The Blueprints of 2007:
a pseudo-optimistic look at the Pig's year

i. self-frying 101

yesterday, while i sat inside a chilly MRT coach, a woman in her late thirties and her melanin-impoverished son came in. it was the second time i was riding the MRT alone.[the first time was when i erroneously took a jeep that brought me all the way to Taguig at 10 in the evening, and i found myself jeep-hopping until i saw the prominent metro train zooming past the Pasay landscape]. at first i was unmindful of the two, after getting in, the woman played with her [melanin-impoverished] son loudly like a teenage girl flirting with a fraternity. meanwhile, [melanin-impoverished] son kept hissing like an infant reptile while emitting one of those cute yet annoying screeches of innocent human offsprings. the two reminded me of mother-and-son tandems one would often see on artworks, on parks, on breast-feeding areas[though i have never been in one before], and your usual drama series. after about two stations, my innate goodness can no longer be contained, with such respect for human values, i gladly stood up, feigned a saintly smile and told the woman that she could take my seat.

i was expecting a relief from her, since ten minutes ago her son was hyperactively pulling out her limb from below. but after i signalled her, ms.anonymous took a seat, grabbed her son, and stared at all the mute buldings zooming in and out the placid window. it was my first frown for the day.

perhaps it was my fault because i did not offer them my seat immediately after they came in the coach. i suppose it was rather a wrong judgment for me to actually think about the propriety and practicality of such action at the same time and at a time when this woman was being mildly deboned by her son. the hesitation was actually stirred up by an old man beside me. we got in the coach at the same time at the North Av station, and i can still remember how he slipped a small bird cage below the seat, oblivious to the "No Animals Allowed" sign in front of us. after a stop at the Quezon Av station, this 20-something lady gets in, and for the next 4 stops Mr.Bird Cage stared like hell, unmindful, insensitive. being totally unconcerned with such anthropological perversion, i kept myself busy with the swift landscape changes at the front window. but actually, my mind was in a silent calculation of possible assumptions. "will mr.bird cage offer his seat to this obviously exhausted girl in front of him?" "will mr. bird cage sit all the way to the last station?" though in its essence, the scenario was out of my reach and much more out of my very business for that day, the answer came rushing in. after three stops, mr.bird cage stood up silently, took the bird cage with him, and ms.dead-tired girl slipped through asses blocking her and sat. i continued staring at the window.

it has always been said that on every good thing we do, we must not expect anything in return, but for the scenario's case, i was indeed waiting for ms.anonymous to reciprocate the selfless goodness i have done. BUT, whatever she would do in return, i was not expecting it to be beneficial to my part, ONLY something that shall fittingly recognize what benefited her. putting things simply, i was merely expecting a gratitude from her because i thought she values these small things of courtesy. i wasn't anticipating her to hand out a bill because i saved her limb from her murderous son, i just wanted a courtesy for my courtesy to prove to myself that the cycle of respect still exists in this place somehow. but no, it no longer does. and ms.anonymous is only one of the thousands who shame this non-existent cycle of a poorly-preserved Filipino value. pity.

ii. reincarnation of the bull frog

fast forward that day, i ascended from the platform of Taft Avenue station all sweaty and grimy from the noxious fumes. i fell in line twice, inching along the hordes of 'urbaniacs' poking their tickets on the machines. for 20 minutes i witnessed how these yuppies harrassed each other with the world's greenest humor as i stood appalled by a Kiss Squidballs stall. after they left i sat by the exit anticipating to see a gaunt, bald, and malnourished Jayson emerging from the unfamiliar crowd. after i senselessly read the [unreadable] thoughts of men and women passing by, Jayson appears in a jolt, far from the gaunt, bald and malnourished image i was programming in my brain. he said it was because of the holidays, he stuffed himself with gastric delight, thus resulting to a bloating of his adipose layers. then we went to buy his ticket to Zambales, where i was forced to walk the cavalry of a Taft Avenue at noon. exhausting. agonizing. appalling.

shrugging off the idea of taking the jeep to MoA, we decided to drop by the boarding houses of JK and Yvann then eat at Rob. Ermita. again, retaking the bloody Taft Av route, we took a few more steps then hopped in at the LRT all the way to Vito Cruz.[fast forwward mode]. Yvann opened the gate, we signed a guestbook, rested for a while, Jayson obesessively read some magazines i must not mention here [KERYGMA!], i endured the sweaty stench of my Pierre Cardin shirt, while Yvann cracked cheap jokes again [hehe]. then after a few more minutes everyone was in Rob, except JK and i who had to walk from pcu to rob because of another 'lapse' in geographical judgment.

as usual the place looked like the den of people itching to spend cash with exceptions to these kids who begged for tickets at GBox. i remember the scenario where JK and i left mile-long tickets after playing a ball game. with the prospect of understanding human psychology we waited for that not-so-saintly person to grab the bounty and add it to his/her collection. with four or more people listening to their conscience and ignoring the glory before them, alas this 7-year old chubby pig err, girl took the tickets, counted them, then hopped off as if she didn't rob anyone of 56 pesos worth of artificial joy!

with a cursed [literally!] deadline looming in front of me, i hurried to the train station, took tickets then went all the way home, all before the clock ticked at 8PM. the day ended with this tired but satisfied author sipping Sarsi float along Mindanao Avenue as tires were being vulcanized with loud, gasping thuds. period.

iii. taming the inevitable

this January 8, 6000 student will face a partly answered question, "what now, tabaco national high school?"

flashback. Reming made a touch down on November 31, 2006, jubilated further more at the wee hours, then rested on the 1st of the holy month of December. meanwhile as the air pacified in the aftermath, many wallowed in disbelief, while this author surveyed his beloved school with a friend, all shocked, silenced and pessimistic. yes, i saw how the g.i sheets were folded like thin paper ripped off by an ADHD-afflicted toddler. i saw how the pine tree crushed the wall of ESEP building. i saw how the Lagman gymnasium was stripped down to skeletal states. and i saw how people from Guinobat swam on the frog-infested TNHS swimming pool.

the sorry state of the school, apparently, has not yet been significantly mitigated by the long vacation and the suspension of classes. now with another school impeachment problem on the rise, the goal of restoring our academic ruin must be further intensified. i am absolutely anxious on the thought of spending my education inside a battered, tattered campus, while switching my concerns to learning and sight-seeing. although the case of TNHS is hardly an isolated case as schools all over albay are also devastated, there is no such question that our education might not reach its peak. another concern would be what we would be able to learn in a congested three month MTF scheduled classes. we all want education. although no one was ever in control of Reming's wrath, eveyone has the power to restore.

i hope people would realize how much our school needs help. we do not need media exposure reiterating to the entire populace how pitiful we have become, we really need giving hands, compassionate souls, and most of all, people who can act more than they can speak. now.