Correctional

Mani-pedi, anyone?


The mothers' ward


Some of these products can rival those sold in Kultura.


Where you can expand what you know, you are free.


Not cells but dormitories
(Photo credits to Lan Phuong)

Prison conjures images of horror -- cramped cells, cruel prison guards, nasty gang wars, bad food. Desperation.

I had this mindset when I, along with two of my classmates – Vietnamese Lan Phuong and Cambodian Seangly Phak -- visited the Correctional Institution for Women the other Sunday. Employees led by prison guard Elsa Martorillas, teacher Jeanefer “Guy” Llanes, and recreation officer Lulu Santos, as coordinated by Bureau of Correction officials Major Johnson Agbayani and Private First Class Lowela Alibania, gave us a tour of the facilities.

I had some interesting observations.

First stop – the mothers’ ward. It is a room of about five or six single beds for the exclusive use of pregnant prisoners. Since no conjugal visits -- actually, no male visitors -- are allowed in the facility, all the women there conceived while they were still outside.

The mothers are assigned plastic dressers on which to put their grooming items. There are medical personnel on standby. The sheets over the mattresses contain drawings of cartoon characters. There are books and magazines to leaf through.

Gina* is 34 and five months heavy with her fourth child. Her three other kids are in the care of her mother. She is in prison for child abuse – a trumped-up charge, she insists, of her husband’s mistress.

“This pregnancy is difficult because of the stress of my condition,” Gina says. “I think about my other children all the time.” Gina can perhaps be consoled that she would be with her newborn a full year before she is supposed to turn the baby over to her mother, or other relatives.

In a nearby section are the drug offenders. One of them, Karen,* is 30, mother of two and serving a life sentence for drug dealing. She has not seen her two children in seven years.

Amelia*, with short silver hair, is eloquent, confident and knowledgeable. A certified public accountant, she has been in jail for more than 20 years. She looks forward to being a free woman at the end of this year.

Not far ahead is the school room – with wooden desks, books, notebooks and other supplies. Teacher Guy, one of our guides, has been teaching here for three years. The Correctional is an accredited provider of Alternative Learning Program of the Department of Education. On the floor that day are five or six inmates engaged in beadwork – key chains, coin purses in the form of slippers, animals, even the Philippine flag.

Further down, there is a library inmates can go to when they want to read or borrow books. There is an entire edition of the Encyclopedia Britannica, as well as computers for those who wish to be literate. While there is of course no Internet access, some inmates are allowed to use Skype, under supervision, to communicate with their loved ones.

Outside the library is a salon. Trained inmates offer haircuts, manicures, pedicures, hot oil treatment, even massages at prices lower than what you see on the streets. The next building is the livelihood center where inmates display their beadwork, bags, baskets, vases, artificial plants. Some visitors admire the work so much they return to order in bulk.

Prison guard Elsa says the prisoners are allowed to keep a maximum of P1,000 in their pockets. If they are able to save extra money, it is put in a trust fund which they can ask to be sent to their families.

The inmates stay in double deckers, with mattresses and comfortable-looking sheets. The food budget is P50 per prisoner per day, covering three meals. This gives the inmates a diet of vegetables and occasional fish. Anything extra is brought to them by their families.

I can imagine a more desolate life in urban slums.

We end our tour in the administrative office. A maximum security inmate whom everybody calls Mommy and who can comfortably shift from English to Tagalog takes our picture.

The New Bilibid Prison in Muntinlupa, for the male inmates, is decidedly tougher to manage, says Agbayani. Of course, too, there have been recurring top-level scandals where officials are accused of special treatment of high-profile inmates or questionable spending of funds. Guard Elsa, for her part, says petty fights -- usually about money and other personal issues – and attempts to escape are realities they have to deal with.

But perhaps the best testament of how the women’s prison lives up to its name – correctional – is the sight of Teacher Guy’s two-year-old daughter Aya dancing and playing with the inmates. Employees are given the option to live within the correctional compound, and Guy has availed her family of this. Now Aya has an entire compound of doting surrogate aunts – blurring the line between those inside and outside, showing how important having someone to love, something to do and something to look forward to enables convicted women to reform themselves and dream of the day they walk out of prison.

*names have been changed.

adellechua@gmail.com

Identity

We had our class this afternoon at a coffee shop across the street from school. There were three readings and three discussion leaders. Immediately, though, our professor asked a question which I was not sure I wanted to answer in front of everybody, but which I was sure i wanted to think about more.

It is about identity. When we introduce ourselves to others, when we think of ourselves, what words do we use to denote our us-ness? I, for instance, could be a Filipina, an Atenean, a friend, and many other things. However, we ourselves choose which to emphasize.

If I were to be asked, I would say, three things:

First, I am a journalist. I take pride in my job. I am fortunate at being able to do something I feel I was born to do. This is why I do not mind so much that the pay is not as big as in other industries. I get to write about what is happening. I get to involve myself constantly. I have the need to be aware all the time. I tell stories, write editorials -- and, by the way, get paid for it. It is my hope that out of the myriad of voices, my own will be able to make a difference, nudge people into action. Or at least, thought.

Second, I am a mother. To qualify, I am a single mother of four children, the head of my household. I also take pride in having this kind of responsibility -- of nurturing them, guiding them, making sure that they will be fine when they are on their own, eventually. I like fussing about the house, making it comfortable and orderly -- every inch a refuge to come home to at the end of a long and busy day.

Moreover, I am doing it alone. I feel empowered that I am able to make big and small decisions alike without having to consult with a partner. I am not in any way authoritarian or dictatorial (you can ask the kids that!) but in my experience, I do better on my own. Immensely. I am beginning to think I am not a couple-person.

Finally, I am a woman. I feel strongly about this. My professor hit a raw nerve when she talked about herself being a victim in the past who decided to transcend her victimhood. Yes, through my work I think I have already made a dent. Conversations with friends and acquaintances have enabled me to help "catalyze" things for them, get them to think about their own situations without in any way imposing that this or that course of action should be done.

The work is not complete. I want to do more in telling disadvantaged women (and disadvantaged is a BIG word!) that they have a choice, they have free will and determination, and that they must exercise it. Not because I said so, but for their own sake.

At the same time, empowered as I now feel, I also have not completely dealt with some episodes from the past that i need to make sense of to make the healing complete.

I would like to think I am on my way.

CARP takes on a face

Group picture. Men and women farmers from Lubao and our Gender class. My classmates are not per se Ateneo students but UPEACE students getting their advanced degree from different cities.


Ka Elvira was very articulate and very passionate.


Our professor, Lourdes Veneracion-Rallonza


Mother and child, the next generation of farmers


A bilao of pancit palabok greeted me and my classmates. The paste is slightly spicy -- quite different from all other preparations I have had before.


Following is my think piece for by political science elective -- Gender, Human Rights and Globalization -- class, a reflection on our exposure trip to Lubao and Porac towns, Pampanga. I chose to write about the Lubao trip, about the farmers still struggling to claim the land they are tilling.

**


Yesterday the famers of Lubao, Pampanga laying claim to 134 hectares of farmlands (from the original 300) shared their food and their stories with us. After the meeting, there was a lot left to digest: The food that made its way up to mountain, to the next group of people whom we visited, and more importantly, the reflection points that the farmers’ individual and collective stories stirred in our minds.

I took note of the following points:

First, the Comprehensive Agrarian Reform Program is an ideal – if not utopian -- piece of legislation in the Philippines. We discussed that it was passed into law under the Cory Aquino administration, with the Mendiola Massacre of 1987 acting as a catalyst. That event angered the people so much and raised questions as to the sincerity of Mrs. Aquino in effecting social justice even when—or especially since -- it could run against her personal and familial interests.

The passing was merely symbolic. The Cojuangco-Aquinos themselves tried to circumvent the law through the stock distribution option they gave their famers. The farmers were not given land, but shares of stock. That issue has only been recently resolved by the Supreme Court.

But the Luisita problem is only the most talked about agrarian reform issue because it concerns the current president. There are numerous other cases that are not in the public consciousness. There are many other wealthy and influential landowners throughout the country exploiting farmers and suppressing any attempts to claim the land. And since they are powerful, they have on their side some agents of the government who are supposed to implement the law.

This leads us to my second point, that exploitation and injustice happens regardless of whoever is in power. The Cojuangcos-Aquinos are by no means the only influential people to have made life difficult for the farmers. The Lubao farmers we spoke to have been fighting the influential Pinedas of Pampanga, known friends and allies of the Aquinos’ political rival, the Arroyos.

Third, precisely because of the culture of hypocrisy in government – where an official trumpets his concern for others but is actually driven by his personal agenda – farmers fighting for another piece of land, led by Ka Armando, are thinking about employing the “political” tactic in order to prod the Aquino administration into action. Another property, 194-hectare, has been converted by the Pinedas from agricultural to residential to make it “non-CARPable.” The matter is now with the Office of the President. Will President Aquino act on the matter, because it is a way for him to vilify the friends of the Arroyos, not necessarily because he believes the farmers should have the land?

Fourth, one cannot help being impressed at the organizational skills of the farmers. They are simple folk, hardly university educated, yet they are able to set in motion complex principles of management and human resources. Internally, they are able to inspire and help each other achieve their common goals. They are also able to get past their difference and resolve any infighting and conflict of interest among themselves. The fight has gone on for at least 30 years and as a group, they are still intact even as some may have already died or given up.

They are also able to relate well with the other groups: farmers with similar problems, the media, government officials, non-government organizations. The farmers themselves said they want to pursue their objectives within the legal system. They must be conscious of the legal consequences of their actions and ensure everything is documented for future reference. They do not want to do anything extra-legal, or illegal, lest it backfire on their quest. After all they have been through, they still believe in the rule of law even as its agents have often failed them.

Against their adversaries, the farmers employ well-thought out strategies. For example, when a tractor came to destroy the crops, the women lined up and linked arms in protest. At another time, a woman took off her top as she was being arrested on trumped up charges. IN yet another occasion, women formed the first line of defense, but should anything untoward be done to them, the men are right there behind them, as well.

Finally, the fight for social justice and human rights is not free from moral ambiguities. The farmers recognize that there are certain realities they must contend with. Some of their companions, out of material need, have renounced their rights for money. And then, farmers must raise money to pay good lawyers even this meant they have to resort to loans they would be burdened with for years. They also shell out cash for fares, food and other expenses, competing with the expenses they already have at home. Sometimes, too, they give in and bribe agrarian reform workers if only to ensure that their case progresses, however slowly.

Advancing their cause means time spent away from home, chores undone, land untended. These farmers, after all, are not fighting for some political ideology that they read about in books. They are fighting for something very close to home, and thus their struggle is very closely intertwined with their everyday lives.

Ka Menang Osbual hopes that the next few months will bring good news to her and her
companions. A decision has been made by the courts in their favor but the forms they have to fill out have not arrived yet -- it has been two months.

Even when it does arrive, it would be dangerous to believe that all will be well afterward. Challenges remain. How can the farmers be sure their opponents will be willing to let go of the property just because the court has said so? How can these private persons prove their good faith? How shall transition be effected? Can the farmers do well on their own? What will happen to the pending criminal cases, what they say are trumped-up charges against them? What will be the challenges facing the next generation of farmers?

Our trip to Lubao did me one big favor. Prior to it, I had only a theoretical knowledge of human rights and agrarian reform issues. These have become more concrete now because I have gotten to know women and men advancing this cause. I hope that their story inspires other groups to carry on. Moreover, these realizations convince me that there are no clear-cut rules on how to wage a generations-old battle for something as basic as land to live on and till. It is a dynamic of internal and external factors that has no specific beginning and has no happy-ever-after end.

Science and governance

published 16 May 2012 - MST page 5

Maria Corazon de Ungria, head of the DNA Analysis Laboratory of the University of the Philippines-Natural Sciences Research Institute, was on cable television last month. In an episode of the show “Partners in Crime” aired over the Crime and Investigation Channel, De Ungria explains how DNA technology in the Philippines can help bring justice by providing forensic basis of a person’s guilt or innocence.

It’s hardly CSI, but the point is that the science is here and could do wonders in the justice system—if only we knew how to use it to the maximum.

But that’s exactly the DNA expert’s point—we don’t.

De Ungria can think of many good opportunities where science can be tapped to achieve great ends. There is, for instance, the problem of trafficking, across national borders or within Philippine borders.

Imagine a middle-aged woman at a port, who has just come from a faraway province down south. She has five teenaged girls in tow. When asked who these girls are, she quickly says they are her nieces. End of story.

How should anybody know that the woman makes these trips several times a year, bringing different sets of “nieces”? Who is to say she brings them to the big city not for a vacation, but to become sex workers or unwitting wives of foreigners?

DNA profiling can help ascertain whether such “aunts” are telling the truth. Science establishes blood relationships, no questions asked.

De Ungria also points to news clippings about mothers selling their babies to pay for their hospital bills. At first blush, it is a heart-wrenching story: A mother, driven by poverty and desperation, goes against human nature (of protecting her child) and does the unthinkable. But think again: How do we know she is really the mother, not some stranger who snatched a child away from its parents? Again, DNA can help establish the relationship between the child and its purported natural parent. De Ungria believes that parents, when reporting a lost child, should provide DNA samples immediately for comparison.

And then, when a rape is reported, the use of a so-called rape kit is not mandated at all. Physical examinations do not automatically include collecting DNA specimens from the victim, which could be used to pin down suspects later on even when testimonial evidence is not available or becomes problematic.

Unfortunately, sample taking is not automatic. Remember that the application of DNA technology is a comparison. DNA specimen from a crime scene is compared with the sample taken from a suspect. When there is only one sample, no comparison is possible. When there are two, and they match, you know who did the crime. No ifs, no buts.

The law, too, says that foreigners may not receive organs from non-related Filipinos. But how come kidney trafficking, for instance, has become controversial in the Philippines? Hospitals performing transplants must ascertain that the donor and the recipient are blood relatives. But apart from the say-so of the parties (not always in the interest of truth, of course), we have no way of knowing.

De Ungria recalls reports about an entire community in the Baseco compound in Manila where the majority of residents have one kidney left. Alas, “consent” and “informed consent” are two different things. Middlemen lure poor people into selling their organs, without telling them of the consequences. They then become sickly. They get the money, sure, but it lasts them a month. And then they have to live with poor health, a diminished earning capacity and additional expenses for medicines for the rest of their lives.

***

The problem is not actually science, De Ungria believes. Ultimately it is one of governance, of heads of government agencies deliberately steering their organizations to a direction where opportunities are maximized, efforts are coordinated and plans of action are communicated down to the lowest levels of the organization.

Clearly this is not the case. De Ungria observes disjointedness, hits and misses, ad hoc efforts and a vague sense of drifting along. There are occasional gains, of course, but there is no follow through—and hence nothing gets done.

As usual.

Sure, De Ungria and her group are able to touch base with some government agencies, train personnel and generally make them aware of what could and must be done. They have had some good results, too. But there is the perennial worry: Is this enough? Are they talking to the right people? Are they even making a dent?

De Ungria believes that Cabinet members—especially Health Secretary Enrique Ona, Local Government Secretary Jesse Robredo, Justice Secretary Leila de Lima and Science and Technology Secretary Mario Montejo—should put their heads together and coordinate their efforts to achieve the level of operational cooperation that would trickle down to their subordinates.

De Ungria holds a doctorate and has published numerous articles in international journals. She is the leading expert on DNA in the country. Then again, one does not really need such credentials to feel strongly about what’s wrong with the way our government addresses gaping holes in the system. One only has to be a Filipino who cares.

Invisible women

published May 9, 2012 - MST page A5

Compared to the rest of the world, the Philippines is not a laggard on women’s issues. In fact, we rank eighth in the global gender-gap index survey, which means we are at par with countries like Iceland, Norway, Finland, Sweden, Ireland, New Zealand, and Denmark in terms of gender equality.

This is not to say it’s always more fun to be a woman in the Philippines.

It’s not fun, for instance, if you are poor and working in the so-called informal sector—as a piece-rate worker, on-call labandera, or vendor.

Leonida Antonio—Ka Nida—is treasurer of the Pambansang Tagapag-Ugnay ng mga Mangggagawa sa Bahay. The group is not exclusive to females, but women outnumber the men anyway because it is the women who are less able to find work in the “formal” sector, with fixed wages, regular working hours and more or less secure working conditions.

It is the women who must, on top of helping their husbands eke out a living, cook and clean and care for the children, and find ways to stretch resources when they are, and they always are, scarce.

“We are essentially a mothers’ organization,” Ka Nida says. Patamaba now has more than 17,000 members.

***

Concepcion delos Santos, or Ka Mary, is a sewer from Bulacan who works at home, sometimes for 16 hours on end, juggling her sewing with her responsibilities as wife, mother and grandmother. Her work is subcontracted by factories who then sell their goods —pajama bottoms, for instance—to vendors in Divisoria and Baclaran. She cannot demand higher wages because the people who give her the job would simply find others willing to do the work for the same low rate.

But sewing is not her main preoccupation these days. Ka Mary is president of the Pambansang Koalisyon ng Kababaihan sa Kanayunan, an umbrella organization composed of 426 organizations in 42 provinces. Patamaba is one of the organizations under this coalition. Now Ka Mary commutes to Manila practically every day, lending her voice to the causes her organization is advancing.

The work also takes Ka Mary and Ka Nida to far-flung provinces in the country, talking to women about their rights.

For example, the law on violence against women and children may be fairly common to us urban dwellers, but it is still a foreign concept to those in remote provinces. Some women believe it is all right for their husbands to beat them up or demand sex any time they want. When some of them go as far as complaining about these to barangay or municipal officials, the latter refuse to intervene, believing it a family affair. Some areas don’t even have women’s desks.

Access to government health facilities is also a problem. Sure, health services and medicine may be available for free. But some women have to travel great distances to the clinics, shelling out P50 to P100 just for the trip, something they could not afford.

On reproductive health, the problem is not just access to contraceptives but plain information. Poor families from the provinces have no idea about the politics determining the fate of the RH bill in Congress. What they know is what they hear from the priests who proclaim from their pulpits that RH bill supporters are evil and that choosing to plan your family through artificial means is tantamount to abortion—an act that would merit the ire of God and the fires of hell.

Alas, these women have no means to know better.

In turn, having too many children amid a lack of ability to provide for their needs breeds poverty and desperation, fueling violence within the family. “Those eleven mother dying daily due to pregnancy-related causes? The number could be bigger because so many cases go unreported,” adds Ka Mary.

She also talks about the unjust practice of marrying off girls as young as nine years old. This is rampant among indigenous peoples in many parts of the country. These children get married and bear their own children at a young age. Their minds, much less their bodies, are not prepared for this,” Ka Mary says.

Both women say going around and talking to women from all over is not easy. Getting wives and mothers to leave their responsibilities for even a few hours has tremendous consequences, translating to income lost or chores left undone.

Some husbands, they share, also do not like “allowing” their wives to attend these meetings. Even Ka Mary’s and Ka Nida’s own husbands had their misgivings in the beginning.

But what keeps these two women going is the look of enlightenment in the faces of the women—and yes, their husbands—as they are made aware of what is and what should be.

It’s a long way to go before invisible women, those belonging to the informal sector and those in remote rural areas, are recognized and given their due. Awareness is a start, though. Towards this goal, Ka Mary and Ka Nida are not about to stop going around anytime soon.

Personal space

published May 2, 2012 - MST page A5

My kids and I left our two-bedroom apartment earlier this year and settled into a three-bedroom townhouse in the same city. The primary consideration for the transfer was space.

In our previous home, there was one big room and one small room. The bigger room was where everyone stayed. It contained one single bed and one double bed, put right next to each other.

Also in the room were four wooden study desks, one for each of the four children, as well as the family desktop and the speakers that were connected to the computer. There was always a clutter of papers, books, bags, coffee mugs and a crazy jungle of electrical wires.

There was also always a cacophony of sounds. My older son plays bass and classical guitar, my younger son plays the violin, my girls sing and act and write. Everybody is a chatterbox.

My home office was downstairs, adjacent to the living room. I had no problems staying there at night—I do my best work when everybody else is asleep —except when it’s insanely hot. Or when there are cockroaches.

Now this new crib is bigger. The best part is having three bedrooms. The biggest, the one that spans the entire width of the house and that has its own bathroom, I gave to the girls Bea, 18 and Sophie, 11. They can now invite all the friends they wanted, stay up late talking, playing music, watching movies.

The smallest room, I gave to my 16-year-old son Josh. It is just big enough for his mattress, a built-in closet, his desk, a chest of drawers and his guitars.

I took the middle room, adjacent to both the bigger and smaller ones. (Okay, my ten-year-old son Elmo rooms with me, but he’s a kid and the “bunso” so it’s okay.) The aircon is in my room, with only exhaust fans for the two other rooms.

It was the first time I ever had a room of my own. I was overjoyed that I could freely move about fixing, cleaning, writing, planning, making lists. If one is more organized, one is more productive.

But that was in January.

Fast forward to one of the most scorching summers we have ever known. I wake up and I find everybody sprawled sleeping in the room with me. I think it began when Josh’s exhaust fan broke down. He found an excuse to drag his mattress into my room every night so he could sleep there. Lately, however, I noticed he does not anymore drag it out in the morning. He has found a place for it under my bed—a pullout!

Of course, Elmo is my roommate, but his robots scattered about are not part of the deal! He also encroaches into my laptop because the PC downstairs hangs when he plays games there. And of course you cannot tell him to stop when he does his violin exercises. How else is he going to come closer to the 10,000 hours (according to Malcolm Gladwell’s book Outliers) he is supposed to put in to become really good?

And because the boys are with me, the girls decide they want to join the party, as well. One of them climbs into my single bed, and the other sleeps on the floor beside my desk (yet another mattress would not fit.) These summer nights, when the young ones have no school and the older ones’ summer schedules are not that tight, the chatter is endless. We tell each other what we did, and did not do. They talk about the most popular videos on the Internet. We elevate knock-knock jokes to an art form.

Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night and lament that my room still looks like the old one we left behind. I then transfer downstairs, but find am not able to do much, or read much, or watch much, because it is just so hot. I often crawl back to bed cranky, disoriented and less ready for the day ahead—just because I have not had my me-time fix.

And then I remember that I may not have this “problem” for long. Kids grow up and become less available for their parents as they age. Ten, twenty years from now, I may be that old lady awaiting their Sunday visit or the sound of their voices on the phone.

A cramped, cluttered bedroom is a small price to pay to freeze these happy moments.

Personal space is priceless. It enables us to reflect on the past day, organize our many concerns, plan, reward ourselves for working hard. It is respite from the crazy schedules, the myriad of concerns, the up-to-the-neck responsibilities, the many hats we wear.

Personal space, however, is more important for what it enables us to do. It is going up for air. We then become better parents, professionals, students, partners, friends. Personal space should thus not be sought out for its own sake, but for what it makes of us—for ourselves and the people around us.

What I did during my one-day break

In my last entry I talked about how busy I am these days, so that I have not been able to meet my (self-imposed) blogging quota, and even update the archives of my published Chasing Happy pieces.

It's still pretty much the same this week. In fact, for the first time in many months, I was not able to write a column in today's issue of my newspaper.

Yesterday I took my finals and submitted a paper on Virginia Woolf's Mrs. Dalloway for a cognate course I picked myself -- British literature under Danton Remoto. My Asian history class ended Monday though I am still supposed to write a paper for it and actually am starting my research this evening. Another elective, this time a political science course (Gender, Human Rights and Globalization) begins tomorrow.

Oh wait, it's not the same. This is because out helper went to the province for an eight-day vacation last weekend, and my ex-husband, the children's father, nearly suffered a stroke Monday night, his blood pressure shooting up to 200, and was confined to a hospital in Makati. I did not perform the usual wifely duties, of course, but the children did. I made sure they knew their priorities.

But today, Wednesday, I got a break. I did not have classes. I also have permission to work online or in the office, whichever is convenient for me, until June 15.

So I spent the entire day at home. I did part of the laundry -- and, by the way, my washing machine went bust. I also spent time with Elmo and shared breakfast and lunch with him. We were supposed to go out to buy bigas, walis tambo and feather duster and to get his hair cut -- but his father came home from the hospital and wanted to be with him. So he left..and I continued with online office work, which took 5 hours.

Tomorrow and in the next 11 days I will be busy again. I look forward to staying at home the next time...maybe I will go to the wet market and haggle for fish and fruits and wipe all surfaces with a rag washed in clorox.

I feel so much more whole when I engage in these different activities. Sometimes when we engage in lofty intellectual things, we become snobs and believe ourselves to be too "good" for certain things.

Not me. The only things I despise are cleaning toilets and throwing out trash and dealing with roaches...not because of snobbery but an increasing, and sometimes I feel, debilitating, claustrophobia and obsessive-compulsiveness.

I guess, there is a part of me that wants to be a domestic goddess, as well. I call the shots now, and it feels great.

Crazy Summer

I realize May is more than halfway done and I have not posted a single thing this month before this one.

I've been going to school this summer -- physically, that is. I am also more than halfway through my masters and in fact, in about two weeks, I will have completed 27 out of the 36 required units.

The degree is a mix of online and on-site courses and under the curriculum, the summer between the first and second years is on-site. My classmates, journalists from other Asian countries as well as a few from the Philippines as well are all here for our "electives." I put it in quotes because there is at least one elective we are required to take, so the name is wrong.

Needless to say, I am busy as hell. I try not to take a leave from the office if I can help it. I just file one in the event of whole-day classes that leave me no room to travel AND psyche myself up for editing work. In other days, I don't come to the office anymore but do the work anyway. The remaining days, I am likely at my office desk, which I insanely miss, sometimes.

These, and being mom as well. I will write about our summer, this summer, in a separate entry. It's been great having them, around and being relieved of some responsibilities that they can take on already, in the event that I am too preoccupied with work or school, or that I need to rest. Badly.

It's enrollment season too and with two kids in university, and Sophie now in junior high at my old stomping ground, and with ELmo carrying on with his violin lessons, I think I have more than enough to worry about, materially.

Oh, and this entire week, our helper is on vacation. Kids and I have more opportunity to bond -- through housework.

I'll get back to blogging, though. I will most definitely be back.