Goyong And Lucit

In his younger days, my grandfather was popular among his peers. I didn’t know that until one of my barkada’s grandmother asked me; “Kaano-ano mo si Goyong?” When I answered I’m his “apo”, she began telling me stories about my grandfather’s “escapades” during his student days. It was “colorful” and at the same time strangely creepy. She’s almost as if talking about me. Older relatives would comment - I’m his “carbon copy”. It makes me wonder if the reason why the bond between my lolo and I was strong was because he saw himself in me, both in attitude and appearance. Perhaps it’s true, but we differ in “taste” when it comes to choosing a partner in life.

My grandmother was the opposite of my grandfather. Goyong was the eldest, Lucit was the youngest. He was “fair”, she’s “dark”, got kinky hair and a “hauty-tauty” attitude (“trademarks” in her side of the family). I wouldn’t give a second glance if I meet a girl like her. Out of curiosity, I asked my grandfather what he sees that he chose to marry her; he’d smile and said “she’s meticulous and organized”. Maybe that’s the “quality” he was looking for. Between the two of them, their sheer hard work and determination produced two professionals without any help from anybody. My father and my aunt were the first engineer and doctor hailed from their place. An achievement that earned my grandparents the respect of their town.

Perhaps love was also a factor because in spite of Lucit’s “kasupladahan”, Goyong took it in stride. A grand aunt once told us a story about my grandparents when Lola was pregnant with my father. It's not exactly a scene from Romeo and Juliet but if things didn’t go her way, she’ll climb on the veranda and threatened my lolo; “Goyong, tatalon ako, tatalon ako!” And Lolo on the ground, arms stretched out (as if that’s enough to support the force and weight if she decided to jump) pleaded for her to come down. Later in life, when I teased him about it, he’d just smirked and said “Eh, di tumalon sya ngayon!”

When Lolo passed away at a ripe age of 90, I asked my aunt a silly question; “Aunty, what if some strangers comes to attend Lolo’s wake and tell us they are Lolo’s children?” My aunt laughed and said she’ll welcome them with open arms. It happened that Lucit overheard us and she indignantly blurted “My Goyong would never do that to me!” So I ribbed Lola; “When Lolo was still able, he goes at dawn to tend his farm and arrives home before dusk while you just stayed home. That’s almost 12 hours a day, six days a week that you don’t know what he was doing out there”. And that did it. Her blood pressure shoots up and my aunt had to inject her with something to calm her down. When my father arrived, he inquired why “Nanay” is in bed. Somebody told him. Batok at mura lang naman ang inabot ko sa tatay ko.

Now and then, I still get misty eyed every time I remember my grandparents, especially my lolo. I missed him a lot.

BTW, Happy Valentines to all of you!

My Big Fat Pinoy Wedding (Part II)

Church officials requires the following if you want your wedding held in a church: a civil marriage license, a couple’s seminar, marriage counseling and confession prior to receiving the holy Eucharist (communion for the religious but un-informed). Except for the marriage contract, all are managed by the church and you have to pay a fee for the seminar and counseling.

No problem in obtaining a civil license. We signed the papers a year before in a simple ceremony at Manila City Hall before I flied back to Riyadh. So my fiancée already got the leverage document, I mean, insurance paper, este, the civil license needed by the church. As for the seminar and counseling, which I thought was a waste of time, I got no choice but to attend. We were scheduled one weekend; seminar in the morning, counseling in the afternoon and confession after that.

There are three other couples in that room besides us. One couple of marrying age was sitting on the far side. Another in the middle, whom I think, just wants to formalize their union since two children are sitting beside them. And a very young couple at the back who just can’t seem to let go of one another. Frankly, I have no recollection of what was being discussed in that seminar. My mind was somewhere else, occupied with calculating my expenses and subtracting it from my rapidly depleting bank account.

On the other hand, marriage counseling was a one-on-one sit-in with a young, if I’m not mistaken, newly ordained priest. But before he could begin, I asked him a barrage of questions: How old are you? What is your experience as a marriage councilor? Do you think, when it comes to life’s experience, you're more knowledgeable, even if you’re 10 years my junior? To which I received a series of nod and shake of his head. I think that’s the shortest marriage counseling there ever was.

The parish priest is no stranger to me. Not only is their house a stone throw away from our family compound, my brother-in-law was his former classmate back in their seminary days. So we for go the formality of the confessionary and just sat on a bench outside the cathedral. When he found out my last confession was 15 years ago, he asked me if I haven’t sinned for the last decade and a half. That’s when I told him about my little theory. The psychological effect of telling one’s problem to another, which somehow free or lessen a person’s anxiety when they "opened up". And as Catholics being one of the most guilt stricken religious group, it is, but logical, to "introduce" confession. Since I equate “sin” to “guilt” and I have freed myself of that “guilt” a long time ago, I think there is no need for confession anymore. He just looked at me, took a deep breath and our confessional session ended.

The price of “renting” a church for your wedding varies in its looks and size. Chapels’ and churches maybe cheaper but we paid a 5 figure to use the cathedral. Before that, I suggested on having a “garden wedding”. The place where we held our reception has a beautiful garden, a gazebo where we could put the altar and menos gastos pa since it’s included in the rental. But I was cut short by the “olds”. It’s not “traditional” said one. Its sacrilegious, said another. And everyone, who still wear a veil when attending mass, agreed it should be a church wedding.

But having a church wedding has its downside. In my town, if you want it fancy, they have their own “officials” to do it. You can’t bring in your own flower arrangers because they have their own “official” flower arranger. You can’t have somebody sing in your wedding because they have their own “official” choir to do the singing. And to all of these you have to pay extra and it’s not cheap either.

Since we can’t do anything but use their “officials”, I asked, if they could sing our favorite song during the actual wedding ritual. But their conductor told me they have an “official” list of songs and if my song is not there, they can’t sing it. Can you believe that? That’s typical Catholic clergy mentality! They’ll decide what’s good for you, boss you around and then expect to be paid for dumping their crap on you.

Not only that, these “officials” where also at the reception and enjoying their heart out. When I whispered to my wife “Who invited them?” she replied “Nobody”. I continued to smile while receiving guests and some more “officials”, but a lot of expletives were running around in the back of my mind.

Forget what they say about “In the eyes of God and men blah blah blah…”. How ever they phrase it, when it comes to legality, a marriage license issued by the church does not hold water in any judicial proceedings. It’s not recognized by the court and the only legal paper admissible are the ones issued by a judge in a civil wedding ceremony, like your marriage contract. And like any other contract, be sure you read it, especially the fine prints, and understand what’s stipulated in its provisions. Some contract contains “pre-nuptial” agreement that in some cases maybe disadvantageous to some party, especially to you, ladies.

You can have your heart’s desire at your own wedding. But I suggest you put your venue somewhere else but the church. Not only do you save financially but from the hassle and aggravation as well of facing these hypocritically self-righteous church “officials”. Cheers!

P.S.
Since I couldn't get them to sung our favorite song, I might as well put it here:

My Big Fat Pinoy Wedding

Foreword: I’m not sharing this anecdote to “show case” my wedding but to illustrate how impractical a church wedding now a days – BlogusVox

I tied the knot on the year the 20th century formally ended. But since I’m stationed abroad, my contribution with respect to its preparation wasn’t much, apart from supplying the finances needed for the occasion. My fiancée, her cousins, my sister and my Mom did all the groundwork. Her “traje de boda” and my barong were done by Leonardo’s, in which I paid a 5 figure amount at mura na daw yun. The couturier, who happens to be my cousin, told us it’s discounted, since I only paid for the material and labor. And that does not include what I paid for the “costumes” of our entourage. Other paraphernalia like flowers were airfreight from Baguio, and those tiny glass figure they gave away were bought in Manila including the printing of invitations with an RSVP embossed on it.

It may sound “classy”, but I particularly find the “RSVP” part silly. Literally, its French for “Respond if you please” or “tell-me-if-your-coming-because-the-caterer-charges-per-head” in plain English. You see, although we rented an “uppity” place for our dinner and social function, my family brought in the food and drinks. The main course was commissioned from a hotel chef while the rest was done by our local, but superb, cooks. So there’s no need on “counting heads”. We just have to make sure there’s plenty of tables and chairs. Officially, we have 300 guests, supposed to be a hundred and fifty persons from each side of the family plus a couple of dozen “extras”. Where I came from, if you invite “Mr. & Mrs. so and so”, expect the whole family (except the pets) to attend.

The photo studio who formally documented our wedding is another thing. The owner, a class-A smoocher, fawned on my fiancée like she’s royalty. Giving us a package deal worth another 5 figure that includes a wedding album and a full-length video that starts the moment she steps out of the shower and ends until I carry her to the bedroom and close the door. They even throw-in the photo album as a gift, and because of that, I’m so much “grateful”. But my fiancée was a little bit sore when she found out of my refusal to partake on their “dressing up” scene. They made do by taking pictures of my wardrobe, from my barong down to my shoes. It was well documented, except for my underwear which I’m already wearing at that time.

I’m not going into details on what happened before and, especially, what take place after the wedding. What I’m going to tell you are the events surrounding the church activities that really got my goat. But since this post is a little bit long, I’ll continue my story on my next post. Bitin ba?.

Two Decades After

Twenty years ago this week, a young man, in his mid-twenties embark on a journey that will change him and his outlook in life. Armed with knowledge in engineering and computers, he went to a country whose environment, people and culture are completely different from his own. Only one thing prompted him to go; to save enough money to buy a computer. I know, a very shallow reason compared to what motivates other OFW’s to leave their country and love ones behind. But it’s enough for this fool of a young man. Besides it’s a job, man, it’s a job.

When the aircraft touched down, the hot 41 degree wind of a typical July evening snaps him off his day dreaming and reality sets in. It’s like being shoved out a huge oven. He restrained the urge to run back inside, in the comfort of the air-conditioned plane. His no quitter. He rationalizes; it’s just a job, man, only a job.

The Satellite Earth Station site was a self-sustaining structure in the middle of nowhere. His assignment was to maintain 3 power generators that supplies electricity to a small Domestic Satellite station, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Besides that, his job includes keeping the generator shed clean and tidy. It means mopping the floor of oil sleek and washing “standby” generators to look like it was just bought yesterday. A messy job, if you ask him, but he consoles himself, thinking, his batch mate and a very good friend is up there on the base of a 35 meter diameter disk antenna doing the same thing he does but in a different manner. Five years of studies in UST to become an ECE and he scrapes pigeon shit off station roofs. But it’s part of the job, man, just part of the job.

Six months passed before he saved enough money to buy a computer. It’s the latest top of the line model. A 286x, 22MHz speed processor, a 16 color video card, a VGA monitor, 256kb of RAM and a whooping 40Mb of hard disk. After work, he spent his time tinkling his computer. He fine tunes it, searching every available upper-memory to cramped-in his drivers to save precious base memory to run programs bigger than 64kb. Enough memory to play his favorite game “Wolfenstein”, hone his typing skill to his personal best of 60 wpm and learn a new language called “C”. That computer helps him a lot. It shielded him from loneliness... homesickness, man, homesickness.

His luck changes after a year. The project’s computer programmer went home and never came back. They said he migrated to UK along with his family, leaving the Project Manager with a headache. Its end of the year and not even a single page of inventory report were printed, an important document that has to be submitted to the Ministry. At first, the German PM won’t believe what the Station Engineer told him about this Filipino guy who knows computer. Nobody blames him. Who would believe that a guy holding a mop and dressed in a dirty over-all, have knowledge of computer? Not to mention, the capability to manipulate a database in generating an inventory report of the entire project? But desperate people do desperate things. He let the “mop guy” handle the system. After one week, he got his precious report and the “mop guy” got a hefty bonus. It was fun, man, it was fun.

When the project contract ended, his boss wrote a very generous recommendation letter and delivered it personally to the head of a newly formed project. He was immediately hired as a programmer and became a pioneer of that project. For him, it’s like a game, man, just a game and his still playing.

On Feudal Mentality

I once had a discussion regarding some pinoy traits, particularly about “welfare-state” mindset. I point out that one root of this kind of attitude is feudal mentality. At first I was surprise when the person I’m chatting with said “Ay, meron palang ganyan”. But then I realize that most of us, especially those raised in urban areas, doesn’t understand, haven’t experienced or didn’t encounter a “master-serf” relationship.

In a feudal society such as those in the Middle Ages, the king grants lands to his trusted lieutenants (knights). In return, he has a guaranteed standby army to do battle and settle his war at a wave of his hand. Within this turf, the knight is the absolute ruler, judge and executioner of every denizen who settles it. He also assures the safety of these people from marauders and harassment from other knights of nearby fiefdom. In return he taxed his subjects in a form of a percentage share of their produce and enlists able bodied men to fight his battle or the king’s war. In the Philippines, this practice still exists in the south and has evolved into another form of symbiotic relationship in the central regions.

Before the Lopezes monopolized public utilities and became media moguls, they were landlords and their source of income was sugar. If you have read “An Anarchy of Families” by Alfred McCoy, a section is dedicated to the rise to power of this family. A chapter of it mentions my grandfather’s hometown. It is a sleepy agricultural town in the upland part of my province. It was only mentioned because it’s where the first “sakadas” came from. Locally, it’s famous (infamous?) for two things; its fearless people, skilled in the martial art called “eskrima” and its razor-sharp, meter length bolo called “talibong”. I have a notion that because of their sword skill, they were hired to put into good use their mastery of the weapon by cutting sugarcane instead of limbs and torsos.

In the old days, during summer, a lot of farmers are idle after the rice planting season is over. It was also sugarcane harvest time. This was where my grandfather comes in. He recruits these farmers, shipped them out from the port of Iloilo to work in the sugar plantations of Negros. Sounds familiar? OFW diaspora is not a recent phenomenon. We’ve been doing it since 19kupong-kupong, only then it was in a national level.

Because of this annual “part-time” job they got, they in turn pledges their political alliance to my grandfather. Back then, you are somebody if you can guarantee 500 votes to a politician. You are a “lideres”. I remember when I was young, during election people would flock in my grandfather’s house, waiting for him to tell them whom to vote. But it has its drawbacks. My aunt, a physician, would treat patients for free because they are “kaapin” (political ally) or “tawo ni lolo” (grandpa’s men). Most are poor but some have means enough to pay her with a hen or a dozen eggs. They run to our family for advice for every problem they got, from domestic issues to legal guidance to governmental red tapes. In the bright side, the stronger your political base, the nearer you are to the people who pulls the strings. If you play your cards right, favors are easy to dispense when you got aces up your sleeves, the reason why I promised myself not to work for the government. What you know isn’t enough. You need political ladder to climb up.

People who are use to this kind of relationship bring this kind of mindset when they venture for a better life in the cities. And since they’re cut-off from their former benefactor, when problem arises, they seek the next best thing, either blame or cry for help to any politician or the government itself.

A former president knows very well this kind of mentality of the urban poor. He capitalized on it and they love him in return no matter what. The sad thing is he got their loyalty for a kilo of rice and two cans of sardines.

My Board Exam

One of my unforgettable experiences is the Licensure Board Exam. Although it happened twenty plus years ago, it’s still vivid in my mind. It was exhausting, demanding and suspenseful. It leaves you nothing short of a vegetable after you’re done.

I took my review from Merit Review Center managed by Engr. Domenechi. A board placer himself, top two, to be exact. It offers two training, the refresher course which last six months and an “in-house” preparation for one month. I took both.

During my college days, I’ve solved problems using formulas, tables and charts but I have no inkling what are they for. I mean, I’ll give the “dry”, “saturated” or “condensed” temperature of steam passing through a turbine using those formulas and tables. But ask me what is it used for and why do I have to compute it and I’ll give you a blank stare.

I only have a comprehensible idea of my field when I took the review. Ironically, it only took 6 months to have a grasp of what I was studying for the last 5 years. Not only were we doing refresher course, we were also coached on how to get extra points even if your solution is wrong. Like writing the facts (“given” in engineering lingo), writing in a readable manner by using “print” characters and avoiding too many erasures on the test paper by using “scratch”.

In-house training is a completely different ball game. We are housed in a building somewhere outside the city and for one month we do nothing but eat, sleep, study and take test. Every morning, 6 days a week, they gave us 5 problems to solve and we dissect and study the solutions in the afternoon. Everything is strict and PRC board rules are applied. It’s like taking the board exam everyday but without proctor. One thing good about Engr. Domenechi is that he has a copy of all the previous board exams since 19 ”kupong-kupong”. That is where the 5 problems we have to solved each day came from.

Our board examination is a two days test consists of 4 subjects and 5 problems for each subject. But on the last day of the last subject, I run out of time that I only finished 3 of the 5 problems. I have a “given” on the fourth but the fifth was completely blank. I was nervous but when the result came out, I passed. I got a 60% on my last subject but I got a 96% on my math subject, enough to pull my failed subject and gave me an overall grade of 76%. A point higher than the required passing grade. Our topnotcher got a score of 80% flat.

All these years I still speculate what if I have enough time to finish the last two problems. Was that good enough to land in the top 10? I still wonder.

Reminiscing

I think you never forget your childhood, whether it was happy or unhappy. - Marcel Carne

With the present spiraling prices of commodities, everything has a price even when entertaining ones self. Feeling the pinch, I can’t help but be nostalgic of my childhood years. That was a time when life was simple, where summer fun is playing “patentero” and “taguan” in the town plaza under the watchful eyes of the full moon. A time when a child’s toy truck consists of a sardine can for its body and four milk cans as its tires. Where all you need is two sticks taken from a branch of a guava tree to play “shato” with your friends all afternoon.

Unlike today where I have to wakeup early to bring my daughter to her nursery class, I walked to attend my primary education. It’s not because of the unavailability of transportation but because my school is just a few hundred meters from our house. My “baon” consist of two sandwiches and kalamansi juice prepared by my Mom and put in one of her Tupperware (she’s got a cabinet full of those plastic containers). So that I won’t feel left-out, she gave me 10 centavos to buy what ever I want in the canteen. What can you buy with 10c? In those days a lot, mostly junk foods, from 10 pieces of “dolce de lemon” to 10 Tarzan bubble gums or two bars of Thunderbolt chocolates.

During weekend, our parents treat us to a movie. We have to eat dinner early because the last full show starts at 7:00 in the evening. They always play double feature films so you’re glued to your seat for four hours, mesmerized to the magic of cinema. During intermission, my Dad gave us extra treat by buying soft drinks and siopao. Sometimes my parents allow me to watched movies on my own. They are at ease because movie employees knew me already. Cinemas charge only half for minors, so I only pay 25c to get in plus 15c for soft drink and 10c for the siopao. Talking about cheap entertainment, fifty centavos and you could enjoy all of these.

My grandmother has her own story to tell. She said all you need is 20 centavos to do your daily marketing. I’ve never seen one, but when she was young they have a currency denomination called “maraveles”. I’ts worth half of one centavo. Just imagine what it was back then when there are things you could buy for half a centavo.

Haay… buhay.