****************
A hundred cheers to Yann Martel and the Life of Pi! Now I understand why its hot in the bookshelves.Curiosity got the best of me and I couldn't stop wondering what made a 401-page account of a 16-year-old Indian boy's struggle at sea a bestseller. Picture out a hundred chapters of a sole shipwreck survivor's life in a boat in the middle of the Pacific for 227 days. It sounds uneventful but, thank goodness I read it, the Life of Pi is anything but ordinary.
Did I mention that the 16-year-old Indian boy shared the lifeboat with a 450-pound Bengal tiger?
- It has a happy ending (not that its special or anything)
- The main character has three religions (Whoa!)
- Includes survival tips should you (or I) ever find yourselves (myself) in a predicament such as he was in.
- Gives more than sufficient information about the animal kingdom and religion.
And like all things borrowed, the book must now be returned to its owner. I must part with it but not without jotting down memories of Pi Patel.
excerpt from Chapter 23, page 84
...All eyes fell upon me.
"Piscine, can this be true?" asked the imam earnestly. "Hindus and Christians are idolaters. They have many gods."
"And Muslims have many wives," responded the pandit.
The priest looked askance at both of them.
"Piscine," he whispered, "there is salvation only in Jesus."
"Balderdash! Christians know nothing about religion," said the pandit.
"They strayed long ago from God's path," said the imam.
"Where's God in your religion?" snapped the priest. "You don't have a single miracle to show for it. What kind of religion is that, without miracles?"
"It isn't a circus with dead people jumping out of tombs all the time, that's what! We Muslims stick to the essential miracle of exist-ence. Birds flying, rain falling, crops growing - these are miracles enough for us."
"Feathers and rain are very nice, but we like to know that God is truly with us."
"Is that so? Well, a whole lot of good it did God to be with you - you tried to kill him! You banged him to a cross with great big nails. Is that a civilized way to treat a prophet? The prophet Muhammad - peace be unto him - brought us the word of God without any undignified nonsense and died at a ripe old age."
"The word of God? To that illiterate merchant of yours in the middle of the desert? those were drooling epileptic fits brought on by the swaying of his camel, not divine revelation. That, or the sun frying his brains!"
"If the Prophet - p.b.u.h. - were alive, he would have choice words for you," replied the imam, with narrowed eyes.
"Well, he's not! Christ is alive, while your old 'p.b.u.h' is dead, dead, dead!"
The pandit interrupted them quietly. In Tamil he said, "The real questions is, why is Piscine dallying with these foreign religions?"
The eyes of the priest and the imam properly popped out of their heads. They were both native Tamils.
"God is universal," spluttered the priest.
The imam nodded strong approval. "There is only one God."
"And with their one god Muslims are always causing troubles and provoking riots. The proof of how bad Islam is, is how uncivilized Muslims are, " pronounced the pandit.
"Says the slave driver of the caste system," huffed the imam. "Hindus enslave people and worship dressed-up dolls."
"They are golden calf lovers. They kneel before cows," the priest chimed in.
"While Christians kneel before a white man! They are the flunkies of a foreign god. They are the nightmare of all non-white people."
"And they eat pigs and are cannibals," added the imam for good measure.
"What it comes down to," the priest put out with cool rage, "is whether Piscine wants real religion - or myths from a cartoon strip."
"God - or idols," intoned the imam gravely.
"Our gods - or colonial gods," hissed the pandit.
*************
Hmmm, and I thought religious leaders are calm and open-minded.
Tsk tsk tsk...be it declared that sometimes the most pious spiritual leaders could come into blows with other pious spiritual leaders. Amazing, this world is.
Posted December 17, 2006
Christmas comes once a year and probably every tribe in the world is cramming to and fro in preparation for Noche buena or whatever it is different groups of people do on Christmas eve. People are scrambling, what with last minute shoppings and gift wrappings and thanksgiving services. It's the time when little tykes get away with asking two (or more) presents instead of one, and stingy godparents finally get to exhibit their prowess in eluding their little (and not so little) inaanaks. Even wives start talking their husbands into buying this furniture or taking an adventure trip somewhere, or else. The list goes on. Oh, and speaking of lists, no words can describe the infinite Christmas list I had when I was gullible (and stupid) enough to believe that Santa Claus will be materializing in our living room (how else would he be able to come inside without a chimney?).
Everyone is practically laughing their way to the malls, churches, schools, clubs, even the kitchen. Everybody is looking forward to celebrating Christmas.Well, except for those who don't believe in the season anyway. I mean, we can't force them to jump for joy and be merry for all its worth and not feel the real meaning of the occasion, right?
And what about those who are excited but don't have the means to bask in the warmth of Christmas? Those deprived of families and money and shelter? What about motherless children and homeless old people? What difference does this month make when they'd still be out there on the parks or stations living off on society's hand-me-downs? Are they looking forward to this supposedly joyous affair? The season of giving? *rolls eyes*
Why does Giving have to be a season anyway?
***
Is it me or there's just something in the December breeze that makes people giddy, excited, and generous (all of a sudden). In an optimist's point of view, monsters become saints and inner demons are partially overpowered by a pure imaginary light that occurs only on Christmas. A very powerful ray that, come January, will disappear until the next holiday. There's something in the air that lifts your feet, leaving you traipsing along Euphoria Lane. A Christmas freak that I am, I anticipate new beginnings and hope for renewed lives. I do wish people won't make Christmas a mere reason to be happy, that they don't make it merely a motive to give or an excuse to love. Why wait for Christmas when it can be done all year?
***
Home is my destination two days from now to celebrate Christmas with my family. Unlike before, we won't have Christmas hams (I don't eat red meat anymore) or lechon (EW!) or holiday cakes (um...i loathe these sweet things) and pastries and it's more than fine with me. We won't have fireworks 'coz my mom thought we could do away with these dangerous fire starters. We decided not to push through with the party or kris kringle or the usual Christmas stuff 'coz we can always put up a feast or give each other gifts anytime of the year. So, basically, all we have is each other. There's my mom who's probably the most organized person I know, and a superhero in her own right (she can do almost anything from culinary arts to horticulture to dressmaking to carpentry to accounting...). My dad's one busy tough guy. A God-fearing individual and the best provider next to God. He'll be working this Christmas (bummer!) but it doesn't mean we don't love him anymore. Just because you're loved one is far away doesn't mean you love him or her less, and vice versa=) My brother who's turning sixteen on the 22nd is one treasure I wouldn't trade for the world. Otherwise, no wrestling matches, no trash talks, no karate punch lines, no advertisement mockery, and no reluctant brother to hug! After everything we've been through, together and apart, need I say all I want for Christmas is
T-H-E-M?
***
Gosh, what a tedious year! Had I known better, I would've at least tried something extreme!!! But then again I'm too nutty to be extreme. But nutty or not, I wish everybody a Cheery Merry Christmas!!!
Posted December 5, 2006
Spending Mich's birthday at Santander, Cebu where the white pebbles meet the clear blue sea couldn't have been better than battling harsh Balinsasayao terrain. I've come to love my tWS family and now understand Mara's immeasurable devotion to the publication.
There's a memorable spark where crazy spontaneity meets anal retentiveness.
“Do you like the movie?” My Japanese host mother asked, putting another ladleful of do-rai ka-re, dry curry, on my almost empty plate.
As I was in the middle watching my favorite Japanese animated movie and chewing my octopus sashimi, all I could do was nod and utter a barely audible “Hai!”
“Anime suki dessyo?” You like Japanese cartoons, I remember her ask.“Hai. Daisuki desu yo.” Yes, I like it very much, was my reply.
What started out as a slight obsession for Japanese animation eventually lead to countless nights of devouring information, which only heightened my desire of one day exploring the unique archipelago of Japan. It began as a silly admiration for perky cartoon characters with big sparkling eyes and wind-tossed hair of different colors. I couldn’t remember what charmed me into what other people may think as nonsense entertainment but I knew I was gradually getting interested in the country from where these cartoons originated.
Amidst the pressures of high school, I could still find time to browse through Japanese history books (mindful of the fact that no detergent could ever remove the stain Japan left in our history), memorize complicated lines from Japanese books, or bring our trusty Countries of the World almanac to school just in case my Asian History textbook failed to mention why Japan’s capital was transferred to Tokyo.
Time passed and I went to college, bringing along butterflies in my stomach, must-haves in my luggage, and passion for animes in my heart. Perhaps one of the reasons why I enrolled in Silliman was its Japan Student Exchange Scholarship Program. Four sophomore students could get the chance to study in Japan for a year, all expenses shouldered by the Japanese host institutions.Destiny played on my side when, during my sophomore year, I applied for the said scholarship and got chosen as one of the four exchange students for the school year 2004-2005. It was, to put it mildly, unexpected. I remember waking up to the harsh ringing of my phone the day after the interview, with my friend on the line shouting the good news.
Wow…
I never felt guilty and excited at the same time. Guilty because I never told the panelist that Japanese anime had a lot to do with my wanting to study abroad. Sure I was curious about the Japanese culture, but part of the reason why I wanted to experience it was to confirm what I’d been seeing on TV. Do high school girls really wear short skirts as uniforms? Are their houses really typically small? Do gadgets come as ordinary as clothes?
It was one of those moments when I imagine myself in a different environment – be it exotic, high-tech, or laid-back, wearing different costumes, and eating various cuisines. I’ve always wondered what it would be like to tour Rome on a motorino, get lost in one of Baghdad’s bazaars (a childhood fantasy inspired by the book Arabian Nights), conquer the slopes of Mt. Fuji, or work my way to the ends of the Great Wall. How long have I waited for this opportunity?
Nineteen years is a very long time.The years spent waiting for my first international trip paid off from the moment I exchanged sharp glances with the PAL flight attendant (who was so mean considering her job) on my way to the Land of the Rising Sun. It was on that bright morning of September 5, 2004 that I made sure this trip would be something special.I've heard stories about Japan's incredible inventions and expensive lifestyle, patriotic citizens and disciplined society, but nothing prepared me for what I saw. I never really dwelled on the fact that Japan would be so... different.
My first few months were spent gaping at what would have been ordinary things like vending machines (practically scattered everywhere), automatic doors in probably 90% of Japan's establishments, automated ticket machines at train stations, rush hours, Japanese fashion statements, and earthquake-proof skyscrapers.A year in a foreign land wouldn’t hurt especially if it’s an all-expense paid excursion. Especially if you don’t allow that teeny weenie thing called Language to get in the way. I want to say that my experiences were all roses but I just couldn’t forget those times when my fellow exchange students and I had to pester several Nihon-jin (Japanese national) for directions. Most of the time they would just give us sorry looks with a curt “gomenasai” (Sorry) or an emphatic “No” gesture.
With little knowledge of the Japanese language, we would resort to sign language, or just flash our (hopefully) cutest smiles to those naïve enough not to realize our poor command of Nippongo!Exploring Japan, or at least Tokyo, meant experimenting with trains and subways, which would’ve been easy if it weren’t for those irritating Kanji, Japanese characters read in various ways. My companions and I were often left standing on ticket booths looking at subway maps - a multitude of Kanji characters, trying to figure out which one read “Shinjuku.”
Fortunately, it didn’t take long for us to get used to the hustle and bustle of Japan. We studied Nippongo’s complicated grammatical structure and worked our way from Greetings to Buying to Asking for Directions to Familiarizing the Kanji. I admit my Japanese is poor since we only had classes three times a week. I haven’t learned all there is to learn about Kanji and I absolutely still can’t read a Japanese newspaper. One has to know at least 2,000 kanji to be able to read a newspaper, and at least 5,000 to be able to understand a serious novel.Honestly, we only become “students” during our three-days-a-week Japanese Language class. Although my friends and I were “exchange students,” 90% of our time was spent touring major cities in Japan.
Three days after our arrival, we participated in our host institution, Ferris University’s Japan Study Tour to Hiroshima and learned how an industrialized city collapsed, and recuperated.Our planners were practically filled with monthly excursions that we fondly called “Major La-ag”- be it a day of fun at Tokyo Disney Resort in September, a day of food tripping at Japan’s largest Chinatown in October, Ferris Festival Conference in November, or a Christmas Party at the Philippine Embassy on December. We waited for year 2005 at the cold Yamashita Park shivering and praying for the rain and snow to stop. We expected numerous fireworks to light up the Yokohama skies only to find out there aren’t going to be any fireworks display after all.
The first day of the year found us lounging in McDonald’s eating our very first meal, comparing Japan and the Philippines.Experiencing the Japanese culture was never this hilarious. During our visit to Kyoto and Osaka, we had to reluctantly take a bath – naked, of course - with a bunch of other naked ladies (foreigners and Japanese alike). Try as we did, we couldn’t get past the dressing room in swimsuits since, posted beside the youth hostel common bathroom door was a giant note, “Do not wear swimsuits in the bathroom…Enjoy the Japanese culture…"
I didn’t feel nervous on my solo trip to Nara, the ancient capital of Japan, to see the bronzed Great Buddha, and Kobe, the city once struck by an earthquake that affected not only Japan’s citizens but its economy as well. I remember my friends saying “ka-isog nimo oy!”I never felt so happy in my entire life during our two-day ski tour in Nagano. There’s nothing more therapeutic than skiing, assuming, of course, that one already knows how to ski. Snowy Nagano was equally as inviting as sunny Okinawa, where a different kind of Japan exists. Palm trees and hibiscus graced us as we toured several World Heritage sights and ate traditional Okinawan delicacies.
Oh, and did I mention the food? The foooooooood? Where else can you find an affordable Shakey’s All-you-can-eat treat? Well, probably in other highly developed nations but still. Japan has one of the world’s most unique (and expensive) cuisines. For the best Japanese food, head to Nagoya and you surely won’t feel fats lining your jeans until its too late. Except for that slimy natto (which Verna and Jan unsurprisingly love so much), wasabi, and some wagashi (Japanese sweets that always made Michelle smile), Japan’s palate treats never fail to make my mouth water.A large bowl of ramen (Japanese noodles) can already appease one’s hunger but one is never enough when you see someone heartily slipping noodles in his mouth, feasting on the spicy flavors of beef, pepper, garlic, and herbs.
Now, my craving for tebasaki (Japanese-style fried chicken wings) and miso soup, curry rice and norimaki (rice wrapped in seaweed), and all kinds of sashimi lathered in fish paste is all I have. That is, until I go back there and grab myself an ichi-go-san-sai (a complete Japanese meal of rice, soup, vegetable, and meat or fish) or pig out at one of the tabehodai (eat-all-you-can) restaurants in Japan.
As I watched my calendar make way for another month, I dreaded the thought of leaving. August, our final month as exchange students has finally arrived and summer has become more overbearing. Summer in Japan is indeed hotter than summer in the Philippines.I admit I studied hard to be able to understand animes. However, Life was too exciting to focus on trivial matters as Japanese animation. What I’d seen on TV was mostly true. Most of the people (young and old alike) have dyed hair, most of the girls wear skimpy skirts as uniforms, and small as it seems, a typical Japanese house is tall and narrow because real estate is expensive.
I was full of dreams when I went there – childish dreams that involved attending an anime conference in Tokyo, collecting as much videos and comic books as I can, or even meeting a few graphic artists. However, Animes were nothing compared to the sights and sounds, to the seasons and festivities, to real images and actual situations of Japan. I did not attend any anime conference, buy expensive videos, or meet a graphic artist.However, I was able to visit Japan’s most significant shrines and temples, see maple leaves turn red in Autumn, and admire the cherry blossoms (which only bloom for two weeks a year) in Spring. Fun from watching perky cartoon characters with big sparkling eyes and wind-tossed hair of different colors was nothing compared to the joy of dancing in the year’s first snowfall, my first snowfall.
I was able to enjoy Nature’s Wisdom in the 2005 World Exposition (which happens every five years) in Aichi, ride a hydrogen-fueled bus, and get on a magnetically levitating train. And for my final “major la-ag,” my friends Mich, Verna, Grace, and I climbed Mt. Fuji, the 3,776-meter monster volcano, which, thank God, didn’t erupt while we were there. We didn’t reach the summit though because our bus might leave us (such a lame excuse). But still I’m proud to say that we reached the 3,500 mark. The trek was excruciatingly tiresome but what the heck…I have climbed Fuji!
Beat that Anime!
---this article was originally submitted to the author's EL 33 professor
I withdrew even deeper into the world of language, cleaving the diamonds of verbs and nouns, plunging into the brilliant light of poetry’s regenerative mystery. Words gave off rings of white energy, radar signals from powers beyond me that infused me with truth. I believe what I wrote, because I wrote what was true. My words did not come from books or textual formulas, but from a deep faith in the voice of my heart. ---Jimmy Baca
Who would’ve thought that a ninth grade drop-out could come up with these exquisite lines with words only imagined to have come from the minds of the most educated writers? For someone who did not know how to read and write until his late teens, Jimmy Baca has pawed his way through the labyrinths of the English language, and endured Life’s punishments in prison – his unofficial classroom where he obeyed his thirst for language. No one knew of the experiences – good or bad, memorable or not – he had undergone while pursuing his goal of conquering words, molding paragraphs out of phrases, and eventually mastering the English language. I came across one of his works, detailing his struggles before “coming into language,” and realized that it is never too late to learn.
At times when I feel angry or frustrated about getting my homework done, I would look at the computer screen or stare at my poster-filled wall and utter, “Why, oh why, do I have to do this?” Then a tiny voice would emanate from the depths of my head, slowly but surely enumerating all the reasons why I need to do all my assignments.Math problems were never a problem. Sure, there was the traditional mind-boggling showcase of equations one needs to simplify in order to extract an answer. But that’s it: there is only one final answer. However, if one gets bombarded with reaction papers, essays, or research papers to be completed within the next few weeks, chances of procrastination are quite high, unless of course one adores writing as much as he or she loves a favorite pet.
I used to write poems and compose short stories that never went unnoticed. Back in high school, my teachers would encourage me to “edit” my work not because it needed improvement but because it had to be changed completely.What was I thinking? Why was I trying to become a literary disciple when I couldn’t even distinguish one right prose from a series of wrong ones; when I couldn’t even master my tenses? Hadn’t I learned my lesson when a teacher who I still despise humiliated me in front of the class for writing “plotform” instead of “platform”?
Essay writing contests would become a source of great anticipation only to have my works neglected; only to be condescended upon.“You’re compositions are not contest material.” I remember them say. Daunted, I abandoned my short stories, locking away my imaginations and hiding them in a chest full of disappointments, and found comfort in my journals. I remember writing about my rebellious escapades at fourteen, my turning points at fifteen and the seemingly endless quest for a better life at eighteen. I found a partner in my journal where I can write whatever I want heedless of parallelism, tenses, or focus.
From the moment I open my journal my imaginations fly free, as if knowing their places in every page. All these years I seek refuge in my journals that until now, I lighten up after thirty minutes worth of writing. But what started as a hobby didn’t exactly evolve into passion. To coin a phrase from Jimmy Baca’s story, it helped me “come into language.” Baca’s story made me realize that huge mistake I made about giving up and giving in to my fears. My teachers thought my stories were trash so I retreated, leaving them victorious. Regrets are not really sweet but how I wish (clichés, clichés) I had practiced…how I wished I were strong enough to go on.I wish I had discipline, just enough to slap my face once in a while. I admit to being an impatient person, and am contented with my hasty disposition.
I go into details and make sure I’m doing things efficiently, but when it comes to writing I tend to float and just blab it all away on paper. I wanted to create a prose that could move my readers, one that is contest material. I wanted to organize phrases into paragraphs that blend reality with fantasy. But somehow, my soaring imagination remains stuck in my journal waiting to be unleashed. Right now I can’t seem to get my head on the right words. I feel that whenever I start with a few lines, pen dangling between my fingers, and paper waiting to be doodled on, I seem to forget what I was supposed to write. You see, I like writing but it clearly finds ways of evading me.
This is probably why I ask myself “Why, oh why, do I have to do this?” when showered with reaction papers and writing projects to be submitted in the next few days.Who would’ve thought someone with more than ten years of education could easily get intimidated by small things like a bunch of English assignments? Who would’ve thought someone who once dreamed of creating a poignant story would just trash those dreams out of fear of being rejected?
I know Baca’s hurdles were nothing compared to mine, but he succeeded! His work transcends ordinary achievement, all because he worked hard to pursue his dreams. I’m currently dancing to the tunes of college pressure, and am learning to dwell on my strengths. I may not possess the gift of words but a vision of me finishing an inspiring novel lingers in my mind. My compositions may not be “contest material” but I know they are true.
Like Baca, I want to write “the way I wept, and danced, and made love” and think I would succeed.One way or another, I know I shouldn’t be afraid because the words I put on paper, the computer, or the wall, are words that resonate from the crevices of my heart.
---this was originally submitted to the author's EL 33 professor.
I can't pretend to write something nice for the sake of updating obcompfreak. I can't pretend to have run out of things to say for fear of hurting anyone's feelings. I can't compel myself to be all bubbly and cheerful when I'm bleeding inside.
Why maintain a blog that only shows half of me?
So, as a tribute to my first Obcompfreak blog, I've decided to transfer choice posts that actually matter to me...
Posted Wednesday,Oct. 11, 2006
Love never considers...
You're wrapped in it all your life
yet still feel something amiss
You bask in its radiant glory
yet know it could blind you with pain
You take the road hesitantly traveled
yet the wheels burst and you're not even half way there
You dream at night, dawn, and day
yet your nightmares' promises keep you at bay
Your smile tames even the most daring of tempests
yet your tears signal the world's last bliss
You offer your heart - whole, half, a portion
yet the gnawing of your soul comes undiscovered
You're trapped in silly poems and giggles
yet still wail upon a chanced escape
Your heart paves way for passion
yet you shut the curtains just as the show begins
Love never considers
simply because fear rests on your shoulders
(I know I'm not much of a poet and I can only laugh at myself)
Posted Saturday, November 11, 2006
When I looked at the mirror
and saw an untamed expression,
I touched its silver surface and shivered
How long has it been since I saw that last ray of glee?
How long has it been since I smiled away my anxiety?
I tried to grasp what the glowing glass said
But the unadorned plane simply stared back
How could I have let indifference reign?
(another poetic suckfest...i promise this is the last...)
Unsay concept sa Koreano for NOT ordering our food upon submission of the snacks requisition? Hadn't I made it clear that his job entails, aside from managing tws transactions, purchasing snacks for post mortem meetings? unsay concept niya for asking - no, more like telling - me to just get what I want to eat?haller!
