My Pensieve

The Audacity of Hope

2009-10-09T18:25:00.000-07:00

YES. I finally dipped my fingers in the muddy and disturbed waters of campus politics. It was never an easy decision; it took months of thinking and rethinking. In every decision we make, there’s always an element of risk attached to it. Being stereotyped as a trapo, corrupt, incapable and power-hungry is a risk I am willing to take, all in the name of bringing the renaissance our campus politics badly needs.

Let us take a glimpse of one of the most important battles I took in my life.

It was in the middle of winter solstice when the possibility of running for the student government hit me. I was still at Montana State then. Inspired by that sudden thought, I immediately consulted my closest peers for their insights. Some of my concerned mentors and friends discouraged me from entering the realm of campus politics. According to them, SSG will only taint my name given the kind of image that our student government projects in the campus. Their main apprehension is this: that the moment I enter SSG, students will automatically associate me with the traditional politicians who have ruled the campus for quite some time. Another contention that they make is this whole idea of "you-can’t- make-a-difference-anyway" argument because they argue that “the problem with the SSG is already deeply rooted in the system and there is nothing that we can do about it.” I never conceded to this notion.

I responded to the call of leadership. I did pursue the battle. This is an excerpt from one of my campaign speeches˸

"I still believe that in the hands of 13,000 MSUans nestles the relentless desire to work for positive change. It’s not too late. Our apathy and complacency will never work for our advantage. We have the power to transform our campus politics into something that is active, trustworthy, and responsive to student needs."

And we succeeded. On August 13, 2009, almost 10,000 MSU students casted their votes in what is considered to be one of the most peaceful election in the university. Some even considers the voting turn-out historical as the number of students who went out to vote is the highest after so many years. Usually, an SSG presidential candidate takes the win with more than 2,000 votes. I got more than 5,000 votes. Thanks to my fellow students who shared the audacity of hope. Hence, the uphill battle was won.

Until now, I am still overwhelmed by the outpouring support from my fellow students. I am, and will always remain grateful for their unconditional support—from the campaign period to the day of the election. More importantly, their support is immensely appreciated especially that I am now in the position. As I always remind my fellow students, the student government does not exist in a vacuum. Better governance is best achieved when both the leader and the members work hand in hand in the pursuit of common good.

One of my mentors once told me “to dream big, and take small steps”. I want change. I promised, and I will work for change. But change won't happen in an instant blink of an eye, or in a one-year term of any president. It happens in a gradual manner—one step at a time. However, there's one thing I'm very certain about—that my administration will do everything in its power to serve the best interests of the students.

It is going to be a tough road ahead. Challenges and obstacles will come along the way like a tempest willing to destroy a sailing ship. Some people will be approving. Some will throw their thumb down. Indeed, I now put myself in a position where I could be a sitting duck for some people. Now that's threatening. But you know what's the best thing about being a leader? It's that wonderful opportunity to touch lives, and be touched and inspired by other's lives as well.

From Scratches to Speeches: The Road to 7 Minutes of Eloquence

2009-04-10T15:17:00.000-07:00

Aboard a post World War II C130 cargo plane are four nervous university students murmuring a silent prayer. They are seated very close to each other like tightly-packed grocery items in a small box, along with some wounded soldiers from the ongoing all-out war in the southern coast of the Philippines. Deprived of space, they were forced to sit on their knapsacks and travelling bags. Some sat on the stacks of military garments and ammunitions on board. Despite the rattling due to the turbulence and not to mention the almost dilapidated state of the plane, their faces glow with excitement and jubilation. For these students, the risk attached to the journey above the ground is better than paying thousands of pesos to get to the capital city in a much safer commercial plane. Approximately 8,000 feet below them, a war between the government troops and the group of Muslim rebels in the south is going on while the National games commence in the central part of the archipelago. Above, the passengers are bracing themselves for a different battle. Not war. Not an athletic meet. They’re up for a battle as compelling and important as the war against the violent insurgent groups, and as exciting and contested as the national athletic meet: a debate tournament.

Our university’s Social Sciences College lobby holds the annual debate varsity tryouts. This is exactly the place where the great debaters of Mindanao fought and lobbied cosmic ideas thru compelling arguments. One afternoon, I found myself restlessly walking back and forth across the covered pathway towards the celebrated lobby. After the long brawl towards a decision, I found myself in a face-to-face interview with the Grand Archon of our university’s debate varsity who also happened to be the best speaker in the entire Mindanao region.

“This house believes that Ariel Sharon is a Trojan Horse of Israel. Argue the affirmative,” he exclaimed. “That’s our motion.” He added.

I was in absolute bewilderment. I only understood the first four words of that sentence! The rest of the words appeared to be too foreign for me. Who is Ariel Sharon? What makes him a Trojan horse in a country that means nothing to me other than the native land of Jesus Christ? The silence between us had been deafening. He waited for an answer. My face swelled. It spelled crimson in a very odd “I-don’t-know” fashion.

Before I could totally humiliate myself, he spoke and argued affirmative instead. I struggled refuting his arguments. It was like a picture of the battle between David and Goliath. Fortunately, the story did not change its ending. The next day, I found my name among the list of 10 qualifiers to join the team. I was lucky! Since then, I found myself wandering in the exciting world of parliamentary debating.

The origin of formal and international parliamentary debating tournament dates back to 1981 when Glasgow hosted 42 teams from 7 nations to compete in what is now popularly known as the World Universities Debating Championship—the largest debating tournament in the world. In 2009, 308 teams, 616 debaters, and an approximate number of 200 adjudicators from more than 40 countries participated in the tournament which was hosted by Cork, Ireland. Undeniably, the WUDC is now one of the largest annual international student events in the world. Since its conception, the parliamentary debating culture has spread throughout the globe—from the powerful nations of the Western World to the developing African and Southeast Asian countries. Nowadays, the craft of debating is not confined to college students; it has also trickled down to the younger masses. Elementary and secondary students alike have already come up with their own international tournaments.

In general, parliamentary debating is reflective of the deliberative discussions in the British House of Commons where written speeches from its members are not permitted, unlike the US Congress (or other lawmaking bodies). Like the members of the House of Commons, debaters are only given 15 and 30 minutes preparation time (for British and Asian formats respectively) to write 7-minute speeches regarding the motion, which is basically a debatable declarative sentence. The term “house” in the motion refers to the debaters, the adjudicators (or judges), and the audience attending the debate, who comprise the deliberative parliament. Between the 2^nd and 6^th minute of the speech, the opponent can interrupt the speaker by raising points of information or POI’s making the debate much more exciting and interactive. Throughout the debate, debaters speak extemporaneously using the notes they have made during the allotted preparation time and during the debate itself. As my senior debater said, “It’s not about role-playing. No memorizations. No rehearsals. It is a real game—a real battle.”

Since it is extemporaneous, debaters do not have an idea of their side prior to the debate. They are not allowed to choose either, so debaters sometimes defend something that might be totally against their values like that monk from Assumption University of Thailand who argued about the need to provide materials of pornographic content in school and public libraries. Bald and wrapped in orange draping, he eloquently spoke about the value of Playboy and Maxim magazines—as if he ever reads them. Nevertheless, he pulled it off. This is the beauty of parliamentary debating. It creates an atmosphere which allows debaters to see the intrinsic values of both sides of the issue.

When motions or propositions go as hard and as complicated as the “cross-legs” policy of the wives of Latin American leftist groups, debaters—good and bad ones—rely on their critical, shrewd and not mention close-to-reality fabrication of facts and situations. Sometimes, they even talk about things they hardly know. In round 7 of the 2006 Asian Universities Debating Championship, my team debated against the National University of Malaysia. The motion was about whether Oprah Winfrey better forwards black empowerment than 50 Cent. Our rebuttal speaker elegantly delivered his speech and suddenly probed, “Mister Chair and members of this most august house, what can a coin which cannot even afford a Hershey’s chocolate do to the black community?” He did not know that 50 Cent is a popular African American rapper in the United States. During adjudication time, the judge commended his use of “analogy” in his speech. We won that round.

In my three years of debating, I have written extemporaneous speeches for diverse motions that stretch as far as the genocide in Darfur, the rise of “gayborhoods” in Canada, and the nuclear proliferation of Iran; as obsolete and recurring as prostitution and abortion; as weird as allowing pedophiles to hold children parties; and as exciting as debating whether Harry Potter should be leaner or whether the Disney princesses forward women empowerment.

The opening and break nights are one of the highly anticipated highlights of a debate tournament. The opening night showcases an exciting exhibition debate from a selected pool of debaters among the participating schools, followed by an adjudication exam based on the exhibition debate which ranks the adjudicators according to the level of debate they can handle. After 7 grueling, sweating and shout-all-you-can rounds of elimination, the announcement of the crème of the crop or the teams and adjudicators qualifying to the final series happens during the break night. But to most debaters, break nights mean stowing away their almanacs, magazines and other reference materials. It’s the time when men put away their reading glasses as women wear their ravishing cocktail dresses. To the debaters who endured the physical and mental exhaustion of debating, break night means a reward; it means partying like crazy.

I was in awe as we entered the patio where the break night for the Philippine Inter-Collegiate Debating Championship was held. There was a DJ on stage, and countless number of debaters already on the dance floor grooving to the tune of Usher’s latest beats. From the far end of the area, the teams that mercilessly thrashed each other’s arguments in the previous rounds are now enjoying a casual conversation with bottles of beer and wine clamped in their hands. Coming from a conservative Islamic city in southern Philippines, the sight of the one of the deputy chief adjudicators lip-locking with a beautiful debater disturbed me for a minute. The scene in the party completely refutes the growing notion that debaters are nothing but “geeks” who can’t even tell the difference between tequila and vodka. Debaters can actually deliver 7-minute speeches dichotomizing the difference between the two. Don’t get them started on that.

During the championship dinner, the “Four Ultimate Awards” are given for the winning team, the best adjudicator, the tournament best speaker, and the final’s best speaker.

Personally, debating is done not merely for the sake of arguing and for the sake of settling a dispute. Sometimes there just isn't a settlement ground. Most of the times, debating allows me to find the answers within myself. I have been intensely scared of debating because I didn't really read a lot and I didn't know much about the issues. But debating made me realize that I could learn to love anything I am scared of. I also learned that everything can be made right by justifying it. This doesn't mean my values are bent because in debate truth is relative; it depends on which side you are assigned to. I learned that not all that is good is right because in debating, you can defend something that's totally against your values and you still could pull it off. It encouraged me to make my stand not only in the debate circle but in the real schemes of life. I would definitely follow the footsteps of my senior members who took that C130 cargo plane ride.

21

2009-02-19T00:45:00.000-08:00

Attending the most popular store in a small farming barrio in southern Philippines is a pale-faced pregnant woman surrounded by farmers drinking tuba after a day of hard work in their agricultural lands amidst the scorching heat of the sun. It was still dusk, but the Christmas lights from some of the small bamboo and nipa houses were already illuminating the small village. To that pregnant woman in the store, December is special not only because of the Christmas carols, the gifts, and the time for “love and giving”, but also because it is the month she is expected to give life to her second child— at the age of twenty-one.

She met her husband in Marawi City—the only Islamic City in the Philippines—where she used to worked in a restaurant while attending school at the same time. The father of her soon to be two children is the nephew of the owner of the restaurant who stood against their relationship. Their relationship was against all odds. It was actually very brave of her to enter into a relationship with a Muslim man, given her Catholic bearing. Asked about this crucial decision of her life, she responds by quoting a line from a popular song: “love can move mountains.” Having been driven away by some of her husband’s immediate family members, she sought refuge from her family who accepted her and the father of her children. While her husband works as a private escort of a popular politician in the Muslim region, she helps in making both ends meet by running a small store.

Although quite uncertain about her growing family’s future, this woman—named Princesita because of princess-like features— lives her day in the most optimistic way. Because of financial constraints and motherhood responsibilities, she was forced to stop going to school, which eventually ended her dream of becoming a teacher someday. While pregnant, she rumbles about how her children are going to make her proud someday, and about how they will be a living proof of the good decisions she made in life. The people surrounding her are somewhat convinced, but most of them remains doubtful because of her husband, and the undesirable reputation Muslim people possess. Despite this, everyone in the village adores her because of her fine nature and strong character. They wish her nothing but the best.

Few days later, around 7 o’ clock in the morning, she finally gave birth to her son. It was December 17, 1987. She learned from her husband that her father-in-law wants the child to be named Rashid which is one of the ninety-nine beautiful names of Allah. Despite the misunderstanding and the rough relationship she has with her husband’s family, she never retaliated. She remains patient and friendly towards them. She readily agreed to the chosen name. Proud and excited, she cuddled the newly-born baby and whispered a silent prayer.

This is the story I made when as part of a classroom exercise, we were asked by our professor to write about how we envision our parents when they were our age.

At twenty-one, I live a very different life. Very different from what my mother and father have gone through.
At twenty-one, I hope that in my own little ways, I am able to make them proud and happy.
At twenty-one, I hope that I’m starting to make them feel that I deserve them as my parents.
At twenty-one, I hope that my mother starts to realize that she made the right decision when she married my father.
At twenty-one, I hope I make good decisions in life too.

Bundles of Endowment

2009-02-12T14:55:00.000-08:00

As the white flags on both sides of the road became visible from the window of the Tamaraw FX which drove me home from the local airport, I knew exactly what was about to welcome me: the truth. The truth I refused to believe a day ago when I received the call from my uncle. The rest of the passengers in the public utility vehicle jumped off one at a time, leaving me and my cousin, who fetched me in the airport, silently seated in the backseat. As we grew closer to the small village where I grew up, we passed along the green rice fields. Gusts of fresh mountainside breeze accompanied by the fetidness of the mud rose from the newly planted rice. The car shook bumpily as we drove along the unpaved portion of the road, leading to a steel bridge which was previously made of wood. The mountains overlooking the whole village were already visible as we curved towards the huge arc which marked the entrance to the village. The whole atmosphere felt like home, as it should have. But I didn’t want to be home. Not anymore.

The vehicle finally stopped in front of my grandfather’s house where a white streamer hung amidst the cement balusters of the terrace. The streamer was embossed with green-painted words I no longer bothered to read. I came across those words several times before—in fact I memorized their order already— and I knew exactly what they say. It took a while before I finally had the courage to step out of the car. As soon as I stepped out, I walked straight towards my grandmother’s bedroom, discarding all the sympathetic people who wanted to offer their condolences. Like me, they wished they could have welcomed me home in a different fashion. A series of colorful streamers leading to our house, embedded with my complete name and all the words glorifying my achievement, would have greeted me along the way. In the house, a grand feast would have been prepared honoring my arrival from a foreign country, which is a really big thing especially for my people who immensely pride themselves. But I could not evade reality, which was now face to face with me. The bed I used to share with my grandmother was empty. All I it contained was the pillows she herself made—adorned with the intricate indigenous designs we are known for. I wailed, finally succumbing to the fact that my grandmother was gone.

One day earlier. That was all I would have needed to be around for her burial. I had arrived in Ninoy Aquino International Airport in the capital city of Manila 24-hours before they sent my grandmother to the ground. From the international airport, we proceeded to our hostel where I immediately called my parents to inform them of my arrival. I was very excited to know who was going to fetch me in the local airport the next day. Disappointment set in as each call remained unreturned. Pondering what was going on, I scrolled over the long list of phone numbers and called my uncle who had the courage to finally deliver the news which came as a bolt from the blue.

“Your ina passed away,” said the calm voice from the other end of the line.

Suddenly, my whole world stopped, leaving me startled amidst the group of ecstatic teenagers checking in at the hostel’s front desk. I had been as energetic as they were, but my excitement about coming home dropped instantly. The news drew away all the beautiful memories I was very eager to share with the rest of the family: my trip to the Sears Tower, my foster family experience, and all the highlights of my trip to the United States. My pitiful laments reverberated around the hallway which called the attention of the people around who rushed towards me, their foreheads crooked out of confusion. Having regained my train of thought, I strode towards our coordinator and begged for my flight to be rescheduled, so as to make it to my grandmother’s burial.

“Kaka, please let me take the flight now. Help me!” I stammered, barely managing to speak in between gasps. “Please kaka…please.”

“There’s no use Rashid. It’s too late. They already buried her couple of hours ago. They have to, and you know that.”

Of course I knew it. Among the small Muslim population in the Philippines, the dead have be buried before sunset, for reasons I’m totally ignorant about. Before sunset, all the rituals are expected to be properly performed. Perhaps my aunts performed the ablution, bathing the lifeless body of my grandmother religiously, before wrapping her with a thick white cerement. Where did they take her afterwards? They probably carefully laid her in that bed we used to share, visible to the people who wanted to show their last respects. My grandmother was intimately attached to me. She is closer to me than to anyone else, and that day I was told that everyone was looking for me. Perhaps they were aware of my loss—not only my grandmother, but the chance to be there in her last day above the ground.

“The people who did not learn about your trip to the United States have been looking for you,” my mother told me days after the interment. “Learning about your absence, they had your younger brother, Abdulazis, kissed ina on your behalf,” she continued. My mother was about to continue with her recollection of events when she noticed tears flowing slowly and silently from my red eyes again.

“You are still very like your grandmother,” she too was sobbing this time. I knew what she meant. When the family members want to tease me they call me “Mastura,” which was actually my grandmother’s name before she went to pilgrimage in Mecca. I am a very sentimental person just like me grandmother. We cry easily, and we are widely known in the family for that.

The conversation with my mother went on. Later, I learned that my younger brother almost dropped a tear on my grandmother’s uncovered face which would have required another ablution. According to my mother, my three-year-old brother’s kiss stirred even louder wails from the people around. I assume those people were sympathetic, and more aware of what I was deprived of than my brother who sobbed, maybe, because of the melancholic atmosphere around him. Unfortunately, I was deprived of several things: the chance to carry her towards the place of burial, the opportunity to wave the huge mat above the pit while the imam read passages from the Qur’an, and above all, the chance to send flowers before they finally covered her with earth.

Death is an idea I have always eluded. The mere thought of the possibility of losing someone I love anytime—in every tick of the clock—affrights me intensively. I have seen other people deal with their unbearable losses. I learned from observation that it’s tragic, but I never knew it was more than that. I have never lost a loved one before, not from any of my immediate family members, and not until my grandmother passed away. It was my life’s most painful blow. Perhaps it might be because it was untimely, and that it was my first tragic loss. It gave rise to my litany of questions and apprehensions. My grandmother’s death was an event tantamount to a destruction of a pillar that has kept me standing all these years.

It has been rough growing up having a Christian mother who belongs to a tribe outside that of my father’s. There’s always that stigma attached to my identity. Because my blood is not pure according to their standards, people from my father’s tribe looked me down, and the rest of my brothers and sisters. They treated us as if we’re less of a person. My grandmother didn’t; she embraced us with arms wide open, and made us experience the feeling belongingness. She provided both moral and financial support to my struggling family. A perfect epitome of Muslim woman, my grandmother did not only provide us with a physical home; she herself was a shelter against the tempestuous and discriminating social constructs which have been tearing us down. She loved us for who we are, and fought for our acceptance by slowly assimilating us to her huge family in particular and the society in general. Losing my grandmother is like losing my home, which is my point of refuge and protection.

When she was still alive, I spent my weekends in my grandmother’s place where she used to cook my favorite dish. Apparently, she no longer fed me with her bare hands like the old days, but she still used to make me sleep by gently rubbing her calloused fingers around my head while humming my favorite traditional songs. Since her demise, things have changed. I chose to lean towards cowardice by avoiding anything that will enliven my memories of her. I seldom visit her place, except for very important family occasions and Muslim holidays when the whole family is expected to gather. Instead, I substituted movie and game events to my weekly visit hoping they would emancipate me from the truth that caged me for several years. Rehearse and pose. That was what I did. My point was she is no longer there, and that therefore there was no more reason for me to be there. But I realized that it wasn’t the best way forward. It didn’t help; instead, it drowned me into a sea of bitterness and self-deceit.

Several months after her interment, I rummaged through my grandmother’s old and rickety cabinet as I was trying to clean the room. While going over her stuffs, tears slowly fell from my already tired eyes as I wept silently like a lost child in the middle of a cold night. I wanted to stop, but something within me kept on pushing me to go on. I proceeded with overhauling the items, and transferring them box after box. As I went through the most reserved part of the wooden furniture, I came across several items I have never seen before: my old childhood photographs, woven blankets, some weaving materials, and a black bag carefully placed inside the drawer. My eyes beamed with surprise as I unzipped the bag. It contained bundles of 50-peso bills carefully layered beneath a white parchment marked with what seemed to be scribbles out of a pencil. As I examine the scribbles I realized that they were written in Arabic, so I called my father to check it and decipher the meaning for me. My father told me later that those bundles of money were for. Consistent to our cultural and religious norms, my grandmother prepared the amount to be given to the people who helped with the interment ceremony. Actually, my grandmother didn’t need to do that. The remaining family members are the ones responsible for all the arrangements. Obviously, my grandmother didn’t want to be a burden for us. She spent her last days preparing for her peaceful departure. She accepted her fate wholeheartedly. My grandmother was ready all this time.

I admire how she managed to become more receptive of her death than I am. All I did was deny it, when in fact I could have responded in a better way. But her death has sparked several points of reflection. It has indirectly bequeathed upon me some very important lessons in life: independence, acceptance, and strength of character. My grandmother’s death may have ended our long walks together across the rice fields and amidst the scorching heat of sun to visit our family members living in the nearby village. We can no longer toil and plant flowers and leafy vegetables in her garden together. Most of all, I will no longer see those small, brown and pale eyes that I completely inherited. But it doesn’t mean I cannot endure the same walk that bridges the gap between me, my family and the entire clan. It doesn’t mean I can no longer beautify her garden and harvest vegetables out of it. Death took away her life, but my relationship with her will always remain an indelible part of my life.

Dying and or losing someone we love are things to be sad about, but living an unhappy life full of grudges, regrets and pretentiousness is another. I thank my grandmother for this piece of realization. I thank her for the bundles of endowment.

Hay, Nanay!

2008-12-30T11:08:00.000-08:00

"Kaning puti nga lingin, para ni sa hilanat. Kaning capsules, sa allergy. Basin mangatol ka didto. Unya, kaning isa ka capsule nga pula ug puti, para ni sa ubo. Vitamins na dayon ning uban."

(These white and circular ones are for fever and colds. These capsules, for allergy. You might get itchy in there. Take the red capsules when you have coughs. The rest are vitamins.)

My eyes were fixated on the TV while my mom was very busy explaining all those tablets and capsules to me. It was Wowowee time. "Wheel of Fortune" to be specific--that segment which makes us laugh and sob at the same time. Oh, Valerie was just ravishing. Pokwang was an Anabelle Rama that day.

"Naminaw ka nako Toy?" (Are you listening to me?) She may have noticed I wasn't paying attention at all. "Oo Ma. Kadungog ko." (Yes Ma, I heard you.) I lied.

"Isa ka dosena ni nga brief. Basin wala na pud mabilin ani. Naa pud tulo ka panyo, ug 4 ka labakara. Ayaw walaa ha? Ambot kapila na taka gipalitan ani."

Oh yes, I am very careless. I easily lose things, for reasons I am never sure of. I lost a celphone, a digital camera and a wallet which contained my ATM card and some hard cash. My mother usually says, "Kung mabilin lang na imong koan Toy, dugay ra na gitangag sa iro."

That was pretty embarassing. Hay Nanay.

What made me ponder on these things? I've been having colds lately. Headaches too. I was advised to take flu shots, but I never did. So I decided to unpack the "first aid kit" my mom prepared for me. There were several tablets of various colors and sizes. Which is which? I tried to remember what my mom told me that day. Oh, I only remembered that contestant who suddenly slipped on the floor while doing his performance. I thought it was pretty funny. Just that.

Mom is not here, so I tried to work things on my own. I checked one of the labels--Diphenhydramine Hydrochloride. Medical jargon. What on earth does this mean? Hmmm...I knew where to go.

Wikipedia. Search. Enter. There.

It turned out that Diphenhydramine Hydrochloride was not the one I needed. Haha. Wrong choice. So I rummaged over the kit again. After few minutes, I found what I've been looking for.

Oh, how I miss my mother so much. I miss her piyaren a badak. I miss her pinakbet every morning, and the cups of milk she makes for me especially when she finds me in the living room wide awake at 12:30 in the morning. I miss her bang on my door every morning...and of course, her "Bo-boan taman ka ug tubig karon" (do you want me to pour you with a pail of water for you to wake up?) which serves as my alarm clock for several years already.

She is a "stage mother". She's with me when I take scholarships, attend competitions or do school work. She may not totally understand what I'm doing, or the things I'm writing; nevertheless, her mere presence boosts my morale and makes me feel better.

I love you Mamang. Thank you for the tireless efforts to give the best for me and for the rest of us in the family. May Allah bless you always. Long live Ma! This post is for you! You're the best Nanay, Omie, Mom, Mommy, Mamang, Mama, Ermatz in the world!

Lost Angeles

2008-12-30T09:34:00.000-08:00

Madonna once sang, “Everybody wants to be in Hollywood. They wanna make it to the neighborhood.”

I have always dreamed of visiting Los Angeles, and the infamous Hollywood. Who doesn't? That's what television does—it lures you to venture your wildest dreams and imagination. Hollywood is a dream for most people—a dream that is far-fetched. It's unlikely to come true. Mine did though.

It was a very beautiful and sunny day of December 28 when Kuya Jo, an MSU alumnus based in Los Angeles picked us up in Ate Perl's home. We're headed to downtown Los Angeles and Universal Studios. A dream come true indeed.

We had toured around downtown Los Angeles before we picked up Kuya Gus and ate lunch. We passed along Los Angeles Convention Center which is situated beside Staples Center, home to the Los Angeles Lakers, and then drove across the pencil-like structure of the city hall, where Kuya Jo and Kuya Gus work. From the window, the towering palm trees, which have become a Los Angeles trademark were clearly right in front of me. Then we proceeded to the creatively designed buildings that house the world-famous signature items like Gucci, Prada, CK, Salvatore Ferregamo and GUESS.

Los Angeles. Posh. Glamor. Fame. Wealth.

These are but a few of the reasons attract thousands of people each day. Many people come to Los Angeles to try their shot towards stardom. Some visit to relax, to tour around and to have fun. A greater portion visit to work. Madonna was right. Everybody wants to be in Hollywood, even those people who visit to survive a day of pain and hunger. To survive a day. Just one day.

In the heart of Los Angeles, just few blocks away from the posh shopping centers and imposing buildings exists a group of people, who at the first glance seem oddly displaced. In other words, this group of people is not an LA material; they're not consistent to the proclaimed image of Los Angeles.

It's the hidden picture of Hollywood. The one that remains to be covered by the stage curtain. That part of the movie that is edited out. Ignored. Deleted.

Homeless people. Physiologically hungry. Emotionally torn. Physically weak. They are all over the streets of LA, wandering aimlessly, perhaps, searching for food, or a decent place to stay. Dressed in their rugged clothes, they carry a banner (or a plackard) with them that reads “I am homeless. Help me. Feed me.” They remind me of the “taong grasa” that we have in the Philippines. “We are not alone”, I thought.

Oh life, and the irony of it. I found it amusing.

Los Angeles. Home to the entertainment capital of the world. Home to the stars that we idolize and admire. Home to the people who seem to have lost their guardian angels. Lost hope. Lost dreams. Lost life. Lost Angeles.

Most of us are all updated about the stories clouding Hollywood. We know who broke up with whom, and we care whether the new hairstyle of our favorite stars suits them. We are excited to know the names of the Brangelina twins, much as we are elated about the highlights and lowlights of the stars in those reality shows. Fancy things.

However, the stories of these homeless people are untold. They are kept and overshadowed by the overwhelming popularity of the entertainment industry. The media rarely talk about them. Sometimes, they are depicted in Hollywood movies. Most of the time, they aren't. They are of no importance. After all, they won't provide the entertainment or excitement that the audience needs. By doing this, we continue to nurture the growing culture of apathy, which shouldn't be the case. Apathy often ties up with complacency, making things even worse.

Like most of the elements here on Earth, Los Angeles is two-faced. I just learned that.

In life, some of the important things are overshadowed by the fancy things around us. I am not the only person who have witnessed this condition, and writing this may not provide them homes, food, or decent and warm clothes. It may not change their condition at all. Maybe I am the thousandth person to write about them. However, if writing over and over will help this people find the shelter, food, love and protection they need, then I'm willing to write more. Theirs is a story to share.

A Mudblood's Life

2008-11-28T22:47:00.000-08:00

I just watched a feature presentation about the black movement in the United States, dating back from Rosa Parks in Montgomery to Martin Luther King, and finally to Obama’s victory in the recently concluded US Presidential Election. This conjured a tumbling kaleidoscope of memories for me.

Change is inevitable. It’s the only thing that is constant in this world, they say. Throughout the years, the world has changed which in turn brought several changes in the lives of the people as well as in the culture and social norms that govern them. Change can go either way; it can be positive or negative. However, it’s positive change that we work for and celebrate most.

In the society where I belong, inter-marriages with people outside the ethnic group were highly discouraged. A “royal-blooded” Maranao man should marry a “royal-blooded” Maranao woman. No ifs, ands or buts about it. The Maranao people consider themselves to be royal-blooded and prohibiting inter-marriages was their way of preserving their cultural heritage, wealth and values. It was in early 1980s when my father and mother decided to live together, and deviated from the social norm. They weren’t married that time though. They couldn’t since such a social norm prohibited them. My mother was a Bisaya working as a waitress in my father’s family business (a restaurant somewhere in Amai-Pakpak, Marawi City). There was no way they could be together in a community that discriminated against her and all the people of her kind. Four years after they lived together, they finally had the courage to take their vows and bind themselves in the sanctity of marriage. That was the year I was born. Since then, I have been a part of what seemed to be an uphill battle for me, my family and all the other “half-breeds” like me.

However, my society has started to change its tune regarding the issue of inter-marriages as time goes by. There are several reasons attributed to this. Personally, I believe that more and more Maranao men are getting practical. For them to marry a Maranao woman, they have to present a huge dowry to the woman’s family. This tradition alienates Maranao men. Since marrying a Maranao woman costs a lot of money, they prefer marrying non-Maranao women instead, and use the money supposedly for dowry to run a small business in some other place. After few years, these men come back and bring their wives and children with them, most of whom have obtained better education in the country’s most reputable academic institutions. As a result, more and more “half-breeds” dwelled in the society, and their increasing number overwhelmed the majority of “pure-bloods”, and sparked a silent and peaceful revolution. Moreover, the correlation between education and power became a driving force too. Most of the “half-breeds” hold important positions in the government and in academe, and this gradually earned them the respect and recognition of the society. The media catalyzed the change and brought the issue in a whole new light as well. Through the media, the Maranaos were able to see things outside their society. Before, they hardly see the forest for the trees. In the status quo, they are exposed to new concepts and ideas which make them more open-minded. Lastly, the gradual integration of the “half-breeds” to the “pure-blooded” ones became an avenue to bridge the gap and debunk stereotypes. As these people work with each other everyday, they tend to understand and appreciate each other’s similarities and differences more.

I am one of the “half-breeds”—a mudblood like Harry Potter. There are many Lord Voldemort’s in my society—those people who aren’t that receptive and who cannot recognize our existence. We were against all odds. A flock of black sheep as we were, we experienced all forms of discrimination, even from our immediate family members. We were (and still are) considered "low class" or less of a person. We're not pure. We're tainted. Looking back at those days still pricks my heart painfully. The pictures are still very vivid and clear in my mind. I can’t believe that we once lived in a very small house we rented while my grandparents enjoy the luxury of their huge torogan (or mansion). However, this did not make me feel less of a person. In fact, it has become my rallying point. I took my studies seriously and participated in several community activities. I became the class valedictorian among the 700 graduating students of my high school class, 99% of whom are "pure-blooded" Maranaos. That was a form of sweet revenge for a “half-breed” like me. I also represent my society in several competitions. I channel their sentiments and grievances in mediums I can handle--debate, public speaking and writing. I wanted the society to appreciate me, to realize my worth and to recognize my existence. I may have sounded so desperate, but that’s how I wanted the river to flow. It has never been an easy battle. Nevertheless, I am not alone in this endeavor. In fact, I am only a microcosm of a massive and united vanguard of “half-breeds” clamoring for the same recognition. Our determination did not upset us for at the end of the day, the prize we sought was won. We wanted to belong and we did, gradually at least.

Now, I live in a society that accepts and respects me for what I am and where my roots come from. It’s not a total make-over though. Some people may still not be as receptive as others. However, what’s important is that I now have a cultural heritage I can be most proud of. I am proud to be a mixture of two different ethnic groups. I was born not to taint the rich and beautiful culture of the Maranaos, as what the others may think. I am proud of it. I celebrate it and I would die to preserve it.

Our Lord gave me a loving family that embraces me with arms wide open. I salute my parents for overcoming the adversities they’ve been through—the rejection and condemnation. Life is a constant struggle between being one’s self and being a member of a community. I believe that my parents were able to handle this dilemma excellently. After all those years of fighting, I think I deserve the degree of recognition I have. We deserve it. In my own little ways, I will continue to paint a picture of my society admired as a paragon for the continuing pursuit of positive social change amidst diversity. Martin Luther King once said, “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.” I share this dream; I want to see it borne out in my society. I hope that the growing trend of receptiveness towards the “half-breed” Maranaos will continue to move forward.

After all, my blood is red. Is theirs yellow?

Musings in the Month of November

2008-11-27T11:33:00.000-08:00

November is a very special month for me. In this month, I had (and will have) my "firsts": first Halloween in the United States, first time to witness the US Presidential election, first Thanksgiving holiday, and most of all, first taste of what some students describe as a "hell week" in the university.

Halloween here in the United States is very different from what we have in the Philippines. I was flabbergasted by how Americans treat this holiday. I was amazed to see students wearing costumes in my class during the Halloween week. There was a Mickey Mouse, a Harry Potter, a witch, a Dracula and even a Michael Phelps! I didn't know that we were supposed to wear costumes. It was for this reason that I wasn't able to dress up. Have I known, I would have pulled out some of the costumes that I brought from the Philippines. My datu-costume-with-matching-landap-and-tubao would have made head turns. Nevertheless, I participated in our hall activities for children (“trick or treat”). I also went to some "haunted houses" organized by the student government. It was tons of fun!

I also felt so privileged to be able to witness what they declare as the most historic U.S. Presidential election. During the Election Day, I went out with my friends to personally witness the election process. We went to the polling precincts and took pictures (yes, we did). The voting process here is very organized, and less cumbersome. It reminded me of how we conduct elections in Lanao del Sur, wherein hundreds of armed men roam around the area. Oftentimes, series of gunfire are heard and massive election fraudulence is very prevalent. That night of November 4, I joined the millions of people who celebrated for Obama's victory. It's not that I preferred Obama more than McCain (although I really do). More than that, the fact that the Americans were able to elect their first black president is overwhelming. The recently concluded presidential election is a perfect epitome of "people power". Change isn't far-fetched, only if we religiously work towards attaining it. I'm also impressed with both candidates' sportsmanship. After the results were out, John McCain bravely faced his supporters in Arizona to inform them about their loss, acknowledging Obama's victory and his defeat. If it were in the Philippines or in Lanao del Sur, a recount would have been called for, accusing the winning party of cheating (not all the time though). "Yes we can", Obama said. Listening to his speech that night reminded me of ARMM once again. It made me asked the question, "When can we?" Trapos continue to proliferate (or say flourish) in the ARMM region. It’s sad though that our very own SSG in MSU becomes the training ground for some of these trapos. Corruption in Lanao del Sur or in ARMM exists in the grassroots level. Our very own officers in the student body could not even explain the thousands of money that are lost every year. They cannot declare that the money goes to the materialization of their projects, because there aren’t any. The Senior’s Council last year even lost 27,000PhP and there was no resolution to that. No investigation I guess. The culprit was set free.

Although my idealism continues to wane, I still remain optimistic. I still see the glass half-full. In ARMM, we can initiate change too. Yes we can.

Anyway, I also volunteered for Habitat for Humanity. Along with some Global Culture Club members, I visited the work site in Belgrade, Montana and helped the entire organization with its work. It was very fulfilling, and it somehow relieved me from stress. The UGRAD-Montana also hosted a South-East Asian dinner. Ella and I cooked chicken adobo from the Philippines, and we're very glad that everyone liked it (it wasn't as great as my mother's chicken adobo though). Nothing was left at the end of the dinner. The dinner became an opportunity for us to also present our countries to the American and other international students present during the dinner. We really had a great time. Two weeks after that, Ella and I were once again invited to talk about the Philippines to a middle school in Bozeman. Ella and I brought several items from the Philippines, and presented some videos and PowerPoint slides to our audience. We were doing our job as unofficial ambassadors of the Philippines.

I just finished my midterm exams for this semester, and here are the results:

CHEM -- 95/100
EE 261 -- 86/100
COM 110 -- 92/90

In my Public Communication class, I got the highest rating in our midterm speech presentation. I talked about the wedding ceremony among the Muslim Maranaos in the Philippines. I feel so proud because there are 160 students in my class, from 8 different sections. My score went beyond the highest too, and the next highest was 88. My exam scores in chemistry are improving too, and my professor is very happy about it. In fact, he wrote a note in my midterm exam paper. He said he is very glad that my scores are improving and that he is very impressed with my neat work (solution). On the other hand, I will have to strive harder in my EE 261 class to beat the A-grade range. As of now, I am in the B+ range.

Thanksgiving holiday is only few days from now. I am staying in one of professor’s house. She invited me to celebrate Thanksgiving with her family. I am very excited. I also plan to go to California this Christmas break, and I am very glad to know that Kuya Zaldy is willing to welcome me in his payag with arms wide open. Thanks to Ate Matet for endorsing me. Special thanks goes to Ate Perl for the Disneyland treat that she promised me. =)

Note: This article was originally published in Global MSU Network.

"Partners in Crime"

2008-11-02T16:00:00.001-08:00

This is an article that we submitted to the Starfish: The Filipino Youth Empowerment Magazine. It was published nationwide. :P Enjoy it!

Muslim Scholars’ Journey Towards Revitalizing Education

Rashid and Sittie Ayeesha

The sun is directly overhead. Scorching heat radiates through the rusty galvanized sheet roof of a shabby uninhabited house. It's midway through Ramadhan, the holy month when Muslims around the globe multiply their prayers and good deeds as best as they can and go hungry and thirsty from sunrise to sundown. Despite the heat that intensifies the anguish of a dry throat and empty stomach, a group of youngsters merrily distributes snacks to the fifty kids under that rickety house with cracked walls and leaky roof. They watch how excited the kids and their parents are in the activity they are facilitating. They can see it in the kids’ curious looks in their dirty little faces and in the hopeful eyes of the parents. Hungry. Thirsty. Yet cheerful to death.

Hours before that, they trekked on a long and dusty unpaved road that brought them to this little barangay in Saguiran that best screams that indeed Philippines is a third world country. The children, most are deeply tanned and are so lean that only their tummies exhibit bulging, wear faded clothes. Only a few wear denim jeans and almost all are just wearing worn out flip flops. To find the nearest school, one will have to travel many kilometers. No wonder, the kids here are not in school that day. Anywhere you look, you won't find the usual happy scene of children playing in the school grounds for there is no school to be found. Third world. Way underdeveloped. Here comes a group of youngsters carrying back packs and sling bags that are heavy with snacks and boxes of schools supplies like pads of paper, pens and crayons and instructional material such as flash cards, charts, children's books and posters of many sorts. That day will their plan of an outreach program will be realized.

Months before that, they were faced with a concern on how they may help alleviate the problem of illiteracy in ARMM region especially in Lanao del Sur. They, a group of thirty scholars of the World Islamic Call Society, decided to take their few small steps that will jumpstart their great journey. First roadblock they met is to find out what really is the problem or perhaps, what factors contribute to the problem and how are they going to address them. After studying the problem, they reached a consensus that ignorance of the people that goes along with poverty is indeed a factor. There are so many nooks around Lanao del Sur that are so poverty stricken and so far-flung that no academic institution can reach them. Most of the elders in those barangays have not even experienced a day in school. Thus, their kids grow up past preschool age without the knowledge of the importance of education inculcated in them. Not even the mere interest or idea on what schooling is really about is sowed in their potentially fertile minds.

And so, the group of scholars raised funds and even donated a portion of their monthly stipend for this endeavor which for them is their way of giving back their blessings. They hoped that through this small step of theirs, they may trigger the interest of the kids to go to school, enlighten the parents so they can be the ones pushing their children towards getting education, and inspire the community to take a collective action along with the government officials and agencies to do something too. Through the activity, the WICS scholars aim to plant the seeds of enlightenment that may become the rally point for the clamor for education—something that most communities in Lanao del Sur do not have.

Finally, the framework of the activity was laid down. It's going to be a one day event, which primarily aims to give the children of a barangay they will choose a taste of preschool life. They will teach the ABC's, 123's, alif ba ta's (Arabic alphabet), shapes, colors, etc. Story telling activities are conducted as well and in between class sessions are parlor games to break the ice and drawing contests to drive away the humdrum.

The World Islamic Call Society Scholars Association, from the name itself, is a group of 30 Muslim scholars from Mindanao State University in Marawi City. They are recipients of the scholarship grants by the World Islamic Call Society, an international organization stationed in Libya. As part of their moral and social responsibility, the group conducts literacy outreach programs in far-flung areas of Lanao del Sur to reinforce the value of education in the province. Aside form these outreach programs, the group also conducts series of seminars, workshops and forums designed to forward Islamic values that are tantamount to empowering the Muslim youth. For this group of scholars, being a scholar isn’t just about being in the intelligentsia nor is it just about enjoying the privileges they receive—monthly stipend, book allowance, free tuition fee etc. Rather, it is about forwarding greater cause and sharing the blessings that one receives. Indeed, “with great power comes great responsibility”, and the WICS Scholars highly recognize the power bestowed upon them.

Going back to the "classroom scene", the children are in the middle of a fiery drawing contest. For most of these kids, it is their first time to ever hold a pencil in their tiny hands. It's actually funny to watch others struggle at first with the pencil that seems to be so slimy that it slips between their fingers. But given an attractive prize for whoever will be able to give a decent drawing, the kids summon all their guts and passionately tried to make lines--straights and curves--that will manage to resemble something. Singing of some nursery rhymes and popular songs follows.

The sun's last rays still linger on the horizon. The kids are waving them goodbye. So do their parents. The WICS people dismantle the posters and other stuff they have brought. Some prepare food they call lapis--any halal food that will break their fast. This is the third time they did this and this barangay is the third they visited, yet it still feels so fresh. The sense of fulfillment is still there and immeasurable. Finally, the sun has set. The adhan or call for prayer can be heard faintly from a mosque nearby. A signal to break the fast. And they called it a day.

ESKWELA

2008-09-28T21:56:00.000-07:00

Time flies very fast. I can't believe it! I've been here for two months already! Few weeks ago, I received an e-mail from Ms. Con regarding our courses for the fall semester. Here are the courses I am currently taking:

EE 261 – Introduction to Logic Circuits (3 credits)
CS 160 – Introduction to Computer Programming (Lab and Lecture; 4 credits)
CHEM 132 – General Chemistry II (Lab and Lecture; 4 credits)
COM 110 – Public Communication (Lecture and Recitation; 3 credits)
LS 301 – Leadership Seminar (1 credit)

I registered for a total of 15 credits. So far, I am doing well with my classes. In fact, I already had a taste of how exams go here in the United States. I had two major exams last Friday—in my chemistry and logic circuits classes. Surprisingly, I got the result for my chemistry last Monday. Very quick! I got 87 out of 100 in my first chemistry exam. Actually, I'm contented with my score. However, I was expecting more. I'm going to curse that single problem I missed which cost me 9 points! Nevertheless, I believe that this is a good start for me. I have 5 more major exams to do in chemistry, aside from my lab classes which run from 6:10PM-9:00PM every Wednesday. It's very exhausting. I'm just glad that our teaching assistant is very accommodating. I don't have the result for my other exam yet.

All of my subjects are “introductory” courses. However, they don't really are. For example, in my computer programming class, we were already asked to make our personal web page after only 6 classroom sessions (two weeks). I was really surprised. Making my personal web page caused me sleepless nights for a couple of days. For a glimpse of the output of those sleepless nights, kindly click this URL: http://www.cs.montana.edu/~rashid.pandi. It displays several relevant information about my classes, and other fun stuffs. Aside from this web page, I am currently working on my graphics design in my computer programming class. We are working on a graphic of a Panda! Usually, these types of programming projects are final requirements in my university's computer science class. Here, I'm working on them on the first three weeks of school. Imagine how surprising could that be. My computer programming class is very challenging.

Anyway I am most confident in my public communication class. I'm enjoying it a lot. In our recitation class, we were asked to deliver an impromptu speech about any soap-box topic on our first day of class. We delivered our speeches along with visual aids (transparencies). Two days after,in our lecture class (which has 120 students in it), my professor used my speech and visual aid as an example in class! I can't believe my eyes. Am I really seeing my work and my name in the projector screen? Magyayabang muna ako ha? David, our instructor said,”This guys from the Philippines did a very impressive speech in his recitation class.” He then put my slide projector, and everyone in the class saw it! He then called my name, and I shyly raised my hand. I was at my proudest that day! I received an A+ for that. My first (and hopefully not my last) A+ here! I'm not just going to highlight the good things though. Lately, I've been skipping classes (just two classes). I hardly wake up early. I don't know if my alarm clock didn't work in those days, or maybe I was really in deep sleep that I haven't heard it rang. I promised myself I'm not going to skip any class anymore. It reminds me of the number one rule all of my professors emphasized: If you want to pass this course, GO TO CLASS!

Now for the funnier side. Here are the ten things I want to highlight:

1. I use pencils in class instead of pens. I have a big eraser too! At first, it felt weird and unusual. However, I'm now used to it. It's convenient, and almost every student in the class uses pencils! “Balik tayo sa Kindergarten nito”, I always tell Ella.

2. My first time to use an engineering paper. When my engineering professor announced our first homework, he said it should be written in an engineering paper. Kawawang Rashid. Walang kamuwang-muwang. I did search for it, and it looks like a graphing paper lang pala.

3. I and my co-UGRAD scholars moved to our new rooms—the library! Our library is a perfect place to study! It has almost everything. Coffee stand, computers, printers, copiers and small rooms for group study sessions. We stay in the library until 12 midnight at least three times a week.

4. I volunteered to be a member of the organizing committee of the Global Culture Club. We organize many events for the international students every weekend. Speaking of weekends, allow me to tell you that I have never appreciated the phrase “Thank God It's Friday” until I came here.

5. I have two drawers of grocery now. I hardly eat the sack meals the dining hall provides for Ramadhan. I cook food myself. As a result, the food they give me everyday ends up in my drawers. I have dozens of soda, bottled juices, cookies, apples, yogurt, popcorn, bagels, chips, and many more! Sometimes, I throw a mini-party for my co-scholars.

6. I had my first haircut here in the United States the other day. I realized that barbers don't take haircutting seriously here as much as Filipino barbers back home do. Ang bilis na proseso! Hindi man lang tiningnan ang mga anggulo. Gupit lang ng gupit. Worse of all, my haircut cost me $14 dollars. It reminded me of David's Salon or Gandang Ricky Reyes—they would have made a lot of difference to my look! Too bad.

7. I had to visit Wikipedia to learn about football so that the next time I watch a football game, I will know when and when not to shout or cheer. Funny.

8. I go to gym now. I play badminton with some friends at least twice a week (mostly every Friday). I gained weight too! My mother was very delighted.

9. We are doing our community service and volunteer work now. This week we are helping a merchant from Bolivia sell his Alpaca wool items in the university. All proceeds go to the Alpaca Wool Coop in a small town in Bolivia. World Learning approved it. Next week, Ella and I are invited to make a presentation about the Philippines in one of the middle schools in town.

10. Ramadhan is almost over! The dining hall will open its doors for me few days from now!

I am having the time of my life here. Homesickness seem to slowly fade away. I talk to my family at least once a week. Life is soaring for me here. School is very demanding, but it's fun. I'm getting used to three homeworks a night.

That's it!

Dunkin' Donuts Blues

2008-09-28T20:01:00.000-07:00

Before anything else, allow me to tell you that I have tons of schoolwork to do--programming projects, reading assigments, and a speech in my public communication class. Diyako tangka. However, I'm here working on the computer keys again--books closed. I set aside all of my schoolwork in exchange for this blog post. Lame.

So, what now?

I just had a webcam chat with my family today(technology, thank you). It's scheduled every Sunday, 1PM Philippine Timezone (so it's 11PM, Saturday here). My mom, brother (yes, the Emo), and two younger siblings were on the other side of the screen to check on me. I learned from my mom that papang was too hungry (kapupuwasaan) to ever join them in the internet cafe 'sa pantag a PNB', as my mom would describe it. As usual, we had our kamustahan. My mom updates me with the happenings at home and in the family. There's nothing really special, aside from the fact the my brother Bentong cannot be in the top 3 among the whole Kindergarten class in Aba Al-Khail because he is in the second section. (For the record, the highest average is 93 from the other section. His is 92.) He should have been in the top 2, and I'm positive he will definitely make in the top spot. Sayang. This reminds me when I was in my freshman year in HS. I was on the top section, but since a student from Section C obtained an average higher than mine (a difference of 0.20), she grabbed the top spot. My brother unfortunately can't have the same fate, but he's learning and that is what's most important. He is a bright kiddo.

Anyway, Bentong is not the star in this blog. It's Ai-ai, the youngest member of the family. Usually when I talk with them, I don't show any sign of weakness at all. I don't want them to worry about me. They have nothing to worry about really. I'm perfectly fine here. However, just recently, I went melodramatic again. My sister made me cry with these words from her over the headset and the webcam:

"Kuya Atoy, baling kaden mapita owm? Mbantay ta peman sa Finding Nemo ago Lion King. Matiti kaden baling. Baling kaden mapita ah? Dinga lipati so dunkin' aken owm."

("Kuya Atoy, come home tomorrow okay? We will watch Finding Nemo and Lion King together again. What's taking you so long? You go home tomorrow okay? Don't forget my (dunkin') donuts.")

And then I burst in tears. When she noticed that I was crying, she curiously asked, "inokanan penggoraok (why are you crying?)". How I wish I could tell her that I BADLY want to go home and watch movie with her. I wish she'd understand that we will see each other 8 months from now, inshaallah. That's a long wait. In these times, I wish I were a child like her--completely immuned of the worries of the world, and sometimes, the sad realities in life. As a result, my mom went sobbing too (and so are most of the people in that internet cafe). Geez. From the other side of the screen, I can see the internet cafe's attendant sobbing with my mom too, and so are some students from JPI (yes, they're in their uniform). Weird.

To my younger sister Ai-ai, see you soon inshaallah. I'm always reminded of you everytime I eat donuts in the cafeteria, everytime I watch any Disney Pixar production, and everytime I come accross with any young girl of your age. I love you and I miss you so much. Kuya Atoy will be home soon, inshaallah. We can watch Enchanted again (and sing the OST together once more). Or perhaps Lion King (memorized na ata naming dalawa ang script/dialogue ng mga movie na eto: Lion King, Finding Nemo, Enchanted, and some Barbie series like Fairytopia, Mermaidia etc). We watch these movies almost everyday, and oftentimes, she asks me to explain some parts of the movie that she doesn't understand.

I'll be home soon, and yes, I'll take a dozen of your favorite donuts with me.

(The picture above was taken a day before I left for the United States. I woke up early to send my brother Bentong to school. I woke my sister early too, just to take this picture of them together.)

A 21st Century Nomad

2008-08-31T13:00:00.000-07:00

Nomads are members of a people or tribe that has no permanent abode but moves about from place to place, usually seasonally and often following a traditional route or circuit according to the state of the pasturage or food supply. However, the nomads I know don’t move in search for greener pastures and abundant food supply. Instead, they move to find a place to pray, and glorify their God.

Since the day I arrived here in the small town of Bozeman in the United States, I became the newest member of these nomads—the small Muslim community in Bozeman. Being a new member, I caught the crowd’s curious eyes not only because I’m the shortest, but because I’m the lone Muslim from South-East Asia. You should see the amazement in their faces every time they hear me say, “Assalamu Alaikum. I’m Rashid. I’m from the Philippines.” Most of the Muslims here are from the Middle East—Saudi Arabia, Palestine, Syria, and Jordan. There are a few Pakistanis and Nepalese. While others are here for work, most of the Muslims around are students in the university.

Few weeks ago, I came across with Ahmed, an ESL student from Saudi Arabia. I missed my Friday prayer during my first week in the campus. So I asked him where the Friday prayer is usually conducted. He struggled with his English when he answered me, and tried to give me the directions. I had a hard time catching up. Nevertheless, I got the location, and thanked him for that.

Then, my second Friday came. My class ended at 11:50AM so I had a quick lunch, and rushed to my room to do my ablution. I was done after 40 minutes. I rushed to the Student Union Building, carefully following the details I got from Ahmed. When I finally reached the hall, I was surprised to find out that nobody was there. I thought I was late, and that I missed the boat. My heart felt heavy and I was frustrated. However, as I was about to leave, one man came and opened one of the doors in the basement. I knew he was a Muslim. Without second thoughts, I extended my arm forward for a handshake and greeted him Assalamu Alaikum. Surprised, he responded “Alaikumi Salaam”. He happened to be the organizer for that day’s Friday prayer. I was very glad to know that I wasn’t late. In fact, I was too early. I learned that Friday prayer here starts at 1:00PM and usually ends at 2:00PM. The time difference up until now drives me confusingly crazy. The sun is still up at 8:30PM, imagine that.

In my life, I never cried at the sound of azhan or the call to prayer. Here, every call to prayer is extra special. I can hardly keep my tears from falling every time I hear our bilal recites it. I don’t know. Is it because I miss home? Or because I don’t hear it often? I think the answer is “both”. Back in Marawi, I’m used to hearing the bang five times a day every day. Here, since I only pray during Fridays, I seldom hear it, and that makes it more appealing to me. Honestly, I hardly pray five times a day here. My schedule deprives me to do so. However, I will try my very best to do the prayer five times a day this Ramadan. It will be a very tough challenge. However, I am reminded by someone when he said, “The greater the difficulty, the more glory one takes in surmounting it.”

Back to that Friday prayer, I was apprehensive that the imam will conduct his sermon in Arabic since most of the people in attendance are Arabs. Apparently, he spoke Arabic and then translated it to English. With this, I was again reminded of Marawi. In Marawi, the imam recites some verses from the Qur’an or hadith, and then later translates them in Meranao. So, it isn’t that different after all. After the prayer, the imam announced that the next Friday prayer will be at the SOB Barn, quite a distance from where we were that time. This makes us nomads—we move from one place to another to pray, wherever we find a vacant space for ourselves. However, I feel at home whenever I’m with these nomads, and I love to be with this group of people all the time. How can someone love being a nomad? I guess my case is a very rare exception. Then, after the Friday SOB Barn prayer, we prayed at the Language Institute Building the next week. The director for American Cultural Exchange (ACE) is very kind to offer a space for us to do our Musalla everyday in his office too.

Fasting would be very challenging here. Aside from the very dry atmosphere, the cold weather for sure isn’t going to make things easy for me. The Philippines is a very humid country, and during ordinary days, thirst is often less of an issue. Here, you get extremely thirsty even if you’re just in your room doing nothing but reading. You have to carry a water bottle all day long—the dry weather necessitates that. More often than not, the cold weather will make you hungry most of the time. Most of all, my sponsor (the U.S. Department of State tapped World Learning to manage us here) arranged for my meals in the dining hall. On regular days, I only have to swipe my card to enter and eat in the dining hall. Everything is pre-paid. Therefore, this Ramadan, I will have sacked meals then (packed meals). I will have to get these sacked meals during dinner, and take another one for my meal before sunrise. This means that I have to refrigerate the food until dawn. Yes, I will be eating refrigerated food to sustain a day of fasting. My mother would have never allowed that. Unfortunately, like me, she doesn’t have a choice. All these paint a picture of a very challenging month for Muslims like me here.

Indeed, everything comes with a price. This wonderful experience and once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, unfortunately, is not an exception. However, it's a matter of how one deal with the challenges and adversities of life. As for me, I use them to motivate me in moving forward. Strong waves make better sailors, they say. And here I am, driving a small awang amidst a huge ocean. Will I make it? My optimism, courage and perseverance tell me I WILL!

I am a 21st century nomad, and I’m proud to be one—a nomad for a greater and fulfilling cause.

Calendar

2008-08-23T13:33:00.000-07:00

What have I been doing for the past few weeks?

August 17
It was Saturday. Along with my fellow-students, I went to the Yellowstone National Park--the largest and oldest national park in the United States. We visited hot springs, interacted with very wild animals (grizzly bears, elk, buffaloes etc) and took pictures behind the very majestic waterfalls situated in between a very deep canyon. The trip was a stress reliever, and we were given the chance to step into the lands of the State of Wyoming too.

August 18-20

Stressful days! We hardly slept because we were busy finalizing our research papers, and creating the PowerPoint for the presentation! Michael Phelps was such a booster. We followed his quest for the 8 medals (an Olympic-record) and when he won them one by one, we were like winning too. We shouted in front of the television and cheered for him. After that, we went back to our respective research papers. Haha.

August 20

After sending our research papers online, our professor reviewed them and returned them to us. I was extremely happy and proud when he returned my papers to me. He wrote:

"Rashid, this is outstanding! I am very impressed with the writing, the research, and the organization. I wish I write this good when I was your age."

August 21

I presented my PowerPoint presentation before my classmates and professor. She invited some guests to listen to our presentations too. I knew I did good. However, I wasn't aware it was that good until my professor gave me my feedback form (which contains our grades and some comments/merits regarding our presentation). It was all 5s. Excellent! The words of my Advance Speaking Class professor will remain indelible to me. She said,

"You nailed it Rashid! See? You just have to slow down. I am just so fascinated. That was excellent!"

I may sound so 'mayabang'. However, just let me be. I'm just very overwhelmed. For a Juan de la Cruz attending a very big Uncle Sam university, those things mean a lot. I wasn't expecting it. I really didn't. I am just so thankful that my 'pagod and puyat' paid off. I really worked hard.

August 22

Thank God It's Friday! This day marked the end of my pre-university classes. We had a party at the Language Institute that served as our culmination program too. Today, we moved out from our residence halls and transferred to our respective halls for the entire Fall Semester. I moved to Langford Hall which is an all-male dormitory. I am sharing a room with someone who's identity is still completely unknown to me. He's coming on the 27th. I just wish he isn't a jerk. That's all. Haha.

While moving out, I came across with my Taiwanese friends in the lobby. I asked them if they are moving out too. One of them replied and said, "No. We're going back to Taiwan tomorrow." Uh-oh. I felt a sudden surge of weird emotion. I felt envious. They're finally going home, while I still have 9 months to spend here before I can finally be back. Sad.

August 23

I bought my laptop online thru my debit card. This was the first time I purchased something online. I have a lot of apprehensions. What if my order will not reach me? What if I get deceived? What if my money will be lost for nothing? Oh. Ang baguhan nga naman. I'm going to be fine. That's what my American friend told me, and I believed him. I expect to receive my new laptop three days from now. I am very excited.

Today, I also registered for the following classes:

Elementary Particle Physics (3 credits)

Computational Physics (1 credits)
Intro to Logic Circuits (4 credits including lab)

Intro to Computer Science (4 credits including lab)

Creative Writing (3 credits)

Physics of Photography (2 credits)

The maximum units a student can register here is 15. Thus, I have to eliminate one subject above. I'm really confused. As of now, I am convinced that Physics of Photography can possibly be taken out of the list. I badly want to take up that Creative Writing class.

So, what lies ahead?

Tomorrow, Chin, a co-scholar from Laos is celebrating her birthday. We are organizing a surprise party for her.

This will be all for now.

BITTERSWEET

2008-08-11T18:07:00.000-07:00

Yes, I’m back. You probably are wondering what took me so long to write a new blog entry. Have I run out of stories to share? Definitely not. In fact, I have a bunch of stories to tell. Is my internet connection cut? Of course not. Computers with internet access are ubiquitous here, remember? Now, I know you’re starting to get pissed so I’ll now give you the answer before you start cursing me to death and closing the screen of this page.

The truth is, I was extremely busy for the past few days. Classes are very demanding. Can you imagine writing three essays and two critical analyses in a week? And did I mention about classroom presentations along with these writing assignments? Grabe. The reading assignments are driving me crazy too. One whole book in one week? How about that? Nah, I was at the point of giving up. Is this what it takes to be a Juan de la Cruz student in Uncle Sam’s school? And yes, please be reminded that I’m merely taking up PRE-University classes. What could the real university classes look like? I don’t want to imagine. Sigh. The pressure is on.

Anyway, so what am I going to write? Well, I have been here for three weeks already, and I am gradually adapting (that’s good news). You have read about funny recounts of my adventures here. However, my life here is not just about excitement, joy and adventure. Not a bed of roses at all. Whenever I'm outside with some friends--shopping, visiting the infamous Yellowstone National Park or merely going to school--I have no worries. I'm happy and seem to be living my life to the fullest. However, when I'm alone in my room, it's totally a different story. Sadness engulfs the room and drives me insanely lonely. It's hard. Believe me when I say it's BITTERSWEET. My pillow will probably do a good recounting of my tearful nights. A huge part of me still longs for Philippines-Marawi-MSU-CNSM-Coffee Rep-FD- ComCen. Oh, did I just say I miss home?

I miss my mamang and her piyaren a badak.

I miss my papang. He's silent, but very deep. I know he loves me so much.

I miss Bentong. I miss sending him to school. I miss helping him with his assignments. His ABCs and 123s.

I miss Ai-ai, our youngest. I miss the way she kisses me everytime I leave for school. I miss the way she says, "Kuya Atoy, pasalubong owm? Dunkin donuts." Mister Donuts actually. We're in Marawi. You know that.

I miss my brother Popong--his skateboard, his CPC assignments, and his "punky music".

I miss my sister Rasheda. That very diligent girl who insists she's going to follow my footstep. I always tell her she doesn't have to. She can make her own way and leave her own marks.

I miss my Ate. Her favorite song "Because of You" is always played in my dormitory. Urgh, it never helps me.

I miss my cousins Dadang, Julius and Manong Ken-Ken. They're a big part of me.

I miss Aye and her "kakikayan". I miss her sermon(s). I miss her brilliant ideas that continue to stun me. I miss her frankness, if there's such a word.

I miss my BAPAs--Amad, Ced and Ben. Paramdam naman kayo sa akin.

I miss my ACCESS Family. I miss eating lunch with them. Tickee and Mahid have been very close to me already. Goldy, Shiro, Ice, Nash, Farrell, Jam and Reyfi--you are always remembered.

I miss the whole bunch of Ranao Council Student Assembly.

I miss DEBATING. I miss the SSH Lobby where we practice. I miss the Debate Varsity.

I miss MSU-Scholars' Society.

I miss Adnan, Jen, Vida, Aira. Hahai. Ang dami nila.

For those who are not written and mentioned here, you are much more remembered.

Above all, I miss my DH and FSK. I love both of you.

Indeed, everything comes with a price. This wonderful experience and once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, unfortunately, is not an exception. However, it's a matter of how one deals with the challenges and pressure of life. As for me? I use them to motivate me in moving forward. Strong waves make better sailors, they say. And here I am, driving a small awang amidst a huge ocean. Will I make it? My optimism, courage and perseverance tell me I WILL!

I am going melodramatic again. Enough for now. I have a big classroom presentation tomorrow. Wish me luck.

More to come.

Culture Shock and Adjustments

2008-07-27T08:14:00.001-07:00

I've written a lot already, I know. But here I am, facing the monitor again and much ready to scribble and put into words the thoughts that cloud my mind. What I am about to share is a very odd story. It may sound funny and absurd, but just let me be.

As usual, I was awakened by the sound of my alarm clock today. I usually set it to beep at 6:00AM in the morning since breakfast at the Miller Dining Hall (the place where I eat my meals) is served from 7AM-8AM. Quite early, huh? I got up, and unfolded the blinds by the window. The sun isn't up yet, but it's own its way. I grabbed my towel and rushed to the bathroom. All the residents in the 10th floor have a common bathroom, a large one. It has 6 toilets, 5 wash areas with a huge mirror across them and 10 shower areas. No one was inside yet and that was okay. My co-scholar from Thailand who happens to be in the 10th floor always whines about the bathroom. Shower areas are covered with just a piece of thick shower curtain, and he doesn't like the idea that much. He always says, "In Thailand, we always have doors in the bathrooms." I share the same sentiments with him, but what can we do? We're not in our home countries so we really need to adapt. But I tell you, it's really really awkward. Haha. I hit the shower and turned it as warm as possible. I shower so quick these days. I don't waste time. Time here is so valuable. You can't be late, especially in dining halls. You'll be starving yourself if you do.

I was about to enter my room when I noticed something posted on the door. It's a note--a pink one. It has a heart on it and it contains my name handwritten along with my room number. Then, I read the words that made me feel very awkward. Encoded, the words say, "RASHID, YOU LOOK COLD. WANT TO USE ME AS A BLANKET?" I was shocked. No, really really shocked. I looked behind my back and checked if there's someone. There's none so I immediately took that post and hurried inside the room. Inside, I dressed up and sat at my study table. I kept on staring at the message. Poor Rashid. Why do you feel so frightened? My mind was then clouded with a lot of questions: Who wrote and posted it? What could be the person's motivation? What is done to frighten me? To test me? Uh-oh. And then I realized that I'm in the United States. Is it really normal here? CULTURE SHOCK. That's it. I have to report this to the Residence Hall assistant. I may look stupid, but I have to.

But there are a lot of beautiful things here in the United States:

1. Computer access with internet connections are found almost everywhere in the campus and they’re for FREE.

2. While the rest of the world whines about the continuous oil price hike and the inflating price of oil per barrel, the United States (particularly in small cities like Bozeman) offers FREE bus ride to anyone along the city. Sounds cool, eh?

3. Whenever you're down the street and happen to cross an intersection, you're always given that privilege to cross first even a vehicle (which is way closer to the alley than you) is approaching. They always make you cross first. The vehicles stop and wait for you. The drivers even share their friendly smile to you. In the Philippines and in most ASEAN countries, you can never do that or else, you run the risk of injuring yourself. Haha. My co-scholars from ASEAN can attest to this. Even the one from Venezuela. We are all amazed and we give our smiles back.

4. Everything in the United States is BIG. The food serving, the toiletries etc. Once, we ate in a Chinese restaurant downtown. There's RICE in there. Each of us ordered of course. When the orders came, again, we were all astounded. That serving can feed a family of 5 in the Philippines! And I have to eat it alone. Haha. I ended up taking a portion of the food to the dormitory.

Enough for now. More to come later.

Filipino Pride and More

2008-07-26T08:30:00.000-07:00

It's a Saturday. I woke up late. Offices are closed. Thus, no courtesy calls, no field visits and no transactions. I am free today. Monday will be a very busy day for me so I want to live this day to the fullest.

I don't really know what to write for now. I have a lot of stories to tell--new discoveries, new realizations, funny experiences. I don't know where and how to start. Perhaps, a narration of what transpired days before will do.

I was very glad to know that Ella and I are not the only international students here in our university. In fact, there are hundreds of us here from all over the globe. I met some of them at the Language Institute where we took an English as a Second language (ESL) Placement Exam. Aside from the other UGRAD scholars from other countries who are also here (Thailand, Laos, Malaysia, Indonesia and Ms. Venezuela), there are also Arabs, Turkish, Chinese,Latinos and Latinas, Koreans, Japanese and a lot more. Some are here to study English and English alone, like that guy from Kazakhstan who was sent by the company where he works to study English here. Two ladies from Turkey are here to review for the TOEFL Exam (Test of English as a Foregin Language). I was astounded to know that in Turkey, you can't proceed to a university without beating a 525 TOEFL PBT score out of the total 700 or a 71 out of the 120 for TOEFL iBT. The other international students were so amazed when they learned that in the Philippines, English is already used as a medium of instruction as early as Kindergarten . In their countries, they use their own language in classroom discussions even inthe fields of Maths and Sciences except for English of course. Hehe. This indeed gives us an edge over them.

Ella and I have already taken the TOEFL iBT exam back in the Philippines. She got 90 and I got 115. Nevertheless, we humbled ourselves by still taking the exam and we both ended up falling asleep during the exam. Haha. Nakakahiya.The exam was composed of four parts--interview, listening, writing and reading. Grammar and proper language use are also incorporated in the exam. It was a pretty easy exam and Ella and I finished it 30 minutes before the time while the rest of the group struggled with their papers. I was really feeling superior that time. We Filipinos really have an edge when it comes to the practice of English as a medium of instruction. In fact, the test proctors (who happens to be the teachers of the ESL classes) made a funny joke which boosts my pride as a Filipino. She said, "Rashid, you might as well teach in the ESL classes. You performed really really well! " Yes, they checked and evaluated our performance in the exam and that's how we'll know whether we should take ESL classes or not along with other classes that we will take in the university. If you achieve Level 6 and 7, you'll no longer take up ESL classes (or you'll only have some refreshment classes). Schedules of classes will be released on Monday.

After the placement exam, we all hurried to Walmart (that's the equivalent of SM in our country) to do our grocery. More than any other, I bought a new camera since my old digicam was damaged. It was a pretty good bargain, $130 for an 8MP Olympus camera. I also bought noodles since I hardly eat the kind of food that they serve at the dining hall. Eww...I really need a lot of adjusting to do. CAN YOU EVER IMAGINE EATING LAY's (that potato snack similar to V-CUT) during lunch? We ate that. Does that even qualify for a lunch? Tsktsk. Good thing they also serve unlimited fruits (apples, grapes etc.) and unilimited drinks, chocolates, ice cream, donuts and a lot more at the dining halls.. Someday, I'll get to be used to these kinds of foods, I hope.

I don't want to write very long blog postings. I don't want to bore you with these writings. Short write-ups will do. I'll just cut this story short for now and I promise to continue the story next time.

A Journey to Remember

2008-07-24T17:08:00.000-07:00

My 18-hour journey to the Unites States is over. I am finally here--safe and sound. However, this isn't the end of the journey. This is merely the beginning and I know that there are a lot more things to come--more experiences. More stories to tell. More complications. New learnings and realizations. At this point, allow me to give you a glimpse of my whereabouts (so far) and a brief narration of my journey.

It was 5:00AM (Philippine time) when my alarm clock at the BSA Suites hotel rang. I had a hard time lifting myself off the bed. I am still very sleepy. I barely had a sleep. Michael and Kuya Vincent (yes, Michael of CHARM and Kuya Vincent of COE) brought me to Music Box that night for a send-off party. It was sweet of them. I was very glad to know that Ronilo (of MSU-HP, the quizzer and Kusina Entertainer) was one of the most sought-after performer of such comedy and karaoke bar. He was extremely amazing. You'll never deny him a standing ovation whenever he performs. By the way, he uses the screen name "Celina Brocka". Funny right? If you happen to visit Manila, go and watch him at the Music Box. You'll be proud of this Mindanao State University-Marawi talent. Someday somehow, he'll have his own sit-com soon. =)

Michael and Kuya Vincent accompanied me to the Ninoy Aquino International Airport (I forgot to tell you that both has joined me at the BSA Suites that night). We left at around 6:00Am since my flight was at 9:00AM. After the hugs and the reminders, we finally parted. I entered the airport, alone, yet very brave.

After the never-ending checks and X-Rays, I boarded my flight to Japan via Japan Airlines. I traveled with Ella, a UGRAD grantee from Xavier University. Like me, she's also going to Montana State University. However, we were not seated together. It was because she checked-in earlier than me. Anyway, I was seated by the window. In the course of my 4-hour flight to Japan, I never really have talked to my seat mates. I don't know why. Silence. That's all. The food that they served on board wasn't that appetizing. I starved myself, yes.

We arrived at Narita-Tokyo airport past 1 o' clock in the afternoon. We immediately proceeded to our next connecting flight--to San Francisco, California. Narita airport is huge that we have to ride a bus to get to Terminal 1, where we'll board our plane to San Francisco--flight 852 via United Airlines. Ella and I have to wait for the next flight. We were quite early, so we battled boredom by roaming around the airport. We haven't taken pictures though. My camera broke-off a day before my departure. Sad. :( Around 6:00PM, we were all on board. "Good luck to both of us Elle", I told Ella. We were seated together this time. I asked United to do us that favor. Why good luck? We'll be traveling for 9 hours. Imagine that.

I thought it would be nine boring hours. Good thing it wasn't. Thanks to the Disney Channel and the movies that they have on board. Each seat is placed with a mini TV where you can choose what channel (or movie) to watch. We were provided with headsets too. You may also opt for the 'audio' where the top 20 songs are played. Listening to the songs made me melodramatic. "Tattoo" is my sister's favorite song (Rasheda). "No Air" is Ced's favorite song. I heard him sing the song all the time. Then there's "Bleeding Love". The songs they played constantly reminded me of the things and the persons that I'll be living without, for a year. So, I shut the AUDIO down and tuned to the Disney Channel. It was a lot better. Most are comedy Shows--the likes of Hanna Montana, The Suite Life of Zack and Cody (I'm not sure with the title) and a lot more. Ella and I ended up laughing together while watching the show. We also watched "The Spiderwick Chronicles". However, went asleep so I ended up bothering Ella to tell me how the story ended. Haha. Suddenly, I felt hungry. I waited for the flight stewards and stewardesses to serve us our meals. I waited long...really. But it was the worth the wait. They served chicken and guess what--RICE with Magnolia ice cream, salads and fruits. Take note: RICE. It's been just a few hours and yet we were already deprived of RICE. Good things United Airlines served rice in one of their meals.

Few minutes before we arrived at San Francisco International Airport, we filled-out our Customs and I-94 forms. Urgh. I thought filling-out forms are over. Hindi pa pala. But they said those forms are very important, so I did. We were about to land when I saw a very familiar structure by the window. I can't believe my eyes. The infamous Golden Gate Bridge of San Francisco!Too bad, we can't get out of the airport. We still have much time pa naman. San Francisco was our first point of entry to the United States, so we faced the Bureau of Immigration there. It was quite thrilling, for those immigration officers can still deny you entry and send you back to your country should you fail present yourself well in the interview. But then again, we were traveling under a State Department program, so it was way easier for us. Waz Cha jud xa. Then, we got our baggages and have them re-checked again.

From San Francisco, we flew to Denver, Colorado where we took the plane to Bozeman, Montana. While in San Francisco airport, Ella and I (again, just to kill time) busied ourselves roaming around the airport. We met A LOT of Filipinos working in the airport. It was such a relief (and so so good) to talk with people who speak your tongue. It made me realized that indeed, I am not alone in this part of the globe. We also met a UGRAD grantee from Malaysia who also happens to be enrolled at Montana State. Tatlo na kami. Ang saya-saya! It was also in San Francisco airport where I bought a copy of Stephanie Meyer's "New Moon". Tickee and I have been looking for a copy in the Philippines, but there was none. I was really happy, I finally have one. It made me thought of Tickee.

We left San Francisco and flew to Denver. Nothing important happened in Denver. It was waiting...waiting and waiting. Our flight from Denver to Bozeman was extremely delayed. We were suppose to arrive at 11:40 in the evening. We ended up arriving at 1AM! Gracious Lord! Ms. Debora of the Office on International Programs waited for us in the airport and drove us to the university. She sent us to our respective residence halls and waved goodnight. Just for this summer, I'll be staying at the Roskie Hall, room 1026. I'm alone in my room. I wish I have a room mate. I'll be moving as soon as the Fall Semester starts. I hope to have a room mate by then.

I woke up around 10:00AM, that was when my phone rang. It was a call from Gem, a Fulbright scholar from UP-Los Banos who is taking her doctor's degree in Microbiology here (nosebleed noh?). She said, she's treating Ella and I for lunch. So, I immediately hit the shower and fetched Ella. She stays at the North Hedges Suites, few blocks away from my place. We ate lunch, visited the Office on International Programs (our homebase here) and have our CatCard--our IDs! The ID is what we use in eating in dining halls, entering our residence halls and buying some products. Swipe lang ng swipe!

Tonight, I'm planning to call my family back home. I miss them so badly. I'll purchase a phone card and talk to them. That's going to end my night...say my day. July 24 is over. More to come, I promise.

The Darkest of Times

2007-03-22T17:05:00.000-07:00

The Darkest of Times

March 2007 might be considered to be the darkest days of my life. During this time, my heart never felt light. It's always heavy..always sick. Sleepless nights are prevalent. Tears are overflowing. Depression. Insecurities. Both are swallowing the whole of my being.

All these years, I have been a very blessed being. A lot of my dreams and aspirations were brought to reality. Achievements are here and there, unselfishly endowed to me. I can say, that prior to this "darkness", God has never failed me...or that I haven't failed Him. Which is which? I failed God...that's for sure.

Indeed, life isn't just about happiness..not just about lying in a bed of roses. It has tacks with it...sprinkles that you may meet along the way. It isn't easy. We need someone. Him.

Now, I'm trying my best to move on and bridge the gap. There is a need to rethink. There is...