published 1 Dec 2008, MST
Blurb: Partnership is the operative word.
Last week, I wrote about the basic concepts pertaining to the fight against money laundering in the Philippine setting. I referred to provisions of the law and lifted some items from the October 2008 accomplishment report of the secretariat of the Anti-Money Laundering Council. We learned that since the council's creation in 2001, there have been more than 130 million reports of covered transactions (these include all banking transactions that exceed P500,000 in one banking day) and 22,609 reports of suspicious transactions. We also discovered that the number of reports of suspicious transactions has increased, from an average of 22 per month in 2002 to 434 in 2008.
I also quoted the executive director of the secretariat, Atty. Vicente Aquino, as saying that taxpayers' money is “well and wisely spent” in the upkeep of his agency. Let's find out more, and then gauge whether it is reasonable to take comfort in these words
**
Upon establishment of probable cause, the council can seek the freezing of monetary instruments or properties, without notice to the other party, before the Court of Appeals. The CA then issues a freeze order on said assets, which will be good for 20 days. Cumulatively, P1.4 billion worth of assets have been frozen by the court.
Presently, there are 13 pending applications for freezing and another 3 for extension of the freeze order. The CA can grant extensions to the freeze order for another 6 months. During this time, the council, through the secretariat, is expected to file with the courts an action for civil forfeiture. This is an effort to recover the money from the frozen accounts (mother account and the web of accounts that branch out from the mother account) without first securing the arrest of the money launderer.
Aquino explains that the crime of money laundering is distinct from the predicate crimes (we enumerated these last week) because of their different elements. He says that while most law enforcers are bound to go after the criminal, his office is more concerned with immobilizing that criminal by seizing his funds. The work is three-fourths done then, he explains, because without the money, the launderer cannot flee, or hire the best lawyers to defend him, or even bribe officials who could influence the outcome of his prosecution.
After civil forfeiture, the money is returned to the victims – to the families who paid ransom, for instance, or to investors who have been tricked. To date, P965 million have been unfrozen and returned.
One of the items on display in Aquino’s office is an odd-looking head accessory. “It's a bobby hat,” he explains. “It was given to us by the UK government in 2004, when we helped repatriate $750 thousand in dirty money to the authorities.” In 2005, another $118,376 was repatriated to the United States in 2005. The council also assisted the Northern Ireland Police in investigating a terrorist financing case against a Filipino national in 2004.
“Partnership,” Aquino says, is an operative word in the council. The secretariat can make requests for assistance from domestic agencies like the National Bureau of Investigation, Philippine National Police, Office of the Ombudsman, Department of Social Welfare and Development (some use humanitarian and charitable fronts for their sleazy deeds) and trial courts. It can also go the other way around. Since the council's creation in late 2001, it has received 296 requests from these domestic partner agencies; on the other hand, it has made 1,583 requests to these organizations.
Likewise, there is international cooperation in the fight against money laundering. The council has received 315 requests for assistance from foreign jurisdictions. Conversely, it has made 174 requests from the international community. The Philippines is also a member of the Egmont group, Aquino says, which is a group of 108 countries exchanging financial intelligence information, noting fund movements and other developments (not necessarily prosecuting all of them – yet) in their jurisdictions 24/7.
There used to be a time when the Philippines was in the black list of the Financial Action Task Force, the inter-governmental body tasked to combat money laundering and terrorist financing, and our removal from that “dirty” list in February 2005, was cause for celebration. The Paris-based agency required that a law be in place, that there be an agency or institution to implement the law and discharge operations, and that these efforts be effective. Ultimately, it's the results that matter.
“Effective,” of course, is always relative. A country's performance can be evaluated by comparing it to other countries' progress. Or the number of cases prosecuted, much less resolved, in its own jurisdiction, versus the actual number of reports received. Or the amount of money classified as dirty, frozen and seized. Or the prominence of the personalities hauled off to justice. Or mere perception of the people, based on the attention given my media to efforts, or results, if any, delivered by that agency.
How does the Philippine AMLC fare in all these? Is the title of this column, “No haven for launderers,” more a statement of fact or an articulation of an aspiration?
To be concluded next week.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Boundaries
My Closet Space
My Bed and Working Table. I'm effecting a Spartan look.
Our bear dividers
Bea's side of the room
Some work in the house perks me up these days.
I've started putting the upstairs bedrooms in order. Being all bunched up together in the living room at night, me and the kids, is nice and cozy but may not be healthy. As I mentioned in a previous blog entry, individual space is important.
I did away with the double bed in the master bedroom, which is ideally shared by Bea (14), Sophie (8) and myself. I swapped it with the single bed in the smaller, boys' room. I heaved and pushed the furniture around to maximize efficiency and the air flow from the large windows, which I like very much.
But Bea has some ideas of her own, too.
So what usually happens is that the layout of the room changes at least twice in any given week. Since she's in school during the day, I fix the room however way I want. She does the same in the afternoon towards the evening, when she's home and I'm in the office. We are always able to surprise each other because of this, and sometimes not so pleasantly.
I had earlier on proposed dividers, but she feigned offense at this one. Hmmm, ayaw mo akong kasama, she said. I hastened to add that it was not true, but that we had to be responsible for our own territories, however little they may be.
But things came to a head the other weekend and so when I arranged the fixtures in a your-space-my-space manner, there were no objections anymore. This weekend, in fact, Bea and I had fun buying cute dividers -- together.
I suppose there would be no more layout changes anytime soon. (But the contest on the neater section is always ongoing, haha.) Anyhow, our divider is not at all opaque. It's just a series of vertically chain-linked bears, hanging from two hooks on the ceiling, that spans less than half of the height of our room.
Of course, we remain within whispering distance of each other. Home just got homier.
Friday, November 28, 2008
Priority Check
I'm re-reading M. Scott Peck's The Road Less Travelled. I first read it fifteen years ago, when I was pregnant with Bea and I had this idea of ensuring my child's well-being by giving her psychological and spiritual input right there in the womb.
I suppose experience provides good company to theory. I'm enjoying the book again. And maybe re-reading may not be too accurate a term, because I find I am now having insights I never had before. So it does feel like I am reading the book for the first time.
For instance, that the ability to delay gratification is the hallmark of discipline, which is defined as "scheduling life's pains and pleasures," sounds a lot more true now that I am "all grown up" than when I was seventeen.
I am reminded that the opposite of love is not hate, nor apathy, but laziness.
Peck says there are two kinds of power. There is political power, the ability to coerce others to do what you want them to do. This kind usually comes attached to a position or stature. And sadly, this is the kind of power many people aspire for -- which is why the world is a mess and why many people fall over one another in its pursuit.
And then there is spiritual power. This kind is attained through discipline. It is doing as you must. It is intrinsic; you may be the poorest person, belonging to the most marginalized group, but if you have spiritual power, you become radiant, nonetheless. And you have attained your fullest state.
Of course it's a constant journey towards this end; after all, nobody's perfect.
As I am imperfect.
Today my Peck readings were reinforced by practical experience. It's a Friday, a payday at that, and I had earlier planned on not showing up at the office because I had advanced most of the work last night. In fact I lugged my laptop along because I envisioned that I could make this The Perfect Day -- time for some special people in the morning, a nice lunch, ice cream, time to do the writing I don't HAVE to do, and then maybe I can look at a pair of shoes or a nice blouse to reward myself for working so hard -- doing as I must -- all week long.
But then the rains came, as did some unknown emergencies. Now I'm here at the office, at my good old desk (I'm done, though, and I'll be leaving as soon as I finish this blog).
And I realize I was almost a fool. Fool for deviating from my priorities and fool for expecting others would deviate from theirs, for me. For the love of me.
Maybe Peck will forgive me. I've recovered from the blow of that painful realization. It amazes me that the truest, clearest things are those most basic.
It's simple, really. If you do the right thing, you'll never go wrong. How's that for a New Year's Resolution?
I suppose experience provides good company to theory. I'm enjoying the book again. And maybe re-reading may not be too accurate a term, because I find I am now having insights I never had before. So it does feel like I am reading the book for the first time.
For instance, that the ability to delay gratification is the hallmark of discipline, which is defined as "scheduling life's pains and pleasures," sounds a lot more true now that I am "all grown up" than when I was seventeen.
I am reminded that the opposite of love is not hate, nor apathy, but laziness.
Peck says there are two kinds of power. There is political power, the ability to coerce others to do what you want them to do. This kind usually comes attached to a position or stature. And sadly, this is the kind of power many people aspire for -- which is why the world is a mess and why many people fall over one another in its pursuit.
And then there is spiritual power. This kind is attained through discipline. It is doing as you must. It is intrinsic; you may be the poorest person, belonging to the most marginalized group, but if you have spiritual power, you become radiant, nonetheless. And you have attained your fullest state.
Of course it's a constant journey towards this end; after all, nobody's perfect.
As I am imperfect.
Today my Peck readings were reinforced by practical experience. It's a Friday, a payday at that, and I had earlier planned on not showing up at the office because I had advanced most of the work last night. In fact I lugged my laptop along because I envisioned that I could make this The Perfect Day -- time for some special people in the morning, a nice lunch, ice cream, time to do the writing I don't HAVE to do, and then maybe I can look at a pair of shoes or a nice blouse to reward myself for working so hard -- doing as I must -- all week long.
But then the rains came, as did some unknown emergencies. Now I'm here at the office, at my good old desk (I'm done, though, and I'll be leaving as soon as I finish this blog).
And I realize I was almost a fool. Fool for deviating from my priorities and fool for expecting others would deviate from theirs, for me. For the love of me.
Maybe Peck will forgive me. I've recovered from the blow of that painful realization. It amazes me that the truest, clearest things are those most basic.
It's simple, really. If you do the right thing, you'll never go wrong. How's that for a New Year's Resolution?
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
No haven for launderers (Part 1)
published 24 Nov 2008, MST
It’s a long and winding path to the office of the secretariat of the Anti-Money Laundering Council at the premises of the Bangko Sentral in Manila. After hurdling security checks at the ground floor, one has to take the elevator, alight at the third floor, look for the bridgeway, make ninety-degree turns three times, enter yet another building, ascend another two floors, and then look for the sign that tells you where it is. The main door of the secretariat reveals... a couch. Visitors are made to wait there for a while. There is yet another door that can be activated only by employees’ security cards. There are layers of glass.
This is home to the 63 lawyers, certified public accountants, information technology analysts and administrative support staff who make up the secretariat of the country’s financial intelligence institution. Their boss, lawyer Vicente Aquino, who has been executive director since 2001 (he reports to the council composed of the Bangko Sentral governor as chairman and the Securities and Exchange Commission chairman and Insurance commissioner as members), says the physical environment is indicative of the risks—physical and otherwise—the secretariat constantly faces. Death threats are common fare. They also run the risk of being sued for simply doing their jobs.
Nonetheless, the secretariat goes about its business, deliberately keeping a low profile and refusing to be a party to the highly politicized fanfare that normally goes with probes of money from questionable sources. Aquino wants to assure the public that the agency is doing its job, even as it shies away from the limelight. “It’s taxpayers’ money well and wisely spent,” he claims.
But the fight against money laundering remains tortuous.
The work starts upon the secretariat’s receipt of reports of covered and suspicious transactions from its covered institutions— namely banks and all other institutions supervised and regulated by the Bangko Sentral, insurance companies and other institutions supervised or regulated by the Insurance Commission and securities dealers, pre-need companies, foreign exchange corporations and other entities supervised or regulated by the Securities and Exchange Commission.
Covered transactions refer to single transactions in cash or other equivalent monetary instrument involving a total amount in excess of P500,000 within one banking day. This amount had been lowered to the present from the P4 million when the Anti-Money Laundering Act was passed in 2001.
On the other hand, suspicious transactions are transactions with covered institutions, regardless of the amount involved, where any of the following circumstances exist: there is no underlying legal or trade obligation, purpose or economic justification; the client is not properly identified; the amount involved is not commensurate with the business or financial capacity of the client; the transaction is structured to avoid being the subject of reporting requirements under the Anti-Money Laundering Law; there is a deviation from the client’s profile or past transactions; the transaction is related to an unlawful activity or offense to the AMLA; and other transactions similar or analogous to the above.
An unlawful activity, known as the predicate crime, is the offense which generates dirty money. Thus far, there are 14 on the list: kidnapping for ransom, drug trafficking and related offenses, graft and corrupt practices, plunder, robbery and extortion, jueteng and masiao, piracy, qualified theft, swindling, smuggling, violations of the electronic commerce law, hijacking, destructive arson and murder, including those perpetrated by terrorists against non-combatant persons and similar targets.
Other offenses under the law are failure to keep records (on the part of the covered institutions), malicious reporting, and breach of confidentiality (after a report has been made).
Aside from covered institutions, the secretariat is also alerted by requests from other law enforcement agencies (domestic or foreign) and reports coming out in the media or filed by concerned individuals.
According to its accomplishment report of October 2008, there have been 130,773,762 reports of covered transactions and 22,609 reports of suspicious transactions since the creation of the council after the law was passed in 2001. On a monthly average, the number of suspicious transactions reported have increased from 11 in 2002, 18 in 2003, 46 in 2004, 87 in 2005, 381 in 2006, 329 in 2007 to 434 in 2008.
There have been 11,395 investigations triggered by these reports of suspicious transactions.
Based on these reports, the council determines whether probable cause (that funds are related to unlawful activity) exists. Probable cause, of course, serves as the common basis for account inquiry, asset freeze, asset preservation, civil forfeiture and money laundering or terrorist financing offenses.
In the beginning, the council had to secure a court order to look into subject bank accounts or transactions. This greatly hampered the work because the release of the order took time. The criminals were thus given the time and the opportunity to take out their funds, beating the council. By the time the inquiries were made, the money was already gone.
Now, a court order is no longer necessary in cases involving kidnapping for ransom, narcotics offenses, and hijacking, destructive arson and murder, including those perpetrated by terrorists against non-combatant persons and similar targets.
More on asset freezing, civil forfeiture, inter-agency efforts, international cooperation—and the executive director’s thoughts next week.
adelle_tulagan@yahoo.com
It’s a long and winding path to the office of the secretariat of the Anti-Money Laundering Council at the premises of the Bangko Sentral in Manila. After hurdling security checks at the ground floor, one has to take the elevator, alight at the third floor, look for the bridgeway, make ninety-degree turns three times, enter yet another building, ascend another two floors, and then look for the sign that tells you where it is. The main door of the secretariat reveals... a couch. Visitors are made to wait there for a while. There is yet another door that can be activated only by employees’ security cards. There are layers of glass.
This is home to the 63 lawyers, certified public accountants, information technology analysts and administrative support staff who make up the secretariat of the country’s financial intelligence institution. Their boss, lawyer Vicente Aquino, who has been executive director since 2001 (he reports to the council composed of the Bangko Sentral governor as chairman and the Securities and Exchange Commission chairman and Insurance commissioner as members), says the physical environment is indicative of the risks—physical and otherwise—the secretariat constantly faces. Death threats are common fare. They also run the risk of being sued for simply doing their jobs.
Nonetheless, the secretariat goes about its business, deliberately keeping a low profile and refusing to be a party to the highly politicized fanfare that normally goes with probes of money from questionable sources. Aquino wants to assure the public that the agency is doing its job, even as it shies away from the limelight. “It’s taxpayers’ money well and wisely spent,” he claims.
But the fight against money laundering remains tortuous.
The work starts upon the secretariat’s receipt of reports of covered and suspicious transactions from its covered institutions— namely banks and all other institutions supervised and regulated by the Bangko Sentral, insurance companies and other institutions supervised or regulated by the Insurance Commission and securities dealers, pre-need companies, foreign exchange corporations and other entities supervised or regulated by the Securities and Exchange Commission.
Covered transactions refer to single transactions in cash or other equivalent monetary instrument involving a total amount in excess of P500,000 within one banking day. This amount had been lowered to the present from the P4 million when the Anti-Money Laundering Act was passed in 2001.
On the other hand, suspicious transactions are transactions with covered institutions, regardless of the amount involved, where any of the following circumstances exist: there is no underlying legal or trade obligation, purpose or economic justification; the client is not properly identified; the amount involved is not commensurate with the business or financial capacity of the client; the transaction is structured to avoid being the subject of reporting requirements under the Anti-Money Laundering Law; there is a deviation from the client’s profile or past transactions; the transaction is related to an unlawful activity or offense to the AMLA; and other transactions similar or analogous to the above.
An unlawful activity, known as the predicate crime, is the offense which generates dirty money. Thus far, there are 14 on the list: kidnapping for ransom, drug trafficking and related offenses, graft and corrupt practices, plunder, robbery and extortion, jueteng and masiao, piracy, qualified theft, swindling, smuggling, violations of the electronic commerce law, hijacking, destructive arson and murder, including those perpetrated by terrorists against non-combatant persons and similar targets.
Other offenses under the law are failure to keep records (on the part of the covered institutions), malicious reporting, and breach of confidentiality (after a report has been made).
Aside from covered institutions, the secretariat is also alerted by requests from other law enforcement agencies (domestic or foreign) and reports coming out in the media or filed by concerned individuals.
According to its accomplishment report of October 2008, there have been 130,773,762 reports of covered transactions and 22,609 reports of suspicious transactions since the creation of the council after the law was passed in 2001. On a monthly average, the number of suspicious transactions reported have increased from 11 in 2002, 18 in 2003, 46 in 2004, 87 in 2005, 381 in 2006, 329 in 2007 to 434 in 2008.
There have been 11,395 investigations triggered by these reports of suspicious transactions.
Based on these reports, the council determines whether probable cause (that funds are related to unlawful activity) exists. Probable cause, of course, serves as the common basis for account inquiry, asset freeze, asset preservation, civil forfeiture and money laundering or terrorist financing offenses.
In the beginning, the council had to secure a court order to look into subject bank accounts or transactions. This greatly hampered the work because the release of the order took time. The criminals were thus given the time and the opportunity to take out their funds, beating the council. By the time the inquiries were made, the money was already gone.
Now, a court order is no longer necessary in cases involving kidnapping for ransom, narcotics offenses, and hijacking, destructive arson and murder, including those perpetrated by terrorists against non-combatant persons and similar targets.
More on asset freezing, civil forfeiture, inter-agency efforts, international cooperation—and the executive director’s thoughts next week.
adelle_tulagan@yahoo.com
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Planning Season
I like this time of the year. It is cold in the mornings, perfect for curling up and snuggling into my pillow especially when it's a weekend and I can get up as late as I want to. Even high noon is not as high, and the breeze reminds me that soon, the holidays will be here. We have even put up a Christmas tree. The lights greet me as I come home from work and traffic every evening.
Moreover, the year is drawing to a close and it is time to take out my planning folder.
No, I don't run a corporation. I just run a household, manage four children (and myself) and in so doing, chase Happy. I'm a single mom, a little girl, a domestic OC, a struggling artist and a woman of the world all at once. Formidable, really.
I have been thinking of ways to make this year's session more conducive, so that my output would be more comprehensive, my action plans more detailed and thorough and measurable. I've considered hopping on a bus to Baguio after work one Friday evening, making the eight-hour trip, and boarding a Manila-bound bus the minute I arrive at the Victory Terminal there. Why, I could be home the following day at noontime. This may sound ludicrous to some, but I'm really just after the road trip. I do my best thinking when I'm in motion. And I wax philosophical beholding landscape. It's good combination, and I'm sure I can accomplish much.
Maybe I'll do that. Maybe not. My weekends have recently been packed, too. If I can't go to Baguio, maybe I'll spend an entire day at my favorite Starbucks -- the one overlooking the harbor, a twenty-minute drive from my office.
Anyway, I've been so hyped about this planning thing that I've actually started, by rummaging through my old files. I've been engaging in these sessions in four of the last five years. In the beginning I tried to do it with a partner, in desperate attempt at tolerable cohabitation, but soon realized it was not something he liked doing together. And now I'm really alone, really in charge. Blissful solitude!
It is nice looking at my old output. I start by listing down my accomplishments under one column and my disappointments under another. Most likely, they are in reference to the previous year's plans. I make a separate little box for long-term plans. Another for core values. But the center of it all is a two-by-seven matrix whereby I list my objectives and detail action items in seven so-called categories. Domestic, mommyhood, career, financial, literary aspirations, physical and spiritual . I can flesh out details best in a one-year time frame; it is just right for me. Anything beyond that goes to my little long-term box. Thus far, I've exceeded my own expectations. Five years, and I've gone quite far.
I'm praying I can stay this deliberate and this willing to find gems in ordinary, even mundane, things. Then imagine what can happen in the next five. And ten. Or twenty.
Moreover, the year is drawing to a close and it is time to take out my planning folder.
No, I don't run a corporation. I just run a household, manage four children (and myself) and in so doing, chase Happy. I'm a single mom, a little girl, a domestic OC, a struggling artist and a woman of the world all at once. Formidable, really.
I have been thinking of ways to make this year's session more conducive, so that my output would be more comprehensive, my action plans more detailed and thorough and measurable. I've considered hopping on a bus to Baguio after work one Friday evening, making the eight-hour trip, and boarding a Manila-bound bus the minute I arrive at the Victory Terminal there. Why, I could be home the following day at noontime. This may sound ludicrous to some, but I'm really just after the road trip. I do my best thinking when I'm in motion. And I wax philosophical beholding landscape. It's good combination, and I'm sure I can accomplish much.
Maybe I'll do that. Maybe not. My weekends have recently been packed, too. If I can't go to Baguio, maybe I'll spend an entire day at my favorite Starbucks -- the one overlooking the harbor, a twenty-minute drive from my office.
Anyway, I've been so hyped about this planning thing that I've actually started, by rummaging through my old files. I've been engaging in these sessions in four of the last five years. In the beginning I tried to do it with a partner, in desperate attempt at tolerable cohabitation, but soon realized it was not something he liked doing together. And now I'm really alone, really in charge. Blissful solitude!
It is nice looking at my old output. I start by listing down my accomplishments under one column and my disappointments under another. Most likely, they are in reference to the previous year's plans. I make a separate little box for long-term plans. Another for core values. But the center of it all is a two-by-seven matrix whereby I list my objectives and detail action items in seven so-called categories. Domestic, mommyhood, career, financial, literary aspirations, physical and spiritual . I can flesh out details best in a one-year time frame; it is just right for me. Anything beyond that goes to my little long-term box. Thus far, I've exceeded my own expectations. Five years, and I've gone quite far.
I'm praying I can stay this deliberate and this willing to find gems in ordinary, even mundane, things. Then imagine what can happen in the next five. And ten. Or twenty.
Monday, November 17, 2008
Road From Perdition
I came across actress Pilar Pilapil's tell-all book on Saturday night, after my spur-of-the-moment dinner adventure with Bea in our favorite Trinoma. We had just finished eating sisig and squid-inked rice at Congo Grille and passed by Powerbooks on our way back to the mall proper. For a moment we paused in front of the bookstore, not sure if we would go in. Entering would be like giving in to temptation; we would be sure to spend the next hour rummaging through titles and might end up spending that bill carefully tucked in the secret corner of our wallets, supposedly a place for “emergency money.” Sometimes the desire to make a book your own feels like an emergency. The feeling passes, but is overpowering when it's there.
There was a mall-wide sale and even though it was already 930 in the evening, there were still a lot of people walking around. We decided to go in. We headed into our respective shelves; I sailed into the Philippine publication section.
I was meaning to check out nonfiction narratives, my home genre, when the actress' picture caught my eye. The title, “Woman Without A Face” elicited even more curiosity, because it was a beautiful face she had. I had heard of that book before, but in th context of show business. Apparently, Ms. Pilapil had may men in her life, one of which was Dolphy, the popular comedian who had just turned 80 a few months back. What I heard being talked about was that she only had good words for the man in her book, even though they did not quite end up together (Dolphy is, after all, known to be fond of too many women).
What I did not know about was that when they were together, she was only 17 while he was in his 40s. That's just one of the many revelations Ms. Pilapil wrote in her book.
She was a beauty queen at age 16, representing the Philippines at the Miss Universe pageant. After this, movie and modeling offers came and she embraced this new world – and all the perks it had to offer Maybe she thought it would help her forget that at age 14, she was abused by her own father. She does not say this outright, but implies it. The subtlety makes the story compelling. Indeed there was a string of love affairs. We only know Ms. Pilapil now as the aging actress, a has-been. But what a life she led.
Central to the book was her long-term relationship with a former vice president, by whom she sired her only daughter, Pia. She met him soon after her break-up with the comedian -- she was not even twenty -- had the baby, and was a kept woman for many years. These, however, did not prevent her from seeking happiness with other men. In fact, she went from man to man in her frustration, knowing they could not be a real family. Plus, he was also seeing other women aside from her. Pilapil had at least two other partners who were violent and possessive of her. She bore all these hoping every time that she has found true love, one who would love her back.
Add these to the pressure of always looking good before the cameras, and Pilapil had a breakdown. She said nasty rumors went around, alluding she was sick because of her promiscuity. In the meantime, her daughter was growing up. Pia ended up falling in love with a blind man, Gerry. Just before Pia's wedding, Pilar asked: "Why are you marrying a blind man who cannot see you?"
"You've had many men, mom," Pia answered, "and they never saw you, either."
I guess that's where the title of the book came from.
In recent years, Pilapil has run for senator, taken to missionary work, and married again -- this time a pastor. She sounds happy, as though she has finally found what she has been looking for. A colorful life, indeed.
The narratives are not long. Each chapter is short and written simply. But I guess the best thing about the book is that Pilapil does not attempt to come clean. She owns up to her mistakes and even as she is now in her fifties, a lola at that, and her beauty is being marred by age, she is much like a teenage girl, hoping her dream of lasting love will come true.
It seems it has. There is, after all, a return ticket from Perdition. May more women find the strength to find their own voices, their own faces.
There was a mall-wide sale and even though it was already 930 in the evening, there were still a lot of people walking around. We decided to go in. We headed into our respective shelves; I sailed into the Philippine publication section.
I was meaning to check out nonfiction narratives, my home genre, when the actress' picture caught my eye. The title, “Woman Without A Face” elicited even more curiosity, because it was a beautiful face she had. I had heard of that book before, but in th context of show business. Apparently, Ms. Pilapil had may men in her life, one of which was Dolphy, the popular comedian who had just turned 80 a few months back. What I heard being talked about was that she only had good words for the man in her book, even though they did not quite end up together (Dolphy is, after all, known to be fond of too many women).
What I did not know about was that when they were together, she was only 17 while he was in his 40s. That's just one of the many revelations Ms. Pilapil wrote in her book.
She was a beauty queen at age 16, representing the Philippines at the Miss Universe pageant. After this, movie and modeling offers came and she embraced this new world – and all the perks it had to offer Maybe she thought it would help her forget that at age 14, she was abused by her own father. She does not say this outright, but implies it. The subtlety makes the story compelling. Indeed there was a string of love affairs. We only know Ms. Pilapil now as the aging actress, a has-been. But what a life she led.
Central to the book was her long-term relationship with a former vice president, by whom she sired her only daughter, Pia. She met him soon after her break-up with the comedian -- she was not even twenty -- had the baby, and was a kept woman for many years. These, however, did not prevent her from seeking happiness with other men. In fact, she went from man to man in her frustration, knowing they could not be a real family. Plus, he was also seeing other women aside from her. Pilapil had at least two other partners who were violent and possessive of her. She bore all these hoping every time that she has found true love, one who would love her back.
Add these to the pressure of always looking good before the cameras, and Pilapil had a breakdown. She said nasty rumors went around, alluding she was sick because of her promiscuity. In the meantime, her daughter was growing up. Pia ended up falling in love with a blind man, Gerry. Just before Pia's wedding, Pilar asked: "Why are you marrying a blind man who cannot see you?"
"You've had many men, mom," Pia answered, "and they never saw you, either."
I guess that's where the title of the book came from.
In recent years, Pilapil has run for senator, taken to missionary work, and married again -- this time a pastor. She sounds happy, as though she has finally found what she has been looking for. A colorful life, indeed.
The narratives are not long. Each chapter is short and written simply. But I guess the best thing about the book is that Pilapil does not attempt to come clean. She owns up to her mistakes and even as she is now in her fifties, a lola at that, and her beauty is being marred by age, she is much like a teenage girl, hoping her dream of lasting love will come true.
It seems it has. There is, after all, a return ticket from Perdition. May more women find the strength to find their own voices, their own faces.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Heart of a Woman
published 17 November 2008,MST
To most of us, the phrase “women's health” may immediately bring to mind conditions pertaining to the female reproductive system. There's pregnancy and childbirth, breast cancer, cervical cancer and other similar afflictions distinct to the female sex.
That's not altogether wrong, either. These concerns do fall under women's health, as delivered quite successfully by the many campaigns advocating safe childbirth and the cure and prevention of certain afflictions.
The Philippine Heart Association's Council on Women's Cardiovascular Health wants to duplicate the success of such awareness campaigns. After all, heart and vascular diseases comprise 18.4 percent and 13.8 percent, respectively, of the cause of female deaths in the country, according to 2004 data of the National Statistics Office. That's killers number 1 and 2 on the list.
While women are less likely to acquire cardio-vascular diseases during their reproductive years because they are protected by estrogen hormones, they become equally susceptible to such diseases after menopause, when the estrogen in their systems becomes depleted. This tendency is aggravated by an unhealthy lifestyle, either out of resistance or ignorance. Hence, among older men and women, cardio-vascular diseases have a near-similar prevalence level. Philippine health statistics show that among deaths caused by cardio-vascular diseases, 50.8 percent occur in men while 49.2 percent occur in women.
So if you think heart disease is essentially a male thing, think again.
In last Friday's media briefing on the launch of Mabuhay Ka, Pusong Pinay, Dr. Milagros Yamamoto, council chairman, narrates an all-too common story of a couple coming to see her to consult about Husband's symptoms. Wife is there as mere companion. As Doctor and Husband discuss the symptoms and possible conditions that may arise from these, Wife realizes she has been feeling something is wrong with her, too. She tells this to Doctor, who encourages her to take some tests so they can work on her as well. But Wife demurs. “Saka na lang ho (some other time),” she says. “Let's focus on my husband first.”
Yamamoto's anecdotes are supported by facts. Up until recently, women have been excluded from lipid-altering tests, which gauge the effectiveness of treatment for cardio-vascular diseases. This means that even though there is an equal number of male and female patients, it is the men who get exposed to testing and treatment first. Yamamoto and the rest of the council (which, by the way, is the brainchild of former PHA president, now Social Welfare and Development Secretary Esperanza Cabral) feels it is time to correct the myths which do nothing but increase risks for wives, mothers and grandmothers out there.
“It is time to close the gap between reality and perception,” she says.
**
Nobody is powerless against cardio-vascular diseases, really. They are preventable, if there is adequate information on both cure and prevention made available to both men and women. But since it appears that women have been second priority in this fight, some catching up needs to be done.
So what does a woman need to do?
“When a woman is pushing 50 or is in the peri-menopausal stage, she should see a doctor for risk assessment and may undergo the following tests: lipid profile (for cholesterol levels), fasting blood sugar, blood pressure monitoring and ECG to rule out cardio-vascular diseases,” says the council's campaign kit. The hand-out offers a checklist, too. It’s called “Am I female, (over) fifty and fat?” Doesn’t quite sound like “thirty, flirty and thriving” from the chick flick “13 going on 30,” to be sure, but it definitely ticks, nonetheless.
And if you're a man reading this, it's best if you suggest this course of action to your mother, grandmother, wife, in-law, colleague, boss, neighbor, friend – any woman you just may happen to care about.
The council has lined up activities for this campaign. At seven in the evening this Thursday, November 20, at the Manila Polo Club, there will be a dinner-cum-entertainment fund-raiser called “Plate it for Women's Sake.”
For details, you may visit the Web site www.philheart.org. The Council's headquarters is located at the 5th Floor of president Tower, 81 Timog Avenue, Quezon City. Contact numbers are 929-1161 and 929-1166.
To most of us, the phrase “women's health” may immediately bring to mind conditions pertaining to the female reproductive system. There's pregnancy and childbirth, breast cancer, cervical cancer and other similar afflictions distinct to the female sex.
That's not altogether wrong, either. These concerns do fall under women's health, as delivered quite successfully by the many campaigns advocating safe childbirth and the cure and prevention of certain afflictions.
The Philippine Heart Association's Council on Women's Cardiovascular Health wants to duplicate the success of such awareness campaigns. After all, heart and vascular diseases comprise 18.4 percent and 13.8 percent, respectively, of the cause of female deaths in the country, according to 2004 data of the National Statistics Office. That's killers number 1 and 2 on the list.
While women are less likely to acquire cardio-vascular diseases during their reproductive years because they are protected by estrogen hormones, they become equally susceptible to such diseases after menopause, when the estrogen in their systems becomes depleted. This tendency is aggravated by an unhealthy lifestyle, either out of resistance or ignorance. Hence, among older men and women, cardio-vascular diseases have a near-similar prevalence level. Philippine health statistics show that among deaths caused by cardio-vascular diseases, 50.8 percent occur in men while 49.2 percent occur in women.
So if you think heart disease is essentially a male thing, think again.
In last Friday's media briefing on the launch of Mabuhay Ka, Pusong Pinay, Dr. Milagros Yamamoto, council chairman, narrates an all-too common story of a couple coming to see her to consult about Husband's symptoms. Wife is there as mere companion. As Doctor and Husband discuss the symptoms and possible conditions that may arise from these, Wife realizes she has been feeling something is wrong with her, too. She tells this to Doctor, who encourages her to take some tests so they can work on her as well. But Wife demurs. “Saka na lang ho (some other time),” she says. “Let's focus on my husband first.”
Yamamoto's anecdotes are supported by facts. Up until recently, women have been excluded from lipid-altering tests, which gauge the effectiveness of treatment for cardio-vascular diseases. This means that even though there is an equal number of male and female patients, it is the men who get exposed to testing and treatment first. Yamamoto and the rest of the council (which, by the way, is the brainchild of former PHA president, now Social Welfare and Development Secretary Esperanza Cabral) feels it is time to correct the myths which do nothing but increase risks for wives, mothers and grandmothers out there.
“It is time to close the gap between reality and perception,” she says.
**
Nobody is powerless against cardio-vascular diseases, really. They are preventable, if there is adequate information on both cure and prevention made available to both men and women. But since it appears that women have been second priority in this fight, some catching up needs to be done.
So what does a woman need to do?
“When a woman is pushing 50 or is in the peri-menopausal stage, she should see a doctor for risk assessment and may undergo the following tests: lipid profile (for cholesterol levels), fasting blood sugar, blood pressure monitoring and ECG to rule out cardio-vascular diseases,” says the council's campaign kit. The hand-out offers a checklist, too. It’s called “Am I female, (over) fifty and fat?” Doesn’t quite sound like “thirty, flirty and thriving” from the chick flick “13 going on 30,” to be sure, but it definitely ticks, nonetheless.
And if you're a man reading this, it's best if you suggest this course of action to your mother, grandmother, wife, in-law, colleague, boss, neighbor, friend – any woman you just may happen to care about.
The council has lined up activities for this campaign. At seven in the evening this Thursday, November 20, at the Manila Polo Club, there will be a dinner-cum-entertainment fund-raiser called “Plate it for Women's Sake.”
For details, you may visit the Web site www.philheart.org. The Council's headquarters is located at the 5th Floor of president Tower, 81 Timog Avenue, Quezon City. Contact numbers are 929-1161 and 929-1166.
Widower's Widow
A friend's father recently passed away. His mother had gone on about eighteen years earlier.
Now my friend says that while he feels drained by all the flurry that comes with managing the logistics of a death in the immediate family (there were cross-provincial travels, exhumation, cremation, and re-acquaintance with a delegation of long-lost relatives) he can at least console himself with the fact that his parents have now been reunited. They have even buried the bodies together.
"Their new life together begins," he tells me in a text message, which I think is creepily contradictory.
Then again, he may just as well be pondering eternal life, that plum prize we Catholics have been taught to work hard for. I am a considerate friend -- he is tired and in mourning, so I do not pester him with questions.
But in fact I do have a lot of questions, addressed to no one in particular. I seem to recall my friend talking about his father's second wife, a much younger woman who has been taking care of him in his advanced age. Granted that that second union was motivated by genuine love, even just fondness, rather than less-than-noble considerations on the part of both parties, I wonder what role the second wife played in the last few days then. It appeared to me the kids took charge of everything. Did she even have front row seats? And when she herself dies, where on earth will she be buried? Most likely, "three's a crowd" also applies to niches and urns.
Or maybe she was only a girlfriend. Apparently these are non-entities in heaven.
I do not intend to ask my friend these things. These are none of my business. But developments have caused me to ponder the merry implications of death and weddings (and deaths again). They may just be my business after all.
In eternal life, are we stuck with our own first choices? Wala nang bawian? Hell, that may not sound so heavenly to some. That's another contradiction there.But if you were not married in religious rites, can you be excused from being with your mate in the afterlife?
I have this book of essays by widows and widowers. The articles are nice and heart-warming, with all that talk about Second Chances. (Separations, after all, are much like death, maybe worse). Most of those who re-married after the death of a spouse say they have been twice blessed for being given the opportunity to commit themselves again to a second partner.
But when they die, will they be buried with their original spouse? What happens to the current spouse? Does heaven have a room for wait-listers of sorts?
And here's where I get involved. Several months ago, I made up my mind that after I obtain the declaration of nullity of my marriage with John, I would prefer to date separated men or widowers only. I was biased against single men, so used to the trappings of living only for themselves and may be emotionally immature, age notwithstanding. Plus, if you are my age, plus or minus five years, and still single, you may either be gay or may have serious behavioral issues. Scary.
On the contrary, a separated man, especially with kids of his own, would appreciate the fact that my kids take priority at this stage. He would also be better inclined to make things work out and resolve differences with me, as a way of picking up from where he failed before. Of course, I have to be certain that the cause of the previous separation was less his fault than the other's.
A widower would be pretty much the same except that nobody wants to compete with a dead person.
But now I am reminded there are burial issues as well. Jesus Christ. It appears my prospects are narrowing.
But hey, all is not lost. I'm currently working on being a better person and an even better mom. I suppose there is sanctuary for singles in heaven. I'll be very happy with that, thank you very much.
Now my friend says that while he feels drained by all the flurry that comes with managing the logistics of a death in the immediate family (there were cross-provincial travels, exhumation, cremation, and re-acquaintance with a delegation of long-lost relatives) he can at least console himself with the fact that his parents have now been reunited. They have even buried the bodies together.
"Their new life together begins," he tells me in a text message, which I think is creepily contradictory.
Then again, he may just as well be pondering eternal life, that plum prize we Catholics have been taught to work hard for. I am a considerate friend -- he is tired and in mourning, so I do not pester him with questions.
But in fact I do have a lot of questions, addressed to no one in particular. I seem to recall my friend talking about his father's second wife, a much younger woman who has been taking care of him in his advanced age. Granted that that second union was motivated by genuine love, even just fondness, rather than less-than-noble considerations on the part of both parties, I wonder what role the second wife played in the last few days then. It appeared to me the kids took charge of everything. Did she even have front row seats? And when she herself dies, where on earth will she be buried? Most likely, "three's a crowd" also applies to niches and urns.
Or maybe she was only a girlfriend. Apparently these are non-entities in heaven.
I do not intend to ask my friend these things. These are none of my business. But developments have caused me to ponder the merry implications of death and weddings (and deaths again). They may just be my business after all.
In eternal life, are we stuck with our own first choices? Wala nang bawian? Hell, that may not sound so heavenly to some. That's another contradiction there.But if you were not married in religious rites, can you be excused from being with your mate in the afterlife?
I have this book of essays by widows and widowers. The articles are nice and heart-warming, with all that talk about Second Chances. (Separations, after all, are much like death, maybe worse). Most of those who re-married after the death of a spouse say they have been twice blessed for being given the opportunity to commit themselves again to a second partner.
But when they die, will they be buried with their original spouse? What happens to the current spouse? Does heaven have a room for wait-listers of sorts?
And here's where I get involved. Several months ago, I made up my mind that after I obtain the declaration of nullity of my marriage with John, I would prefer to date separated men or widowers only. I was biased against single men, so used to the trappings of living only for themselves and may be emotionally immature, age notwithstanding. Plus, if you are my age, plus or minus five years, and still single, you may either be gay or may have serious behavioral issues. Scary.
On the contrary, a separated man, especially with kids of his own, would appreciate the fact that my kids take priority at this stage. He would also be better inclined to make things work out and resolve differences with me, as a way of picking up from where he failed before. Of course, I have to be certain that the cause of the previous separation was less his fault than the other's.
A widower would be pretty much the same except that nobody wants to compete with a dead person.
But now I am reminded there are burial issues as well. Jesus Christ. It appears my prospects are narrowing.
But hey, all is not lost. I'm currently working on being a better person and an even better mom. I suppose there is sanctuary for singles in heaven. I'll be very happy with that, thank you very much.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Clear Book
I had an epiphany in the last 2 days, and I am acting on it now. I have my daughter Bea to thank.
It's really quite her habit of "devolving" to me some of her load at school. I'm always too glad to help her, of course, although I wonder whether kids nowadays should otherwise be more independent in these things. I was, when I was her age. Well it's not as if I had anybody to ask.
Anyway I arrived early on Sunday evening to find her fretting that she did not still have a literary text to review for her Filipino class. It had to be a love story. I suggested a few titles, but they were either novels (too long) or classics (too cumbersome). She had about twelve hours to come up with something. "Mom," she asked, "have you ever written a love story in Tagalog?"
"Hell no," I said. I did not fancy myself a fictionist. But after a while I remembered junior year in high school, sem break,when I was too bored at home and too infatuated with somebody from my school service. Come to think of it, I did have something.
I suspended a nice dinner of garlic rice and tuyo to go over my unencoded manuscripts. I had a lot of papers,and they are sometimes a mess,but I had different envelopes for different kinds of messes. It did not take long for me to find the yellowing twelve-page document on which was typewritten my first short story,"Kuya," written when I was all of fifteen.
She snatched it from my hand and started reading it. I wanted to read it also, to see whether after seventeen years I viewed some things in the same way (probably not). But my hands smelled of the fish; I would have more time to read and encode it later, along with the many other manuscripts I seemed to have just shoved into that dusty manila envelope. I couldn't wait to upload them into this blog.
The following evening, Bea (again) asked if she could have one of my three clear books on which I lovingly compiled clippings of my column. She said the transparent pockets helped her organize her thoughts better. I could not argue because I knew perfectly well what she meant. I liked clear books, too -- I used them in high school and college myself. I told her to make sure that the now-loose leaf columns should be in chronological order. "Wow," she remarked. "You've written a lot."
True, too.
And so today I went to the book store to get a thicker clear file, one that can store a year and a half's worth of weekly articles. As I finished transferring the clippings, the thick book got even thicker. I flipped through the pages. Could I really have said all that? And then I thought of my unprinted, unpublished, even unedited work, the volume of which was bigger than that clear book's. Yup, I did have a lot.
Then it dawned on me that one day I could have the opportunity to really put them together -- and have the satisfaction of seeing the compilation on shelves and racks of stores, and knowing that I am able to reach out to yet more people.
It's really quite her habit of "devolving" to me some of her load at school. I'm always too glad to help her, of course, although I wonder whether kids nowadays should otherwise be more independent in these things. I was, when I was her age. Well it's not as if I had anybody to ask.
Anyway I arrived early on Sunday evening to find her fretting that she did not still have a literary text to review for her Filipino class. It had to be a love story. I suggested a few titles, but they were either novels (too long) or classics (too cumbersome). She had about twelve hours to come up with something. "Mom," she asked, "have you ever written a love story in Tagalog?"
"Hell no," I said. I did not fancy myself a fictionist. But after a while I remembered junior year in high school, sem break,when I was too bored at home and too infatuated with somebody from my school service. Come to think of it, I did have something.
I suspended a nice dinner of garlic rice and tuyo to go over my unencoded manuscripts. I had a lot of papers,and they are sometimes a mess,but I had different envelopes for different kinds of messes. It did not take long for me to find the yellowing twelve-page document on which was typewritten my first short story,"Kuya," written when I was all of fifteen.
She snatched it from my hand and started reading it. I wanted to read it also, to see whether after seventeen years I viewed some things in the same way (probably not). But my hands smelled of the fish; I would have more time to read and encode it later, along with the many other manuscripts I seemed to have just shoved into that dusty manila envelope. I couldn't wait to upload them into this blog.
The following evening, Bea (again) asked if she could have one of my three clear books on which I lovingly compiled clippings of my column. She said the transparent pockets helped her organize her thoughts better. I could not argue because I knew perfectly well what she meant. I liked clear books, too -- I used them in high school and college myself. I told her to make sure that the now-loose leaf columns should be in chronological order. "Wow," she remarked. "You've written a lot."
True, too.
And so today I went to the book store to get a thicker clear file, one that can store a year and a half's worth of weekly articles. As I finished transferring the clippings, the thick book got even thicker. I flipped through the pages. Could I really have said all that? And then I thought of my unprinted, unpublished, even unedited work, the volume of which was bigger than that clear book's. Yup, I did have a lot.
Then it dawned on me that one day I could have the opportunity to really put them together -- and have the satisfaction of seeing the compilation on shelves and racks of stores, and knowing that I am able to reach out to yet more people.
Monday, November 10, 2008
The Rock Of Their Family, The Love Of His Life
I reprint here an essay written by Michelle Obama, published shortly after her husband won the US presidential elections last week. I unearthed this in the course of my research for my next column, which I intend to call "Facets of Feminism".
This particular election has fascinated me -- this when I am not American and I haven't even been on US soil. I guess I share the feeling with millions out there, the many who voted for Barack and the greater number among all races all over the world who appreciate the president-elect for both what he is and what he stands for.
But those other things will be fleshed out next Monday. For now here is Michelle speaking. The power of her words lie in their being simple, being real.
It was an odd dress she wore on victory night, but then in his speech, he called her "the rock of our family and the love of my life." Who could ask for more? Sigh.
**
A few weeks ago at the Democratic National Convention in Denver, I shared with the nation some of the many reasons why I believed my husband would be an extraordinary president. It was the biggest speech I'd ever given. When I was finished, I headed backstage with my daughters. They turned to me, breathless with excitement.
“Mom,” Malia, our ten-year-old, said. “We have something important to tell you. We need to have a sleepover!”
That snapped me out of speech mode, with the bright lights and applause, and back into the role I love: Mom. The next night, 15 giggling girls - my daughters, the Biden granddaughters, and friends - took over our hotel room.
Now that Barack has been elected president, it will be an honour to be First Lady. I will work daily on the issues closest to my heart: helping working women and families, particularly military families. But, as my girls reminded me in Denver, even as First Lady, my No 1 job is still to be Mom. At 7 and 10, our daughters are young. My first priority will be to ensure they stay grounded and healthy, with normal childhoods - including homework, chores, dance, and soccer.
Our girls are the centre of Barack's and my world. They're the reason he ran for president - to make the world a better place for them and for all children. For us, and for millions of Americans, that's what this election has been about - making sure that America remains a country where everyone can fulfil their God-given potential.
Barack and I have travelled to every corner of the country, talking to people about their lives and dreams. Their stories have touched our hearts and strengthened our resolve. They've made us more certain than ever that, despite any differences we may have, there is so much that unites us as Americans. But times are tough. Parents are working harder than ever to raise their kids, pay bills, help out their parents and keep up with the rising cost of living. Caring for their families is their greatest joy - but it's harder to make ends meet.
We've talked to mothers whose salaries can't cover the cost of groceries - but if they take a second job, they can't afford childcare. More than 22 million working women don't have paid sick days. Millions of women are doing the same jobs as men but they're earning less.
It's even harder for military spouses. Their husbands and wives are away serving our nation for months at a time. So they have to be Mom and Dad. They're working, checking in on their in-laws, helping with homework, and doling out discipline - and every night, they're praying with all their hearts for their loved ones' safe return.
These families aren't asking the Government to fix their problems. They're asking for it to understand what's happening to their families and to find ways to help.
As First Lady, I will continue these conversations with working women and military spouses, and I'll take their stories back to Washington to make sure that the people who run our country know how their policies touch their constituents' lives.
The struggles of America's families aren't new to Barack. He was raised by a single mom who put herself through school and built a career that she loved while still finding time to read to him each morning. So, he knows how heroic America's parents can be. That's why he is committed to restoring the middle class, cutting taxes for 95 per cent of all working Americans, establishing pay equity for women, and expanding family leave. He also knows that when our military goes to war, their families go with them. He's a strong advocate for predictable deployments and better healthcare - including mental health - for returning service people.
These issues are my passions. Now that the election is won, I'll keep working to find solutions that make a real difference in people's lives. With Barack serving as President, we will fill our home with talk of how to serve our nation's families better.
And occasionally, when our daughters insist, we'll host sleepovers, too.
This particular election has fascinated me -- this when I am not American and I haven't even been on US soil. I guess I share the feeling with millions out there, the many who voted for Barack and the greater number among all races all over the world who appreciate the president-elect for both what he is and what he stands for.
But those other things will be fleshed out next Monday. For now here is Michelle speaking. The power of her words lie in their being simple, being real.
It was an odd dress she wore on victory night, but then in his speech, he called her "the rock of our family and the love of my life." Who could ask for more? Sigh.
**
A few weeks ago at the Democratic National Convention in Denver, I shared with the nation some of the many reasons why I believed my husband would be an extraordinary president. It was the biggest speech I'd ever given. When I was finished, I headed backstage with my daughters. They turned to me, breathless with excitement.
“Mom,” Malia, our ten-year-old, said. “We have something important to tell you. We need to have a sleepover!”
That snapped me out of speech mode, with the bright lights and applause, and back into the role I love: Mom. The next night, 15 giggling girls - my daughters, the Biden granddaughters, and friends - took over our hotel room.
Now that Barack has been elected president, it will be an honour to be First Lady. I will work daily on the issues closest to my heart: helping working women and families, particularly military families. But, as my girls reminded me in Denver, even as First Lady, my No 1 job is still to be Mom. At 7 and 10, our daughters are young. My first priority will be to ensure they stay grounded and healthy, with normal childhoods - including homework, chores, dance, and soccer.
Our girls are the centre of Barack's and my world. They're the reason he ran for president - to make the world a better place for them and for all children. For us, and for millions of Americans, that's what this election has been about - making sure that America remains a country where everyone can fulfil their God-given potential.
Barack and I have travelled to every corner of the country, talking to people about their lives and dreams. Their stories have touched our hearts and strengthened our resolve. They've made us more certain than ever that, despite any differences we may have, there is so much that unites us as Americans. But times are tough. Parents are working harder than ever to raise their kids, pay bills, help out their parents and keep up with the rising cost of living. Caring for their families is their greatest joy - but it's harder to make ends meet.
We've talked to mothers whose salaries can't cover the cost of groceries - but if they take a second job, they can't afford childcare. More than 22 million working women don't have paid sick days. Millions of women are doing the same jobs as men but they're earning less.
It's even harder for military spouses. Their husbands and wives are away serving our nation for months at a time. So they have to be Mom and Dad. They're working, checking in on their in-laws, helping with homework, and doling out discipline - and every night, they're praying with all their hearts for their loved ones' safe return.
These families aren't asking the Government to fix their problems. They're asking for it to understand what's happening to their families and to find ways to help.
As First Lady, I will continue these conversations with working women and military spouses, and I'll take their stories back to Washington to make sure that the people who run our country know how their policies touch their constituents' lives.
The struggles of America's families aren't new to Barack. He was raised by a single mom who put herself through school and built a career that she loved while still finding time to read to him each morning. So, he knows how heroic America's parents can be. That's why he is committed to restoring the middle class, cutting taxes for 95 per cent of all working Americans, establishing pay equity for women, and expanding family leave. He also knows that when our military goes to war, their families go with them. He's a strong advocate for predictable deployments and better healthcare - including mental health - for returning service people.
These issues are my passions. Now that the election is won, I'll keep working to find solutions that make a real difference in people's lives. With Barack serving as President, we will fill our home with talk of how to serve our nation's families better.
And occasionally, when our daughters insist, we'll host sleepovers, too.
Reflections of a groupie
published 10 Nov 2008, MST
(This is a shortened, less personal version of the blog entry called "The Groupie" which I wrote several months back.)
When you call someone a groupie, you are not being kind. Groupies are mindless girls who follow bands anywhere they go. It’s not a flattering label, but when your son plays bass guitar for an amateur alternative rock band—and he’s 12 years old—making sure you are present in all his gigs, whether it’s in your own sleepy city or near the metro’s gimmick capitals, is the better option. Never mind what you are called.
I’ve been doing this for numerous weekends already since the summer. Family members and, occasionally, friends keep me company as I watch. Still, one can have enough of the sound of one guitar and the songs of a single band. The novelty has worn off and I don’t even bring a camera anymore. So I’ve taken to listening to other groups and appreciating what they have to offer. Heck, they do these things for free— there’s got to be a lot of love in there.
I have never been a fan of rock music. I’m a jazzy, chill out, even standards type of fellow. But I keep an open mind—or ear. And after all this time, I’m learning a thing or two.
Talent everywhere
Say, for instance, there are just too many Filipino musicians out there. In any given evening, I get to listen to anywhere between five and 10 bands playing. They vary in style, packaging, confidence, age, and capability. I have seen performances of bands with released records and music videos to boot. I know of another who has just signed a contract and is now busy touring malls and introducing their songs to radio stations. These are bands that mean business. There is never a hint of tentativeness in the way they play. I am also learning to distinguish between those who are just playing for show (with stand-up comedy spiels to boot) and those who really know their stuff. Those who wow you with the way they slam their sticks or position their fingers on their guitars. The business is mean, too.
Meanwhile, there are those who compensate with gimmickry what they lack in technicality. For instance, I’ve seen a band whose members dress like geeks and crack really green jokes. Another’s members, male and female alike, all sport long, curly hair. At one point in a song, all of them bend and then shake their hair before the audience.
Sometimes there are newcomers who are given the opportunity to play before an audience for the first time. The spectators are nice to these performers, cheering them on and helping cast away their jitters. There are others, however, who obviously want to pack up and go in the middle of their performance, knowing how pitiful they sound. Yet there are some who mercilessly go on and on, oblivious to the listening torture to which they subject the guests who pay the entrance fee. They are having a good time, who cares about the rest?
But the most amazing thing about these gigs I religiously go to is that most of the songs bands play are their original compositions. Oh, there are two or three popular tunes—cover songs, they call them —which they sometimes employ to establish immediate connection with the audience, but that’s about it. The bands then launch into a repertoire of songs they themselves created. The topics are the same: Love, loss, pain, friendship, love again, ambition. Who’s to say these songs are inferior to those we hear over the radio?
Rock in a box
Rock music has always been unpalatable to parents. The genre calls forth images of angst, black shirts, unkempt hair, tattoos, alcohol, cigarettes, and, horrors, drugs. It is known for depth and darkness, and not a few rock musicians have bungled an otherwise promising life by committing suicide.
Nobody likes being put in boxes. We all like to think we are far more unique and complicated than the incidentals that surround us. There must be, I admit, numerous teenagers, unsure of who they are and confused on what they want to become. To these hapless young souls, the conventions of rock may seem particularly inviting. Everything has been defined and fleshed out, and all they needed was to fit into the mold. They could even write a few hate songs in the process. As a bonus, these children carry with them the air of being cool. Invincible. Astig, in the vernacular. Lupet. Does that not sound like the easiest thing to do?
This is perhaps the trap that many fall into, the same trap that scares parents (me included). There appears to be so much freedom that kids are no longer free. It is like they have to do things to be considered cool. At this point, rock stops to, well, rock.
Which is why I don’t mind being a groupie. My kid is not even a teenager yet. He may be deemed musically precocious, but he remains naive, impressionable. How can a parent be sure that the child does not derive satisfaction or build self-esteem from fleeting superficial things? Whether the people he spends his time with are not themselves disturbed or bogged down? Whether he likes his friends and looks up to role models for the right reasons? Finally, how can one guide the child to simply appreciate himself, his strengths as well as his weaknesses, enough to reject anything external that does not quite jibe with this self-possession? Don’t refuse a drink just because your mother is watching. Say no because you know it’s not good for you, and that you believe in yourself enough to know that you will not be less of a person, a friend or a musician if you do so.
But there is also a lesson on humility. Performers are no strangers to compliments after every performance. Other musicians, managers and bar owners casually walk up even to my son to give him a pat on the back, telling him to carry on because he is doing so well. The boy must know by now that he must hold some kind of promise. But that’s another reason I try to be around all the time. How can a mother be sure her son’s feet remain on the ground, unmoved by flattery, arrogance and false pride?
Peace, man
Of course it is noisy in these bars. That’s what rock is known for, anyway. But now I have learned to isolate the sound of the bass guitar from the rest of the other instruments. This sound is not easily heard, not being as flashy as the rhythm guitar or the drums. But when you do learn to listen, you will keep listening. You will realize why it is an indispensable part of the band and appreciate the skills that make a good bass player. You will see what miracles can be created out of a few thick strings with a low sound.
Oddly enough, the loudness of the music can call forth some peace and quiet. Then I think of things I would like to write about. Places I would like to visit. Stuff I would like to get done around the house. As long as the music plays, and everybody’s attention is focused on sounds emanating from those many instruments, one can be alone with one’s thoughts—and be aburst with ideas.
If only for these insights, being a groupie does not seem to sound so bad.
***
READERS' REACTION
Dear Ms, Tulagan,
I enjoyed this article. Perhaps you share some common feelings with the mother of the teenage writer hired by ROlling Stones in the movie "Almost Famous." Too bad I forgot the name of the writer who became a director/screenwriter.
Please keep on churning out good articles.
Best
Atty Ronald Mariano
(This is a shortened, less personal version of the blog entry called "The Groupie" which I wrote several months back.)
When you call someone a groupie, you are not being kind. Groupies are mindless girls who follow bands anywhere they go. It’s not a flattering label, but when your son plays bass guitar for an amateur alternative rock band—and he’s 12 years old—making sure you are present in all his gigs, whether it’s in your own sleepy city or near the metro’s gimmick capitals, is the better option. Never mind what you are called.
I’ve been doing this for numerous weekends already since the summer. Family members and, occasionally, friends keep me company as I watch. Still, one can have enough of the sound of one guitar and the songs of a single band. The novelty has worn off and I don’t even bring a camera anymore. So I’ve taken to listening to other groups and appreciating what they have to offer. Heck, they do these things for free— there’s got to be a lot of love in there.
I have never been a fan of rock music. I’m a jazzy, chill out, even standards type of fellow. But I keep an open mind—or ear. And after all this time, I’m learning a thing or two.
Talent everywhere
Say, for instance, there are just too many Filipino musicians out there. In any given evening, I get to listen to anywhere between five and 10 bands playing. They vary in style, packaging, confidence, age, and capability. I have seen performances of bands with released records and music videos to boot. I know of another who has just signed a contract and is now busy touring malls and introducing their songs to radio stations. These are bands that mean business. There is never a hint of tentativeness in the way they play. I am also learning to distinguish between those who are just playing for show (with stand-up comedy spiels to boot) and those who really know their stuff. Those who wow you with the way they slam their sticks or position their fingers on their guitars. The business is mean, too.
Meanwhile, there are those who compensate with gimmickry what they lack in technicality. For instance, I’ve seen a band whose members dress like geeks and crack really green jokes. Another’s members, male and female alike, all sport long, curly hair. At one point in a song, all of them bend and then shake their hair before the audience.
Sometimes there are newcomers who are given the opportunity to play before an audience for the first time. The spectators are nice to these performers, cheering them on and helping cast away their jitters. There are others, however, who obviously want to pack up and go in the middle of their performance, knowing how pitiful they sound. Yet there are some who mercilessly go on and on, oblivious to the listening torture to which they subject the guests who pay the entrance fee. They are having a good time, who cares about the rest?
But the most amazing thing about these gigs I religiously go to is that most of the songs bands play are their original compositions. Oh, there are two or three popular tunes—cover songs, they call them —which they sometimes employ to establish immediate connection with the audience, but that’s about it. The bands then launch into a repertoire of songs they themselves created. The topics are the same: Love, loss, pain, friendship, love again, ambition. Who’s to say these songs are inferior to those we hear over the radio?
Rock in a box
Rock music has always been unpalatable to parents. The genre calls forth images of angst, black shirts, unkempt hair, tattoos, alcohol, cigarettes, and, horrors, drugs. It is known for depth and darkness, and not a few rock musicians have bungled an otherwise promising life by committing suicide.
Nobody likes being put in boxes. We all like to think we are far more unique and complicated than the incidentals that surround us. There must be, I admit, numerous teenagers, unsure of who they are and confused on what they want to become. To these hapless young souls, the conventions of rock may seem particularly inviting. Everything has been defined and fleshed out, and all they needed was to fit into the mold. They could even write a few hate songs in the process. As a bonus, these children carry with them the air of being cool. Invincible. Astig, in the vernacular. Lupet. Does that not sound like the easiest thing to do?
This is perhaps the trap that many fall into, the same trap that scares parents (me included). There appears to be so much freedom that kids are no longer free. It is like they have to do things to be considered cool. At this point, rock stops to, well, rock.
Which is why I don’t mind being a groupie. My kid is not even a teenager yet. He may be deemed musically precocious, but he remains naive, impressionable. How can a parent be sure that the child does not derive satisfaction or build self-esteem from fleeting superficial things? Whether the people he spends his time with are not themselves disturbed or bogged down? Whether he likes his friends and looks up to role models for the right reasons? Finally, how can one guide the child to simply appreciate himself, his strengths as well as his weaknesses, enough to reject anything external that does not quite jibe with this self-possession? Don’t refuse a drink just because your mother is watching. Say no because you know it’s not good for you, and that you believe in yourself enough to know that you will not be less of a person, a friend or a musician if you do so.
But there is also a lesson on humility. Performers are no strangers to compliments after every performance. Other musicians, managers and bar owners casually walk up even to my son to give him a pat on the back, telling him to carry on because he is doing so well. The boy must know by now that he must hold some kind of promise. But that’s another reason I try to be around all the time. How can a mother be sure her son’s feet remain on the ground, unmoved by flattery, arrogance and false pride?
Peace, man
Of course it is noisy in these bars. That’s what rock is known for, anyway. But now I have learned to isolate the sound of the bass guitar from the rest of the other instruments. This sound is not easily heard, not being as flashy as the rhythm guitar or the drums. But when you do learn to listen, you will keep listening. You will realize why it is an indispensable part of the band and appreciate the skills that make a good bass player. You will see what miracles can be created out of a few thick strings with a low sound.
Oddly enough, the loudness of the music can call forth some peace and quiet. Then I think of things I would like to write about. Places I would like to visit. Stuff I would like to get done around the house. As long as the music plays, and everybody’s attention is focused on sounds emanating from those many instruments, one can be alone with one’s thoughts—and be aburst with ideas.
If only for these insights, being a groupie does not seem to sound so bad.
***
READERS' REACTION
Dear Ms, Tulagan,
I enjoyed this article. Perhaps you share some common feelings with the mother of the teenage writer hired by ROlling Stones in the movie "Almost Famous." Too bad I forgot the name of the writer who became a director/screenwriter.
Please keep on churning out good articles.
Best
Atty Ronald Mariano
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Sound advice
Among the many other things I did this weekend, I saw my dad yesterday afternoon for an hour or two of catching up.
As always, he asked me (as well as Bea and Josh) what had happened between yesterday and the day we saw each other last, three weekends ago. Bea narrated how her cell phone got snatched. Josh said he had a gig later that night and had his bass guitar leaning on the wall of the restaurant to show for it. I said I’d been pretty much busy with the same things -- the dichotomy of domestics and career, of, as I say in the very heading of this blog, “writing for a living and writing to live.”
It was then he shared how he has managed to end all of his days on a happy note. He always picked out three good things that happened to him, or he did, for that day. It could be somebody saying thank you. Going to church. Seeing a cute guy (that remark was for my daughter, really).
Already, I find that the habit does much in maintaining one’s sanity.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes and count. One, two, three.
As always, he asked me (as well as Bea and Josh) what had happened between yesterday and the day we saw each other last, three weekends ago. Bea narrated how her cell phone got snatched. Josh said he had a gig later that night and had his bass guitar leaning on the wall of the restaurant to show for it. I said I’d been pretty much busy with the same things -- the dichotomy of domestics and career, of, as I say in the very heading of this blog, “writing for a living and writing to live.”
It was then he shared how he has managed to end all of his days on a happy note. He always picked out three good things that happened to him, or he did, for that day. It could be somebody saying thank you. Going to church. Seeing a cute guy (that remark was for my daughter, really).
Already, I find that the habit does much in maintaining one’s sanity.
I take a deep breath, close my eyes and count. One, two, three.
A different tune
I've written about beggars plying the Rizal Avenue route two times already in my newspaper column. The most recent one was only two weeks ago. No, I have not come up with a brilliant solution to the problem of urban poverty, or street children, or the debate on whether it is better to donate wholesale to charity or social welfare organizations than give coins or biscuits, piecemeal, to every single beggar that comes along your way. But I've noted some developments.
Maybe it's the approaching Christmas season that has made the kids (or their handlers) more creative. Systematic, even. Or maybe some beggars for the provinces have indeed gone to Manila to partake of the holiday sharing. I wonder though where they go the fare).
Two times in the last four days, I have come across little boys who climb into jeepneys with letter envelopes or brown envelopes on which are written the message. They claim they are Badjao people asking for alms. They have a strung-together bunch of empty cans and plastic pipes over their shoulders. For sure they are different from those boys who wipe passengers' shoes with rags that probably bring dirt INTO the shoes. Because once a child has given everybody an envelope, he sits down on the estribo and begins to tap away.
Yes, tap, and the tapping sounds practiced. If the kid had better material, I'm sure the beat would have been closer to ones made by collegiate bands who play during sports events to cheer their team. I've even seen some of my fellow passengers bob their heads with the rhythm.
The result is that the people smile as they fish out coins from their bags to put into the envelopes. This is a marked departure from the apathetic looks they would otherwise give shoe-wipers or plain beggars. They don't feel bad that they are just giving alms. They are rewarding the boy for the well-done job of entertaining them.
And for the children, there is dignity. They don't get something for nothing. In their own way, they earn those coins.
Maybe it's the approaching Christmas season that has made the kids (or their handlers) more creative. Systematic, even. Or maybe some beggars for the provinces have indeed gone to Manila to partake of the holiday sharing. I wonder though where they go the fare).
Two times in the last four days, I have come across little boys who climb into jeepneys with letter envelopes or brown envelopes on which are written the message. They claim they are Badjao people asking for alms. They have a strung-together bunch of empty cans and plastic pipes over their shoulders. For sure they are different from those boys who wipe passengers' shoes with rags that probably bring dirt INTO the shoes. Because once a child has given everybody an envelope, he sits down on the estribo and begins to tap away.
Yes, tap, and the tapping sounds practiced. If the kid had better material, I'm sure the beat would have been closer to ones made by collegiate bands who play during sports events to cheer their team. I've even seen some of my fellow passengers bob their heads with the rhythm.
The result is that the people smile as they fish out coins from their bags to put into the envelopes. This is a marked departure from the apathetic looks they would otherwise give shoe-wipers or plain beggars. They don't feel bad that they are just giving alms. They are rewarding the boy for the well-done job of entertaining them.
And for the children, there is dignity. They don't get something for nothing. In their own way, they earn those coins.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Living Room
Here's a glimpse into our home. That's different photos of the same spot (our living room) and the same perspective (from the kitchen looking out).
Guess which picture was taken in mid-morning. The three older children are at school,I bustle about, and Elmo does his assignment, plays with his robots, draws them or colors. The TV is either mine, tuned to CNN or NatGeo,or his, to Nickelodeon or Cartoon Network. Our home is modest but I keep it neat. Everything has its place, and there is a place for everything -- or at least I try.
In the evening, the house -- specifically the living room -- takes on a whole character altogether.
The apartment we are renting is a two-bedroom, two-level unit. The master bedroom, which has wide windows and looks out onto the street,is supposedly for us girls. The other room is supposed to be for the boys. But my aunt who sort of lives with us stays there, as do my sisters when they are in town (which isn't often, though). The mattresses are paper-thin and expose our backs to steel grills, depriving us of a good night's sleep.
And so we all take to sleeping in the living room.
Bea and Sophie occupy the sofa bed,Josh sleeps on the couch -- tattered as it is-- and Elmo and I lie on the benches of the dining set put side by side. It may have something to do with the fact that the lone television is downstairs, or maybe that the electric fan there is more capable.The computer is also there, just in case I feel the need to rise at dawn to write.
Suffice it to say that before we go to sleep, the children (or a permutation of them) and I get the chance to talk about our day, joke around, resolve petty fights, discuss a little homework and watch some TV.
At no other point has the term "living room" been so apt.
Eventually, I plan to make the upstairs rooms more habitable. Individual space is important. But for now, it is nice to have all of them near me at night. There is always time to put everything in order in the morning.
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Fast Forward
It is evening and the lights from a distant town flicker through the wide windows.
I come home to an empty house and turn on the lights. I put down my bag, full of the day's concerns on a couch near the door. I kick off my shoes.
I slip into a warm shower, lather up luxuriously, and put on a robe. I walk into the kitchen -- a neat one -- and fix my dinner. Maybe some seafood on top of pasta. A little bread-and-soup.
I play some music --smooth jazz, trumpets and saxophones falling into a groove with distinct bass lines. I pour myself a glass of wine. My head bobs to the music as I sip. Ah, good times.
There is a late November breeze. Christmas is approaching, and I look forward to seeing my kids for the holidays. All grown up now, all doing well. They are ambitious yet humble, comfortable yet low-key. They love their families, their country, and are making a difference in their respective niches. I think I've done well with them. I love them,of course, but I rather like the persons they have come to be, as well.
And what of me? I write profusely, am busy with my advocacy, travel occasionally. I love doing what I feel I was born to do, so I excel. I earn handsomely -- a happy by-product of this vocation I've embraced.
I am alone. I love it, too. I've let go of my ghosts and don't allow them to haunt me. I do as I please,take what I can, and give much back.
Will I stay alone? Who knows? Maybe I will find love again,at some later, later point, and be a proper bride this time. I won't anymore be a blushing one, but I will be wizened up, sobered up. He will give me my space without abandoning me. He will love me without smothering me. He will put me in a pedestal. I will be loyal, and uncompromisingly so. Individually we will shine. Together we will be useful, be part of something bigger than ourselves.
Until then, I will revel in my solitude. Without regrets.
I come home to an empty house and turn on the lights. I put down my bag, full of the day's concerns on a couch near the door. I kick off my shoes.
I slip into a warm shower, lather up luxuriously, and put on a robe. I walk into the kitchen -- a neat one -- and fix my dinner. Maybe some seafood on top of pasta. A little bread-and-soup.
I play some music --smooth jazz, trumpets and saxophones falling into a groove with distinct bass lines. I pour myself a glass of wine. My head bobs to the music as I sip. Ah, good times.
There is a late November breeze. Christmas is approaching, and I look forward to seeing my kids for the holidays. All grown up now, all doing well. They are ambitious yet humble, comfortable yet low-key. They love their families, their country, and are making a difference in their respective niches. I think I've done well with them. I love them,of course, but I rather like the persons they have come to be, as well.
And what of me? I write profusely, am busy with my advocacy, travel occasionally. I love doing what I feel I was born to do, so I excel. I earn handsomely -- a happy by-product of this vocation I've embraced.
I am alone. I love it, too. I've let go of my ghosts and don't allow them to haunt me. I do as I please,take what I can, and give much back.
Will I stay alone? Who knows? Maybe I will find love again,at some later, later point, and be a proper bride this time. I won't anymore be a blushing one, but I will be wizened up, sobered up. He will give me my space without abandoning me. He will love me without smothering me. He will put me in a pedestal. I will be loyal, and uncompromisingly so. Individually we will shine. Together we will be useful, be part of something bigger than ourselves.
Until then, I will revel in my solitude. Without regrets.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Palin-esque
It's the height of the US election fever and I've just written my newspaper's editorial about how all this fascination with the race to the White House is spectacle, all right, for us Filipinos, but an instructive one nonetheless. And now somebody has just told me I reminded him of Sarah Palin. That's the third fellow who has done so. Maybe it's the glasses, but seriously, I don't know whether I should be insulted or be tickled pink.
I've also previously written in my column about beautiful women being in a worse predicament that plain women. The plain ones already have to work double time to be given half the credit. But pretty ones have to work more than double because they tend to be dismissed as "just" pretty. And even though they talk sense, sometimes good sense, it's probably lost on men who don't take them seriously anyway. Just because.
That's not to say being both beautiful and brilliant (and perceived so) impossible. I'm just saying it's hard.
Unfortunately, John McCain's running mate is NOT the person to illustrate this feat. As one of my columnists so greatly put it, Palin, the lipstick-wearing Waltermart mom of five, pushes back the women's movement by about five decades. She has also had some serious gaffes, and now she has the gall to say she's thinking of the presidency in 20102.
That's of course deriding the candidate on an intellectual basis. Still, (just) looking like Mrs. Palin, fortysomething that she is, must be meant as a compliment. The lady used to be a beauty queen in her hometown, after all.
I've been tempted to shed the glasses or sport a different hair sweep, at least until this entire election season is over. But it does not make any sense, does it? The glasses do a good job at keeping my headache away, and I'm too squeamish for contact lenses. This look is mine and not hers alone -- look at my Yahoo Avatar I've created three years ago.
Or maybe I should shrug this off. We are who we are. And I'm thankful that I'm me and not her, not even with her Nieman Marcus suits.
Nor anybody else, for that matter.
I've also previously written in my column about beautiful women being in a worse predicament that plain women. The plain ones already have to work double time to be given half the credit. But pretty ones have to work more than double because they tend to be dismissed as "just" pretty. And even though they talk sense, sometimes good sense, it's probably lost on men who don't take them seriously anyway. Just because.
That's not to say being both beautiful and brilliant (and perceived so) impossible. I'm just saying it's hard.
Unfortunately, John McCain's running mate is NOT the person to illustrate this feat. As one of my columnists so greatly put it, Palin, the lipstick-wearing Waltermart mom of five, pushes back the women's movement by about five decades. She has also had some serious gaffes, and now she has the gall to say she's thinking of the presidency in 20102.
That's of course deriding the candidate on an intellectual basis. Still, (just) looking like Mrs. Palin, fortysomething that she is, must be meant as a compliment. The lady used to be a beauty queen in her hometown, after all.
I've been tempted to shed the glasses or sport a different hair sweep, at least until this entire election season is over. But it does not make any sense, does it? The glasses do a good job at keeping my headache away, and I'm too squeamish for contact lenses. This look is mine and not hers alone -- look at my Yahoo Avatar I've created three years ago.
Or maybe I should shrug this off. We are who we are. And I'm thankful that I'm me and not her, not even with her Nieman Marcus suits.
Nor anybody else, for that matter.
No fairy tale
published 3 November 2008, MST
Bookstores are great places to spend time in. Staying in one is a productive alternative to wandering aimlessly around the mall, exposing yourself and your kids to things you think you need but actually only want. Children’s books sections are normally in some cozy corner of Powerbooks or Fully Booked, and in some measure, good old National, their low shelves (for easy reaching) and thick carpets (for sprawling) appealing to kids and parents alike.
And you don’t even have to read children’s books, much less buy that item you’re holding, for you to sit there. You can get a nice book or two from your favorite section and look at it while seated, just occasionally glancing at your wards who are most probably enjoying themselves anyway.
My weekend was something like this except that unlike previous times when I immediately buried myself in my own reading, I rummaged through local illustrated children’s books, both in English and Filipino, and concluded that at their reasonable prices (most are below P70 apiece, whereas foreign children’s books with hard glossy covers, huge illustrations and too-few words cost five or eight times more), they would make excellent gifts for grade-school nephews, nieces, godchildren or my friends’ children come Christmas.
That evening I was also trying to convince my daughter Sophia that at eight-and-a-half, she was a little too old for coloring books. Sure I still enjoyed our coloring festivals, whereby she, her six-year-old brother Elmo and I occupied the dining table and filled up the pages of their coloring books for half a morning, after which we would evaluate each other’s works. But everybody had to graduate into something higher and bigger at some point.
It was then I realized—and belatedly, I regret—that the children’s books segment of the local publishing world was a gem. I would have written about it sooner.
* * *
Most of the books are attempts to impart traditional Filipino values in new ways. There are, for instance, stories of animals with an attitude, modern-day fables, really, just because we’ve heard so much about that cunning monkey and the turtle who ends up outwitting it. Other titles provide resolutions to children’s practical issues in everyday life. Under these, for example, is the book preparing a girl on the coming of a new baby in the family or that offering suggestions to a boy so he would stop wetting his bed.
Still there are others that try to go beyond these themes and explore the world of the “others” or bring down contemporary social issues to the level of children. I bought three of these for my little girl. I was pleased because the amount I paid was less what one would have spent on a mocha frap and a slice of Oreo cheesecake.
Sophie went home with a book on flying trash and another on children in conflict-torn Mindanao. But my personal favorite among our purchases was a book called “Papa’s House, Mama’s House” written by Jean Lee Patindol, illustrated by Mark Ramsel Salvatus III. And published by Adarna House.
The story is told from a six-year-old’s perspective. The narrator and two other sisters spend some days of the week in their father’s house and the remainder in their mother’s. Obviously, the parents are separated. The child sometimes gets tired of going back and forth these two houses with different sets of rules. She has toys and clothes and books in both houses and sometimes forgets an item in either. She wonders why she has two homes when her friends have both their moms and dads living together in the same house.
The mom likens their situation to mixing two colors that do not go together. The father’s analogy is travelling by train and by plane at the same time. But on the child’s birthday, the father comes over, they bake a cake, they sing the birthday song, and entertain friends and relatives. The child is happy nonetheless—and reverts to her Friday-to-Sunday schedule at dad’s and Monday-to-Thursday slot at mom’s.
The book is stark in its simplicity yet ambitious because it seeks to bring out the subject of “broken homes,” otherwise viewed as taboo or at least not a matter to be discussed with kids. To quote a developmental psychologist at the Ateneo de Manila, Liane Peña-Alampay, Ph.D.: “It sends the message that children in ‘two homes’ are not different, nor are they loved and nurtured any less by their parents, than children in two-parent homes. [The book] opens the way for greater tolerance, understanding and empathy in children and adults alike.”
Not too many kids—come to think of it, adults, too—read and the advent of cable TV, the Internet and the wide array of computer games available have not helped improve this situation. Those who keep the publishing industry alive and well deserve our respect and support. More so those who go the extra mile and attempt to open children’s eyes that “different” is not necessarily “undesirable.”
It’s never too early to expand children’s awareness of different circumstances that exist. This knowledge would enable them to be more open and receptive to ideas and points of view later in life. On the other hand, children who themselves fall under the not-so-mainstream conditions would also not feel as though they are of less worth, or that they are entitled to leniency.
In the end, the paradox is elementary —we may be different, but we are the same.
Bookstores are great places to spend time in. Staying in one is a productive alternative to wandering aimlessly around the mall, exposing yourself and your kids to things you think you need but actually only want. Children’s books sections are normally in some cozy corner of Powerbooks or Fully Booked, and in some measure, good old National, their low shelves (for easy reaching) and thick carpets (for sprawling) appealing to kids and parents alike.
And you don’t even have to read children’s books, much less buy that item you’re holding, for you to sit there. You can get a nice book or two from your favorite section and look at it while seated, just occasionally glancing at your wards who are most probably enjoying themselves anyway.
My weekend was something like this except that unlike previous times when I immediately buried myself in my own reading, I rummaged through local illustrated children’s books, both in English and Filipino, and concluded that at their reasonable prices (most are below P70 apiece, whereas foreign children’s books with hard glossy covers, huge illustrations and too-few words cost five or eight times more), they would make excellent gifts for grade-school nephews, nieces, godchildren or my friends’ children come Christmas.
That evening I was also trying to convince my daughter Sophia that at eight-and-a-half, she was a little too old for coloring books. Sure I still enjoyed our coloring festivals, whereby she, her six-year-old brother Elmo and I occupied the dining table and filled up the pages of their coloring books for half a morning, after which we would evaluate each other’s works. But everybody had to graduate into something higher and bigger at some point.
It was then I realized—and belatedly, I regret—that the children’s books segment of the local publishing world was a gem. I would have written about it sooner.
* * *
Most of the books are attempts to impart traditional Filipino values in new ways. There are, for instance, stories of animals with an attitude, modern-day fables, really, just because we’ve heard so much about that cunning monkey and the turtle who ends up outwitting it. Other titles provide resolutions to children’s practical issues in everyday life. Under these, for example, is the book preparing a girl on the coming of a new baby in the family or that offering suggestions to a boy so he would stop wetting his bed.
Still there are others that try to go beyond these themes and explore the world of the “others” or bring down contemporary social issues to the level of children. I bought three of these for my little girl. I was pleased because the amount I paid was less what one would have spent on a mocha frap and a slice of Oreo cheesecake.
Sophie went home with a book on flying trash and another on children in conflict-torn Mindanao. But my personal favorite among our purchases was a book called “Papa’s House, Mama’s House” written by Jean Lee Patindol, illustrated by Mark Ramsel Salvatus III. And published by Adarna House.
The story is told from a six-year-old’s perspective. The narrator and two other sisters spend some days of the week in their father’s house and the remainder in their mother’s. Obviously, the parents are separated. The child sometimes gets tired of going back and forth these two houses with different sets of rules. She has toys and clothes and books in both houses and sometimes forgets an item in either. She wonders why she has two homes when her friends have both their moms and dads living together in the same house.
The mom likens their situation to mixing two colors that do not go together. The father’s analogy is travelling by train and by plane at the same time. But on the child’s birthday, the father comes over, they bake a cake, they sing the birthday song, and entertain friends and relatives. The child is happy nonetheless—and reverts to her Friday-to-Sunday schedule at dad’s and Monday-to-Thursday slot at mom’s.
The book is stark in its simplicity yet ambitious because it seeks to bring out the subject of “broken homes,” otherwise viewed as taboo or at least not a matter to be discussed with kids. To quote a developmental psychologist at the Ateneo de Manila, Liane Peña-Alampay, Ph.D.: “It sends the message that children in ‘two homes’ are not different, nor are they loved and nurtured any less by their parents, than children in two-parent homes. [The book] opens the way for greater tolerance, understanding and empathy in children and adults alike.”
Not too many kids—come to think of it, adults, too—read and the advent of cable TV, the Internet and the wide array of computer games available have not helped improve this situation. Those who keep the publishing industry alive and well deserve our respect and support. More so those who go the extra mile and attempt to open children’s eyes that “different” is not necessarily “undesirable.”
It’s never too early to expand children’s awareness of different circumstances that exist. This knowledge would enable them to be more open and receptive to ideas and points of view later in life. On the other hand, children who themselves fall under the not-so-mainstream conditions would also not feel as though they are of less worth, or that they are entitled to leniency.
In the end, the paradox is elementary —we may be different, but we are the same.
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