published MST, Feb 29, 2012
The impeachment trial has been going on for a month and a half. Filipinos have been riveted to the drama, the highs and lows, the hyperventilation episodes and the occasional laughs. We have been treated to a side show of embarrassing moments, fantastic tales and lectures on the law.
The trial also highlights some curious aspects of human behavior and our tendency to interpret such behavior.
Take for instance, the man at the center of it all, Chief Justice Renato Corona. Why is he now being tried? The obvious answer would be his perceived ties with former President Gloria Arroyo, who appointed him as associate justice of the Supreme Court in 2002 and thereafter as chief justice, just before she stepped down from office in May 2010.
For several days until yesterday, the nation was abuzz on whether another member of the Supreme Court, Associate Justice Ma. Lourdes Sereno, would voluntarily go to the impeachment court and shed light on what she personally knows of Corona’s bias in cases involving Mrs. Arroyo. Sereno had written about the circumstances surrounding the issuance of the temporary restraining order on the Justice Department’s watch-list order as it applied to the former president.
It was presumed that Sereno was willing to talk because she was an appointee of President Benigno Aquino III. The President has not made it a secret that he wanted Corona convicted.
These observations have a common denominator. Whoever is involved, we always think that an official would act in ways favorable to the one who put him or her in position. Such attribution of motives is not unique to what is going on in the impeachment trial. It applies to anybody who has been appointed or done a favor by anybody — in government or in business.
Filipinos of course are known for “utang na loob” so much so that when one person does not act preferentially toward the person he owes his position to, he is immediately branded ungrateful.
Is “utang na loob” a national virtue or a political vice? Is the presumption that one would act according to the wishes of whoever installed him well-founded, or is it downright insulting to the person whose motives are being second-guessed?
Justices Corona and Sereno would be good examples. I am sure neither of them relishes the thought of being regarded as mere puppets of the people who appointed them to the court. After all, they were both intelligent and competent long before they were named. They were not plucked out of the mud — no, they went to law school, passed the Bar and started a lucrative practice. In fact, they made a name for themselves way before they became members of the high court.
And if their appointing powers did not appoint them and all the other justices unfairly labeled as “by Arroyo” or “by Aquino,” who should have? Who else does the Constitution task to make the appointment after a recommendation by the Judicial and Bar Council?
The appointing official would be remiss in his (or her) duties if he did not make appointments for fear of being accused of “packing the court”. And if nobody made any appointment, we would not have a court in the first place.
All of the justices should be bristling at insinuations — no, accusations — that they are going out of their way to subvert the institution where they belong to the interests of the chief executive — Arroyo, Aquino, whoever else — who appointed them.
What an unfortunate country we will remain to be if we keep presuming that nothing else drives our officials but the interests of the persons to whom they owe debts of gratitude.
Appointees should not have the burden of being reminded of who put them in their place. The only thing they should be concerned about is doing their jobs well, so well that it becomes the best possible payback. The appointing power would then have done the country good by putting a person with competence, integrity and independence in a position to make a difference.
Nobody should have to worry about motivations, knowing that the driving force is the common good — nothing else.
That sounds like a virtue in any language. How to make it the norm, not the exception, is the challenge.
adellechua@gmail.com
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
A spurious exemption
published 22 Feb 2012, MST
Let’s leave the impeachment trial for a while and go up to Baguio to get a whiff of fresh air.
When you’re a hardworking professional saving up for a vacation place someplace up north, hoping to retire there quietly, you would not like it if your residential area — which you sought precisely for the peace and tranquility it offered — suddenly became open to business activity not otherwise allowed by local zoning laws.
You will raise a howl when local government officials wantonly violate an ordinance that they themselves crafted and passed, and flaunt their conflicting interests in carrying out their jobs.
This is how some 42 residents of the Burnham View Condominium felt about what had been going on in their area.
The residents opposed the construction of a building of the Baguio Patriotic High School — a school for Chinese and Chinese Filipino children — adjacent to their building on Kisad Road, classified as C-1 or a low-density commercial zone, principally for trade services and business activities. Under local zoning laws, the construction and operation of a high school do not fall under the activities allowed for property classified as C-1.
Exemptions may be granted, of course. A 2001 ordinance prescribes the process by which this could be done. Among others, the party seeking the exemption must present a joint affidavit of non-objection by the owners of the adjacent property. In the event there is an objection, a hearing must be conducted. The government agency in charge of issuing exemptions is the Local Zoning Board of Adjustment and Appeals.
An endorsement from the barangay council is also needed when seeking an exemption.
But the high school, represented by its owner Kane Chanbongpin, did not comply with the requirements for exemption.
There was no endorsement from the village council. In lieu of the joint affidavit of non-objection, the school submitted an affidavit signed by one Jerry Tiong, who was a mere neighbor, not a resident of the adjacent property. It is clear in the ordinance that it must be the owner of the adjacent property that must show no opposition. There is only one adjacent property — the condominium. With the objections of the residents unrecognized, no hearing was done.
The exemption was granted by the local zoning board in May 2010. Construction then went into full swing, bringing heavy equipment, noise, inconvenience and danger to the residents. A petition for a cease and desist order before a Baguio court was denied.
The residents however had a respite early this year when the Housing and Land Use Regulatory Board ruled that the exemption certificate issued by the local zoning body be set aside and that the high school cease and desist from operating the building.
The housing board established that there was no endorsement from the village council, that there was insufficient compliance with the ordinance that prescribed a joint affidavit of non-objection from the residents of adjacent property.
It also found that the school’s application for locational clearance and certificate of zoning compliance was made through its representative, one Architect Elvis Palicdon — who also happened to be a member of the local zoning board who acted on the application. How obvious can a conflict of interest get?
For now at least, the residents of the Burnham View Condominium can rest assured their places of solace will stay just that. Cynthia Africa, one of the residents, says they are thankful for the board’s decision based purely on the merits of their case and not any other consideration. “Some people are still straight after all,” she remarks.
***
Kudos to ASUS Philippines for promptly addressing a customer complaint via e-mail. My 17-year-old daughter wondered why her laptop adaptor went bust within three months of its purchase and promptly brought it to the attention of the company. A previous adaptor also became defective less than a year after it was bought.
After a few days, a marketing officer replied to her e-mail AND called her, telling her they would replace the adaptor free of charge and asking her whether there was anything else she needed.
“I was surprised by how [quickly] they took action. Usually big companies dismiss complaints. This one, however, went as far as calling me and ordering the replacement ASAP,” she said.
How pleasantly surprising, indeed.
Let’s leave the impeachment trial for a while and go up to Baguio to get a whiff of fresh air.
When you’re a hardworking professional saving up for a vacation place someplace up north, hoping to retire there quietly, you would not like it if your residential area — which you sought precisely for the peace and tranquility it offered — suddenly became open to business activity not otherwise allowed by local zoning laws.
You will raise a howl when local government officials wantonly violate an ordinance that they themselves crafted and passed, and flaunt their conflicting interests in carrying out their jobs.
This is how some 42 residents of the Burnham View Condominium felt about what had been going on in their area.
The residents opposed the construction of a building of the Baguio Patriotic High School — a school for Chinese and Chinese Filipino children — adjacent to their building on Kisad Road, classified as C-1 or a low-density commercial zone, principally for trade services and business activities. Under local zoning laws, the construction and operation of a high school do not fall under the activities allowed for property classified as C-1.
Exemptions may be granted, of course. A 2001 ordinance prescribes the process by which this could be done. Among others, the party seeking the exemption must present a joint affidavit of non-objection by the owners of the adjacent property. In the event there is an objection, a hearing must be conducted. The government agency in charge of issuing exemptions is the Local Zoning Board of Adjustment and Appeals.
An endorsement from the barangay council is also needed when seeking an exemption.
But the high school, represented by its owner Kane Chanbongpin, did not comply with the requirements for exemption.
There was no endorsement from the village council. In lieu of the joint affidavit of non-objection, the school submitted an affidavit signed by one Jerry Tiong, who was a mere neighbor, not a resident of the adjacent property. It is clear in the ordinance that it must be the owner of the adjacent property that must show no opposition. There is only one adjacent property — the condominium. With the objections of the residents unrecognized, no hearing was done.
The exemption was granted by the local zoning board in May 2010. Construction then went into full swing, bringing heavy equipment, noise, inconvenience and danger to the residents. A petition for a cease and desist order before a Baguio court was denied.
The residents however had a respite early this year when the Housing and Land Use Regulatory Board ruled that the exemption certificate issued by the local zoning body be set aside and that the high school cease and desist from operating the building.
The housing board established that there was no endorsement from the village council, that there was insufficient compliance with the ordinance that prescribed a joint affidavit of non-objection from the residents of adjacent property.
It also found that the school’s application for locational clearance and certificate of zoning compliance was made through its representative, one Architect Elvis Palicdon — who also happened to be a member of the local zoning board who acted on the application. How obvious can a conflict of interest get?
For now at least, the residents of the Burnham View Condominium can rest assured their places of solace will stay just that. Cynthia Africa, one of the residents, says they are thankful for the board’s decision based purely on the merits of their case and not any other consideration. “Some people are still straight after all,” she remarks.
***
Kudos to ASUS Philippines for promptly addressing a customer complaint via e-mail. My 17-year-old daughter wondered why her laptop adaptor went bust within three months of its purchase and promptly brought it to the attention of the company. A previous adaptor also became defective less than a year after it was bought.
After a few days, a marketing officer replied to her e-mail AND called her, telling her they would replace the adaptor free of charge and asking her whether there was anything else she needed.
“I was surprised by how [quickly] they took action. Usually big companies dismiss complaints. This one, however, went as far as calling me and ordering the replacement ASAP,” she said.
How pleasantly surprising, indeed.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
City trek
A boy takes a breather from his hike and looks down on the vehicles below the Ayala walkway one December afternoon
It is 4:30 in the afternoon. Makati workers prepare to end their work day. I step out of the train into the Ayala MRT station. I am just about to start my own. My office is roughly a kilometer from this stop. I can take a cab but I choose to walk.
Shoemart is connected to the station. With east- and west-bound lanes for pedestrians, the store accommodates human traffic as though it were part of the architecture. The smell of fresh flowers, tropical fruit, baked bread and warm brownies from the ground floor wafts upwards.
The bridge to Glorietta leads to a sea of white paint -- an overdue promise of new stalls. The mall used to be a hub with spokes Gloriettas 1, 2, 3 and 4 -- sticking out. Four years after the 2007 explosion, a quarter of the mall remains closed. The lights are not as bright. People just pass by the shops instead of going into them. I ask myself: Will it ever be the same?
At Landmark, theres a line of twentysomethings in vintage t-shirts and sling bags in front of a Chatime counter. I wonder: Is it the tea or the pride in holding a cup of the popular brand?
The walkway begins where Landmark ends. The late afternoon breeze cools the beads of sweat on my forehead. There are posters, plants and occasional ATMs I meet uniformed employees, happy to head home. They walk briskly, the heels of their shoes clicking on the pavement. They talk on their cell phones, compose text messages or bob their heads up and down to music only they can hear.
Occasionally, I run into a Caucasian man holding hands with a Filipino woman. I tell myself: Who am I to judge?
I get off the elevated walkway and take 387 more steps to my building. When I arrive, the newsroom is abuzz with stories. Then again, so am I.
It's the law, student!
published in the Manila Standard Today, Feb 15 2012, page A5
This is perhaps one issue on which I agree with presidential sister Kris Aquino. Obtaining a declaration of nullity of one’s marriage is never truly a cause for celebration. Why should we celebrate a failure? I believe it is safe to assume that nobody gets married in the hope of being separated, legally or not. Instead, people embrace marriage as an affirmation of their love for each other and their desire to build a future together. So when a relationship does not work out despite efforts to save it, and ends in a separation, dreams are shattered. There is disappointment, anger, regret, sadness.
When a marriage is declared null and void it means that it is as if they did not get married in the first place. The logical conclusion is that, if the couple has children, these children were born into a non-marriage which makes them, in turn, illegitimate.
Are they?
Fortunately, the crafters of our law defied logic on this one in the interest of compassion. “Illegitimacy” is a word that stings, especially in the Philippines where people like to say they adhere to strict moral and societal standards. Being illegitimate means you did not quite make the cut, even if you had nothing to do with it.
Thus the legitimate status of children born out of a marriage that has been nullified remains. This is illogical, but right. This prevents legal acrobatics like parents initiating a move to adopt their own children so that they would now be legitimately adopted. Preposterous!
These are mere labels. All children, regardless of the circumstances under which they are born and raised, are their parents’ flesh and blood, born into the world through no choice of their own.
***
Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago always manages to light up a room. In recent months, she has been known for spewing pick-up lines, cheesy as they might be, before an audience of young people. Her pick-up lines have been immortalized in the social media. She herself chuckles when she reads them aloud from a piece of paper. There is something engaging about an intelligent woman, an authority in the law, reaching out to the masses this way.
This Valentine’s Day, however, Senator Santiago became known less for her romantic lines than for her hyperventilating on the Senate floor.
On Tuesday, a visibly upset Santiago castigated the prosecution for submitting spurious documents on impeached Chief Justice Renato Corona’s bank accounts. Members of the prosecution, whose second article of impeachment hinged on Corona’s non-disclosure of his true assets, liabilities and net worth, said that the documents pertaining to these bank accounts, containing amounts far too great to obtain from his government salary, were given to them in an envelope by a “small woman.”
But a branch manager of PSBank had said the documents submitted in court were not the ones they had in their files. Thus, they were likely fake.
Santiago cited jurisprudence that showed lawyers should be held accountable for submitting questionable evidence, whether they did it on purpose or acted in good faith. She also berated the prosecutors for burdening the impeachment court with unsubstantiated allegations and media reports.
She left the Senate hall soon after, huffing and puffing.
The previous day, Monday, Santiago took great pains subjecting lead prosecutor Iloilo Rep. Niel Tupas Jr. to some sort of a law quiz—on national television. Tupas tried to make a show of taking Santiago’s questions good naturedly. He did not succeed; it was evident he was frazzled. In the end, she gave him a 3—“I pass you, but I warn you.”
Without these scenes, however, nobody would be watching the impeachment trial anymore. People are beginning to tire of the patterns that have emerged since the start of the hearings almost a month ago. It would have been great to see a battle of wits, hard evidence, brilliant arguments—all make for riveting courtroom drama.
No such luck. All we have seen are duds, and innuendoes, and shameless politicking and grandstanding. Imagine the scare they put the country through over the weekend—the threat of a constitutional crisis. I was personally relieved we did not have to go through that route.
At this point, the sentiment is “get it over and done with.” The best should have come in the first few days. It’s been a month…and many other things demand to be attended to.
The lessons in law are instructive, amusing, even, but in the end we are aware we want a solid trial, so we can all move on.
adellechua@gmail.com
This is perhaps one issue on which I agree with presidential sister Kris Aquino. Obtaining a declaration of nullity of one’s marriage is never truly a cause for celebration. Why should we celebrate a failure? I believe it is safe to assume that nobody gets married in the hope of being separated, legally or not. Instead, people embrace marriage as an affirmation of their love for each other and their desire to build a future together. So when a relationship does not work out despite efforts to save it, and ends in a separation, dreams are shattered. There is disappointment, anger, regret, sadness.
When a marriage is declared null and void it means that it is as if they did not get married in the first place. The logical conclusion is that, if the couple has children, these children were born into a non-marriage which makes them, in turn, illegitimate.
Are they?
Fortunately, the crafters of our law defied logic on this one in the interest of compassion. “Illegitimacy” is a word that stings, especially in the Philippines where people like to say they adhere to strict moral and societal standards. Being illegitimate means you did not quite make the cut, even if you had nothing to do with it.
Thus the legitimate status of children born out of a marriage that has been nullified remains. This is illogical, but right. This prevents legal acrobatics like parents initiating a move to adopt their own children so that they would now be legitimately adopted. Preposterous!
These are mere labels. All children, regardless of the circumstances under which they are born and raised, are their parents’ flesh and blood, born into the world through no choice of their own.
***
Senator Miriam Defensor Santiago always manages to light up a room. In recent months, she has been known for spewing pick-up lines, cheesy as they might be, before an audience of young people. Her pick-up lines have been immortalized in the social media. She herself chuckles when she reads them aloud from a piece of paper. There is something engaging about an intelligent woman, an authority in the law, reaching out to the masses this way.
This Valentine’s Day, however, Senator Santiago became known less for her romantic lines than for her hyperventilating on the Senate floor.
On Tuesday, a visibly upset Santiago castigated the prosecution for submitting spurious documents on impeached Chief Justice Renato Corona’s bank accounts. Members of the prosecution, whose second article of impeachment hinged on Corona’s non-disclosure of his true assets, liabilities and net worth, said that the documents pertaining to these bank accounts, containing amounts far too great to obtain from his government salary, were given to them in an envelope by a “small woman.”
But a branch manager of PSBank had said the documents submitted in court were not the ones they had in their files. Thus, they were likely fake.
Santiago cited jurisprudence that showed lawyers should be held accountable for submitting questionable evidence, whether they did it on purpose or acted in good faith. She also berated the prosecutors for burdening the impeachment court with unsubstantiated allegations and media reports.
She left the Senate hall soon after, huffing and puffing.
The previous day, Monday, Santiago took great pains subjecting lead prosecutor Iloilo Rep. Niel Tupas Jr. to some sort of a law quiz—on national television. Tupas tried to make a show of taking Santiago’s questions good naturedly. He did not succeed; it was evident he was frazzled. In the end, she gave him a 3—“I pass you, but I warn you.”
Without these scenes, however, nobody would be watching the impeachment trial anymore. People are beginning to tire of the patterns that have emerged since the start of the hearings almost a month ago. It would have been great to see a battle of wits, hard evidence, brilliant arguments—all make for riveting courtroom drama.
No such luck. All we have seen are duds, and innuendoes, and shameless politicking and grandstanding. Imagine the scare they put the country through over the weekend—the threat of a constitutional crisis. I was personally relieved we did not have to go through that route.
At this point, the sentiment is “get it over and done with.” The best should have come in the first few days. It’s been a month…and many other things demand to be attended to.
The lessons in law are instructive, amusing, even, but in the end we are aware we want a solid trial, so we can all move on.
adellechua@gmail.com
Saturday, February 18, 2012
Royalty
The princess and the king
Josh and Sophie with their respective "queen" and "prince"
(photos grabbed from the album of C. Litiatco)
I am still glowing over the fact that both my kids Sophie and Josh stood out in last night's ball, she being named Masquerade Princess and he Prom King, and Trendsetter of the Night.
It's more than vanity.
Instead, it is a confirmation that you don't need to spend a lot of money in order to look, or feel, like royalty.
Things are pretty tight because I am just recovering from all the expenses pertaining to the house transfer. My savings for the past year, not that it's hefty, has been wiped out.
I am also extra challenged because Bea is now attending a private school, Kalayaan College (established by UP professors and boasts of an all-UP faculty). Josh will be attending UST (for a five-year course!) in June. I am also transferring Sophie to a bigger school - St. Mary's, my alma mater. Elmo, if he suits up, I will also transfer to the adjacent school, Notre Dame.
Needless to say, the next few years will be daunting, but I figured this is the best investment possible. Better to pay for good schools rather than spend on fancy possessions.
It is thus understandable that the prospect of helping the kids get ready for this year's masquerade ball and the prom was met with much anxiety. I had to get creative.
Sheer serendipity that while walking around the new neighborhood I chanced upon a sign that says there was a seamstress who specialized in gowns. We knocked on her door and showed her the picture of Sophie's idol, Miranda Cosgrove (iCarly) wearing a nice lavender dress. Ms Marlene, who seemed to sew not for a living but for a hobby, offered to buy the cloth herself in Divisoria. She charged us 400 for her labor.
The result = Sophie's off-white flowing dress cost me 580 pesos. I am not kidding.
We used last year's silver shoes. Did your feet grow bigger, I asked my daughter. She said she was fine.
I also did her hair, using the curlers lent to us by Clai -- Josh's lady friend. My other daughter Bea and I took turns applying make up on Sophie. We had a few laughs when I applied some cheek tint that made her look like a clown and Bea had to come to the rescue.
The only things I spent for was a silvery-gray little bag, a shell-shaped bangle and the pair of silver earrings Sophie never used anyway because her earholes had shut.
Josh used last year's coat as well. He had last year's pants adjusted because he had lost a lot of weight in that span of time. He bought a few things: his white ribbed long-sleeved shirt from Victory Mall -- he cut off the tag that said "Big Ball" -- as well as his vest and bow tie. The tie was loose around the neck and Ms. Marlene was kind enough to adjust it for free. He had his black school shoes repaired at Mr Anthony (competitor of Mr. Quickie). He then hired a car that would take him and his date to the prom venue (they hitched a ride on the way home). All these purchases, repairs and everything else for P2,000 -- while I kept reminding him he was not the only kid in the house. I would be lying if I said I did not grumble.
This is why I feel like royalty myself. Of course I am proud that they are good looking. But definitely I am prouder that they know how to make do with what we have -- and still feel like the luckiest, richest kids in the world.
Thursday, February 16, 2012
State of play
Elmo with his waveboard
Elmo likes it here at our new place. This is because he could go out and play.
He could run up and down the road. He has been making friends. I am happy for him.
He could not do all these before, not where we previously lived (the gate of the compound leads to the busy main road where vehicles constantly pass). He also could not do this on the much wider street where his father and grandfather live. There are too many unknown characters on the "esquinitas" in that area (Josh's mugger lived there).
But now, because the townhouse has a gate of its own and a single uphill strip of road beyond that, I am confident Elmo will be safe.
He knows I am fine with it. When he arrives home from school, and if his schedule says it is time for outdoor play, he runs out with a smile on his face.
In the beginning, when we were new, he just walked up and down the road, surveying the houses in the two blocks that make up this community.
It also helps that the unit in front of us offers freshly-cooked snacks: fish balls, kikiam, banana cue, cheese sticks, French fries.
And then, two of Elmo's classmates live close by. Kelly lives next door while Andrei lives just across the road.
In fact, at this moment, Elmo and Kelly and several of their other classmates are at Andrei's home, watching a movie, relieved that their fourth long test has just ended.
But there are other kids as well. A tall, 11-year-old girl is ELmo's constant badminton playmate.
He has also been waveboarding, although some kid broke the wheels of his board and it is now awaiting replacement.
PLaying outdoors is a great experience for a child. I remember going out myself, many years ago -- to learn to ride a bike, to catch dragonflies and put them in a jar (yes we set them free before night fell), play patintero, mataya-taya, syato, and "bon-bon" racket (similar to badminton).
My playmates and I tried to climb aratilis trees and sucked the sweet red fruit.
Of course today, children would have more alternatives. There is cable TV and the Internet for Elmo's indoor playing, for instance. He has his robots and toy cars in a gray plastic box he carries around. He also dabbles in crafts (paper formers, origami, etc) and plays the violin.
But I think a child is most a child when he comes into the house at mealtime, sweaty and dirty and tired and happy from play.
Monday, February 13, 2012
The alive room
The "Evolution of Man" series is on its seventh year.
A view of our living room from the dining area
Enter through the front door at the right side of the townhouse. An L-shaped chocolate couch says hello. Dare sit down, and feel the fabric bristling your skin. Sit back, sink deeper. Catch a whiff of lavender or peppermint. The couch's last occupant leaves traces of her massage oil everywhere.
Look to your left. Behold a series of seven studio portraits lining the room’s length. Four children are 11, 9, 5 and 3 in 2005. They evolve into adolescents in 2011.
Against the opposite wall, observe two palo-china shelves. The books on them stand neatly but follow no logical arrangement. Between the shelves sits a 21-inch Sharp television set. It blares, alternately, the voices of news anchors and documentary narrators. Sharp crime and courtroom dialogue. Collective laughter of an imaginary crowd in a comedy series.
Three white baskets contain an assortment of disks. Find anything, from Mean Girls to A Streetcar Named Desire.
See a desktop and the essential router further right. 9Gag is the default page. Connected to the computer is an Edifier speaker. When the tv is not on, it is. Mayer, Maroon 5, Spalding, Sting, or Sino Sikat frustrates silence.
Notice four black bags standing against the wall. They contain a bass guitar, a classical guitar, a violin, a ukulele. Their owners play them -- thankfully, not at the same time.
Agree that the room's best asset is the sliding glass window. It spans half the room’s width. Four panels of bamboo drapes allow the air to move freely in. They also give some shade.
Hear the stream of children’s laughter from the main street. This, or teenagers’ giggles from one of the bedrooms upstairs. Shake your head at the occasional chess, Scrabble or Transformer pieces. Be careful. Avoid them as you walk barefoot on the shiny spotless tiled floor.
Marvel at how a mother and her children cultivate their individual styles. Perceive how they bond anyway.
Realize that this room is, true to its name, alive.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Lightheaded
I have been feeling dizzy these past few days -- at home, in the office, anywhere in between. It cramps my productivity (although I try). I will work up the diligence to visit a doctor soon. I know I need to be taking some vitamins for the blood, if not something stronger, to counter anemia.
But even without a medical degree I think I can tell what's wrong, or at least what is contributing to the lightheadedness. I almost always sleep an hour or two after midnight. Then I have to be up at 6 to see the kids off to school. I try to go back to bed but sometimes that's not possible.
I can't help it. We have been in the townhouse for a little more than a month already, yet I still revel at the newness of it all.I spend me-time watching tv or films in the living room. Or fixing up the house. Or planning what to do the following day, the following week. Or making lists. Or writing. Or reading. I would sleep, of course, if my mind decides to stop churning ideas or absorbing them. But sometimes it doesn't want to stop even as I tell it to.
There is just so much to do! My jobs (yes, plural), my masters (I'm almost halfway, can you believe it?) and the house (still a lot to put in order). These four kids need different parenting approaches owing to their different natures, and it's like I am a mother four times over -- and their expenses are just coming out of my ears (think prom and graduation and musical recital season, on top of everything else)!
At the same time, there is so much to learn. I have to make good on my target to read one book a month and watch three films a week. This aside from the things one can get out of tv, good tv, that is. The world is big; we are but specks in the history of all things.
I am relieved it's Friday. I will consciously try to NOT be Superwoman tomorrow. Maybe I will spend most of it sleeping,or doing what I feel like doing. Or not. Call it planned spontaneity. Everybody has her day off.
And maybe I won't feel lightheaded, for a change.
But even without a medical degree I think I can tell what's wrong, or at least what is contributing to the lightheadedness. I almost always sleep an hour or two after midnight. Then I have to be up at 6 to see the kids off to school. I try to go back to bed but sometimes that's not possible.
I can't help it. We have been in the townhouse for a little more than a month already, yet I still revel at the newness of it all.I spend me-time watching tv or films in the living room. Or fixing up the house. Or planning what to do the following day, the following week. Or making lists. Or writing. Or reading. I would sleep, of course, if my mind decides to stop churning ideas or absorbing them. But sometimes it doesn't want to stop even as I tell it to.
There is just so much to do! My jobs (yes, plural), my masters (I'm almost halfway, can you believe it?) and the house (still a lot to put in order). These four kids need different parenting approaches owing to their different natures, and it's like I am a mother four times over -- and their expenses are just coming out of my ears (think prom and graduation and musical recital season, on top of everything else)!
At the same time, there is so much to learn. I have to make good on my target to read one book a month and watch three films a week. This aside from the things one can get out of tv, good tv, that is. The world is big; we are but specks in the history of all things.
I am relieved it's Friday. I will consciously try to NOT be Superwoman tomorrow. Maybe I will spend most of it sleeping,or doing what I feel like doing. Or not. Call it planned spontaneity. Everybody has her day off.
And maybe I won't feel lightheaded, for a change.
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
An altered life - conclusion
published 8 February 2012, MST, page A5
Last week I talked about the unfortunate incident of mercury exposure among students in a Paranaque school – it will be six years to the day next Thursday – and the events leading to the lawsuit filed by one of the victims against said school and the teacher who unwittingly changed his life forever.
Today I will focus on how 20-year-old John Seth Cerillo is trying to get by despite the fact that nothing is ever the same for him.
Entering the Cerillos’ house in a Las Pinas City village, one would see various photographs of Seth – once a hyperactive boy who dreamed of becoming an engineer. It shows in the pictures: the impish grin, the slightly haughty look that says: “I am young. I can be anything I want to be. I am invincible.”
But invincible Seth is not. Over the years he has developed a combination of diseases – neuropathy, Parkinsonism, permanent damage to the immune system because of his exposure to the toxic element. In fact, he has stopped going to school altogether. Sure, in the beginning, he tried despite his constraints. He finished high school through the Alternative Learning System. He enrolled in engineering school but then shifted to a course in entrepreneurship.
Lately, however, his tremors have been getting worse and he is easily exposed to infection. Indeed the only place that is safe for him is his house, the only windows he could explore are television and the Internet.
But he is 20. (The incident happened when he was a 14-year-old high school freshman). His teenage years have come and gone. How has he spent them?
“Sometimes my friends come over. But they are all in college now and lead different, separate lives,” he muses. Does his condition mean he cannot go out on gimmicks at all? “Not really,” Seth says. “I can’t go out when it’s too hot or too cold.”
And how about a girlfriend? “I had a relationship with somebody sometime back, but it fizzled out. I really cannot assume any responsibilities given my condition.”
Juliette’s attachment to and sense of responsibility for her son is understandable. She and Seth’s father have been separated for as long as Seth has been alive. He helps with the expenses, but when it comes to caring for Seth, it is really just her. In fact, her life revolves around her son whom she bore when she was in her early 20s. “I used to be so desperate we even started seeing an albularyo (quack doctor) just hoping that Seth’s life would be back to how it was.”
Juliette has vowed to be with her son for as long as she can. But any mother would worry: How will he provide for himself later on, sustain his treatments, and even dream of marrying and raising a family? What will happen to him when she grows old and becomes sickly herself?
What makes it tough is that things were not always this way. Indeed the Cerillos’ world has changed – through no fault of their own. They are fighting to cope, anyway, taking each day as it comes.
***
It has been said that when Rep. Ignacio Arroyo was alive, he was only as notable as the scrapes out of which he tried to get his brother, the former gentleman. Now he is hogging headlines, not because of any remarkable event that coincided with his death in London on January 26 but because of the sleazy talk that attends the presence of two grieving women in his life.
A clich̩, really. The stuff of movies and teleseryes Рthe man lies in state while the women turn up, one after the other. And the people who show up to pay their respects end up giggling and gossiping about the colorful lives of everyone involved.
What a tragedy. A person should be remembered for the totality of the life he lived, not for the few silly decisions he made.
I can only speculate on the motives of the moneyed lot, but one thing is clear: This could have been prevented had there been a divorce law in the Philippines. That way, no alpha widow will be screaming “Ako Legal Wife!” A couple can marry, but when they have irreparable problems, and when they have tried everything to work them out to no avail, they can agree to divorce. Each will then be free to seek other partners. Everything is clear—no overlaps, no having-your-cake-and-eating-it-too (an affliction common to Filipino men), no gray areas, and certainly no awkward moments in the wake or during the funeral, which are supposed to be somber.
But as opposition to the proposals for divorce have shown, this country is not yet ready to challenge its long-held belief that the FORM of the family necessarily determines its SUBSTANCE. It is either we are ignorant, trapped by religion and culture, or hypocritical, which is infinitely worse.
adellechua@gmail.com
Last week I talked about the unfortunate incident of mercury exposure among students in a Paranaque school – it will be six years to the day next Thursday – and the events leading to the lawsuit filed by one of the victims against said school and the teacher who unwittingly changed his life forever.
Today I will focus on how 20-year-old John Seth Cerillo is trying to get by despite the fact that nothing is ever the same for him.
Entering the Cerillos’ house in a Las Pinas City village, one would see various photographs of Seth – once a hyperactive boy who dreamed of becoming an engineer. It shows in the pictures: the impish grin, the slightly haughty look that says: “I am young. I can be anything I want to be. I am invincible.”
But invincible Seth is not. Over the years he has developed a combination of diseases – neuropathy, Parkinsonism, permanent damage to the immune system because of his exposure to the toxic element. In fact, he has stopped going to school altogether. Sure, in the beginning, he tried despite his constraints. He finished high school through the Alternative Learning System. He enrolled in engineering school but then shifted to a course in entrepreneurship.
Lately, however, his tremors have been getting worse and he is easily exposed to infection. Indeed the only place that is safe for him is his house, the only windows he could explore are television and the Internet.
But he is 20. (The incident happened when he was a 14-year-old high school freshman). His teenage years have come and gone. How has he spent them?
“Sometimes my friends come over. But they are all in college now and lead different, separate lives,” he muses. Does his condition mean he cannot go out on gimmicks at all? “Not really,” Seth says. “I can’t go out when it’s too hot or too cold.”
And how about a girlfriend? “I had a relationship with somebody sometime back, but it fizzled out. I really cannot assume any responsibilities given my condition.”
Juliette’s attachment to and sense of responsibility for her son is understandable. She and Seth’s father have been separated for as long as Seth has been alive. He helps with the expenses, but when it comes to caring for Seth, it is really just her. In fact, her life revolves around her son whom she bore when she was in her early 20s. “I used to be so desperate we even started seeing an albularyo (quack doctor) just hoping that Seth’s life would be back to how it was.”
Juliette has vowed to be with her son for as long as she can. But any mother would worry: How will he provide for himself later on, sustain his treatments, and even dream of marrying and raising a family? What will happen to him when she grows old and becomes sickly herself?
What makes it tough is that things were not always this way. Indeed the Cerillos’ world has changed – through no fault of their own. They are fighting to cope, anyway, taking each day as it comes.
***
It has been said that when Rep. Ignacio Arroyo was alive, he was only as notable as the scrapes out of which he tried to get his brother, the former gentleman. Now he is hogging headlines, not because of any remarkable event that coincided with his death in London on January 26 but because of the sleazy talk that attends the presence of two grieving women in his life.
A clich̩, really. The stuff of movies and teleseryes Рthe man lies in state while the women turn up, one after the other. And the people who show up to pay their respects end up giggling and gossiping about the colorful lives of everyone involved.
What a tragedy. A person should be remembered for the totality of the life he lived, not for the few silly decisions he made.
I can only speculate on the motives of the moneyed lot, but one thing is clear: This could have been prevented had there been a divorce law in the Philippines. That way, no alpha widow will be screaming “Ako Legal Wife!” A couple can marry, but when they have irreparable problems, and when they have tried everything to work them out to no avail, they can agree to divorce. Each will then be free to seek other partners. Everything is clear—no overlaps, no having-your-cake-and-eating-it-too (an affliction common to Filipino men), no gray areas, and certainly no awkward moments in the wake or during the funeral, which are supposed to be somber.
But as opposition to the proposals for divorce have shown, this country is not yet ready to challenge its long-held belief that the FORM of the family necessarily determines its SUBSTANCE. It is either we are ignorant, trapped by religion and culture, or hypocritical, which is infinitely worse.
adellechua@gmail.com
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
An altered life
published in the Manila Standard Today, page A5, 01 February 2012
Twenty-year-old John Seth Cerillo watches a movie on cable tv at their home in Gatchalian Village in Las Pinas City. It’s either this or go online. But the Internet service is particularly slow that day so he could not surf. He could not do anything else much.
Seth is not in school anymore. For the past six years, and progressively, he has been nursing fever of up to 42 degrees Celsius. His tremors, once only in the hands but now have moved down to his legs, have become more frequent and debilitating. He always feels like he has lost his balance.
He was not like this before. Seth was an ordinary 14-year-old before his life changed drastically. He used to enjoy school and extra-curricular activities. He was into swimming, taekwondo and basketball. He was part of the choir and then became a sacristan.
All this changed when one Thursday, on 16 February 2006, his freshman science teacher brought a beaker containing the element mercury and asked the class to pass it around. According to Seth, the beaker had no lid. Their teacher told them to wash their hands after playing with the substance. The class was held in an air-conditioned room.
About 90 students belonging to two freshman sections were exposed to the chemical.
The following day, half the class was absent; the children complained of fever and vomiting. Seth eventually started to itch and developed fever and rashes. Doctors from the Philippine General Hospital—who had been called in after it was established that there had been a toxic spill at that Catholic school in Paranaque—had warned him and his classmates that this was likely to happen.
Mercury is a toxic element that damages a person’s nerves. It affects those exposed to it differently— some slightly, some severely, some immediately, others after many years.
The children who exhibited symptoms of mercury poisoning were given chelation treatment at the PGH, to expunge the chemical from their bodies. A massive cleanup was done; the school was closed for months.
For Seth, however, closure remains elusive.
For the rest of 2006, when there was close government and media attention on the school, everything seemed all right. After the cleanup, the school re-opened in June 2006. It promised to shoulder the affected children’s medical expenses and reimburse their medicine. For Seth, who missed half of his second year education due to absences, there were modules designed to keep him abreast of his lessons even while he was confined at home. Occasionally, teachers dropped by to inquire how he was doing.
Seth seemed to be the exception— all other kids who had been exposed to the chemical had recovered. Or, if they were feeling anything odd, for some reason they had decided to stay quiet.
Juliette, Seth’s mother, could not afford to be quiet. She saw how her son’s health had deteriorated, so much so that he was only able to attend one school day of his junior year and was asked to repeat it the next year. She also saw that as the years went by, the school became less willing to help them defray Seth’s medical expenses, which had been increasing rapidly. “You could feel it when you walk into their offices, how they look at you, it’s like they are saying ‘here comes this woman again, asking for money again.’ They question my receipts if these are related to the poisoning. But did I want this to happen to my son?” Juliet says. There were no succeeding modules that came their way, either.
On the day before the expiration of the prescription period for the filing of civil cases, or on February 15, 2010, the Cerillos filed a case for damages against the school and against the teacher. They asked for at least P6 million. “We would have gone to mediation, but in those talks, only the lawyer of the school would meet us, making an offer that is way below what we think Seth needs. There was nobody from the school’s Board of Trustees, its decision makers,” Juliette says.
“The school says it is charity on their part,” adds Seth. “They have never once acknowledged that they had some responsibility for what happened. But this was not an accident because it could have been prevented had the teacher known better.”
The lawsuit was heavily criticized. The school, interviewed in 2010 by another newspaper, said it felt betrayed by the Cerillos’ decision since it had been helping Seth with his expenses anyway. A social group was set up on Facebook by some of the school’s students in protest of the civil case. The Facebook page contains some nasty comments—“[cursing Seth]. Bakit hindi ka pa natuluyan? (Why didn’t you die?)” Another fellow liked this post. Yet another said “Mukhang pera lang yan (He is just after the money)!” “Nanghihingi ng 6M (Asking for P6 million?) WTF!?!”
Seth does need the money—now and more so in the future. Between 2006 and today, his condition has worsened. He has been diagnosed with neuropathy (brain and nerve damage), Parkinsonism, and his immune system is failing so that he easily contracts infections of whatever kind.
While he became eligible for college through the school’s Alternative Learning System program and tried pursuing his dream of becoming a civil engineer, Seth found out early enough he could not attend his classes regularly. He shifted to entrepreneurship (“because face it, no employer is going to hire him with his condition,” says Juliette. “He has to be his own boss who can rest when he needs to”) but encountered the same problem. So now Seth spends one day after another at home—except when he goes to the Manila Doctors Hospital to see his toxicologist and neurologist.
concluded next week
Twenty-year-old John Seth Cerillo watches a movie on cable tv at their home in Gatchalian Village in Las Pinas City. It’s either this or go online. But the Internet service is particularly slow that day so he could not surf. He could not do anything else much.
Seth is not in school anymore. For the past six years, and progressively, he has been nursing fever of up to 42 degrees Celsius. His tremors, once only in the hands but now have moved down to his legs, have become more frequent and debilitating. He always feels like he has lost his balance.
He was not like this before. Seth was an ordinary 14-year-old before his life changed drastically. He used to enjoy school and extra-curricular activities. He was into swimming, taekwondo and basketball. He was part of the choir and then became a sacristan.
All this changed when one Thursday, on 16 February 2006, his freshman science teacher brought a beaker containing the element mercury and asked the class to pass it around. According to Seth, the beaker had no lid. Their teacher told them to wash their hands after playing with the substance. The class was held in an air-conditioned room.
About 90 students belonging to two freshman sections were exposed to the chemical.
The following day, half the class was absent; the children complained of fever and vomiting. Seth eventually started to itch and developed fever and rashes. Doctors from the Philippine General Hospital—who had been called in after it was established that there had been a toxic spill at that Catholic school in Paranaque—had warned him and his classmates that this was likely to happen.
Mercury is a toxic element that damages a person’s nerves. It affects those exposed to it differently— some slightly, some severely, some immediately, others after many years.
The children who exhibited symptoms of mercury poisoning were given chelation treatment at the PGH, to expunge the chemical from their bodies. A massive cleanup was done; the school was closed for months.
For Seth, however, closure remains elusive.
For the rest of 2006, when there was close government and media attention on the school, everything seemed all right. After the cleanup, the school re-opened in June 2006. It promised to shoulder the affected children’s medical expenses and reimburse their medicine. For Seth, who missed half of his second year education due to absences, there were modules designed to keep him abreast of his lessons even while he was confined at home. Occasionally, teachers dropped by to inquire how he was doing.
Seth seemed to be the exception— all other kids who had been exposed to the chemical had recovered. Or, if they were feeling anything odd, for some reason they had decided to stay quiet.
Juliette, Seth’s mother, could not afford to be quiet. She saw how her son’s health had deteriorated, so much so that he was only able to attend one school day of his junior year and was asked to repeat it the next year. She also saw that as the years went by, the school became less willing to help them defray Seth’s medical expenses, which had been increasing rapidly. “You could feel it when you walk into their offices, how they look at you, it’s like they are saying ‘here comes this woman again, asking for money again.’ They question my receipts if these are related to the poisoning. But did I want this to happen to my son?” Juliet says. There were no succeeding modules that came their way, either.
On the day before the expiration of the prescription period for the filing of civil cases, or on February 15, 2010, the Cerillos filed a case for damages against the school and against the teacher. They asked for at least P6 million. “We would have gone to mediation, but in those talks, only the lawyer of the school would meet us, making an offer that is way below what we think Seth needs. There was nobody from the school’s Board of Trustees, its decision makers,” Juliette says.
“The school says it is charity on their part,” adds Seth. “They have never once acknowledged that they had some responsibility for what happened. But this was not an accident because it could have been prevented had the teacher known better.”
The lawsuit was heavily criticized. The school, interviewed in 2010 by another newspaper, said it felt betrayed by the Cerillos’ decision since it had been helping Seth with his expenses anyway. A social group was set up on Facebook by some of the school’s students in protest of the civil case. The Facebook page contains some nasty comments—“[cursing Seth]. Bakit hindi ka pa natuluyan? (Why didn’t you die?)” Another fellow liked this post. Yet another said “Mukhang pera lang yan (He is just after the money)!” “Nanghihingi ng 6M (Asking for P6 million?) WTF!?!”
Seth does need the money—now and more so in the future. Between 2006 and today, his condition has worsened. He has been diagnosed with neuropathy (brain and nerve damage), Parkinsonism, and his immune system is failing so that he easily contracts infections of whatever kind.
While he became eligible for college through the school’s Alternative Learning System program and tried pursuing his dream of becoming a civil engineer, Seth found out early enough he could not attend his classes regularly. He shifted to entrepreneurship (“because face it, no employer is going to hire him with his condition,” says Juliette. “He has to be his own boss who can rest when he needs to”) but encountered the same problem. So now Seth spends one day after another at home—except when he goes to the Manila Doctors Hospital to see his toxicologist and neurologist.
concluded next week
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