uncle van’s cabin

Mr. Alquin Rubidy
Station Manager
Star FM Iloilo

Dear Sir:

I don’t listen to FM stations that much these days but when I tuned in to your radio station one day I was disappointed to listen to a sickening “interview” you gave to one of your so-called victims who that day was a house helper.

I only listened to it once but I’m thoroughly convinced that your radio programs most especially that Sardinas Gang is a lame excuse of a program in the mass media.

Let me refresh your memory of that interview done by your Sardinas Gang on November 9, 2008. It was aired at around 9-10 in the morning. It was something to do about the shabu that the maid’s boss smuggled or something to that effect. Your DJ’s then proceeded to ask the 16-year old naive senseless maid with questions such as “What part of your body do you think is the smelliest?”, “Who among your bosses do you think is the most handsome?”, “What do you fantasize about the boss?”, “What do you and your boyfriend do together?”

These questions were answered by your maid in explicit details. Whatever happened to censorship? There your DJ goes spewing about Republic Acts when he himself committed a terrible act of degrading another person. I wish you could listen to the recorded version of that program which I’m sure your “supreme” station has.

The sickening part of all was when you revealed yourselves as a Sardinas Gang and that since the maid was so cooperative she’ll get a price. How much will she get in exchange for her dignity? 10k, 30k, 40k? Again, what a poor excuse for a mass media your radio program has. You then asked her to shout the program’s slogan which goes something like “Star FM, ang galeng!” She shouted it with so much enthusiasm as if your program just did her a favor.

I’m not sure what the purpose of that program was. Humor? Entertainment? Then, what a sickening humor you people have.

Truly yours,

Van Kristine L. Mendoza
Star FM Chanced Listener

When I was born my mother said I was wrapped in a newspaper. The newspaper had news about Ninoy Aquino’s assassination and that he was carried to a van. Ninoy Aquino’s daughter is Kris and yes, I was named after a vehicle and after that talk show host. When I was younger and when people would ask me where I got my name I would omit that part about being wrapped in a newspaper because I was too embarrassed to admit that my parents were too poor to even buy me a lampin. Instead, I would say that my mother was reading a news story about Ninoy’s demise when she started having labor pains. Years later I got them mixed up and now I’m not exactly sure which is the fact. I think I have to ask my mother again.

Well, here’s one fact. She said I didn’t make a sound when I came out and that I was as pale as a radish. She got worried but when the midwife did the SOP of butt-slapping and I gave out a cry she gave a sigh of relief even when I sounded like a shrill train. I’m glad I no longer have that “shrill” quality in my voice but I feel sad that the midwife has already went ahead all of us.

25 years later…

Here I am in my existentialist angst, trying to philosophize everything that comes my way. I’ll soon get rid of it, probably when I turn 26. What exactly have I done in all my 25 years of existence? I’ve loved, I’ve mourned, I’ve laughed, I’ve shared… But life is not measured by emotions, right? Nor is it measured by your wealth, the places you’ve been to, your degrees, your status. They say it’s measured by how many people will remember you when you leave this world.  I’ve always have that strong desire to leave something, to make a mark. I guess that’s why I’m in the teaching profession. It’s the easiest way to leave a mark, I suppose. You won’t be able to memorize your students’ names but they sure can’t forget you — (Ah, Mam Van) I myself can still remember my kindergarten teacher’s name.

I still have my dreams and my bucketful of bucket list. I’d still want to write that book. I’d still want to go backpacking in the wilds. I’d still want to be a rockstar. I’d still want to get rid of my fear of open spaces (maybe I should swim in the Pacific). I won’t mind growing wrinkles. I’d like to see laugh lines on my face. I’d still want to wake up every morning with the person I love.

How, where, what will I be when I’m already 60? 45? 30? 26? I guess life is what you make out of it, you take each day as it is.

Today, I turn 25.

I made a student cry today.

She belongs to my first period class of Intensive Grammar every Monday and Wednesday. A college freshman who has been passing copied essays from the library. The first time I confronted her with her copied essay I wanted to crumple her paper and throw it on her face (just like what my old boss did to my old co-teacher but I told myself I’ll never be like him so I didn’t). Her grade for the mid-term is a screaming and failing 5.00. The last activity that we had in the classroom was to  write a very brief explanation of a quotation from the book. I was very sure that she’ll never get away from copying. And so she gave me this incomprehensible and painful essay that I couldn’t help myself from grimacing after I read it. I wish West V would require an essay writing in her entrance exam that way teachers won’t have to go tell their students what I told her…

I told her that her writing proficiency in English is in the elementary level. True, my grade 5 students can whip up a better essay than she can.  I questioned how she managed to pass the entrance exam. I learned earlier that morning that her father actually works in school so it’s possible that y’know…

I could see that she was hurt but I really didn’t have any choice. I think I was too harsh but if I won’t tell her now she’ll probably spend the rest of her college years (or perhaps the rest of her life)  making the same grammatical errors.

After she stopped crying I told her to go to the library and look for The Hardy Boys and The Nancy Drew series and start reading them as they’re just an easy read.

I do hope she’ll heed my advice and forget about reading those sleazy Tagalog pocketbooks (she admitted that she’s fond of reading them).

I hope she’ll learn from all these.

I hope that she’ll save her future professors from crying over her essays.

How Do I Love Thee, Shwiny?

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of every day’s
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love with a passion put to use
In my old griefs, and with my childhood’s faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose
With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,
Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose,
I shall but love thee better after death.

Happy 2nd Monthsary, Pangga… Wab Yu!

And so I received a text from Endran that I check my ATM as my salary in the univ arrived already.

I wasn’t thrilled. In fact, it reminded me even more of my present pitiful status as a part-time instructress. How many more months (or years) should I endure before I finally get to become a full-time professor?

Oh yeah, which reminds me that I SHOULD pass this comprehensive exam come Saturday (16th) and Tuesday of next week (19th). If I pass this exam I’ll be a full-fledged Master’s degree holder already. With that I’ll be elevated from my present status of earning a measly Php85/hr salary to semi-measly Php120/hr. So much for being a part of the academe.

The exam doesn’t scare me anymore. So what if I won’t pass it? I still have a 2nd (and a last) time to do it on January next year. Why do we have to take silly exams, anyway? Sometimes I wish we’re still uncivilized people with only animal skins to cover our arses. Life wasn’t so complicated then. No dayjobs, no traffic, and definitely no exams!

I don’t know exactly what’ll come out of that exam. I dread Research the most. The only distinct memory I have of being in my Research class was that we were merged with the Soc Sci majors and that I shared a topic with Patrick. And the professor, too. Ancient Dr. T who seemed to have arthritis she’d buckle any moment.

I’m still trying to get the hang of being in West. The academic freedom is just so liberating! What I like being in West are the students. Where else can you find a set of witty, talented, and polite high school students? My college students are intelligent, too. I still miss my elementary students, though. I miss their innocence and playfulness. College students are playful, too but innocent?! Hah!

I’m not sure if I’d want to teach in West for the rest of my life. I’d want to teach for the rest of my life, yes but to remain in one place (or school) I’m still trying to figure that out. Nevertheless, I’m fine and happy. I’m sure there are many things in store for me.

First things first. Let me check what’s in store for me in that ATM.

I’ve been wanting to vomit since this morning. The first time was during a hasty breakfast which was just an Energen drink given by a co-worker. The second time was during lunchtime when I ate this Molo courtesy of the CAS English Department. Dinner was rice, chicken, and sotanghon served by the COE ILS Department and I’ve been wanting to throw them up, too.

I’m not pregnant.

Don’t you have that funny feeling of just wanting throwing up? It’s probably because they came too easily (and for free) that made me lost my appetite. Perhaps I was too full that I have no more space for them in my stomach. Or maybe I was too empty that I got used to that feeling already. Or could it be that I’m craving for something else?

Life seems to have a funny way of giving you what you desire. I desired for something else but what was given to me was something that I’ve desired in the past. Should I take it? Why not? Maybe this has been the answers to my prayer all along.

I feel like a zombie these days. Yes, I still don’t have a firm grasp of the sudden changes in my life. I feel like a child who asked for a puppy but was given a grown dog instead. I don’t quite know what to do with it. Nevertheless, I am thankful.

I am happy. Happier than most ordinary days. But sometimes I am afraid of this happiness. This feeling still seems alien to me. I want it to last. But the future is not mine to foretell. I can only live at this moment. If only I can stop time…

No matter how much I want to throw up. I couldn’t seem to. Perhaps I am really hungry and that feeling will just pass. Maybe this "vomit" thing is just all in my mind and what I really want is to finish all those food. Could it be that I’m just taking everything for granted?

I want to vomit again. Not with the food. But what life offered me.

I got a nasty cough and a runny nose. Chicken soup won’t make me feel better. The cough gel syrup will take days to take effect what with the chalk dust and the hours of overusing my vocal chords. The jacket won’t make me feel any warmer. I want something else.

Hug, anyone?

Remember the first time you saw me? You said I was wearing a hoodie looking somewhat lost and distracted. Well, you spotted a shy and lonely kid right away. You broke my walls. We hit it off that instant. Ours was a friendship I never expected to happen. I often saw you in the university with your skirt, bangles and piercings. Before we even met I even heard so much about you from Marvic and your other classmates. You were a campus figure, everyone seemed to just know you. I never told you this but when we started hanging out together, I was proud of myself. I was proud because I get to hang out with a COOL guy. I was an anti-social sophomore, then, trying so hard to fit in with the rest. So I’ve always thanked God for your friendship. But more than that I was proud that you valued my ideas, my thoughts, my idiosyncracies. You boosted me up and so I learned to appreciate myself, too.

You know me very well. In fact, you know me much better than my whole friends and family combined. You’ve seen it all. You’ve seen me in my painful rite of passage to adulthood. You bled and cried with me. You made fun of me but you loved me just the same. You were doing a one-man act.  You were my brother, my father, my friend, my mentor… I trusted you.

7 years. We’ve been really good friends for that long already. Ours was a symbiotic relationship, right? I’ve tried so hard to give, too. I’m sorry if I wasn’t there to listen when you had trouble with P. I was busy beating the deadlines in school. I’m sorry that I didn’t talk to you for several months already. You very well know the reason for that. I’m sorry that I sometimes cannot text back when you badly need someone to talk with. And most of all, I’m sorry that I can only give you my friendship.

I remember how well you tried to convince me to spend the New Year in your house. I know you pitied me for spending the new year by myself but you see, this is me. I take pride in my independence and freedom. You probably know just when our friendship started suffocating me. I just realized that it wasn’t healthy anymore. I felt being tied-down. You said things that are not worth repeating here. You wanted to cross the line and that’s one thing I cannot allow you to do.

I didn’t flinch when you revealed it to me. You are my friend. My best one at that. But I should have seen it coming. I should have just stopped there before it got worse.

Have I ever told you I love you? I do. I really do. But it’s not the kind of love in your definition. I know you love me too but it’s not the kind of love I can give you back.
I want to keep you as the person I’ve loved in my memory. Not the one I’ve started to dislike. No, I don’t hate you. I don’t want you to blame yourself. There’s nothing to blame.  Some things are just not worth keeping. It’s better that way.

I want you to move on. A scholarship abroad? Now, that’s something. Isn’t that what you’ve dreamed of? I’ve always admired you for just being yourself. I’ve always been your fan. I believe in you. You may not know it but I’ve learned so much from you.

I want you to keep me in your memory as that girl with the hoodie. Nothing more.
Let’s drop everything here. No need to look back. We’ve grown, we’ve loved, we’ve learned and that’s all that matters.

I once asked my Grade 5 students to write about their crushes in their journals. Squeals and catcalls erupted from the boys. I spied the girls blushing, whispering, and giggling among themselves. But after awhile they were already busily writing and trying hard to cover their writings lest a classmate take a peek on their "crush." One boy boldly came to me and whispered, "Ma’am, can I write about you?" I hastily said, "NO! Write about somebody your age." He embarrassingly retreated back to his seat and wrote about a classmate instead. I wanted to kick myself that instant. Is it too much to just give the boy a chance to write about his "older" crush? It’s creative writing so why couldn’t I have just given him the liberty to write about whoever he wants to write? Besides, it would have been cute to read about what he have to say about me. Sometimes, in the classroom, I act too hastily without giving my decision a thought. I’m too wrapped up with order, rules, and instructions.
Here’s another incident; This naughty, naughty boy kept on saying "testicles" in a sing-songy voice. I told him to stop it but continued to do so. That encouraged the other boys to follow suit. I told him to come in front. He’s the president of the class so he thought we’ll have a meeting of sort. I told him that next time he says that word he’ll open his pants and show his "testicles" to his classmates. The class burst out laughing. He never said the word again. But I’m not sure if I did the right thing. You see, when he went back to his chair he looked back at me with so much hatred in his eyes. I could see that he was embarrassed but I never thought children are capable of strong hatred. Couldn’t I have just reprimanded him personally? I felt bad about it afterwards. Sometimes, when it comes to discipline I am not sure if I’m good at it. In fact, I rely on the children’s affection rather on discipline when it comes to classroom management. One father gave me the feedback that I am not firm on the kids and that I should be strict on them. I’m sorry, sir, but you don’t know what’s going on in the classroom. I have my own way of dealing with them. It may not be your style but it works for me. I stand by the belief that humans are inherently good but I sometimes feel a pull where humans are inherently evil, too.

This other incident shows that students have their own basis for the good and the bad; Around dismissal time, the children were already outside playing when a group of boys came to me with a teary-eyed classmate in tow. When I asked him what’s wrong, he started wiping his tears and said, "My classmates are teasing me that I pooed in the restroom." I laughed really hard when I heard him say that. You would laugh if you were me (I laughed over un-funny matters). It’s amusing to see that children get embarrassed over nature’s call. I just realized I committed an unforgiving act when the boys said, "Ma’am, you laughed! You’re a baaaaad teacher!" I laughed even harder. The next day, word spread in the classroom that Ma’am Van laughed at one of their classmates because he pooed in the classroom. Of course, he denied the accusation. Until now, I am not sure if he really did pooh that day. Students have so much expectations. They expect you to be good. By good means, lenient and relaxed. You’re bad if you give too many assignments, call on their parents all the time, send them to the Guidance Office for disciplinary actions… I admit I had been baaaaaad… Sometimes what they think is bad is actually good for them.

Ah, I’m starting to miss my kids. They’ll be in grade 6 this opening. Adolescents in the making… My elementary teaching years were hard but I learned a lot.

This schoolyear, I’ll be teaching high school. New school, new students, new culture, new co-teachers, new heads… I know I’ll be learning more…