Miracles

A little girl went to her bedroom and pulled a glass of jelly jar from its hiding place in the closet. She poured the change out on the floor and counted it carefully. Three times, even. The total had to be exactly perfect. No chance here for mistakes.

Carefully placing the coins back in the jar and twisting on the cap, she slipped out the back door and made her way 6 blocks to the Rexall Drug Store with the big red Indian Chief sign above the door.

She waited patiently for the pharmacist to give her some attention but he was too busy at this moment. Tess twisted her feet to make a scuffing noise. Nothing. She
cleared her throat with the most disgusting sound she could muster. No good. Finally she took a quarter from her jar and banged it on the glass counter. That did it!

"And what do you want?" the pharmacist asked in an annoyed tone of voice. I'm talking to my brother from Chicago whom I haven't seen in ages," he said without waiting for a reply to his question.

"Well, I want to talk to you about my brother," Tess answered back in the same annoyed tone. "He's really, really sick... and I want to buy a miracle!"

" I beg your pardon?" said the pharmacist.

" His name is Andrew and he has something bad growing inside his head and my Daddy says only a miracle can save him now. So how much does a miracle cost?"

"We don't sell miracles here, little girl. I'm sorry but I can't help you," the pharmacist said, softening a little.

"Listen, I have the money to pay for it. If it isn't enough, I will get the rest. Just tell me how much it costs."

The pharmacist's brother was a well dressed man. He stooped down and asked the little girl, "What kind of a miracle does your brother need?"

" I don't know," Tess replied with her eyes welling up. I just know he's really sick and Mommy says he needs an operation. But my Daddy can't pay for it, so I want to use my money."

" How much do you have?" asked the man from Chicago.

"One dollar and eleven cents," Tess answered barely audibly. "And it's all the money I have, but I can get some more if I need to."

"Well, what a coincidence," smiled the man. "A dollar and eleven cents---the exact price of a miracle for little brothers. "

He took her money in one hand and with the other hand he grasped her mitten and said "Take me to where you live. I want to see your brother and meet your parents. Let's
see if I have the miracle you need."

That well dressed man was Dr. Carlton Armstrong, a surgeon, specializing in neuro-surgery. The operation was completed free of charge and it wasn't long until Andrew was home again and doing well.

Mom and Dad were happily talking about the chain of events that had led them to this place. That surgery," her Mom whispered. "was a real miracle. I wonder how much it would have cost?"

Tess smiled. She knew exactly how much a miracle cost... one dollar and eleven cents plus the faith of a little child..

In our lives, we never know how many miracles we will need.. A miracle is not the suspension of natural law, but the operation of a higher law..

MY OATH TO YOU...

When you are sad.....I will dry your tears.

When you are scared.....I will comfort your fears.

When you are worried.....I will give you hope.

When you are confused. I will help you cope.

And when you are lost....And can't see the light, I shall be

your beacon.....Shining ever so bright.

This is my oath.....I pledge till the end.

Why you may ask?.Because you're my friend.
Signed: GOD

I Don't Want to Go Home...

I don't want to go home.
I want to go anywhere...
But please not just home.
Let me go everywhere...

But don't ask me to go home...

There's too much pain in there.
Too much chaos.
Hurting sounds...
Piercing words.

Please don't let me go there...

Nobody hears anymore.
Nobody cares.

© Claudine F. Claudio

Pop Culture in Third World Countries

Pop Culture in Third World Countries
Claudio, Claudine F.
Editorial & Column Writing
Prof. Jeanie Derillo


“What is the difference between unethical and ethical advertising? Unethical advertising uses falsehoods to deceive the public; ethical advertising uses truth to deceive the public.”
~Vilhjalmur Stefansson

I thought advertising agencies is supposed to be run by creative people? By people acquiring extraordinary imagination and creativity? By people with visionary skills to promote something unknown to popularity? I thought Advertising is supposed to be an art? But how could art bring about deception and sense of superficiality to people?

Condoms. Liquors. Women. Passion. Lust. Safe Sex.

Putting the word “safe” before sex is one heinous thing to do. Sex has become something that is “common” to the world. It has become “okay”. The supposedly sacred word had been degraded to a meaning too cheap and dirty. The supposedly gift from God to married couples has now been tainted. It can now be bought from filthy bars and clubs. It's as if it has become some pirated film bought on sidewalks.

Now, almost the whole world is starting to have a bent notion about sex. And what's saddening is that “Thirld World Countries” who are supposed to strive for development, is part of this world. The countries who are supposed to be focusing to their growth are now being pulled back down to immaturity because of pop culture. Just the Philippines for an instance. Filipinos were once the most conservative and religious people in the world. Now that we have been contaminated with popular culture produced mostly by the west, our people's definition was now changed into hospitable beings. Prostitutes.

Popular culture has deceived us through the power of media. Before we are the ones who create the demands. Now advertising does it for us. We no longer have the power to control which and which are not our needs. It's now them who tell us. So tell me, how could the third world countries rise up on their feet if popular culture would bombard us with false needs and require our stupidity to satisfy them?

“Advertisers constantly invent cures to which there is no disease.” ~Author Unknown

Such a mess, these ways of the world. Modern advertisements has turned into the devil who tempted Jesus on the mountain. And we are no Jesus. We are trying so hard to transform the rock into bread and jumped off from the top of the mountain just to find out that we are powerless and the devil who has seen would leave us there bloody and helpless.

The Real Problem in Enrolment

The Real Problem in Enrolment
Editorial & Column Writing



This semester, the registrar’s office established a new procedure for the enrollment. They assigned advisers for every department to guide students of what and what not subjects to take. There are different enrolment schedule assigned for every year level. Adamsonians were required to bring their true copy of grades to be presented to the adviser. Then after listing down your choices of subjects for the semester, you queue up for the adviser’s lane on your department office. Once he/she has approved your enrolment form you can now encode your subjects to the computer laboratory assigned to your college. It may seem quite easy for students belonging in a block section. Because regular students belonging in free sections and irregular students found this new enrolment setup more complicated than before.

If Adamson University registrar thinks this previous enrolment eased the burden of enrollees, most Adamsonians particularly the non-block and irregular students, think otherwise. For the last 4 years, Adamsonians has never experienced a completely hassle-free enrolment. It usually takes up half a day for a student to have his/her subjects encoded. Worse, it could even consume a whole day if some computer laboratory breaks down. Or when the computer said that a subject is not credited yet for course shifters (even when you have already undergone the creditation process), they had to follow up their creditation form to be able to take the requisite subject. It’s hard work to run around the university lining up on queues to do something you have already done before. Worst, is when you are suggested to come back the next day or the next week if some errors occurred on your assessment form or it’s not your schedule yet to enroll. This could be really a pain the butt for students who travel all the way from their provinces just to enroll for the semester.

There is absolutely nothing wrong in implementing new procedures if the intention is to ease a process. It is good to know that the registrar tries hard to come up with a more effective way for enrolment. But the problem is they’re looking at the wrong side of the problem. There is actually no problem with the procedures whether new or not. The problem is in the computer system. It isn’t updated regularly and most of them are old. Speed is also a major problem with the computers. So whatever the procedure may be if the medium used isn’t taken care of properly, change and convenience could be impossible to achieve.


“If you don't like something change it; if you can't change it, change the way you think about it”.
~Mary Engelbreit

Adamson University: An Amusement Park

Adamson University: An Amusement Park
Editorial & Column Writing




As kids, we have been taught that school is our second home. For Adamsonians, our beloved university is our Amusement Park.

When you enter the Adamson walkway, you will feel your paces gradually and sometimes worse, involuntarily, accelerating due to the pressure brought by your fellow students racing for class. It’s like queuing up for the ticket booth for the holidays. Well, speaking of ticket booths, after the long and not-so winding walkway, here comes the innovated entrance gates of ST (St. Therese) and CS (Cardinal Santos) building. It is funny seeing these gates crowded with unorganized queues of students lining from the gates to the sidewalk outside of the university. Some students would joke about it as the “box-office” line. Now, you’ve entered the park. It’s time to take the rides.

The common rides are of course the numerous leg-fracturing staircases of the university. From the ST, CS, SV (St. Vincent), OZ (Ozanam) and even the JP building. but there’s one ride uncommon to some Adamsonians especially the non-engineering students; The OZ elevator. The sole incubator in campus which stops at any moment you DON'T like. Because of technical problems, it was closed down for maintenance. But some students wished it to start operating soon so as to experience again the ride of their life.

Now let's talk about the hot spots of the campus. The most infamous is no other than, of course, the Falcon Bridge. After many years of the Estero de Balete's desperate modification, it still contains its usual characteristic. It still doesn't fail to give bridge crossers the chance to wince upon smelling its aroma. Though, they have enhanced the boundaries by setting up a garden and colorful lights at night. The workers in charged of the estero had probably lost their hope for the conservation of the watercourse so they had decided to decorate it instead. Another spot is our so-called Pinoy Big Brother house. The freshly-built edifice behind the CS building with a reception area that always seemed ready to cater various celebrations. If that's still not enough to prove Adamson's park-like grounds, we have our own version of Baywalk. The ST quadrangle that seems like a vision from Lito Atienza's mind accompanied with the song, “Mahal kong Maynila...” Adamson University actually has a lot more to offer than just rides and scenic spots. We also have a pawnshop (administration/ registrar's office), a portion of Harry Potter's Hogwart's (the fully varnished corridor alongside the president's office with scary paintings on the wall), a mental ward (the white painted corridors of ST and JP buildings), and of course the white maze of CS building second floor where you could get lost on your first time.

But despite all of these sarcasms, Adamson University provides a different college life that no other school could offer. The rides and spots are not only the places on campus but the lessons we learn. A university is like an amusement park. Here is where we enjoy most of the significant rides of our lives and our professors serves as the operators who guide and give us the time of our lives. The challenges. The thrills. The disappointments. And sometimes the boredom. But that's school life. And we only stay there for a period of time. We can't stay forever. We have to leave as time passes by. We grow old and mature and soon get tired of enjoying the rides. Some give up. Some go on. But still the most fulfilling part of school is the overwhelming feeling of overcoming it all when you've finished all of the rides.

Genetic Engineering: Cloning Deception

Genetic Engineering: Cloning Deception
Editorial & Column Writing


For the Filipinos in the present and future generation, Genetic Engineering is becoming a major threat for their spiritual and physiological survival. Manufacturers of genetically modified organisms (GMOs) are now attacking not only the Filipinos’ health but also their faith in God’s art; Nature. By bringing in GMOs in the country, that are doubted to be safe, Filipinos are now in danger of crossing the threshold of the artificial and deceptive way of life.

Scientists claim that GMOs are manufactured to help lessen starvation and food shortage especially among the Third World countries. But some believe that there is actually more than enough food in the world and that the problem is food distribution and not production. But how could GMOs help Third World countries if GMOs cost much more than a Third World country constituent could earn? According to Charles M. Benbrook, author of an unpublished paper titled World Food System Challenges and Opportunities: GMOs, Biodiversity, and Lessons From America's Heartland, “It became apparent in 1999 that the public rationale for promoting genetically modified foods -- that such foods would "feed the world" -- was based on wishful thinking, not economics. It is now clear that U.S. genetically modified crops are too expensive to "feed the world."

Now, how could something be truly beneficial when it could only benefit limited well-to-do communities?
“Abortion, euthanasia, human cloning, for example, risk reducing the human person to a mere object: life and death to order, as it were!”

- Pope John Paul II

Sooner or later, due to the rapid liberation of the Filipinos from their old-fashioned ways, reception of Genetic Engineering in the country would soon lead to the most troubling genetic technological application of all; Cloning. GMOs are not at all different from Cloning. It has the same purpose; to reproduce organisms without the natural processes. And for Filipinos, cloning in the country especially of humans would lead to moral and quintessential deterioration.

“Cloning represents a very clear, powerful and immediate example in which we are in danger of turning procreation into manufacture.”
- Leon Kass

Guimaras Oil Spill: The Earth Contamination

Guimaras Oil Spill: The Earth Contamination
Essay & Feature Writing



“Nature is the art of God”
-Dante Alighieri


Seeing the world today, God is probably shaking His head in extreme disappointment for the beings He created on the Sixth day. He granted this world to us as a gift and instructed us to take care of it. But in return, what did we do? We received it selfishly and used it in the most improper ways.
Dante Alighieri, author of Divine Comedy, stated that Nature is the art of God. If you are a painter, what would you feel if some unworthy person ruins your most precious painting? If you are a songwriter, what would you feel if a singer with a hoarse voice sings your composition? If you are a writer, what would you feel if a stupid publisher rejects the manuscript you have worked on for years? Wouldn’t you feel disheartened and disappointed that some ungrateful people do not appreciate your work? How pathetic that we keep on asking why natural disasters like tsunami, earthquakes, typhoons etc. occur.
Last August 11, 2006, news broke that an oil tanker named M/T Solar I sank at the Guimaras strait causing 200,000 liters of oil to spill into the ocean. One of the causes was said to be the ship’s persistence to travel despite the bad weather. The other reason was the incompetence of the ship captain. This one major incident will absolutely cause a great dilemma not only to the residents of Guimaras but also to the inhabitants of the water’s ecosystem. It will cause gradual death to the beauty of its ecosystem and decline of fish sales. Too bad for the fishermen of Guimaras, who mostly consists of impoverished people, because most of them get their living by selling what the sea can give them. Now, because of one major mistake committed by irresponsible people behind the cause of oil spill, what will become of this once beautiful element of nature?
Who do we blame for this national disaster? Petron? The ship’s captain? Before we try to answer this question, let’s first try to take a look in ourselves. The oil spill isn’t the only disaster that has occurred in the world. Imagine the world today and compare it to the world God has described in Creation. It isn’t the same world anymore. It’s as contaminated as the strait of Guimaras. How can it be so easy for us to point our fingers to people we think should be blamed? It’s not enough that we feel bad about what happened. Feeling won’t do anything good. We should start thinking and acting on how we are going to save our natural resources that are now being close to extinction. At least in that way, we could start helping the restoration of the art that God has blessed us in the beginning.

Mass Communication: Changing the World

Mass Communication: Changing the World
Editorial & Column Writing



The world needs change. There is no doubt in saying that. With the rising domination of technology in the world, we are subconsciously putting our lives in the hands of machines. We are risking the essence of humanity by allowing technology to empower mankind. It is inevitable, yes. But Adamson University, a private Catholic institution believes, otherwise, that even with the danger carried by technology, the future generation can still bring about change. In fact, technology can be helpful if only used with proper principle. And the major course responsible for that is Mass Communication.

Mass Communication deals with the science of manipulating the media. Media, especially of today, is considered one of the most powerful elements to bring about change. Yet, in our present time, it is used rather erroneously. Instead of using it for the betterment of mankind, it is being maneuvered to lead us all to sin and deception. But now, it’s time to change all that. For people who believe that there is still hope for a better world, learning the science of communication is the first step. Since media is one essential factor that influences culture, why not start building change in that area? It is undoubtedly an ambitious dream. To penetrate to the media world holding on to the hope that one day you can change its faulty ways. But that’s what distinguishes Mass Communication from other courses, you only need to be an excellent communicator and gradually you will open new avenues for change. Good communication is your primary weapon to lead and motivate people to the right path. Mass Communication in Adamson University not only teaches the mechanics of being a successful media personality one day but also educates and encourages students to trigger moral change in the society.

Now is the best time to change. Though it may take a long time for the change to be done, do not lose hope. Because we believe that no matter how hard and how long it takes, honest and upright media can still be attained if only people learn how to value good and honest communication.

“Whoever controls the media--the images--controls the culture.”
-- Allen Ginsberg

Rise of Pink Films as an Educational Tool for the Philippine Public

Rise of Pink Films as an Educational Tool for the Philippine Public


“To educate a man in mind and not in morals is to educate a menace to society.”
-Theodore Roosevelt

There are two kinds of education; the good, which allows one’s morality, filter his/her intellectual growth; and the bad education, which only permits one’s intellect to grow and have control over his beliefs and actions.

Pink films can be educational in terms of revealing the lifestyle of the people who belong in the third sex. By introducing pink films in the Philippines, we have, at last, walked out from the stereotypical characterization of homosexuals, particularly gays, as either laughingstocks or victims of abuse. Now, we’re actually seeing films that executes homosexual lifestyle as normal and as the same as heterosexual lifestyle. They are indirectly telling us that homosexuals deserve fair treatments and rights because like straight people, they are also capable of loving and suffering. Yes, they are entitled to their rights. But they must realize that these rights implemented for them have differences as they have differences from heterosexuals. Because of pink films which are presently blooming in the film industry and are actually being encouraged by award-giving bodies for film, more filmmakers are now enticed to create homosexual-themed films. What a tragedy to hit our supposedly Christianity-preserved country!

According to psychological researches, we all experience identity crisis during our adolescent period. Therefore, if pink films continue to inculcate the message (that being a homosexual and engaging in homosexual activities are okay and acceptable) to the minds of adolescents encountering identity crisis, what would become of them? Now where’s the “good” in that kind of education? They would probably give in to the temptation that they could’ve eluded. If pink films on the other hand, would venture against homosexuality, without a doubt, as morally wrong, it could pass on as a good educational tool. Because it educates considering the moral standards of a Christian country.

If we let bad educational tools school us and at the same time liberate us from our moral beliefs, what difference do we have from America?

“It is essential to practice spiritual disciplines along with academic studies.”
- Sathya Sai Baba

A Poem for a Professor

Ma’am Lizelle


Want to know something about a lass?
A prof. who asked us to make planes in class?
A mother, daughter and wife so great?
The best psychologist I’ve ever known to date?



1
T’was an event I could never forget
I felt so down and my heart was wrecked
Always in my room, I can’t stop cryin’
The tears just won’t cease, I felt like dyin’

2
There’s so many I can’t understand
About myself and about what I want
That’s why I tried to search and seek for help
So, I could clear my head and know myself

3
I still can’t believe I wrote her a mail
To ask for something and tell her my tale
I was so silly but I took the risk
Wishing she’ll reply and hope she’s not pissed

4
Then the next day came and I was so shocked
To find her response for me with such luck!
She suggested I talk to her some time
Such a fine offer I couldn’t decline.

5
I felt so worried as the day arrived
Wonderin’ if it’s right to ask her advice
What if she’s busy or what if she’s not?
‘Guess I’m just being a pain in the butt!

6
But all of my doubts and qualms disappeared
All my uneasiness and thoughts that I feared
Though the nervousness in my voice was heard
As I spilled my grief waiting to be cleared

7
She listened as I voiced my confusions
All my worries and explanations
I told her all without hesitation
I was so flattered I have her attention

8
She spoke to me like no one had before
She had treated me like she was so sure
That I am able to achieve everything
And conquer all to reach for that something

9
I never thought that I’m a good writer
Never really believed I am that better
But when she had assured me that, I am
I blushed and said in silence, “Thank you ma’am…”

10
Our conversation was almost over
I was about to stand up and thank her
But then something stopped me from going to
I did something I thought I could never do

11
I confided to her about a past I kept
A past wherein I had usually wept
This affected my thoughts and how I live
The trauma it caused and pain it gives

12
My voice was shaking I thought I would cry.
But I’m revealing it all, I wonder why.
Her words moved me as she told me in the end
“Your secret’s safe with me, I’m here as a friend.”

13
I composed this poem so I could show
My sincere gratitude I pray she’ll know
This may not be perfect, may not be the best
But I hope you’ll appreciate it same as the rest

14
My simple poem is almost over now
‘Hope I had written it nicely somehow
I know my words are shallow and not so deep
‘Hope this is something worthy for you to keep

15
So, before I forgot to end this poem
‘Coz I certainly find this easy to enjoy
Though it was so tough to keep the words in rhyme
And condense only 10 syllables in line

16
I want to introduce to you a great woman
A mother, daughter, wife and friend in one
A woman I truly admire and respect so well
I thank God for having found her in Ma’am Lizelle.

© Claudine F. Claudio

The Excruciating Pain of Missing

Some people; they hurt you for no reason. Some people; they hate you for reasons you don't understand. Some people; they tell you they love you then betray you. Some people; they love you only for reasons that you understand.


I'm in pain at this moment. And I can't seem to find the reason why. All I know is, I feel like crying. I feel like shouting. I feel like exploding. Everything in my world is colliding. School, family, friends, emotions. Even Lance who I thought would all be the smiles that I need, no, he's part of the pain that I'm feeling right now. If you ask me at this particular moment why on earth I am feeling placidly suicidal, I'd probably just look at you blankly and, I don't know, probably cry. There really are times in my life when mild depressions occur for no apparent motives. They just come and go in random.


Earlier this evening, I had a little conversation with one of my best buds, Kaycee (my Pakner), we haven't talked for quite some time and I miss her badly! She's the kind of friend you could just call up anytime. She's more than willing to be your exhaust fan in time when your emotional restroom needs it most. In our conversation, we joked about taking suicide together. When she asked me when do I plan to, I answered, "Nag-iipon pa'ko para sa pagtalon ko sa tuktok ng Eiffel Tower... Ang cheap naman kung sa estero lang ng AdU. Kaso nagagastos ko lagi mga ipon ko." Then she replied, "Sige pag-ipunan natin ung Eiffel Tower."

It may seem like a whole charade. And yes, it is for some reason. But deep inside we both know we've considered leaving this world as an option for all the problems the world is giving us. But on the other hand, we both know suicide is all but a stupid and dumb idea. And we both trust each other never to resort to it.


I'm writing all these because I miss my pakners. In the past, these are the times, together with my other pakner, Janice, when we schedule meetings to watch films and afterwards, talk problems through. Sometimes we write them down on stationeries and send them personally on our respective classrooms. I miss the days when we cry together, laugh together and simply just be quiet together. The days when we try to make up alibis to our "original barkadas" and parents so we could stay together longer. The incessant exchange of novels. The nonstop brainstorming and plot suggestions for my freshly-thought stories. The excitement we feel everytime a new idea for a story pops in our heads. The intense involvement in Sidney Sheldon's tragic storylines. The embarrassing moments we keep experiencing when we are together. The intellectual forums about art, literature, psychology, current events and politics. The funny debates and arguments. The long waits on our meeting places. The "utangan" blues.


I miss them so much. It is sad to know that no matter how much we long to be together, it's not that easy anymore. We can't just call each other up like when we do in high school. Going to college has changed a lot of things. For some reason, it has changed us as well. We've created new friendships. A new life. Various priorities have bombarded us with new responsibilities and it is harder for us to schedule dates without conflicts. Nevertheless, like what I've told Kaycee "Matatapos din lahat 'tong mga problema na 'to. Makakahanap din tayo ng time para gawin na uling exhaust fan ang isa't isa."


Kristine Gonzaga & Janice Cuaño: I miss you real bad...

Journal Entry (9/9/2006 1:27 PM)

9/9/2006 1:27 PM
Subject: The Coward That I Am
Author: Claudine Claudio


Some girls feel good about themselves when they see their boyfriends crying because of them. Well, in my case, I thought I would too but the moment I felt Lance’s tears on my shoulder, I knew happiness isn’t the name of the emotion I was going through.

We had a fight yesterday afternoon on the bus on our way home to Laguna. No, “we” isn’t the appropriate term. “I” fought with him. He was practically just defending himself like he always does whenever I put up a fight. Last Thursday while he was sharing some of his memorable experiences, some names caught my ear which triggered bad memories. Paranoia started to take over me once again. I tried not to worry of many things but I keep coming back to my analysis and hypothetical theories regarding our relationship. The truth is his past keeps troubling me. Every time I think about the disturbing things he has done in the past, I can’t help but worry that one day he would be tempted to do them again. That’s the silliest habit I have. Comparing the past to the present. Thinking the past will always have a connection to our present and future life. And that is so true, if I may state, even if I do not belong in his past.

Yesterday, I showed him the worst feeling somebody could ever show…

Distrust.

Suspicion.

Doubt.

I could not look straight in his eyes when he asked me the questions, “Wala ka pa rin talagang tiwala sa’kin noh?” “Hindi mo talaga maramdaman na mahal kita?” “Hindi mo pa rin makita?”

Gazing outside the window I shook my head, “Hindi ko alam…”

“Naiintindihan kita bakit hindi mo kaya magtiwala sa’kin.”

“Pa’no mo nasabing naiintindihan mo’ko?” I asked.

“Dahil sa nakaraan ko. Mahirap ako pagkatiwalaan. Wala na talaga nagtitiwala sa’kin.”

I wished to speak. To tell him he’s wrong. That I trust him. That I’m just afraid. But instead I chose to gaze out of the window so I could think more clearly.

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Then I was surprised when he leaned his head on my shoulder. “Sorry po… Naiintindihan naman kita eh. Sorry po…” He clinged to my left arm and buried his head on my shoulder. I didn’t respond. I wanted to scold him for being so considerate and understanding to me because I knew it wasn’t his fault. But I stayed quiet still staring outside the highway. Then some seconds later I felt the shoulder portion of my uniform wetting. I knew it was his tears. He was crying and I didn’t feel good about it at all. Instead I felt fury. Furious with myself for being a bitch. For being a coward. For being stupid. For purposely blinding myself from what I am seeing.

“Ginagawa ko naman kasi lahat eh ‘wag ka lang mawala sa’kin…” I heard him say between sobs. I could feel the emotions racing through my body. I wanted to cry too but I tried real hard to contain my emotions. I felt so bad about myself that I wished I could just bang my head on the glass window. I’ve hurt him. And seeing him in that condition made me feel so undeserving of his love.

The truth is I trust him. I trust the promises that he gave me. The love that he has for me. I trust him when he said he’s changing for me. I truly do. But I’m afraid to admit to him that I’m giving him it to him fully. I’m afraid that it would sooner or later become my weakness. Because I don’t trust today’s time. I’ve witnessed many relationships failed. I don’t trust the circumstances that may change us. People of today are too weak. And Lance and I are part of today’s world. I’ve seen how marriages can break. I’ve seen how love can fade and the fact that it does fade. NOTHING LASTS FOREVER. No matter how hard we try to detach ourselves from conformity, there will always be temptations. I love him. And I’m afraid this time it is true. I am a coward for wanting to run away from the pain love may cause. I am a coward for doubting and not accepting the fact that somebody truly loves me as me. I am a coward for hurting him like that.

They said that it’s easiest to take somebody for granted when you are aware of how much they love you. I took Lance for granted. Of all people, how could I even begin to think that he isn’t sincere? How could I doubt him after all that he’s done for me? How could I be such a coward? When all the while he’s doing everything to be brave for me?

I’m sorry. Not only to Lance but also to God. For hurting the person He has blessed me. For taking His gift for granted. For not appreciating it. I’m sorry for being a coward.

Seeing My Most Favorite Person in the World Cry...

"One looks back with appreciation to the brilliant teachers, but with gratitude to those who touched our human feelings. The curriculum is so much necessary raw material, but warmth is the vital element for the growing plant and for the soul of the child. "
~Carl Jung

I can't remember the last time I have ever felt so bothered in school. A lot of things have been happening these past few weeks. Product development, Battle of the Ads, radio commercial, projects in Computer Literacy, Essay and Editorial paper, Film analysis, midterm exams, etc. I feel so tired and exhausted. Different subjects but one huge pressure. I could actually feel my shoulders slouching with too much weight. I can't even feel the weekends. But I know this is the load every college student has to experience to be able to ready himself/herself for the real world outside school campus.

Yes, I feel tired but that doesn't mean I feel like giving up. No, of course not. No way. I'm actually enjoying the pressure this semester is giving me. And in this blog entry, I'm giving out one of the major reasons why I still have the energy to endure the weights I currently have on my shoulder. Ma'am Jen. My Film and Editorial professor. Because she never fails to lighten up my school days. She serves as my major inspiration to see everything that comes my way with a positive attitude. She's my guide and mentor who gives me courage to believe that I am important and that I could be somebody someday. She makes my years spent as a Mass Communication student remarkable and significant.

But yesterday, the loads I'm carrying suddenly seemed to weigh down more on my already wearying shoulders. We have hurt Ma'am Jen's feelings. My classmates showed disrespect in her Editorial class when they continued discussing activities on our other subjects while she was already speaking out front. She scolded us for a while “’Pag oras ko, oras ko!” and afterwards tried to discuss the lesson with a cold face. I felt so numb listening to her lesson that I wasn't able to understand much of the discussion. We saw how she stomped her feet when she told us to stay in the room for she will be back after an interview. How I can imagine her teeth gritting in anger behind that tight-lipped mouth after asking a question about the editorial cartoon presented by the overhead projector. How her eyes and voice insinuated coldness. How she lost her once soothing and encouraging voice. How her face deprived us of the smile we are so used to seeing everyday. I saw how she changed from my most favorite person in the world to a cold professor who is hurt. But I didn't see my Ma'am Jen. Especially when she started nagging at us again about how disrespectful we are. I could not look at her anymore because I can't see my Ma'am Jen so I looked down with my eyes fixed on Dave Pelzer's book resting on my lap. She accused us for putting her subjects as our least priority in school. How I wish to speak up and tell her it's not true! She accused us for abusing and taking advantage of her kindness. She accused us of more things that I have never ever, in my years of being her student, thought of doing. Then after a while of listening to her, I could feel a lump on my throat. My eyes were trying so hard to push back the tears not because I feel guilty of the things she had said, but because I couldn't tell her how wrong she was. Moments later, I heard her voice broke but still I didn't look at her. My eyes stayed on the book but I knew there were tears on my favorite professor's eyes. “Hindi ako demanding. Binigyan ko kayo ng isang araw na rest day dahil alam ko hindi lang ako ang klase niyo. Hindi ako nagdedemand! Kung gusto nyo we can see each other less.” That statement evoked fear in me. “If possible ipopost ko na lang ‘yung mga topics sa labas para hindi na kayo papasok sa klase ko. Sa Film, ganun na lang din gawin natin! Ipopost ko sa labas ‘yung DVD magdecide na lang kayo kailan nyo papanoorin tapos pati exam ipopost ko na lang din.” Now that made me think to myself, “No… ‘Yun ngang one day na walang Editorial class nakakalungkot na, ‘yun pa kayang walang class at all with Ma’am Jen!” Of course it was just a thought but how I wish Ma’am Jen could know that. “Pwede naman kasing huwag mamili eh! Pwedeng pagsabay sabayin ang priorities. Hindi kailangang mamili!” She asked about how we could do such thing to her. To her, whom we have spent more quality and fun time rather than our other professors. “Ako... na mas matagal niyong nakasama...” were her exact words. Her voice broke again and then she walked out of the room. That was the time when I finally raised my head. An awkward silence enveloped the room for a while until we heard Ma'am Jen's furious voice at the back of the room (where their tables were located) sobbing to our other professor. I turned to my friend Sabrina and whispered, “Oh my God, Sab, magsorry tayo...” Then my other friend Ara gave me a look that insinuates gloominess. Ma'am Jen is all so important for us. It pains us to see her that way. We could still hear Ma'am Jen sobbing at the back. We had no idea what to do but we knew we have to apologize. Jens, my other friend stood up at last and approached Ma'am Jen. We waited. Then he came back sobbing. Ma'am Jen yelled, "Bakit kayo umiiyak? May ginawa ba akong masama?" My head returned to its previous position, towards the book on my lap. "Wala naman akong ginagawa sa inyo ah! Para namang kayo ang inapi ng husto! Ako pa nga ang inagrabyado nyo diba? Umalis na kayo. You're dismissed."

She left. But I didn't move. I didn't dare. Because I decided I wouldn't leave there without at least apologizing to my favorite professor. I know I didn't do anything wrong. I never discuss other subjects in her class because I knew Ma’am Jen hates it when her students do that. When she’s already in front, I’m all ears. I don’t like the idea of missing any of her statements. That’s how important she is to me. That’s why when my classmates decided to leave I told them that we should apologize first. Mami, my other friend, said “’Wag muna ngayon, Claudine. Palipasin muna natin mainit pa ulo ni Ma’am.” She has a point but I still thought we have nothing to lose if we at least tell her we’re sorry before we go. It is expected that she might snub us or push us away but my point there is, we apologized and we didn’t leave her there without a sign of remorse. But still they left without saying anything to Ma’am Jen. But Sabrina, Ara, Roselyn and I stayed. We all agreed to apologize even if we knew we didn’t do anything wrong. We just wanted her to know that she still have students who prioritize her subjects over or just the same with other major subjects. We waited there inside the room all thinking about what we were going to say. Then we decided to approach her at last. Ara pushed me into speaking out first. The moment I was just about 2 yards away from her, Irene, our other friend came back to the Media Center just in time when I, for the first time, stared into Ma’am Jen’s unfamiliar red puffy eyes. I could not bring myself to speak. I could see pain in my favorite professor’s eyes and it honestly broke my heart. Trying to collect myself but to no avail, I finally blurted out, “Sorry po, Ma’am…” She just stared at me as she moved towards us so I repeated, “Ma’am, sorry po—talaga.” And this time my voice broke just in time to give way to the held back tears that has been desperately waiting to surface. I immediately looked down to hide them but I know it’s too late. Then I heard Ara sobbed for the first time, “Ma’am hindi naman po kasi totoong hindi namin kayo pinaprioritize eh. Kayo nga po ang pinaprioritize namin eh.” She was crying her eyes out which just hollowed out all the emotions in my system. I couldn’t suppress the tears no more so I let them out. Besides my throat was hurting badly out of holding back the flow of tears. Then Ma’am Jen instructed us to go back inside the room where no one could walk in on us. Then as soon as we sat down with our heads down she asked, back to her soothing voice, “Bakit kayo umiiyak? Bakit kayo ang nandito at nagsosorry? Wala naman kayong ginawa ‘diba? Bakit kayo apektado?” We couldn’t answer that because I, myself, do not know why I felt so apologetic. “Hindi nga ako makatingin sa inyo eh…” “Nakita ko nga na kayo ‘yung mga hindi talaga umaalis sa upuan ninyo.” It was a very dramatic moment. Everyone was crying. Ma’am Jen apologized for also sending out the message to us. I really couldn’t help but cry more. “Alam niyo naman na gusto ko ‘yung class niyo kaya ako ganito…” “Huwag na kayo umiyak…”

Then out of nowhere, Ma’am Jen blurted, “Oh Irene, ikaw naman umiyak diyan! Para alternate.” We laughed out loud. “Nay, si Sab umiiyak walang panyo! Yuck kadiri! Pinupunasan ng kamay?! Malagkit yan!” We really couldn’t stop laughing. Then I finally stared at her, “Oh si Claudine ang lungkot na naman pero sa labas laging nambubully. ‘Yung malalaking tao pa! Binubully si Montefrio?! Hinahatak!” To Ara, “Ayan ang kapal na ng mata mo abot na dito nasasalat ko!” Then as we stood up, she bid her last joke, “O Irene, tama na iyak tapos na.”

We said our goodbyes. She gave Ara a big hug. Sabrina and Roselyn, a group hug. I, she held my head with her hands and kissed me on the forehead. Then lastly, Irene, a hug.

I still think that yesterday is one of the most memorable days of my life. To see my favorite professor cry and to show deep emotions myself was tough. I’m not used to allowing myself to become emotional in public. But yesterday was different, I realized how deeply attached I am to my professor. That’s because like what she said she doesn’t treat us as students anymore. Our class with Ma’am Jen actually feels more like a big circle of friends. Today, in our Film class, we can sense that she’s still mad. Her eyes were still swollen and at times she seemed like crying again. She lectured with the same coldness she had yesterday. She didn’t even greet us a Good Morning which she regularly did before. This day is saddening. Ma’am Jen serves as one major factor that determines the quality of my school days. Since hers is my first class and this day started with a cold treatment from her, this day is a total mess. She ignored us (Ara, Irene and Kathy) twice when she came across us along the corridor of the Media Center. It was puzzling because we thought everything was already fine between us. Ara and I were so deeply bothered and concerned by her behavior. We couldn’t bear to see her so unhappy in our presence. It was affecting us not only emotionally but also in terms of catching up with her lessons. I could not concentrate on her lectures because I was distracted by her depressed countenance. But the most confusing thing that happened today was when I was by myself running around inside the Media Center to ready for our radio commercial rehearsal. I ran into Ma’am Jen on my way to the radio booth. I looked at her then I was shocked when she said, “Hi Claudine!” in the same lively voice she always used before when greeting me. I was too shocked to react so I just bowed my head as a sign of acknowledgement. Then while waiting for Mon-Mon’s reply outside the Media Center gazing at the OZ building in front of me, I was surprised to see Ma’am Jen walking towards me. She smiled and said, “Oh bakit malungkot ka? Tapos hinahangin hangin pa yung buhok mo…” I laughed but it was a pained laugh. I wanted so badly to ask her, “Ma’am, ganito na po ba tayo lagi sa class natin sa Editorial at Film?” But I kept the question to myself. I’m still confused. But in reality I am also afraid. Afraid that Ma’am Jen would lose her once affection for our class. I know my friends and I would be free of that unaffectionate treatment but still I feel somewhat responsible. Because those are still OUR class. I’m afraid. Afraid that Ma’am Jen would think we do not have any difference from the previous batch she also had an issue with the same reasons like ours.

Before I finish this entry, I would like to post the question that’s been haunting me since yesterday. Why did we apologize when we know we didn’t do anything wrong?

My answer?

Because we want Ma’am Jen to feel that some of her students still care so much about her. That some of her students get bothered quickly when she gets hurt. That some of her students are willing to take the blame to make up with her. That some of her students can put aside their pride to show their sincerity. That some of her students are brave enough to face her even when they expect her to push them away. That some of her students gets easily affected when she’s angry.

And lastly, we want Ma’am Jen to know that some of her students sincerely love her not for the grades but because she had shown love no other professor has ever shown us before...

I'm just as lucky as I can be 'cause the world's greatest teacher is teaching me!

The mediocre teacher tells.
The good teacher explains.
The superior teacher demonstrates.
The great teacher inspires.
--William Arthur Ward


I have always been the type of person who gets inspired easily. I guess, as an aspiring writer, I need all the inspiration I can get. But if you could see me these past few months, I bet you’ll probably think I’ve lost my mind when I said that first statement.

Ma’am___ is the type of teacher who doesn’t look like one at all. She wears odd-looking ukay-ukay clothes and shoes, short boyish hair that is sort of long at the back and a beautiful smile that always seemed threatening to break into a laugh. On Wednesdays, which is a “wash day” for Adamsonians, you’ll often come across her in the corridors walking fast with her head slightly stooping and you’ll probably just disregard her as some tardy student hurrying for class. Well, without the bag and books, of course. She is always in a hurry even when she is walking with somebody. It must be hard walking with her. I wonder how much more if she’s running. Lode runner, is that you? Just kidding! :D

Before she even became my professor, I’ve heard rumors about her greatness in class. It actually fascinated the hell out of me. So when I found out she was my professor last semester in “Introduction to Mass Communication & Theories”, I could not wait to attend the class. (Well, actually, I didn’t attend our first meeting. I sort of became the kind of student who doesn’t attend first meetings ever since I entered 2nd year.) But still I am telling the truth when I say I’m dying to be in her class. ‘Coz ‘til now, I am still. I could still remember how much I anticipate attending her class. Our Comm. Theories started at 4:00 to 5:00 p.m. Since my classes last semester starts at 11 a.m. then I have a vacant time of 1-3 every Wednesday, I usually went to the mall to watch a film, alone or not. I had “Introduction to Journalism” at 3:00 but I seldom attend that class because I really find it boring. Well, it could’ve been an interesting subject but the professor practically bored me. There was this one time when I watched Merry Christmas (Joyeux Noel) alone in SM Manila, and it was about to get past 4 but still it wasn’t finished yet so I hurried out and asked the lady in charged of the tickets to put a stamp on my hand so I could go back later to finish the film. I really don’t like the idea of missing a class of my favorite professor. I’ll probably stop at anything when it’s time to come to her class. I have learned a great deal from her last semester. Not just within the scope of our subject but also about general information. She taught us not to become some dumb-ass who’s all right with media spoon-feeding. To start thinking and stop conforming.

This semester she’s my professor in two of my subjects: Film Appreciation MWF 8:00-9:00 a.m. and Editorial & Column Writing TTh 9:00-10-30 a.m. both my first subject for the day. Therefore, I have a class with her 5 days a week for 5 months. And if you ask me, I prefer it so much ‘coz I get to start my day seeing Ma’am___'s jolly nature and hearing her fine teachings.

I’m not really close with this great professor. Unlike with my other favorite professor Ma’am Lizelle, I had the chance to hang out and build friendship with her. But with this great professor, who’s the subject of this entry, it’s different. It’s as if she’s friends with everybody. She actually knows all her student’s names by heart. I have friends who have commonly testified to me that they were surprise to know that our great professor knew them by name. Even though, they weren’t reciting in class at all. She loves to ask questions in class. Questions that once you have answered would truly make you feel good about yourself. She never misses commending you once you give out an intelligent question or answer. I guess that’s one reason why I love this great professor of mine. Because she’s aware of how students like me, with fluctuating self-confidence, can be boosted with just a simple commendation from somebody. Me, I do recite sometimes, mostly out of impulse or when no one else in the class is raising their hands. But I’m not really the kind of student who talks in class a lot. ‘Coz I could be really ignorant of a lot of things. Though, I wanted badly to participate in class discussions most of the time especially when I’ve got good ideas to contribute and questions to ask, but it’s just that, I keep having this feeling that I would just get humiliated once I open my mouth to speak. I guess this is the outcome of too much exposure to humiliations when I was younger. But I’m really trying hard to overcome it because the teachings of my great professor is really motivating me to do so.

The reason I’m writing this is because my insane friend, Ara (just kidding!), reminded me to finish this last Thursday. She told me with this bright smile on her face after our Editorial class that, “Sabi ko pa naman ngayong araw na’to kahit si Ma’am___ hindi ako mapapatawa…” Yes, she’s absolutely right. We were all overwhelmingly enlightened as soon as we exited the Media Center. Ara and I, think that it was the best Editorial class we had so far. We didn’t discuss our lesson. We just passed our Editorial paper then Ma’am started lecturing us about thinking differently. Ma’am___ would not stop joking around so I can’t clearly remember if we ever stopped laughing the whole period. These are some of the memorable statements she had said in our Editorial class. Not her exact words (Gosh, I can’t possibly memorize all her speech word by word!) but something to this effect.


1.I’m encouraging you not to think like average people. Huwag kayong mag-isip ng normal! Get out of the box!
2.It’s not true na a writer is shaped or molded, there are born writers.
3.Huwag kayo bibili sa mga dispensers dinadaga yung mga yun. Tignan nyo try nyo buksan may makikita kayo mga daga umiihi, pumupupu… ahh.. (looks up at the ceiling) …tumatambay!
4.According to George Orwell and Antoine Saint-Exupery, my dalawang type ng coffee drinkers, ung “aroma” and “robust”
5.Nakita nyo na ba kong nagsuot ng branded? Hindi pa! Mas masaya pag hindi ka nagcoconform. Mas Malaya. Iwasan nyo muna ang pagpunta sa mga malls dahil diyan ngmumula ang conformity.
6.(In writing) Pag tingin nyo yung naisip nyo ay naisip na ng iba ‘wag nyo na isulat. Umisip pa kayo ng iba na magdidistinguish sa inyo sa iba.
7.Search simple pleasures in small things. Manood kayo CineMalaya. Have coffee with your friends. Magbasa kayo.
8.(Looking sad) Hindi ako nakapunta sa mall tour ni Doraemon nung Saturday. Nagcheck kasi kami ng papel dito. Naiisip ko everytime titingin ako sa clock, ‘andun na un!’, ‘start na!’, ‘nagpapalaro na!’. Ang dami daw freebies!
9.Minsan nalilito na’ko, parang pag hinarap sa’kin si Tobey Maguire at Doraemon (swiftly shifts eyes from imaginary Doraemon to imaginary Tobey Maguire) sino ba pipiliin ko?! (acts desperate) O kaya Wentworth Miller or Doraemon?! Doraemon... Doraemon...
10.Huwag kayo matakot magtanong. Kung hindi nyo alam magtanong kayo.
11.Meron isang painter ang nagsabi na ang pinakamatinding kaaway ng “magaling na tao(forgot the exact term she used again)” ay pag naging conscious siya sa sasabihin ng iba.
12.Lahat ng matinong teacher hangad na malampasan sila ng mga estudyante nila.
13.Gusto namin ni Sir Edward nyo ‘tong batch ninyo, kasi parang lahat kayo hungry for learning. Willing kayo matuto. Tsaka marami kaming nakikitang promising students na pwedeng maging somebody someday. Hindi nyo ba napapansin sinasabi lagi sa inyo ni Sir Edward nyo, ‘Wag kayo magbabago ha…” Sana nga huwag kayo magbago.


These are not her exact words but these are how I have understood everything she had told us. Ma’am___ isn’t just a professor to me. She has become somebody who has touched my life in the most possible way. She changed some of my distorted views about a lot of things. She helped me get out of my box. She might not be aware of it but she pushed me closer to God. I sometimes visit her blog hoping to see a new didactic entry ‘coz you could really learn a lot from her. Her bank of knowledge is like the solar system or the entire galaxy to be exact ‘coz vast information seemed to be spread out accordingly in her head. I remember how she keeps telling me to smile more 'coz I always look serious and that I look better when I smile. Sometimes she would shout, "Oh malungkot ka na naman! Ang aga aga!" I really can't help but laugh. Then gradually I tried to change, tried to smile more. And yes, she actually noticed that I wasn't so serious-looking anymore. Well, can I tell her? That I've learned to smile more because I'm just as lucky as I can be 'cause the world's greatest teacher is teaching me!

I wish all professors have compassion and dedication like her. She’s a true role model to me. I wish everybody could see the beauty beyond the boyish looks and hilarious remarks. I wish she could touch a lot more lives with her teachings and inspiring personality. I wish I could thank her enough in the future. I wish she stays the same. I wish her all the blessing in the world. I have a lot of wishes. But for now, I’ve got one wish that I wish so badly to come true…

I WISH SHE COULD READ THIS AND WHEN SHE FINALLY DOES, I WISH SHE'LL KNOW I’M TALKING ABOUT HER.

Journal Entry (07/17/06 2:32 A.M.)

2:32 A.M. 07/17/06


Subject: Earth Slave
Author: Claudine F. Claudio


The world has turned into an upstart. I remember how my friend Melson Fernando once remarked to me that he consider himself as somebody for whom the world turns. Well not exactly like that, but something to that effect. A quote I have stolen from guidance testing office in Adamson provoked him to say that. Because I told him that I believe, in contrast to his, that I exist for the world. I thought I had the right belief then. I even considered Melson's remark as somewhat bragging. But now, I've learned that what he actually said was right. Why should I revolve for the world when it is literally revolving for me? Why should I conform to its rules when I am a part of God's reason why it is existing?


I can't believe I have turned into an Earth's slave. It is depressing to know that I have worked so hard to prove to everyone that I am worthy. But all this while I was trying to prove it, I'm actually falling into one the Earth's ingenious tricks to trap me into slavery. I feel so dumb. Oh God, whatever happened to me?


/ingenue07

Journal Entry (07/03/06 11.32 p.m.)

7/3/2006 11:32p.m.
Subject: School Pressure
Author: Claudine Claudio

This day is probably one of the most tragic days of my life. I was actually surprised that I didn’t show any sign of depression after I went out of the media center. I was actually all smiles and laughs with my friends and with Lance. I even told him “Aba, hindi ako bad mood ngayon ah… siguro mamaya sa bahay pag wala na akong kausap.” And I turned out right. There are 4 constant words floating around my head since I got out of the media center this afternoon. I AM A FAILURE.

“You’re the worst agency… worst agency… worst agency…”

I can’t stop the involuntary ringing of my professor’s words about our presentation. I want to cry. This is bittersweet torture. Writing my emotions down. Trying to refresh the feeling of rejection over and over again. I feel bitter. And the bitterness is towards the main character of my world. ME. Yes, in objective form. I can’t feel subjective anymore. It’s as if every little opinion I have in my dumb head doesn’t matter anymore because they’re all wrong. All pretending to be right when it’s actually brainless all along. I want to cry. Cry until my eyes run dry. Maybe then I wouldn’t feel anything anymore. But I know I’m wrong. I’ve done that before and it was of no use. There’s too much held back tears kept in my system that I feel it would never run dry. I have a reservoir of tears. Tears I have long ago concealed from the public eye. But now I want to unleash them all from the chains I have forced to them. But I won’t. Because I’m in my parent’s room and I’m supposed to be finishing my Editorial paper.

I AM A FAILURE. I feel disappointed with myself once again. I’m going back to that immature stage where I felt like I can’t do anything right. This semester is becoming such a big pressure on my shoulder. I’ve been doing my best with everything I do. My assignments. My quizzes. My papers. The Defense. I thought everything was working out fine until today happened. I got a 75 and 88 in my film analysis early this morning. That alone would have ruined my day but The Defense had to add up to my misfortunes. “…worst agency. Worst agency…” I want to die. I can’t trust myself anymore. I’m losing confidence. I’m losing hope. I feel like a loser. A person meant to self-destruct.

I can’t write a story. I’m really losing it. I’m becoming unimaginative, uncreative, brainless, shallow-minded, illogical, untalented etc. I feel useless and worthless. Now I’m crying. It does feel nice. But what can it do? It won’t bring me back to my old manic hopeful self. I’m a loser. I know I must not do this. Ma’am Liz taught me never to discourage myself because what you think reflects how you act. But at this moment, these are my present thoughts and I cannot seem to control them.

Maybe I’m really not as good as how I see myself before. I thought I was really good in school. I never doubt that before. But now I definitely do. In the past, I was certain I could be competitive. But now I’m not certain anymore. I don’t want to give up. With my old self, giving up would be my last or perhaps never a resort. But now I feel like resorting to it.

“I thought you’re with God? How can you say so if you are this shallow?”
I can hear somebody reprimanding me. Yes, how dare I lose hope and happiness? Hey, I shouldn’t even be writing this! Isn’t this the place where I actually prayed to be? A place where I can be challenged. A place where I can feel pressure but at the same time enjoy the pleasure of trying to endure it? Haha! Oh my, I’m such an idiot! Hehehehe! This is crazy. Or maybe I’m going crazy. Yes I think so ‘coz now I’m laughing!

/ingenue07

In my melancholic state...

This day has been a very sad day for me. (Yes, I can hear some people saying ‘C’mon, you’re always sad, Claudine!). Last Wednesday, somebody stole 2 of my most favorite books in the world titled “Memoirs of a Geisha” and “Joyluck Club”. It made me really depressed I can hardly talk to anyone at all. Of all things that can be stolen from me, books are the ones that mostly trigger the indignation in me. On my 2-hour trip back to Laguna, I slept all the way hoping that as soon as I wake up the sadness would be gone. But it did not. Then yesterday, I was still feeling gloomy every time I passed by the comfort room where I have forgotten my plastic bag filled with 4 books or every time I enter the media center. I thought it was normal since those 2 books really mean so much to me. I woke up this morning expecting to be back to my old self again. I thought I was because I’ve been trying to look for the bright side again thinking “at least other people could read the magnificence of Golden and Tan’s novels”. But in the media center, the sullen air went over me again. Surprisingly, I wasn’t thinking of the books anymore. By the end of my Film Appreciation class, my classmate remarked, “Claudine, bakit malungkot ka? Ang sad sad ng face mo…” In my mild horror, my favorite professor asked, “Sino?” “Si Claudine po…”

I tried to walk towards the exit with my back on them then I heard my professor’s comment which really broke my heart. “Si Claudine, eh lagi naman malungkot yan eh! Gagawan ko na nga yan ng drama (unfortunately I was unable to make out the words). I was at the door when I heard my professor’s comment so I looked back at her and tried as hard as I could to give out a wide smile as if saying “that’s not true!” when deep inside I long to go back to her and say, “Ma’am, I need help.”

I spent this day trying to figure out what’s wrong with me. I’ve been experiencing alternating mild depressions over small things these past few months. This isn’t me. I know this isn’t me. When I was in Computer Engineering I was never this serious and silent. I’m supposed to be enjoying Mass Communication. And I am! I honestly am! I’ve been dreaming to be here for years! But my emotions are failing what I’m supposed to be feeling. I can’t explain it. I’m thinking maybe it’s because back in Computer Engineering, I was never serious with my studies. I was all after the fun and not the goal to excel. I was usually the loudest in the group or even inside the class. So I was the happy-go-lucky type. But here in Mass Comm. I’m very much concerned with how I’m going to excel in this field. With how I’m going to build a name for myself that will gain the respect of others. In my former course, I don’t need any respectable name in terms of academic achievement ‘coz I was lost in that course. I didn’t care even if nobody took me seriously as a Computer Engineering student ‘coz I, myself, wasn’t serious about being one. What’s puzzling me is that I’m more comfortable with my friends in Engineering more than in Mass Communication. Of course, I’m not saying I don’t enjoy my Mass Comm. friends’ company but I only have few Mass Comm. friends whom I can show the real me. Then I realized that’s because Engineering and Mass Comm. students are two different groups of people. I was also unable to start fresh and build another group of friends because when I shifted to Mass Comm. everybody seemed to belong to one. So most of the time, I still hang out with my engineering friends wherein I don’t need to prove myself.

Still, I wonder why I feel sad and look sad to people. I think my facial expression is one major factor. Many people had told me I should smile more. Honestly, I’m trying real hard. Maybe I’m being hard on myself. I keep thinking about a lot of things that’s why I’ve been smiling less. Sometimes I feel confused with myself. I’m like two different people with my close friends and not-so close friends. I’m all smiles and jokes with my close friends while I’m not-so funny with my not-so close friends.

One other thing that I blame for my apparent depressions these past months is my desperation to write. I haven’t written or finished a story for the past 4 months. Everyone close to me knows how I dream to become a writer. And these past months I’ve been losing the will, the motivation and lastly, the confidence to write the stories I long to see in print. I’m having this ultimate fear that one day I will lose my intense passion for writing. Every time I read my articles written in hand, they don’t seem right to me. They seem too amateurish. My words, too shallow. Too wrong. I’m not the same confident writer I once was. And THIS is what’s bothering me everyday. It even came to a time when I felt resentment towards my purple journal and black leather notebook every time I see them. All because I CAN’T WRITE. I’m really afraid. Really really afraid.

I remember how my friends in engineering accuse me of having MPD. I don’t have one, of course. But I believe we all have other personalities within ourselves. I pray that someday other people can see the real me. I pray that someday I could smile more. I pray that someday I could control my emotions more effectively. I pray that someday I could bring back my trust to my own skills so I could start writing again. But for now, all I can do is pray ‘coz at exactly this moment, just as I am finishing this article, I’m feeling sad again.

/ingenue07

Our Tears - A Short Story

Our Tears
Claudine Claudio




She cried again.

I slapped her mentally and shouted, “Don’t you dare cry! Don’t you dare!”

But the tears poured out like the silent flow of a calm river. The more I forbid her to let out her tears the more stubborn she became. She was crying silently. Her ponytail went loose which brought messy strands of hair sticking wet on her face. She tried to wipe her eyes with the left sleeve of her shirt but as soon as it dried, another silent tear gushed out. Then another one. And another one.

“Oh I’m so sorry!” She cried harder, her face now buried on her palms.

“Stop it.” I said reprimandingly.

“I can’t…”

“Stop it!” I yelled angrily. “Why won’t you stop? Stop it at once or someone will see you!”

At my word, she left her chore and ran hurriedly upstairs to her room. She heard her mother cried out her name but she ignored her. There in her room she sat down on her bed and looked at me through the rectangular mirror of her 10-year old wooden cabinet. After wiping her eyes thoroughly, she stared at me intently for a moment. I waited for her to speak. But she just kept staring at me with that tired expression on her face as if I’m as boring as the color gray. Then at last she let out a big sigh.

“You know what? You suck.”

I was stunned. I didn’t believe I heard her right. “I what?”

“I said you suck. Why won’t you let me cry? Who are you anyway? Why do you keep tailing me? You have no right to tell me when and when not to cry! There’s nothing wrong with crying! I am hurt and I am in pain and all you can say is don’t I dare cry? You’re supposed to be my best friend! And you think by forbidding my tears you’re giving me comfort? No, you’re just pushing me deeper into misery! Why are you doing this? I wish you would just go away!”
My initial reaction faded. I settled my gaze at her red puffy eyes and spoke in a delicate tone.

“You remember those days when you keep disobeying mother and father’s orders? I kept telling you to stop because I don’t want to get hit. I wanted badly to obey them. I wanted to be a good girl. But still you did bad things. Still, you fought with your brother and flunked your exams. So when mother and father had to punish you for your wrongdoings, I had to share your misery too. I was in worse pain than you because I committed none of your mistakes. But I had to suffer because you were so insensitive of me. I couldn’t stop crying because you won’t let me. I was so weak then I could not take over you. So I promised myself not ever to cry in front of anybody. I must cry alone so no one could witness my pain. But I realized I could not do that. You’re in control of this body and crying alone does not matter because no one could see me anyway. How else is my pain? So as years went on, I had to learn to control you. Your tears are mine as well as your pain. I thought you’ve figured that out after all these years. It makes me so sad that you have not.”

“What? What was I supposed to figure out all this years?” She implored curiously.

“That I will do the crying for you... So you’ll be able to stand the pain.”

She sat there in a daze not knowing what to say. As I have already expected, she gave out a sob again. And there in her room she continued her crying.


This time, I was crying with her...


/ingenue07

Memoirs of a Geisha : Book Review

Note: This is an article written for my Desktop project (class magazine).

MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA: BOOK REVIEW

By Claudine Claudio

It was about 2:30 in the morning when I finally got to finish this intriguing novel by Arthur Golden. And the first statement that popped in my head after reading the last pages of Memoirs of a Geisha was, “He (Golden) tricked me!” I would not want to spoil the surprise but since it has nothing to do with the flow of the story (who knows? I might be the only one who sees it as a big deal) I will reveal it anyway. Golden’s novel is purely fictional! (No!!! I still can’t get over it until now.) Initially, you would assume that the novel is an autobiography because there’s a space described as the “Translator’s Note” before the first chapter of the novel. The “translator” named Jakob Haarhuis shared his own personal encounter with the old Nitta Sayuri in New York. He mentioned how Sayuri transformed her penthouse in Waldorf-Astoria into a teahouse, her excuse why she didn’t want to write her story herself, his intimate description of her alluring voice, how he still plays his recorder to hear her speak to him and of course, how could I forget that poignant final statement of how he still could not believe that she’s gone?

Anyway, enough about my personal bitterness towards Golden. I just feel betrayed. The novel is a typical rags-to-riches kind of story. But what’s wonderful about this book is that it opens up divergent ways to perceive Japan’s “moving work of art”, geishas. Its message actually falls upon the conversion of our pre-conceived notions about geishas from prostitutes to artists. This novel unlocks the fascinating world of geishas in early Japan where endless dancing, conversation, tea-serving and shamisen playing are considered as great art. The wearing of kimonos was given a great deal of emphasis too as if it was a sacred and artistic ritual (which, I believe, in their time was). But the novel itself is a great work of art. Golden was very metaphorical and the humor within is a plus. He created the kinds of characters who mark not only the mind but also the hearts of its readers. The names, Sayuri, Mameha and Hatsumomo will be encrypted in your head for quite some time. And he’s fond of using analogies to compare feelings and situations which give the readers the power to adapt the scenes in their imaginations effectively. If you start reading this book trusting Haarhuis note that Sayuri truly existed, you would find it rather unusual for an old woman to remember much of her childhood. It wasn’t mentioned that Chiyo (birth name of Sayuri) kept a diary in her time so the vivid detailing of her childhood was quite mind-boggling. Despite these personal queries of mine, I must admit that I enjoyed every leaf of this novel. Especially, the Mameha/Sayuri-Hatsumomo/Pumpkin teahouse encounters. It is fast-paced and it lacks the quality of a boring novel.

Memoirs of a Geisha is the kind of novel that has its own way of marking itself to the readers’ hearts. It is a novel you won’t soon forget and discard after a long time. Being simple and at the same time spectacular, it is worth the effort, time and price.

/ingenue07

A Valentine Story...

Whoever said that Valentine’s Day is only specially meant for couples? Those people are ought to be massacred. Slashed and stabbed to death. Slaughtered. Now, that’s too morbid. Wait, this is supposed to be an inspirational article! What’s with the macabre statements? Anyway, before I end up giving account of the gory details of how to kill people why don’t I just tell you my story? A story that will remind you that, it is indeed God, who molds up our love story. Here is how it goes…

A Valentine Story
Claudine Claudio

I was never the kind of girl who panics when I haven’t received a date invitation from a guy before the 14th of February or what the romantics usually call, “The Love Month”. I kept thinking, “So what? I’ve lived well enough not having a single date on the 14th for the last 16 years. And besides God knows when it’s time.” Yes, this was my defense almost 3 years ago before I went to college and before guys seemed to be suddenly “seeing” and “noticing” me. Since I entered college and distinguished other worlds aside from San Pedro, Laguna and met people other than Liceans, I became more of a world-conscious human being - always thinking of what other people would say and always wanting to prove something. I was always out with someone on Valentine’s Day for the last 3 years. But this year, February 14 came a little too suddenly. My love life was hastily dropping to zero. It was eight days before the 14th and nobody has invited me yet! I was in a silent panic. Then a couple of guys asked me out 3 days before. I wanted to say yes to anyone of them just in case no one else would ask me out. But I did not. I told them both I’ll think about it. I’ve got three reasons for letting them wait. First, I hardly know them. Second, I was trying to collect date invitations so I could choose later whom I like most on the night before the 14th. Lastly, and the most sensible reason I had; I was waiting for a particular guy to ask me out. The first may seem too shallow for a reason. The second may seem too unkind. But when you are madly in love with a guy who considers you only as his best friend and might never even think about you on Valentine’s Day, you’d rather spend the day with someone who thinks of you as somebody special than make your day miserable by wondering if he’s out with someone else. My goal on Valentine’s Day: Have a date, forget about him and make the day happily remarkable and extraordinary.

February 13 Monday night, I prayed to God. No, it’s more like talking than praying. I asked Him to make tomorrow a happily remarkable day. A day I would never forget and filled with love. And I promised Him that I would try my best to be a good girl. I approved one of the 2 invitations I had received 3 days before. We agreed to meet at 3 p.m. in a mall near my university. Before going to sleep, I sent greetings of love through SMS to all of my friends. The next day, my most awaited greeting from my best friend woke me up. I usually go back to sleep on my first “wake up” call but seeing his name on my inbox hauled the sleepiness out of my system. He asked me if I have a date. I lied and said I have none wishing he would ask me out. I didn’t want to ask him the same question because I was afraid of what his answer might be. But I asked him anyway just to have peace of mind. I was utterly relieved when he said he’s on a duty and could not afford to go. I know it was mean but I can’t help but feel glad that he’s not going out with anyone that day. The conversation ended with me wishing him a good day. I left home greeting my parents a Happy Valentine’s Day and kissed them. As usual, my father sent me off with a sarcastic remark about how I would waste my day and money with a guy on a date. I never really appreciated his irritating jokes so I left home with a puckered brow once again.

At around 12:30 while my only class for the day was boring me to death, I was shocked to receive a message from my best friend inviting me to come with him on a group date after his work at 7 p.m. on the same mall where I would be having my first date for the day. At first I thought he was actually asking me out! But he later clarified on his next message that he wants to pair me with one of his friends. I was initially outraged. I wanted to squeeze myself into my cell phone to his so I could give him a fist and a big “No!” But the intense longing to spend time with him on Valentine’s Day made me say yes. I know it was a naughty decision. I would be having two dates in one day with two different guys! But then I asked myself, “I thought you want this day to be extraordinary?” As soon as I exited the class room, I received an SMS from my mother informing me that she was alone in the mall near the university waiting for my father and asking me to accompany her until he returns. I had a date but I decided to accompany her until 3 p.m. because it would not be good in God’s eyes if I lie to Mama and leave her strolling in the mall alone not knowing where to go (I promised that I’d be a good girl, remember?). I was really that determined to make the day really wonderful. In the mall, Mama treated me lunch in my favorite pizza parlor and asked me if I could stay with her until 5 o’ clock. She said my father was taking care of his papers in his agency and would not be back until 5. At first I hesitated to do what I think was the right thing but when I pondered about what’s more important, I cancelled my first date, apologized and explained to him the reason. He was very understanding so I did not feel very guilty.

After pigging out 4 pizzas (I’m really a pizza addict), Mama asked me to help her choose a black bag pack for my father. While we were strolling around the department store, I confessed to Mama that I would be having a date later at 7 o’ clock. It was the first time in years that I have asked her permission to go out with a guy. I’m not used to disclosing my romantic affairs to Mama but that day I have a strange desire to reach out to her. I’m not sure, maybe because we seldom spend time alone together to talk about girl things. I told her that the guy really means a lot to me and I would really love to go. I could see amazement in her eyes when she turned to me and announced that she would love to allow me if only my father would not be leaving tomorrow for Europe. She said it was the reason why she went all the way from Laguna to Manila so she could accompany him in attending a briefing in his agency. She told me that they both planned that after his briefing they would surprise us with a family date in Harbor View, Roxas Boulevard. Upon hearing this, I had this intense urge to shout a big “No!” I’ve been savoring the feeling of being wanted for having more than one date invitation on the 14th. Not all girls can have that pleasure of feeling so beautiful! I have cancelled my first date but it wasn’t that tough to handle because that guy was not really important to me. And now I’m about to lose my date with my best friend’s friend which I’ve been imagining as ours all along! So I stayed with her while waiting for my younger brother, his girlfriend, and my 2 cousins who accompanied my 7-year old sister from school to Manila. I sent an explanation and apology to my best friend through SMS. I received a one-word response “ok…” Knowing him, I knew he was disappointed. After this, my mood worsened. I wandered with Mama in the mall envying every woman with flowers in their hand. I couldn’t help but wish I was in their place. I wanted to ignore every couple I came across with. But that would mean walking with my eyes closed because almost everybody has their partners. I felt as if my parents were ruining my Valentine’s Day. It was supposed to be my day! My romantic day! Not my family day! At 5:30 p.m., my father arrived. He would not stop mocking me and sardonically questioning me why no one has invited me to date. I felt so miserable at that moment that I took his joke seriously. Again, my repressed hatred for my father surfaced. I began remembering his past mistakes, flaws and faults. My parents ordered me to sit on a steel bench somewhere in the 3rd floor while they search for a bag leaving me alone there with a heavy heart. I felt a tremendous urge to shout as loud as I can. I may seem too shallow but I felt like crying. I know it was wrong for me to feel that way. It was very childish and immature of me. Then I remembered my prayer to God. I tried so hard not to question His plan for me. But I thought, “It was just a simple request. I tried to do the right things all day. I just want today to be happy. Why won’t You let me? Don’t I deserve it?”

Those 30 minutes of waiting in that insipid bench in front of a flower stall (which I, at first, thought as God’s way of taunting me because I questioned Him), gave me a chance to ponder on how small-minded and stupid I had become. I spent about 15 minutes just staring blankly ahead of me (which was the irritating flower stall!) feeling like I was the most miserable person in the mall. Then I caught a glimpse of a family with an infant passed by me. Behind them was a teenage couple who seemed to be glued together because they won’t let go of each other. The family and the couple looked equally happy to me. Then in the midst of my observation, came the most sensible thing I’ve done all day. I found myself smiling at the family and the couple suddenly came out of the picture.
What was I thinking? If there’s a love worth honoring on Valentine’s Day, that would certainly be your parents’ love for you! Where were the lessons I’ve learned from my great professors, numerous prayer meetings and inspirational books? I was such an idiot to allow myself to be filmed by the world’s nonsense demands and stupidities. I tried to envisage myself in someone else’s point of view. I was surprised to find myself searching for any familiarity left from the unreasonable girl sitting in that gray steel bench. I wanted to bang her head in that stupid steel bench as many times as I could until I have awakened the once matured and understanding girl inside her. Fortunately this was fulfilled when I caught sight of my parents walking towards me with Mama holding a rose in her hand and two on my father’s. There were huge smiles on their faces when they reached me. And those smiles broke into laughter when my father handed over one of his roses to me, knelt down as if he was praying and joked, “’Diba luluhod pa? Ganito ba?” I couldn’t stop laughing out loud at his gag. It may seem corny but I sensed a tear about to slip from my left eye so I abruptly wiped it with my handkerchief. The moment felt so wonderful not only because it was the first time my father gave me a flower but also because in that moment, I felt his love enveloping me. I don’t usually give affectionate gestures but I was so touched that I gave both my parents a kiss on the cheek. Then my cousins and little sister came to whom Papa had given his last rose. At 8:30 we met up with my brother and his girlfriend in Harbor View Restaurant.

It was indeed a happily remarkable, extraordinary and love-filled day. We had a great time at dinner which ended at 10:30 in the evening. My family had problems like every other normal families. My father might have committed the biggest mistakes in the past and I admit that I never took them lightly. But that day, my deep-rooted resentment towards him started to float up from my system as little bubbles from a cola gradually surfaces to pop. I felt an immense sadness to realize that this would be my last dinner with my father this year. These last 4 years had been very difficult for my family to cope with. But that 14th night of the Love Month, I know in my heart that my father has changed. Now whoever says Valentine’s Day is made only for lovers? I ought to commit suicide if I’ve been too blinded to realize it. Valentine’s Day is meant for everyone who not only loves but loves deeply. Nobody loves you more profoundly than your family. My Valentine’s Day may not have included romantic dates with guys. It was not the kind of day I’ve prayed for. It wasn’t even the kind of day I dream as ideal! But I would never ever trade that day for anything in the world. It was the day I figured out that my Papa came back.


Well, this would have been the end of my multifaceted Valentine story if only my best friend did not send me an SMS at exactly 11:45 in the evening. This was his message (exactly written this way, preserved in my phone’s memory forever or maybe not) “Pare, wla nman tlga ko ippakiLa2 sau knna eh. d8 tau minsan ah. Ung tau lng. Gudnyt pare koh. Swtdrims.Ü”

Hmmm… I really wonder what God has in store for my love story. 

/ingenue07

Avril and Britney Live!

Haha of course this poster is a phony! But still I am proud of it because it's the first concert poster I've ever designed! Though, I only made it as a requirement for our midterm in Desktop Lab. Originally, I wanted to create an Avril Lavigne-Green Day back to back concert poster because I'm a fan of both. But an idea about contradiction came up to me suggesting that I use two contrasting artists for my poster. And so I came up with Av and Brit! Anyway, I just want to post it here so I could show it off! Heheheh! God bless y'all!

World War 3...

Fighting.

Fighting.

Fighting.


The word seems to send sporadic twinges in my system. My head is aching. The beating of my heart is accelerating. My temper is seething. My fist are clenching. My teeth are gritting. And I'm starting to have the burning urge to shout "SHUT UP!"

This is how I feel when I hear people fighting. I find it strange too. But my entire system seems to be aggravated when people are quarrelling in front of me. I'm not talking here about small arguments. Arguments for me are mere debates; an activity for people to exercise their reasoning. It is huge fights that involve physical pain and curses that pisses me off.

Fighting is inevitable, of course. Writing this article will not make people stop fighting but I would just like to express some of my thoughts at this moment because I had just witnessed one of the worst World War 3s in my life. As usual, I served as the mediator, a role which I've always hated playing in my life especially when people I love most are on each sides. But I'm afraid I'm starting to get used to it. I have a stupid (if not noble) habit of not choosing sides (in terms of fights) even if my views match one side.

As a college student studying communication, I think the reason they are fighting is miscommunication (No, I guess even if I'm not a Communication Arts' student I would have concluded the same). They recklessly throw words at each other without thinking! And I hate it when they seem to be insensitive of each other's feelings. How I wish they use their control! I wish they could see us trying so hard not to listen to their harsh accusations and senseless reasons! I wish I could cover my little sister's ears so I don't have to see that sad eyes staring blankly at her plate. I wish they would think first. Most of all, I wish they would stop.

Sometimes I have this wild dream to bring Ma'am Lizelle, Sir James and Ma'am Jen home so they could educate them. So they could teach them how to lower their pride. So they could learn how to communicate well without shouting. So they would know how difficult it is for us love them without hating them at times. Or maybe simply because I just want them to know.