be a better way to handle the dead.
Fortun says she is jobless in her field of expertise; she is employed by the state university to teach. Commenting and criticizing are all she could do in the meantime, but at least she is free to speak her mind. She is especially critical of those who misrepresent themselves as experts when in fact all they have is a position at some agency. Her tweets in the past few days are a mix of practical advice and reactions to the statements of some officials. Here are some more of them:
“Re postponed mass burial: What to do with the dead is now a political issue. Why don’t they try the forensic science approach?”
“There should be a SYSTEM of recovery and post-mortem examination to match with antemortem information.”
“You do NOT store bodies inside warehouses. Keeping the bodies in warehouses for people to claim will not work.”
“How will you produce, procure, transport and bury hundreds of caskets?”
“No coffins, just body bags. No apartment type nichos, just temporary fast ground burial. AND interview relatives for antemortem information.”
“How to manage the dead? SYSTEMATIC recovery, tagging, bagging, postmortem examination.”
“Refrigerate to buy time. No embalming.”
“Dead bodies do not cause epidemics.”
“And you cannot embalm all of them for sure.”
“You do not freeze dead bodies; you refrigerate.”
“Surely, this is not our first mass disaster; we never learn. We still do not know how to handle dead bodies or take care of our dead.”
These all pertain to the dead. After all, Fortun’s Twitter name is “doc4dead”. As for the living, and on what to do so that disasters of this magnitude do not cause as much damage as Sendong just did—that’s another story.
Unfortunately, that story is likely to have the same plot as this one: there is media hype, blame tossing among officials. Maybe because of public pressure, a few things—some ad hoc remedy—will be done. There is a lot of scrambling as if disasters were entirely new to our country. When the next big story hogs the headlines, though, the nation forgets.
That is, until the next calamity comes along. And then, like fools, we scramble all over again.
adellechua@gmail.com
Tuesday, December 13, 2011
Daang masikip
(congested road, a play on the government slogan "the straight and narrow road" of good governance)
Some people complain, not of being wronged, but of being corrected.
At the Ortigas Central Business District, a residential condominium stands fronting Ortigas Avenue. Its back entrance leads to Sapphire Road.
A friend of mine has a unit in this building. And since she drives herself to work (her office is in Makati) every day, her only point of entry and exit to her building is Sapphire, which has been made into a one-way street.
It’s not a main road, and neither is it wide. It’s a busy thoroughfare nonetheless, especially during rush hours when every vehicle seems headed for Robinsons Galleria, ADB Avenue or Ortigas Avenue.
My friend observed that several vehicles park on at least two lanes of the street, on both sides of the road, thus congesting the flow of traffic. This in spite of visible “no parking” signs, and despite the abundance of two kinds of enforcers in the area: the Ortigas Center security and the Pasig traffic officials.
My friend complained to both the Ortigas and the Pasig uniformed men about the double-parking vehicles—some of which, she noticed, were of the luxury-brand types.
Some even bore car plates of politicians. The response she got from the Ortigas officials was that it’s Pasig that’s in charge, and vice versa.
And then some months back, everything changed. Traffic officers started enforcing the no-parking-on-either-side rule. Consequently, the flow of traffic improved. My friend felt, as did her neighbors who also complained, that at least some systems were working. They attributed it to the much-vaunted “daang matuwid”.
Alas, their relief was short lived. After about two months, it was mayhem on Sapphire again, with vehicles parking indiscriminately – to hell with the consequences. Incensed, my friend took the time and the trouble to get in touch with the Pasig City traffic office and inquire what happened to the good changes that had started sweeping the area.
She was told that yes, indeed, there was an operation done in recent months to ease the congested area. However, somebody reportedly influential “complained”—and so the rules were relaxed again. My friend was aghast. She thought that people complained when there was something wrong or unjust being committed. In this case, the complainant was decrying the enforcement of law and order – and got his (or her) way.
What a classic case of “wang-wang”, she said, something she thought had been done away with when the fellow she had voted for was swept into the presidency.
Unfortunately, the “daang-matuwid” culture has yet to really permeate the rest of bureaucracy.
**
I was surprised at the sheer amount of reaction generated by last week’s column, “Locked in and ripped off”. Apparently, people would read an opinion piece about what’s going on in politics, or some other topic, think about it and then keep quiet. But when you write about something as close to their hearts as the behavior of telecom service providers, they come out swinging – eager to share their expertise at best, or tell their similar sob story at least.
An industry insider who claims to have spent 18 years with various wireless operators in Asia says telecom providers are not customer-friendly because of an impotent regulator, the National Telecommunications Commission. “Big operators can refuse to follow basic requests for pricing, fairness and quality controls, simply because they can use their political connections to twist the regulator’s arm.” Indeed, he says “ Success is defined by what you can get away with, not by how good you are or how hard you work. “
Another reader asks: “What else can this be but deceptive marketing?”
Yet another reader has become jaded: “Why can’t we bother our lawmakers for a law concerning service providers? Or is it too much to ask for?...Big Business can make lawmakers dance to their tune. In an ideal democracy, we can get this to work... in ours, even if we are treading the ‘daang matuwid’, this will just remain, as our lawmakers would smugly smirk, ‘in your dreams!’”
Some readers said I did the public a disservice by not naming the providers in my piece. “If [what you say] is factual, then you have nothing to fear,” one told me.
They and their evil schemes deserve to be exposed,” a friend added.
Others emailed, texted or posted on my Facebook wall to ask who the providers were, just so they could avoid them. I was happy to oblige.
“I paid P8,000 last week and I did not understand what they were talking about,” admitted a friend. Imagine how many other people pay by the thousands just so they could maintain their good record, and because they do not have the inclination or the patience to comprehend their carrier’s convoluted explanation?
Finally, from those who guessed, and wrongly, and from the subscribers of the competitors who expressed equal disgust, I confirmed that this wasn’t a case of one heartless company taking advantage of its consumers. “We have the same story, but my provider is [the other carrier],” another friend, who knows my number, said. “They are already rich and they are still fleecing their customers!”
It’s an industry norm, an organized ill. “That’s highway robbery!” an impassioned Facebook friend said. The tragedy is that many of the millions of consumers know they are being wronged, but they bear with it anyway.
adellechua@gmail.com
Some people complain, not of being wronged, but of being corrected.
At the Ortigas Central Business District, a residential condominium stands fronting Ortigas Avenue. Its back entrance leads to Sapphire Road.
A friend of mine has a unit in this building. And since she drives herself to work (her office is in Makati) every day, her only point of entry and exit to her building is Sapphire, which has been made into a one-way street.
It’s not a main road, and neither is it wide. It’s a busy thoroughfare nonetheless, especially during rush hours when every vehicle seems headed for Robinsons Galleria, ADB Avenue or Ortigas Avenue.
My friend observed that several vehicles park on at least two lanes of the street, on both sides of the road, thus congesting the flow of traffic. This in spite of visible “no parking” signs, and despite the abundance of two kinds of enforcers in the area: the Ortigas Center security and the Pasig traffic officials.
My friend complained to both the Ortigas and the Pasig uniformed men about the double-parking vehicles—some of which, she noticed, were of the luxury-brand types.
Some even bore car plates of politicians. The response she got from the Ortigas officials was that it’s Pasig that’s in charge, and vice versa.
And then some months back, everything changed. Traffic officers started enforcing the no-parking-on-either-side rule. Consequently, the flow of traffic improved. My friend felt, as did her neighbors who also complained, that at least some systems were working. They attributed it to the much-vaunted “daang matuwid”.
Alas, their relief was short lived. After about two months, it was mayhem on Sapphire again, with vehicles parking indiscriminately – to hell with the consequences. Incensed, my friend took the time and the trouble to get in touch with the Pasig City traffic office and inquire what happened to the good changes that had started sweeping the area.
She was told that yes, indeed, there was an operation done in recent months to ease the congested area. However, somebody reportedly influential “complained”—and so the rules were relaxed again. My friend was aghast. She thought that people complained when there was something wrong or unjust being committed. In this case, the complainant was decrying the enforcement of law and order – and got his (or her) way.
What a classic case of “wang-wang”, she said, something she thought had been done away with when the fellow she had voted for was swept into the presidency.
Unfortunately, the “daang-matuwid” culture has yet to really permeate the rest of bureaucracy.
**
I was surprised at the sheer amount of reaction generated by last week’s column, “Locked in and ripped off”. Apparently, people would read an opinion piece about what’s going on in politics, or some other topic, think about it and then keep quiet. But when you write about something as close to their hearts as the behavior of telecom service providers, they come out swinging – eager to share their expertise at best, or tell their similar sob story at least.
An industry insider who claims to have spent 18 years with various wireless operators in Asia says telecom providers are not customer-friendly because of an impotent regulator, the National Telecommunications Commission. “Big operators can refuse to follow basic requests for pricing, fairness and quality controls, simply because they can use their political connections to twist the regulator’s arm.” Indeed, he says “ Success is defined by what you can get away with, not by how good you are or how hard you work. “
Another reader asks: “What else can this be but deceptive marketing?”
Yet another reader has become jaded: “Why can’t we bother our lawmakers for a law concerning service providers? Or is it too much to ask for?...Big Business can make lawmakers dance to their tune. In an ideal democracy, we can get this to work... in ours, even if we are treading the ‘daang matuwid’, this will just remain, as our lawmakers would smugly smirk, ‘in your dreams!’”
Some readers said I did the public a disservice by not naming the providers in my piece. “If [what you say] is factual, then you have nothing to fear,” one told me.
They and their evil schemes deserve to be exposed,” a friend added.
Others emailed, texted or posted on my Facebook wall to ask who the providers were, just so they could avoid them. I was happy to oblige.
“I paid P8,000 last week and I did not understand what they were talking about,” admitted a friend. Imagine how many other people pay by the thousands just so they could maintain their good record, and because they do not have the inclination or the patience to comprehend their carrier’s convoluted explanation?
Finally, from those who guessed, and wrongly, and from the subscribers of the competitors who expressed equal disgust, I confirmed that this wasn’t a case of one heartless company taking advantage of its consumers. “We have the same story, but my provider is [the other carrier],” another friend, who knows my number, said. “They are already rich and they are still fleecing their customers!”
It’s an industry norm, an organized ill. “That’s highway robbery!” an impassioned Facebook friend said. The tragedy is that many of the millions of consumers know they are being wronged, but they bear with it anyway.
adellechua@gmail.com
Saturday, December 10, 2011
A prayer for Edgar
I don't like going to hospitals. I especially don't like going to Chinese General Hospital -- that's where I lost my mom in 92, and my uncle-father figure, Papa Edwin, in 97. I also have memories visiting my grandmother there in 2003-2004, although she died in another hospital.
My feelings, my cough and fever and the rainy weather nonetheless, I was back in Chinese yesterday morning, this time to visit my 53-year-old Uncle Edgar, another of mom's brothers. He had fallen into a coma one week ago.
I have only a few memories of Uncle Edgar. We were not really very close. When I was a kid, I would only just see him on All Saints' Day, Christmas Day, and New Year's Day. Those are the only three occasions where everybody gathered at Lola's home for some sort of family reunion.
He became more visible though, after 97 when Papa Edwin passed on. He popped in to see Lola every day. When Lola became more sickly in later years, he was the one who took over. He even moved Lola to an apartment near the factory he worked in, just so he could see her more often in a day.
Of my personal dealings with my uncle, I can only name two. First, when I was eight and was picked as a bit player in a Lito Lapid (now a senator of the republic!) action movie, it was UNcle Edgar who drove my car-ful of relatives to our location shoot in Porac, Pampanga. Family stories have it that they were nearly killed in an accident during that trip (I was in a separate van with Mom).
My second memory is Dec 16, 1998 -- or on the day I was supposed to bring home our first family car, A grayish brown Toyota Corolla XL, from the dealer. I was tasked by my then-husband to find a driver or anybody who knew how to drive, to the dealer and take the car home. It was his company Christmas party that day and he wanted to see the car on our garage when he arrived home.
But I could not find a driver or not even a friend who was available. I ended up asking Uncle Edgar, who stepped out of the factory and went with me to the dealer. Going there we met a downpour, and he spent five hours away from work instead of the two he had told his men.
And yesterday Uncle Edgar was there, lying helpless. His wife, Auntie Susan, was clearly distraught as she told me about that fateful day he had his attack. He had been complaining of dizziness. She urged him to sip some soup by evening, and when he did, he vomited and had seizures. The doctor is not optimistic at all, but she and her children, now all adults with families of their own, continue to hang on and hope for a miracle. They can easily start over from scratch, they say, just as long as their Daddy is with them.
I am not particularly prayerful, at least consciously so, but I utter a plea on my uncle's behalf. That he should wake up, and be with his family -- who love him dearly and fiercely -- again.
My feelings, my cough and fever and the rainy weather nonetheless, I was back in Chinese yesterday morning, this time to visit my 53-year-old Uncle Edgar, another of mom's brothers. He had fallen into a coma one week ago.
I have only a few memories of Uncle Edgar. We were not really very close. When I was a kid, I would only just see him on All Saints' Day, Christmas Day, and New Year's Day. Those are the only three occasions where everybody gathered at Lola's home for some sort of family reunion.
He became more visible though, after 97 when Papa Edwin passed on. He popped in to see Lola every day. When Lola became more sickly in later years, he was the one who took over. He even moved Lola to an apartment near the factory he worked in, just so he could see her more often in a day.
Of my personal dealings with my uncle, I can only name two. First, when I was eight and was picked as a bit player in a Lito Lapid (now a senator of the republic!) action movie, it was UNcle Edgar who drove my car-ful of relatives to our location shoot in Porac, Pampanga. Family stories have it that they were nearly killed in an accident during that trip (I was in a separate van with Mom).
My second memory is Dec 16, 1998 -- or on the day I was supposed to bring home our first family car, A grayish brown Toyota Corolla XL, from the dealer. I was tasked by my then-husband to find a driver or anybody who knew how to drive, to the dealer and take the car home. It was his company Christmas party that day and he wanted to see the car on our garage when he arrived home.
But I could not find a driver or not even a friend who was available. I ended up asking Uncle Edgar, who stepped out of the factory and went with me to the dealer. Going there we met a downpour, and he spent five hours away from work instead of the two he had told his men.
And yesterday Uncle Edgar was there, lying helpless. His wife, Auntie Susan, was clearly distraught as she told me about that fateful day he had his attack. He had been complaining of dizziness. She urged him to sip some soup by evening, and when he did, he vomited and had seizures. The doctor is not optimistic at all, but she and her children, now all adults with families of their own, continue to hang on and hope for a miracle. They can easily start over from scratch, they say, just as long as their Daddy is with them.
I am not particularly prayerful, at least consciously so, but I utter a plea on my uncle's behalf. That he should wake up, and be with his family -- who love him dearly and fiercely -- again.
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Locked in and ripped off
I have been restraining myself from writing about at least two of my consumer complaints in this column. However, recent developments have done little to appease me. Hence I will cloak the next few paragraphs as an attempt to warn other users to demand fairer treatment from these giants.
I subscribe to my mobile service provider, Globe Telecom, under a P995-a-month post-paid plan. The plan comes with so-called freebies, and I signed up for unlimited calls and text messages to numbers I most frequently contact. I have a modest Nokia unit with a QWERTY pad that is able to access the Internet anywhere it’s available.
In the middle of this year, our family decided to get a router, a one-time expense anyway, to maximize the benefits of our Internet connection (care of Bayantel) at home. After all, we have several devices in the house. Everybody will agree that the Web these days is no longer a luxury but a need – provided it's used responsibly. My job also demands that I be in the know about what’s happening in the country and outside.
Such sweet life, I often muttered to myself, while lounging in the living room or bedroom, checking my mail, uploading a photo or reading my favorite columns in international newspapers -- all from my phone. I have fallen asleep reading, many times. I was only too happy to pay my bills religiously. Some months I even paid Globe extra to cover the “pasa load” that my son occasionally asked from me.
In fact, I never bothered to look at my statement of account, which I had asked to be sent to me online. I knew I was a good customer. Not big, but good.
I should have known better.
All the time I thought I was surfing using the wifi connection in the house, I was also being charged by Globe. How is that possible, you ask, when every time I go online my phone asks me which connection I want to use – WLAN or Globe, and I naturally say the former? I had to find out the hard way, waking up one day to realize I could no longer send outgoing text messages or make calls. Baffled, I asked Globe and was informed that I had racked up a debt of P4,800, mostly in Internet charges. And I thought I was a good customer.
It turns out that the post-paid plans are configured in such a way that when the wifi connection becomes unstable, the mobile connection automatically takes over. Yes, even if you say otherwise. The customer service agent, both on the phone and in the Globe center I later on went to, told me that I should have adjusted the data settings in my phone. My failure to do that explains my accumulated debt.
Wonderful – so now it's my fault. It was the first time I have heard of the technical mumbo-jumbo. If I weren’t still locked in (I’m tied to the plan until October next year), I would have found another provider.
So now I am using my old prepaid number while discerning whether I should contribute to my own ripoff. I can of course settle it right away and get connected again, but it does leave a bad taste in the mouth.
Moral of the story to all post-paid subscribers who think they are using wifi: Check your data settings. Scrutinize your statements of account to the last centavo and ask questions at the earliest possible instance. Nobody wants this kind of surprise.
**
These telecom companies! They act like taxi drivers in December – smug and arrogant just because they know you need them. Unfortunately, with the way of life we have become used to, we need them all year round.
Bayantel, which is what we are using now, was not our first Internet provider at home. We first had Wi-tribe, which made a big to-do when it first broke into the market. The problem with the Wi-tribe modem was that it was signal-dependent. It had to be placed at a certain angle near the window on the second floor. Then came typhoon Basyang in July of last year – and our connection turned from precarious to bad. At best it was intermittent. You also had to plan your usage so that you don’t exceed your limits and go even slower.
The kids and I bore this for the next six months or so, and we paid our bills anyway, because we were locked in for a year (which means until July 2011). Internet at home was really bad in those days. I remember posting an entry about how bad Wi-tribe was in my blog – yes, I know how to rant -- six times, and my readers thought I did it on purpose because I was that upset. But no, I was not upset six times over. It was just bad connection, and I did not think I was publishing the entry so I kept posting again and again.
Finally, sometime in the third week of January, we could not get online at any time at all. We called the hotline, as we have for so many times, for assistance, asking Wi-tribe to send technicians. We were told our request was being noted and we could expect their IT people on February 8. That long? That was the last straw. Then and there, I decided to terminate the services. I was given a transaction reference number (emailed so many days afterwards) for my request. After all, the premise of staying locked in was that the service was ok. Nobody should be faulted for wanting out when the service sucks, and when it comes as a last resort. A few weeks hence, and only then did Wi-tribe people pick up the modem. I remember telling them that even their pick-up was massively late. I switched to Bayantel the following month.
If you think that's the story, think again. Just last week I started getting calls and text messages from collection agents, name dropping a law firm, telling me to pay Wi-tribe. What gall, right?
I am sure whoever invented the idea of lock-in periods have good reason to do so. It’s protection for companies against unscrupulous consumers who use their services, avail of the perks and just stop paying altogether.
But the humble, good customers who expect good service and fair treatment must be protected as well. What good is a lock-in period if it shackles you into staying with a provider, bearing with its bad or usurious practices, paying hard-earned money while getting next to nothing in return? And then they text or call you as if you were the scammer.
I will be happy to know that I am a most unfortunate exception to all these. That Globe is forthright with how it charges its customers and that Wi-tribe provides good service and does not harass former subscribers who left it through no fault of their own. But it does not look like it at all.
Life’s already difficult. Our challenges are already big. Let us not allow ourselves to be taken advantage of in small, mundane ways.
adellechua@gmail.com
I subscribe to my mobile service provider, Globe Telecom, under a P995-a-month post-paid plan. The plan comes with so-called freebies, and I signed up for unlimited calls and text messages to numbers I most frequently contact. I have a modest Nokia unit with a QWERTY pad that is able to access the Internet anywhere it’s available.
In the middle of this year, our family decided to get a router, a one-time expense anyway, to maximize the benefits of our Internet connection (care of Bayantel) at home. After all, we have several devices in the house. Everybody will agree that the Web these days is no longer a luxury but a need – provided it's used responsibly. My job also demands that I be in the know about what’s happening in the country and outside.
Such sweet life, I often muttered to myself, while lounging in the living room or bedroom, checking my mail, uploading a photo or reading my favorite columns in international newspapers -- all from my phone. I have fallen asleep reading, many times. I was only too happy to pay my bills religiously. Some months I even paid Globe extra to cover the “pasa load” that my son occasionally asked from me.
In fact, I never bothered to look at my statement of account, which I had asked to be sent to me online. I knew I was a good customer. Not big, but good.
I should have known better.
All the time I thought I was surfing using the wifi connection in the house, I was also being charged by Globe. How is that possible, you ask, when every time I go online my phone asks me which connection I want to use – WLAN or Globe, and I naturally say the former? I had to find out the hard way, waking up one day to realize I could no longer send outgoing text messages or make calls. Baffled, I asked Globe and was informed that I had racked up a debt of P4,800, mostly in Internet charges. And I thought I was a good customer.
It turns out that the post-paid plans are configured in such a way that when the wifi connection becomes unstable, the mobile connection automatically takes over. Yes, even if you say otherwise. The customer service agent, both on the phone and in the Globe center I later on went to, told me that I should have adjusted the data settings in my phone. My failure to do that explains my accumulated debt.
Wonderful – so now it's my fault. It was the first time I have heard of the technical mumbo-jumbo. If I weren’t still locked in (I’m tied to the plan until October next year), I would have found another provider.
So now I am using my old prepaid number while discerning whether I should contribute to my own ripoff. I can of course settle it right away and get connected again, but it does leave a bad taste in the mouth.
Moral of the story to all post-paid subscribers who think they are using wifi: Check your data settings. Scrutinize your statements of account to the last centavo and ask questions at the earliest possible instance. Nobody wants this kind of surprise.
**
These telecom companies! They act like taxi drivers in December – smug and arrogant just because they know you need them. Unfortunately, with the way of life we have become used to, we need them all year round.
Bayantel, which is what we are using now, was not our first Internet provider at home. We first had Wi-tribe, which made a big to-do when it first broke into the market. The problem with the Wi-tribe modem was that it was signal-dependent. It had to be placed at a certain angle near the window on the second floor. Then came typhoon Basyang in July of last year – and our connection turned from precarious to bad. At best it was intermittent. You also had to plan your usage so that you don’t exceed your limits and go even slower.
The kids and I bore this for the next six months or so, and we paid our bills anyway, because we were locked in for a year (which means until July 2011). Internet at home was really bad in those days. I remember posting an entry about how bad Wi-tribe was in my blog – yes, I know how to rant -- six times, and my readers thought I did it on purpose because I was that upset. But no, I was not upset six times over. It was just bad connection, and I did not think I was publishing the entry so I kept posting again and again.
Finally, sometime in the third week of January, we could not get online at any time at all. We called the hotline, as we have for so many times, for assistance, asking Wi-tribe to send technicians. We were told our request was being noted and we could expect their IT people on February 8. That long? That was the last straw. Then and there, I decided to terminate the services. I was given a transaction reference number (emailed so many days afterwards) for my request. After all, the premise of staying locked in was that the service was ok. Nobody should be faulted for wanting out when the service sucks, and when it comes as a last resort. A few weeks hence, and only then did Wi-tribe people pick up the modem. I remember telling them that even their pick-up was massively late. I switched to Bayantel the following month.
If you think that's the story, think again. Just last week I started getting calls and text messages from collection agents, name dropping a law firm, telling me to pay Wi-tribe. What gall, right?
I am sure whoever invented the idea of lock-in periods have good reason to do so. It’s protection for companies against unscrupulous consumers who use their services, avail of the perks and just stop paying altogether.
But the humble, good customers who expect good service and fair treatment must be protected as well. What good is a lock-in period if it shackles you into staying with a provider, bearing with its bad or usurious practices, paying hard-earned money while getting next to nothing in return? And then they text or call you as if you were the scammer.
I will be happy to know that I am a most unfortunate exception to all these. That Globe is forthright with how it charges its customers and that Wi-tribe provides good service and does not harass former subscribers who left it through no fault of their own. But it does not look like it at all.
Life’s already difficult. Our challenges are already big. Let us not allow ourselves to be taken advantage of in small, mundane ways.
adellechua@gmail.com
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