Education is the new Nationalism

Education is the new Nationalism

“Dami ko nang problema, dumagdag ka pa,” goes that meme with a zing.

While people from developed countries get to choose the jobs they want, and still feel “meh,” about their dream jobs, we here get to get a PhD and scramble for contractual work.

As of now, this is how we roll. But know that this is not forever.

You owe it to your country to study as hard as you can. As a businessman, you can thrive even if you don’t get a degree. But education gets into the details of the repercussions of one act. The ethics, if you will.

It doesn’t necessarily mean that an educated person will be ethical, but she will have at her disposal, I believe, all the sides of the story.

That, should she decide, will guide her through all decision-making processes – resulting in prudent action encrusted with foresight.

This is why an educated lawmaker is who we should elect. Not because we are bigots, racists, and elitists, but because an uneducated person will not have encountered the many factors affecting a single law, even though they may know the source of a certain social injustice. We have laws now haphazardly enacted, meant more to appease the uneducated public, than to afford us long-term solutions.

It is our generation’s tragedy, that the uneducated get to lead the uneducated. This is not a failure of any one group, but our failure as a nation.

We must put faith of education back into the uneducated. We must put confidence of the uneducated back to the educated.

And while uneducated leaders get to win with cheapshots, and lead the country further into chaos; it is the duty of the educated leader, now, to strategically better those cheapshots, while at the same time earning back the faith and trust of the uneducated masses through laws that provide short term and long term gains – for everyone.

If the laws do not benefit everyone, magpapa-ulit-ulit lang tayo rito. Sa kala-lakad natin sa desyerto paikot-ikot, na aburidong-aburdio sa alikabok sa ating ilong, nakaligtaan nating tumingin sa ibaba, upang makitang sa pangakong lupa na pala tayo naka-tungtong.

Patnubayan nawa kayo.

Trash throwing Trash? (version 1)

It is a scene not unlike the Pasig River urban poor settler row backdropped by the skyscrapers of Ortigas. Try walking, wherever you may be, from one subdivision to the next, if in the suburbs, or from one block to the next, if in the city. And you will see, spittled on the side of the road, the walkway, the alleys unfrequented by pedestrians, used-up packets, water bottle containers, and plastic bags with yesterday’s trash, both bio and nonbio. If you’re real lucky, you will stumble upon rotting carcass of what had been “Cattie” or “Poochie,” suffocating your upper airways, stifling your hearing, impaling your smell, disarming your senses altogether.

Why?

When we have regular visits by the trash truck.

Why?

When we are supposed to be living in a time of people awakened by the effects of climate change, the term has become passe. Ondoy, Yolanda, all told us that we have got to stop living like pigs.

Have we even bothered? Asking the people who throw trash with careless abandon, why they do what they do? Have we ever asked ourselves what could have possessed them so that in this day and age, they have not evolved a single day from 1982?

I think it’s about time we asked, for us to get answers to the problem. And then, we can form a solution. We need to talk to them. No. Not enough. We need to get to know the urban poor. That is the only way we will figure them out. The solution, even the problem is secondary. What we need to do is to learn how they think. Only then will we understand who they are and what their predilections are – regarding everything. Then the solutions will just simply present themselves without any effort.

Triumvirate

The drummer slices onto tingling sheen with the right and brushes coarse cotton cloth with his left hand brush stick, the relaxed right foot feathering the bass, and the left foot strictly maintaining tempo with a “chick” of the hi-hat every 4 counts.

The contrabass hums droning notes of its upbeat syncopated tune following the silent remonstrations of its player, executed via hand gestures of what could be construed as animated sign language restrained by the vertical axis.

The pianist’s spider-like hands pounce on prey of grand piano ebony and ivory, spinnerets casting controlled spurts of silky web threads — in a pattern incomprehensibly random, and yet purposeful that the keyboard master’s expression, so contorted yet in oblivious abandon, squeezes out beads of sweat from his vein-reticulated forehead.

“Impressive isn’t it?,” I ask the stunted but lithe middle-aged figure beside me directly where the parquetry meets the plank hardwood edge of the auditorium stage.

“Yep. They been at it for years. For years and years. So many I lost count. I was a young ‘un then. They call me a groupie. Weird being called that with all my gray hair now. Some of it fallen I never even known. I mean, I never pay no mind, to what I look like, because I grown to lovin’ what this that I do. Like them jazz band players swingin their heads lef n’ riyn, with eyes closed maybe them people watchin so quiet, and all they really wondrin, how in blue blazes they still manage ta play at all.”

“In here they all smile an’ no worry. In here them mind is blank. Know wat I mean?”

“Yes. Catharsis.”

“Yeah. Sumpin lyk dat. Heart dat from one a dem last times.”

“The drum playa, he gon thrua divorce. Nasty. Nasty. He never no mind dat alimoney, but the kids he misses. The missus he misses. Now he does.”

“Another woman?”

“Nuh-uh. Eez just one a dem things. Y’know. Dem things that hapenta married folks whu bin married for far too long. Lyk bein in da same damn room but knowin’ u alone. Get my drift?”

“Yes.”

“But lemme tell ya. He done no nothin bad to her. The wife will tell ya dat.”

“And the bassist. He all cool and suave right now here in front a all dem rich folks, but lemme tell ya. Well.” The old crewman scratched his thinning salt-pepper hair, “I don’t think it right for a man to be without woman, you know. I know he aint a manlover. He aint none a dat. Me, personally, I dont pay no mind if u wana man for a wife, but Ricky, he aint dat. I know he wana wife and get one if and he could’ve..”

“So what happened then?”

“Life, my man. Life happened. He and them band o his got so busy we here in NYC one day, and the next we go on a transatlantic type kinda flight where we got nothin to do but sleep and get boozed straight outta our wits..and lemme tell ya, all them tight skinny asses we..Oh, pardon. I mean, Ricky, he warnt able ta get around ta askin a woman to stay with him on account of we war on the road so darn many times all throughout the year. Tourin and recordin and tourin. What kinda woman would want dat? You know..”

“It’s such a shame then.”

“Yes. Yesidis. Well, I guess daz all I can tell ya. Most everybody else knows about Mike and his story,” he gulped his whisky, turned and watched the trio, while yet again, playing with his bald spot.

Everybody knows about Mike. How he was kept locked up inside the house, chained to a four-post bed, the sheets stained with feces and piss, you never could know which was which. That was how the police found him. But lamentable the situation as it may have seemed, there was one little detail that stood out when I went there after handing a hefty tip to the crime scene sentry: On the bed was a silver plate, with crumbs of what smelled like a field of flowers in the summer. Upon exit the sentry pleasantly chit-chatted while I smoked, and gave the detail the broadsheets overlooked: Poor Mike was found sprawled on the wooden floor, eyes closed, smiling, bobbing his head, as his mother played “Livery Stable Blues.”

Which is exactly what they are playing right now.

without Grades

We wouldn’t have to be something other than ourselves.

We could study what we want when we want for the sheer fun of it.

We would be better parents and teachers

Without grades, we wouldn’t be slaves.

 

We would be free men, without grades. We would follow our passion. We would see to it that we become the best version of the people that we wanted to be, no matter how long it took.

As parents, we wouldn’t have to brave the traffic and stress out the toddlers shuttling them to and from the institutions. Life would offer breaks of sanity for parents.

As for the teachers, once it is revealed to us that our role is not to control the outcome of what our students will become later in life, but to act as GUIDE, just like modern parents do; it will open up a radical change in teaching method.

Why should math involve only numbers more abstract than art itself to the child? It should involve mathematical relationship, nay, involvement with nature. How is nature’s design related to math? The rule of thirds. Demonstrating the rule of thirds to a kid is so much fun.

It will not be our goal anymore to force feed information down their throat in the least amount of time. We have Google for that.

What our focus will be is in what we should teach them.

Where their interests lie. In a classroom setting, this will be difficult. It means getting to know each and every student. Giving that huge amount of effort. When before children were placed in school because their parents were in factories and children were prepared for life in factories.

Guess what.

We don’t wish to be put in factories any longer. Nor would we want our children to become corporate slaves. A corporate slave is an employee who did not dream of the job where they are in, in a company. Note, that that is the definition of a high-end modern slave.

Yes, there is a moderate amount of satisfaction – the comfortable life.

But then again, there’s that question:

What does the high-end slave do after she is “retired?”

By today’s standards, she is permitted only to dream of becoming who she wants to be after sixty. Assuming that she lives to the ripe old age of sixty. Youngsters half her age dropping like flies this day and age. Wanna bet how many of those related to extreme stress?

It’s all good if the child still wishes to become a physician or a lawyer or a professor once they reach adolescence. Let them be trained in the universities then.

But what if, your student, your child, eyes glittering, says to you, upon being asked what she wants to be when she grows up:

“I want to play with my friends all day long when I grow up!”

Will this world accept her truth?

Or will it scoff at her, as it mildy ushers her out the door of self-realization?

What could a people-person do, that is something similar to playing with friends all day long?

SPORTS

Sports is an intellectual endeavor. It is not brute strength (Believe me, I tried). It is a matter settled well within the mind. Before an athlete goes out that door and into an arena, the battle has already gone on in her mind. The outcome of the competition is irrelevant. Once she steps out of her fear, she has already won.

Winners are overcomers. What do they overcome? They overcome an overwhelmingly large number of failed attempts to finish a race, to win a competition. They wake up on time, everyday, to train, while everyone is asleep. They show up. In blinding sunlight, in pouring rain.

Do we need grades to train us to wake up at 4Am everyday?

Do we need grades to train us to overcome failures, when we have had a million of them already?

The athlete is an intellect of grit and tenacity. I have utmost admiration for the mind of the athlete.

BUSINESS

They have schools for business. But let me tell you something, dear reader. The best business people I have come across, are those who have come from rock bottom. Those who did not finish their studies. I also am inclined to think that they are the most successful, both in the holistic meaning of success, and also in their bottomline. Think about it, this businessman has loads of cash, has an ethically sound business model, and morally adept management and employees. Wouldn’t that be the perfect world we all only dream about?

This prompts us to ask, where the fuck did they learn?

From the streets. From the pillars of business who became their mentors. From friends.

From my point of view, these taipans and tycoons started out with the dream of “Playing with their friends all day long!”

Events coordination starts with going to parties. Caterers and restaurateurs love to cook at home. Fashion designers have grandmas who love to sew. Mechanics have grandmas who love to tinker with the car engine.

Frankly, I think we should stop training children and start guiding them. Let us do without grades. Evaluation should be focused not on what we think the children should become, but what they dream of becoming, and their academic strengths should only come secondary to that; not the other way around.

Mentorship should be our focus, not oversight. With the institutions, it is not the teachers and professors who have failed, but the school administration. And by administration, who has the greatest command responsibility, but the governments. Not just here. Around the globe even.

We should teach kids to become happy and independent. Not addicted to recognition, and junkies for the intelligence quotient.

Without grades, graduation is when we have papers proving success as we defined it for ourselves.

Without grades, we wouldn’t be slaves.

Emptying ourselves

As a child, I felt a pang, for something dear that was lost to me during my pre-school days. The longing was so strong that I dreamed of it even during weekday nights.

It was when I got to run in the fields, in the streets, with my friends, my neighbors. When instead of Counter Strike, we pummeled each other with thorny weed pollen. When I got to play alambre basketball on dirt, wearing flip-flops, white sando, and having no underwear to my name.

I had nothing. And yet this was one of my happiest remembrances.

I never asked anyone why I felt the way I did, as a child. I guess I got lost in the schoolwork, which I enjoyed, but even more that I got to make some dear friends too.

Now, how in the world is it possible for a human being to be in perfect exultation, without even an underwear hole in his financial portfolio?

John Maxwell, in his book, “The Winning Attitude,” mentioned “emptying oneself.” It sounds too religious, it sounds too Buddhist. Yep, it does sound a bit like Bruce Lee. Something I never could understand.

“How can a person be empty. And why on earth would a person wish to be empty, isn’t that stupid?,” asked my puffed up, stupid self. I was full alright. Full of it.

I had this self-righteous notion of myself, even though I dared not admit it. To anyone, let alone meself. Apologies, I have been playing an Irish Pirate a little while before this writing.

I think that this epiphany of being empty came about a month or so ago, when I felt that I had the liberty to become anything I ever wanted. I decided then that it was time for me to study once more, but this time to do the thing that I really wanted to become in the first place. Even before learning that there was such a thing as pollution science – and it was, well, drawing.

I wanted to learn art. Not just visual art, but art in its essence. But I knew that at my age and skill level, the best option for me would be to go to workshops, and approach the practitioners, the masters at work.

This scared the head lice out of me (I know this is a mortal sin in writing. Good thing I am an empty vessel. Hehe..). For one thing, I knew that I sucked at drawing. I suck at it to such an extent that even my daughters squirm when I show them my work. Mas pangit naman yung sa kanila!

So what am I getting at.

John Maxwell also talked about what the Narnian mouse, Reepicheep, also mentioned – adventure. A life filled with it.

Taking a risk. Doing what you really want to do. Without getting paid. Without taking heed of obligations (not to be taken literally). Without outside influences. Without the titles. Without the recognition.

Just pure unadulterated happiness.

Happiness that will lead to the completion of a task. That will lead to achievement.

But how can we become Bruce Lee? How can we empty ourselves?

There is that significant amount of searching. I am speaking to people not unlike me, who have had no straight path from studies to career. I guess, what I am doing right now, is, also speaking to my children’s future selves.

A life worth living. A life of meaning, can only be attained once we appreciate fully, that while we do not have everything, we want for nothing. I used to fear for my children, for when I am gone.

And then I came to rock bottom. We’re not even talking career, or financial security. I have long let go of those. This occurred when even my notion of self-righteousness, even my notion of being a kind enough person – all of who I thought I was – taken from me.

It broke me. A few clicks and you will know just how much. But that is unimportant here.

I had nothing. Not even my happiness.

But then I was delivered. No other word for it, my friends. I was planting seedling bell peppers in my illegal open garden, the kind owner of which recently passed. And I was amazed, at how little it took for them bell peppers to grow. And I marveled at their ability to do so despite being left to unrelenting summer heat. I sometimes even forgot to water them. But there they were, their little leaves appearing, reaching out to me, in the mildness of the morning, as a soft breeze sang that song of Asin, “O Hangin.”

In my case, emptying was a state of openness – that I had hit rock bottom and everything from here on out would be a super duper huge improvement. But I wouldn’t want anyone to go through that. For most of you, what I suggest is further letting go of whatever notions we have of ourselves. And getting down to what is really important in life. Children. Loved ones. Friendship. Adventure. Undergarments.

In choosing what you want to do with your life, I have only one question to ask you – Would you be willing to do that for free? If not, it might not be the time to pursue that dream yet. Or it might not really be what you dream about.

What is my dream, you might be curious to know. I have a million of them. With a central theme – people.

Ever since I was a preschooler, I loved being with people. I love talking to them. For me connecting with people is the real adventure. But I have had some discouragements along the way. That is just the way it goes, I guess, on the path to emptying ourselves.

But we shall be persistent, because we choose to live a life of adventure. Since that is the path to happiness. Thank you for reading until this part. I missed writing a lot. If I had not resolved to become a real entrepreneur, I would have applied as a writer once again already. Thank you for indulging me. I will improve this raw piece further. I appreciate your time, because right now, that, to me, is the most valuable currency.

PS. I may not be as articulate as John Maxwell, so please get a copy of his book. He is a wonderful inspiration. Good day  ( :

Dear North Korean President Kim Jong-un

So you have nuclear capability. That’s ok, I guess. It shows that you are capable. But remember, never in the Cold War was it used by Russia.

But at any rate, if you’ve got plans of pulverizing everybody, then what’s it going to amount to, if there aint anybody else to rule? As my grade school elementary history teacher taught us – even our poop will be blown to smithereens.

I see you like American Culture, although you loathe their leaders. You even went as far as inviting the alien-looking US basketball star to lunch at your place. That’s good too. But I would like to humbly suggest, from one free man to another (You just might be the only free man in your country, you know, isn’t that something else?).

Keep the warheads. They’re nice toys. But the real war weapon, the might that brings countries to their knees? Globalization.

Corporations rule over nations. China is communist, just like you are, but they are now at par in economic might with the US! Imagine that. Why don’t you have that might? You’re communist too aren’t you? And you’ve got lots of people willing to put in the man hours. The money for buying nuclear capability didn’t come cheap, I presume.

Copy what China is doing. That is how you bring the US to its knees. With tons of money. Not with megatons of nuke.

You know how bad it is outside of your zone? People don’t know that veggies come from tilling land anymore. All they know is to work work work, and then buy from the grocery. Isn’t that simply astounding?

But you know, you can possibly tweak the communism thing a bit, make it Utopian Socialism bit. You know what, it doesn’t matter. Name it after your old man. It’ll sound far better, believe me. Then open trade, and tourism, and you know, you got lots of untapped resources there. Get in cahoots with the South Koreans. They’ve been at it for a while, and the whole entire world loves them!

You don’t have to envy them, you don’t have to be bitter – because you can be better.

Let’s face it, you’re already in the history books. You’re immortal. But the thing is, will you want to be remembered like a modern day Hitler, or like Michael Jordan? Eh? Eh? Nice eh?

If you chose Mike, it’s a tougher road ahead. Because you have to hear what all of the Koreans have to say. Start with yourself. What do you really want? Then, comes the hard part, aside from your people, those who literally worship you, you would need to listen to those who fled from North Korea. Why? Because they are now free people. Free people have different ways of thinking, and that is the beauty of it. You learn something. All of you get something out of it. You can have the biggest share, of course. Try thinking Donald Trump. But, frankly, if you always hear what you want to hear, then it’s a place that’s comfortable for you. Unfortunately, you aint going nowhere with comfortable. Talk to the former North Koreans. Then the South Koreans. See if you can make the Korean Peninsula a better place.

I guess you’ve heard about South Korea’s Immortal General. You can be that, and more. Be an economic superpower. You already have nuclear power. No one questions that. Let’s just keep that under lock and key. Let’s focus on globalization. No one gets pulverized, and you get to dine with entire US basketball teams, if you wish! Who wouldn’t want to go to North Korea where there are nice new forest parks and beaches, never before opened to them? Hollywood will go nuts! Ah, I tell ya. Don’t believe me? Try it. Try it. Try it.

Good day! ( :

Good manhood

The measure of a man

What is? What makes for a proper adult creature who has finally reached the age of manhood?

Is it the state of lonely solitude? Maybe. Is it being happy with being sad? Possibly.

Is it accepting yourself? Probably.

A state of desperation reached, such that you find yourself using the search terms “Peace of Mind” and finding that even peace, and peace of mind, have been

commercialized into health salves, self-help books, and promises of financial independence?

No idea whatsoever.

Brother, and I do hope, you can let me call you that for purposes of this, and only this, piece alone, answers will not be found here. Only questions. More questions.

Those that attempt to pierce through the bullshit. And no, we aren’t talking about money, power, or immortality – in whatever form.

Mere readership is proof that you are searching as well. For something. For anything.

At the very least, know that you have a companion in your solitary despondent confinement.

Stay Still.

That is what everyone will tell you. “This is your place in the world. Stay here. Be content. You are not Moana.”

No. Definitely not a princess. Although, in my mind, I have travelled far and wide, to places where I can stare at everything and nothing – marvel at the wide expanse

of the horizon, listen to the quiet, and wait for the torrent of thoughts that come to me. Just like how we are on a coffee table, sipping, Sunday early morning, with

the radio station playing retro music.

Music that you grew up with.

Music that you thought you’d never outgrow.

Music that you dreamed to make.

Music you fretted, nails-on-gritty teeth, to last forever.

Move.

And you will fail.

And you will starve.

And in your hunger, you shall fast.

Knowing and not knowing, that if you do this, consequences will follow.

But you refuse to stop dreaming. And you raise your middle finger, as an empathic extension of a dust in a expanse of parallel universes.

Now you come at a slump.

Too many things to become, too many roads to traverse, tell you that you have accomplished nothing. Absolutely.

And instead of going back, you just stay, quivering, along the gutter, like a grade schooler, mugged for the very first time.

Only you know too much. Much too much, to just accept anything and everything, for the shitty sake of moving forward, trundling along.

Price.

Everything comes with a price. And so far, you have paid. For everything. Because you have let other people get what they say you owe them.

When it is the world itself that tells you that it owes you nothing.

One-sided, isn’t it?

Oh, what you wouldn’t give to be that hapless romantic once again.

The sheet that gives you security are the tears you shed every night. Every time. Every damn fucking moment.

You let it hug you, inside and out.

It empties you. The pictures. The pictures. The pictures. Each and every one of them. The moving ones. The still ones. The old ones. The new ones. The future ones.

And only does the tired soul let you sleep.

Awaking you violently in the bitter stillness of the witching hours.

Now you are still.

You think. You try. You nudge. You budge. Maybe the wall that prevents you from moving, either forward or back, will move an inch.

Maybe. You try some more. Then stop. Panting. Sweating. Cold. Warm. Freezing. Hurting.

Nothing.

Everything.

There are some good days.

Sunny days you are able to look at the clouds, blues skies, and feel the breeze against your hair and cheeks.

I think. This is manhood.

It is trying. Despite of it all.

It is nudging at yourself alone.

It is accepting, and still expecting.

It is hoping.

And hoping still.

In the darkness. In the light.

Hoping still.

Hope.

Still.

Hope.

Still.

Stay still.

Hope.

Be still.

Hope.

And hope that this stillness and loneliness will give you opportunity to look up sometimes.

See the blue skies, feel the breeze, and smell the rushing of the waves against the shore.

I do hope, brother, that you continue hoping.

And if you find your own answers, that you share it with the others.

Maybe that is how you become a good man.

I hope that your hope gives you answers.

Take it easy.

Hang in there.

Du30 marunong mag-sorry

Tunay na lalaki

Sa foreigner druglords avanti

sa well-meaning CJ, kaya mag-sorry

Kampai!

Truth comes out in the calm of quiet

“Be still,” God commands us.

If we can do that in the middle of all the violence that haunts us today,

then the truth, God’s truth will be evident.

Notice that the most sincere of conversations

are the ones whispered.

And in times of violence, the times of hurt and oppression,

these are the ones shouted out,

but nothing is resolved. Shouting is about who gets the upper hand.

The quiet person is one who clearly knows her truth,

and answers back with a message of peace,

and hope,

and love.

All of which, need an extreme degree of stillness.

“Be still”

Know your God. Know the truth. Know who speaks it.

SM Megamall, traffic, and parking

Dear SM Megamall,

Magandang araw po sa inyo.

Panimula, naiintindihan ko po na nais ninyo kumita, at pagma-may-ari po ninyo ang lupa na ang sabi ng tao, dahilan ng trapik sa buong ortigas, hanggang IPI-rosario, na apektado pati ang C5 at pasig.

Iyung nga lamang po, halimaw na ang trapik.

Ang ganang akin ay sana ay makurot ang inyong damdamin, kasi nga po, ang sakit sa puwet nang nakaupo ng 2 oras sa jeep na walang foam ang upuan, mula Meralco Avenue papuntang IPI.

Batid po na hindi ninyo problema ito, ngunit napaka-laki po ng maitutulong ninyo.

Sa aking palagay, panahon na po para magpatayo ng building na parking ang SM Megamall. Kung di man po diyan mismo sa puwesto ng SM Megamall, ay baka sa mga karatig-lote, may mabibili po kayo. Tutal naman po, tunay na kinagigiliwan at sinusuportahan ang Megamall ng lahat ng uri ng Pilipino – mayaman man o mahirap.

Ang isa pong naisip ko pa ay, yung sa impounding area ng MMDA sa tapat ng CCF sa may tiendesitas, puede rin po itong gawing parking. At maglaan na lamang po ng shuttle bus mula rito papuntang Megamol. Maaari rin po na magkaroon ng jeepney at SUV terminal banda rito, para ang mga nagko-commute ay puede mag-bisikleta mula Megamall hanggang IPI, at may masasakyan pa rin sila pauwi sa Pasig, o sa Antipolo, atbp.

Maraming salamat po, at mabuhay kayo, Sir Henry Sy.