The Blind Side

To date, I’ve watched a grand total of two films on my own in the theater. The feeling’s weird, yes, without company, but sometimes, there are movies that you simply have to watch no matter what, as if your movie-watching life depended on doing so. In the end, it is not about the company or the setting – it’s about the film itself.

Towards the end of last semester, JULIE AND JULIA opened in local theaters. And it would have been so hypocritical of me not to go see it: That’s like the Meryl Streep and the Amy Adams in one film - again (I still say Doubt should have been up for Best Picture). I have to admit, there were some dragging parts, but I guess that’s simply one characteristic of great films: they always have these dull parts for the viewer to anticipate something better (No County for Old Men, Doubt, Babel, Vicky Cristina Barcelona, etc.). As always, Meryl was a goddess. Simply perfect. And Ms. Adams, well, still a big fan.

Yesterday, with nothing to do, I went to watch THE BLIND SIDE. I didn’t expect much from it; Sandra Bullock's Golden Globe clip was my only guide. But this is one of the most touching films of the school year. 

The Oscars are near, and will Streep and Sandra tie for Best Actress?

Anyway, have you seen these Hitler parodies on YouTube, the ones where they dub this scene from the movie "Downfall" with all sorts of zaniness?

And yes, I’m now a Tenor 2 trainee of the UP College of Medicine Choir a.k.a MedChoir.

Addicted

Yes, NSTP meant free time. But not so free. One Wednesday morning, they brought along F, a former drug addict, and his wife to give a talk.  They do that every year.

It was my first time to come face to face with a (former) drug addict. More interestingly, it was my first encounter with a self-confessed addict-alcoholic. And to think that until yesterday, I would have been more interested on say, rapists or serial killers (though I’m just not as inclined to meeting either one, mind you). But something that F, in all simplicity and directness, said yesterday really captured my attention.

“Addicts are not bad persons; they are sick persons.”

Upon hearing this, many people would immediately disagree – or even regard the speaker with a certain level of distaste. After all, addicts are into illegal drugs – and anything illegal has to be wrong, as society dictates. So, how can someone who patronizes something that’s against the norms of society still be considered as ‘not bad’?

In the first place, it was a rather weird setup. Upfront is a man who may (to the narrow-minded) seem to be boasting about his escapades with drugs; later on, his equally skilled story-teller-of-a- wife romps her way onstage with her side of the story and struggle. And there we were, budding medical students, listening to one man and his wife’s ornate battle with drugs told in the cheeriest way possible.

But, in more ways than thinkable, the setup wasn’t weird at all. It was… right.

For how do you summon the guts and nerves to admit to your frail, “miserable” wife that you already have a second spouse who happens to be banned by society, and which by the way, you’ve kept secret for more than the last decade? Or how do you live out a year, each day praying for God to kill you, only to emerge victorious in your journey towards rehabilitation? Or better yet, how do you tell such a story to the whole world with utmost pride, with the purest of intentions, and with that matter-of-factly, no-joking-around, this-is-a-lesson-for-us-all voice?

Drug addicts don’t differ that much from the child with dengue fever or the old man with lung cancer. Like the most severe medical cases that we may encounter, drug addicts deserve just as much attention and care. As (future) doctors, it is not only our job to dig up our brains and cure the patient to the best of our abilities. It is also our responsibility to become a friend – and more importantly, a companion to the patient. It’s not enough to be a brilliant doctor; what we need are compassionate doctors.

My viewpoints did change after yesterday’s class. It taught me that beneath the sick, uncaring façade, is a soul waiting to be freed from an illness. Addicts are not bad; they are sick… and they need to be cured. Few people have as much will power and strength as F, and as much compassion and loyalty as Rachel. And if F and Rachel survived their battle, then we (future) doctors can surely help many more survive theirs.

Waking Life

In Philosophy I under Master Ignatius, which may seem ages ago already (but isn’t actually), we watched the film “Waking Life” and were made to write a one-page reaction paper on a line of our choice from the film.

There’s no story. It’s just people, gestures, moments, bits of rapture, fleeting emotions. In short, the greatest story ever told.

A young girl clutches her teddy bear as her mother enters the terminal building and blows her a flying kiss. A high school student sprints through halls and pathways just to pass his paper on time. A middle-aged man grumbles in the driver’s seat as traffic takes its toll. An old woman opens her eyes and realizes that cancer has failed to down her for yet another day.

We have seen these images flit across our eyes, in the television or somewhere in imagination. And like every other picture of the same nature, we casually ignore them and let them pile in a stack labeled “normal happenings,” “everyday life,” or something of the sort. Everyday, we pine for something big – extraordinary, out of the ordinary… special. Everyday, we keep our hopes high that life will have a wonderful surprise or twist. But no matter how long the time we spend in hoping and wishing and dreaming, the “extraordinary” will never come.

That is because what is happening around us – everything: a tick of the clock, a race across streets, a slip on the floor, laughter – is what we have been unknowingly waiting for lifelong. The people that we met or barely even know, what we feel as each second passes, an act of kindness or rage released, even the harmonious chirping of the birds – this is what life is.

Life is a composition, a masterful musical piece made by combining different sets of notes. Life is an artwork, the graffiti of colors plastered across and all over one another to create a parade of colors. Waiting only makes us blind to what is unfolding before our eyes, to what is “the present” and “is.” We must live with the world, or learn to live with it, for it is only in the world – and not in waiting – by which we live. The story is already written; we need not wait for it, but must learn to read it.

There is nothing special that’s coming. Special happens in life itself – the greatest story ever told, and the only one worth reading.

The Definition of Instinct

It will always be a huge challenge for a teacher to handle forty (or in this case, forty-one) of the most brilliant young minds in the country cooped up in a single classroom. This, as some of you may very well predict, was the core of the issue that defined yesterday afternoon’s borefest – in other words, SocSci I under Madame Vitz.

On one hand, we have premedical students who strongly believe in the existence of an instinctual and instinctive human being.

On the other hand, we have a field of study that does not believe in ‘instinct’ as defined by the millions of Darwinian worshipers.

Problems occur when these two opposing sides are forced to coexist.

The problem is, the course wants to offer, shall we say, an alternative peek into the human being – not as a biological species, but as a social creature. It seeks to let the students look at the human being from an entirely different POV.

The problem is, said premedical students see no (direct) need to take that alternative peek. They are going to be doctors; the scientific mind is the one that needs greater nourishment.

The problem is, the viewpoints of the medical and behavioral sciences are not on the same plane – not even in the same universe – in the minds of the students.

Thus, we get Vitzkrieg-ed.

A final note: THIS ENTRY IS NOT SUBJECT TO DISCUSSION OR ARGUMENT IN ANY FORM.

Oops… keep an open mind. =))

Christmas Day

So here’s the big news: It’s been 25 days since I last wrote in here. Christmas break is well into its first week, and the promise of an exam-filled first quarter of the new year shines brighter on the horizon like there’s no sunrise.

What a wondrous and relaxing two-week vacation: prepare for Hum1 poetry performance, answer a Calculus problem set and prepare for an exam, prepare for a Zoology Lec exam, answer Zoology lab exercises and study the frog skeleton, prepare for a Chem 14 exam, make a molecular model of CH3COOH.

Recently, I arrived at the conclusion that my mouth is not symmetrical. I have proof. It seems my maxilla is a wee bit more oriented to the left. As such, (or as nature intended it to be), my cheek movements are also more to the left. Have I ever mentioned that I have a lopsided smile (it’s not obvious, by the way, unless you stare at me long enough to notice the twitches). When we next meet, remind me to show you.

I’ve finally finished Wicked - and a damn wicked read it is. Certainly a literary treat, a fantasy universe of the beautifully weird. Coming up: I Do or I Die (RJ Ledesma), Salamanca (Dean Francis Alfar), The Jupiter Effect (Katrina Tuvera), The God Stealers (F. Sionil Jose).

In the realm of musical theater, I couldn’t have asked for more from Rep’s almost-perfect staging of Sweeney Todd, which I caught on its November 22 matinee. Standouts: Audie Gemora as deranged Sweeney, Marvin Ong as Tobias the dimwit, Franco Laurel as the good-for-nothing, love-struck sailor Anthony, and the Beggar Woman lady (forgot her name, sorry). Of an unreachable level: Menchu Lauchengco-Yulo as Mrs. Lovett. Congratulations, Menchu, you have a new fan. The Johanna girl, though from UP, was simply annoying.

On movies, New Moon, though retaining the mushy, lotsa-nudity formula of Meyer’s series, was miles better than its predecessor. Kristen Stewart’s distorted posture and “It’s my birthday… Kiss me” scene made for much of the movie’s downfall. Oh, and also Jacob wiping his sweaty, dust-and-whatever-else-filled shirt on Bella’s wound. So much for the torso-pecs-and-abs scene. 2012 was too impressed with itself. Good thing it had the Yellowstone caldera eruption scene to make me still enjoy it while it lasted.

But Inglourious Basterds… perhaps one of the best P160 I have ever spent. Rating: 160/160. Christoph Waltz for the Oscar!

I went to the high school last Monday. The Flower, Planet, and Fruit were rehearsing their numbers for that afternoon’s presentation at SM. No comment.

Random thought: Isn’t it ironic that while UP is a bastion of idealism, for change and progress, it practices a system that is very similar to the one it so denounces, one characterized by corruption and inefficiency, as is the style of our rotten government? Go to the UP College of Medicine and be a late enrollee, and you’ll see my point.

What a lovely December. Our very own Kimmy Dora with a dash of Mano Po 2 in the household. In her shoes, in her shoes…

Lastly, let me tell you the story of a driver who hates priests. This driver works for a doctor. The driver has a wife who has a cousin who is a priest. One day, the cousin told the wife to leave the driver (as in break up with him). How ironic.

Today is Christmas Day. I feel old. Scratch that. You feel old. I feel your oldness.

Merry Christmas!

Just something

Sometimes, when people get tired of what’s going on around them, they’d create a world of fantasy to escape into. They’d pretend to be someone else, leading totally different lives, or they’d recreate their surroundings and try to fit people they know into various characters.

I saw something today – something I shouldn’t have seen – and it got me thinking. I didn’t even know what or how to feel in that spur of a moment. It’s probably just something I should ignore, but it seemed to tie up lots of pieces for me. I mean, I never used to give it much thought... but now that I’ve seen the whole picture, I don’t know. I can’t even think about what or how to think of it.

Heck, it scares me a bit, just so you know. But let’s say it’s just some fantasy – and stop at that. This is just too... surreal. I don’t know. I just don’t.

Cruising in Midtown

October 10 – Saturday. I watched my very first musical, Spring Awakening, at the RCBC Plaza in Makati.

How was I supposed to know that the following Monday, I was to have my own spring awakening right in the very heart of Manila? No… wait, that doesn’t sound right, does it? Let’s put it another way: I had my own awakening to... the hidden wonders of Manila, if you get my drift.

Before you proceed, let me warn you that the following entry contains elements not suitable for immature audiences. Pornography included.

So it was Thea’s birthday, and she treated us to five giant pizzas and five giant bowls of pasta at Brooklyn Pizza in Rob Ermita (Pedro Gil Wing). We ate. Then, it was time to leave. And no, this isn’t the big story yet (as if something pornographic would have occurred between pizza and us).

I had decided to let the Larry pick me up, since riding the jeepney would have cost me eons of me-and-my-term-paper time. Therefore, with the Larry still being miles away, I decided to take a little walk around Midtown.

I arrived at the 4th floor. And decided to take a leak at the… where else? In one of the best CRs in Rob Ermita – the ones at 4th floor Midtown. Of course, there was no ‘tanananan’ music to warn me not to enter the place.

I entered the CR, which by the way, is located at the end of a narrow hallway that diverges from the smaller Midtown atrium (just pretend to be geographically acquainted with the place).

There was no one there.

I entered the second to the last cubicle.

Then, a clinking sound. A rapid clinking sound.

I looked up. Nothing. I looked down. Something.

Now the CR is tiled, and the tiles are so shiny and clean, they might as well have been floor mirrors. Because the tiles on my cubicle reflected not only what was in my cubicle, but in the ones beside me as well.

And there, I saw… (explicit content deleted by author).

Simply put, two guys.

And they were… moving. A hand was (explicit content deleted by author), and the hand wore a wristwatch, and the watch was also shaking, thus, the clinking sound.

So it dawned upon me that the 4th floor Midtown CR, usually empty, is actually a ‘cruising place’. And the cruising lives happily ever after.

Gorilla

I miss talking about the nasty high school that I attended and all its minions. No, I’m not being nostalgic (well, not as of the moment). I just happened to remember yesterday an incident involving me and my 4th year Chinese class adviser… something that screams of pure, genuine, untainted absurdity.

Now, if you don’t know who my teacher is (and not many of you readers do), let me introduce him by saying that only a dimwitted gorilla can ever compare to him in this world. In short, he teaches crap and, somehow, is crap itself. A piece of advice: If you want to learn Chinese, he’s one of the last persons you’d want to approach.

My fellow math team members and I were reviewing for a contest that morning, when the pseudo-queen a.k.a. gay overall director of the high school math teams barged in during the session. He-She asked, “So what have you been doing lately in Chinese class?” Humorously, we answered, “Nothing.” I answered, “Uh, nothing… it’s actually just rest time.”

Note that the pseudo-queen is also somewhat dimwitted; thus, he-she took our reply seriously. Without further question. And that the pseudo-queen has a seat of power in school, which he-she uses to lure his-her prey (if you know what I mean).

That afternoon, while still reviewing (therefore, not attending class), the gorilla called me and said it wished to have a quick word with me outside the faculty lounge where we were. Of course, without any idea as to what it was going to be, I followed suit.

When I got outside, the gorilla said, “Pseudo-queen called me earlier and asked why I'm not teaching you kids anything during class, why I haven’t been conducting ‘real’ class. I said, who told you that? He said, (I, author of this blog) did.”

I was utterly speechless, my mind racing to come up with the most reasonable excuse for that ‘statement’.

Then, the dumbest part came.

He asked me, “Are you mad at me or something, that you said that to him???”

My mind raced even faster.

Why would I be mad at you??? I don’t have time to be angry with gorillas. Stupid pseudo-queen took our answer that morning for real - and the slimy vixen name-dropped!

The gorilla, with that statement, made it clear to me that he believes himself to be an excellent teacher.

Anyway, I came up with a brilliant answer, and the rest is history. What’s bad-worse-worst though is that the gorilla is still there, in my former high school, teaching the unfortunate kids crap.

remembering tagaytay... but it's not dead

Er, how do I phrase this? Tagaytay was a beauty? A beatiful beauty? A beautiful?

The field trip had essentially six destinations: The Ilog Maria Bee Museum and Farm, and Bee-Sting Therapy Center; Mushroom Burger; The Hallelujah Diet monastery (this ain’t its real name); The T-House; the church beside the T-House where someone in the controversial Arroyo clan of the Philippines got married; and the pasalubong place somewhere along the road. Just a few words, and I'll let the photos in my Facebook do the rest.

Highlights:

1. Hitting my head on the bus’ damned TV twice.

2. The Ilog Maria photo session – and man, was it one long photo shoot.

3. The ducks/geese (couldn’t tell which) at Ilog Maria.

4. The kid who was attracted to our cameras. The attention wasn't unrequited.

5. The most beautiful environmental CR I’ve ever seen.

6. The mushroom lunch.

7. “Eat only living food. Everything else is not good for your body.”

8. The drink. The living-food drink.

9. Photo shoot again at the T-House.

10. Finding my long lost “T,” made of bamboo, at the T-House!

11. The visit to the church

12. 3 boxes: 2 Buko Pies and 1 Buko Tart

13. Ang mga samu’t saring hirit sa loob ng bus.

14. Playing Taboo with the Taboo people: Tella, Ginnie, Phyl, Thea, Jio, Vince, Josh, Clems, Jim, Clint, and Madi. Marami nito sa Orosa! Ito ang favorite ni Jim! =D

FINALLY, RAINWATER THAT HAD COLLECTED ON THE LINOLEUM ROOF (it's not a real roof) AT THE ILOG MARIA MUSEUM FOUND AN OUTLET. HALF MY SHIRT WAS SOAKING WET AFTER ONE GIANT GUSH OF PUZZLING IDIOCY.

P.S. Hoping that Spring Awakening will be a good one tomorrow.

how i finished my term paper body

It’s true: Tita Glo finally had her Katrina, but with a name that stinks by a mile.

It’s probably the first time (unless I’m wrong) that an entire week’s worth of classes got suspended. All because of environmental disequilibrium. To say that the victims are countless is worse than an understatement. Numbers don’t mean anything in such a disaster anymore; it’s inefficiency that does.

Much has been said about the recent supertyphoon, so why don’t we talk about the no-classes side of the issue then?

When I first heard the news that classes for Monday (Sept 28) had been suspended, I was all joyful kid. A few hours later, Tuesday got cancelled as well. And since we had a field trip to Tagaytay scheduled on that Wednesday, that spelled three beautiful classroom-less days. The best part was, I finally had time to work on the body of my term paper, as well as the reaction paper, for Comm II!

Then, we thought CHED had finally lost it: Classes suspended until October 3 (Saturday).

Success became disaster. How in the world were we, the ultimate braniacs of the country's ultimate braniac university, going to survive an entire week without sitting inside a classroom, basking in the thrill of quizzes and long tests?!

The worst part was, it meant that sembreak would no longer be on the 14th. If the school sticks to the original schedule, then the break will fall exactly a week after, on the 21st. (Update: That's now the case.)

I guess the only consolation that that weird week brought was my actually finishing the body and conclusion of my term paper, as well as the reaction paper. And now that sembreak has officially been moved, it just means more time for the paper… or better yet, more free time after finishing the paper.

Beyond the cumulonimbus clouds, there lies the yellow star of our solar system.