The Fate of Ta’veren

I may not be American, but my admiration for Hillary Clinton is sky-high. It always has been. Always will be. I am reposting her exit speech as it resonates not just with every American, but I believe, with every woman (and man too!) in the world.

Full Text of Hillary Clinton’s Exit Speech

Thank you very, very much. Well, this isn’t exactly the party I’d planned, but I sure like the company.

And I want to start today by saying how grateful I am to all of you, to everyone who poured your hearts and your hopes into this campaign, who drove for miles and lined the streets waving homemade signs, who scrimped and saved to raise money, who knocked on doors and made calls, who talked, sometimes argued with your friends and neighbors … who e-mailed and contributed online, who invested so much in our common enterprise, to the moms and dads who came to our events, who lifted their little girls and little boys on their shoulders and whispered in their ears, "See, you can be anything you want to be."

To the young people … like 13-year-old Anne Riddell from Mayfield, Ohio, who had been saving for two years to go to Disney World and decided to use her savings instead to travel to Pennsylvania with her mom and volunteer there, as well.

To the veterans, to the childhood friends, to New Yorkers and Arkansans … who traveled across the country, telling anyone who would listen why you supported me. And to all of those women in their 80s and their 90s … born before women could vote, who cast their votes for our campaign. I’ve told you before about Florence Steen of South Dakota who was 88 years old and insisted that her daughter bring an absentee ballot to her hospice bedside. Her daughter and a friend put an American flag behind her bed and helped her fill out the ballot.

She passed away soon after and, under state law, her ballot didn’t count, but her daughter later told a reporter, "My dad’s an ornery, old cowboy, and he didn’t like it when he heard mom’s vote wouldn’t be counted. I don’t think he had voted in 20 years, but he voted in place of my mom."

So to all those who voted for me and to whom I pledged my utmost, my commitment to you and to the progress we seek is unyielding.

You have inspired and touched me with the stories of the joys and sorrows that make up the fabric of our lives. And you have humbled me with your commitment to our country.

Eighteen million of you, from all walks of life … women and men, young and old, Latino and Asian, African-American and Caucasian … rich, poor, and middle-class, gay and straight, you have stood with me.

And I will continue to stand strong with you every time, every place, in every way that I can. The dreams we share are worth fighting for.

Remember, we fought for the single mom with the young daughter, juggling work and school, who told me, "I’m doing it all to better myself for her."

We fought for the woman who grabbed my hand and asked me, "What are you going to do to make sure I have health care?" and began to cry, because even though she works three jobs, she can’t afford insurance.

We fought for the young man in the Marine Corps T-shirt who waited months for medical care and said, "Take care of my buddies over there, and then will you please take care of me?"

We fought for all those who’ve lost jobs and health care, who can’t afford gas or groceries or college, who have felt invisible to their president these last seven years.

I entered this race because I have an old-fashioned conviction that public service is about helping people solve their problems and live their dreams. I’ve had every opportunity and blessing in my own life, and I want the same for all Americans.

And until that day comes, you’ll always find me on the front lines of democracy, fighting for the future.

The way to continue our fight now, to accomplish the goals for which we stand is to take our energy, our passion, our strength, and do all we can to help elect Barack Obama, the next president of the United States.

Today, as I suspend my campaign, I congratulate him on the victory he has won and the extraordinary race he has run. I endorse him and throw my full support behind him.

And I ask all of you to join me in working as hard for Barack Obama as you have for me.

I have served in the Senate with him for four years. I have been in this campaign with him for 16 months. I have stood on the stage and gone toe-to-toe with him in 22 debates. I’ve had a front-row seat to his candidacy, and I have seen his strength and determination, his grace and his grit.

In his own life, Barack Obama has lived the American dream, as a community organizer, in the state senate, as a United States senator. He has dedicated himself to ensuring the dream is realized. And in this campaign, he has inspired so many to become involved in the democratic process and invested in our common future.

Now, when I started this race, I intended to win back the White House and make sure we have a president who puts our country back on the path to peace, prosperity and progress. And that’s exactly what we’re going to do, by ensuring that Barack Obama walks through the doors of the Oval Office on January 20, 2009.

Now, I understand — I understand that we all know this has been a tough fight, but the Democratic Party is a family. And now it’s time to restore the ties that bind us together and to come together around the ideals we share, the values we cherish, and the country we love.

We may have started on separate journeys, but today our paths have merged. And we’re all heading toward the same destination, united and more ready than ever to win in November and to turn our country around, because so much is at stake.

We all want an economy that sustains the American dream, the opportunity to work hard and have that work rewarded, to save for college, a home and retirement, to afford that gas and those groceries, and still have a little left over at the end of the month, an economy that lifts all of our people and ensures that our prosperity is broadly distributed and shared.

We all want a health care system that is universal, high-quality and affordable … so that parents don’t have to choose between care for themselves or their children or be stuck in dead-end jobs simply to keep their insurance.

This isn’t just an issue for me. It is a passion and a cause, and it is a fight I will continue until every single American is insured, no exceptions and no excuses.

We all want an America defined by deep and meaningful equality, from civil rights to labor rights, from women’s rights to gay rights … from ending discrimination to promoting unionization, to providing help for the most important job there is: caring for our families.

And we all want to restore America’s standing in the world, to end the war in Iraq, and once again lead by the power of our values … and to join with our allies to confront our shared challenges, from poverty and genocide to terrorism and global warming.

You know, I’ve been involved in politics and public life in one way or another for four decades. And during those … During those 40 years, our country has voted 10 times for president. Democrats won only three of those times, and the man who won two of those elections is with us today.

We made tremendous progress during the ’90s under a Democratic president, with a flourishing economy and our leadership for peace and security respected around the world.

Just think how much more progress we could have made over the past 40 years if we’d had a Democratic president. Think about the lost opportunities of these past seven years on the environment and the economy, on health care and civil rights, on education, foreign policy and the Supreme Court.

Imagine how far … we could have come, how much we could have achieved if we had just had a Democrat in the White House.

We cannot let this moment slip away. We have come too far and accomplished too much.

Now, the journey ahead will not be easy. Some will say we can’t do it, that it’s too hard, we’re just not up to the task. But for as long as America has existed, it has been the American way to reject can’t-do claims and to choose instead to stretch the boundaries of the possible through hard work, determination, and a pioneering spirit.

It is this belief, this optimism that Senator Obama and I share and that has inspired so many millions of our supporters to make their voices heard. So today I am standing with Senator Obama to say: Yes, we can!

And that together we will work — we’ll have to work hard to achieve universal health care. But on the day we live in an America where no child, no man and no woman is without health insurance, we will live in a stronger America. That’s why we need to help elect Barack Obama our president.

We’ll have to work hard to get back to fiscal responsibility and a strong middle class. But on the day we live in an America whose middle class is thriving and growing again, where all Americans, no matter where they live or where their ancestors came from, can earn a decent living, we will live in a stronger America. And that is why we must help elect Barack Obama our president.

We’ll have to work hard to foster the innovation that will make us energy independent and lift the threat of global warming from our children’s future. But on the day we live in an America fueled by renewable energy, we will live in a stronger America. And that is why we have to help elect Barack Obama our president.

We’ll have to work hard to bring our troops home from Iraq and get them the support they’ve earned by their service. But on the day we live in an America that’s as loyal to our troops as they have been to us, we will live in a stronger America. And that is why we must help elect Barack Obama our president.

This election is a turning-point election. And it is critical that we all understand what our choice really is. Will we go forward together, or will we stall and slip backward?

Now, think how much progress we’ve already made. When we first started, people everywhere asked the same questions. Could a woman really serve as commander in chief? Well, I think we answered that one.

Could an African-American really be our president? And Senator Obama has answered that one.

Together, Senator Obama and I achieved milestones essential to our progress as a nation, part of our perpetual duty to form a more perfect union.

Now, on a personal note, when I was asked what it means to be a woman running for president, I always gave the same answer, that I was proud to be running as a woman, but I was running because I thought I’d be the best president. But…

But I am a woman and, like millions of women, I know there are still barriers and biases out there, often unconscious, and I want to build an America that respects and embraces the potential of every last one of us.

I ran as a daughter who benefited from opportunities my mother never dreamed of. I ran as a mother who worries about my daughter’s future and a mother who wants to leave all children brighter tomorrows.

To build that future I see, we must make sure that women and men alike understand the struggles of their grandmothers and their mothers, and that women enjoy equal opportunities, equal pay, and equal respect.

Let us … Let us resolve and work toward achieving very simple propositions: There are no acceptable limits, and there are no acceptable prejudices in the 21st century in our country.

You can be so proud that, from now on, it will be unremarkable for a woman to win primary state victories … unremarkable to have a woman in a close race to be our nominee, unremarkable to think that a woman can be the president of the United States. And that is truly remarkable, my friends.

To those who are disappointed that we couldn’t go all of the way, especially the young people who put so much into this campaign, it would break my heart if, in falling short of my goal, I in any way discouraged any of you from pursuing yours.

Always aim high, work hard and care deeply about what you believe in. And, when you stumble, keep faith. And, when you’re knocked down, get right back up and never listen to anyone who says you can’t or shouldn’t go on.

As we gather here today in this historic, magnificent building, the 50th woman to leave this Earth is orbiting overhead. If we can blast 50 women into space, we will someday launch a woman into the White House.

Although we weren’t able to shatter that highest, hardest glass ceiling this time, thanks to you, it’s got about 18 million cracks in it … and the light is shining through like never before, filling us all with the hope and the sure knowledge that the path will be a little easier next time.

That has always been the history of progress in America. Think of the suffragists who gathered at Seneca Falls in 1848 and those who kept fighting until women could cast their votes.

Think of the abolitionists who struggled and died to see the end of slavery. Think of the civil rights heroes and foot soldiers who marched, protested and risked their lives to bring about the end of segregation and Jim Crow.

Because of them, I grew up taking for granted that women could vote and, because of them, my daughter grew up taking for granted that children of all colors could go to school together.

Because of them, Barack Obama and I could wage a hard-fought campaign for the Democratic nomination. Because of them and because of you, children today will grow up taking for granted that an African-American or a woman can, yes, become the president of the United States. And so … when that day arrives, and a woman takes the oath of office as our president, we will all stand taller, proud of the values of our nation, proud that every little girl can dream big and that her dreams can come true in America.

And all of you will know that, because of your passion and hard work, you helped pave the way for that day.

So I want to say to my supporters: When you hear people saying or think to yourself, If only, or, What if, I say, please, don’t go there. Every moment wasted looking back keeps us from moving forward.

Life is too short, time is too precious, and the stakes are too high to dwell on what might have been. We have to work together for what still can be. And that is why I will work my heart out to make sure that Senator Obama is our next president.

And I hope and pray that all of you will join me in that effort.

To my supporters and colleagues in Congress, to the governors and mayors, elected officials who stood with me in good times and bad, thank you for your strength and leadership.

To my friends in our labor unions who stood strong every step of the way, I thank you and pledge my support to you.

To my friends from every stage of my life, your love and ongoing commitment sustained me every single day.

To my family, especially Bill and Chelsea and my mother, you mean the world to me, and I thank you for all you have done.

And to my extraordinary staff, volunteers and supporters … thank you for working those long, hard hours. Thank you for dropping everything, leaving work or school, traveling to places that you’ve never been, sometimes for months on end. And thanks to your families, as well, because your sacrifice was theirs, too. All of you were there for me every step of the way.

Now, being human, we are imperfect. That’s why we need each other, to catch each other when we falter, to encourage each other when we lose heart. Some may lead, some may follow, but none of us can go it alone.

The changes we’re working for are changes that we can only accomplish together. Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are rights that belong to us as individuals. But our lives, our freedom, our happiness are best enjoyed, best protected, and best advanced when we do work together.

That is what we will do now, as we join forces with Senator Obama and his campaign. We will make history together, as we write the next chapter in America’s story. We will stand united for the values we hold dear, for the vision of progress we share, and for the country we love.

There is nothing more American than that.

And looking out at you today, I have never felt so blessed. The challenges that I have faced in this campaign … are nothing compared to those that millions of Americans face every day in their own lives.

So today I’m going to count my blessings and keep on going. I’m going to keep doing what I was doing long before the cameras ever showed up and what I’ll be doing long after they’re gone: working to give every American the same opportunities I had and working to ensure that every child has the chance to grow up and achieve his or her God- given potential.

I will do it with a heart filled with gratitude, with a deep and dividing love for our country, and with nothing but optimism and confidence for the days ahead.

This is now our time to do all that we can to make sure that, in this election, we add another Democratic president to that very small list of the last 40 years and that we take back our country and once again move with progress and commitment to the future.

Thank you all. And God bless you, and God bless America.

– Saturday, June 7th 2008, 4:34 PM

You were still a little girl when the Philippine Daily Inquirer published this that I know you have never read nor understood what this was really about. Now that you’re all grown up and actually here on Friendster (how time flies!) you can finally get to read what tita wrote for you. I am posting this for your upcoming birthday. Happy birthday, my dearest pamangkin! ;-D

Fairyland

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who believed in fairy tales and fantastic stories.   She dreamed of genies taking her away to strange lands where animals talked and fairy godmothers broke witches’ spells; where heroes vanquished giants and sleeping beauties slept in castles for a hundred years.

The little girl knew that if she could only find a four-leafed clover, she would be able to summon a leprechaun who would help her get to fairyland. She tried so hard to find one but couldn’t.  So she decided to become  a princess in England when she grew up. Perhaps, that was better since princesses always had all the fun.

One day , the little girl watched a movie and saw how Mary Poppins entered fantasyland by stepping on pictures. Excitedly, she took out her favorite fairytale book,  found the picture she wanted and stepped on it. Nothing happened. Puzzled, she stamped and jumped on it, to no avail. Why couldn’t she get to the land of the enchanted White Bear, east of the sun and west of the moon?

Many years later, I came upon my three-year old niece tearing apart, with obvious relish,  her storybook.  I suppose it fascinated her to hear the sharp hiss of paper and see it torn to shreds.  The book was beyond salvaging, and the pretty little imp just grinned.

It wasn’t the first time our home library became one book poorer because of her.  So for the nth time, I scolded my niece.

Then I had a bright idea. I searched for a book I had not seen in years.  There it lay on a dusty, forgotten corner looking every bit as ancient as when I last laid eyes on it.

"So, Chinita," I told my niece.  "Would you like to hear a story?"

"Yes, titaaaa!"  she yelled and clapped her hands, her mischievous eyes lighting up in anticipation.

I opened the big, heavy book and several pages fell to the floor.  Many were dog-eared, but the pictures were as bright as ever.

I showed her pictures of terrifying witches and goblins as I told her a story about a little girl who loved to destroy storybooks where magical creatures lived.  One day, a wicked witch took the disobedient girl to a faraway place where a warlock turned her into a very ugly toad.  She was never seen nor heard from ever again.

That solved the problem.  Since then, little Chinita took extra care never to drop any book nor tear any of its pages.

The old book was a collection of fairy tales from around the world with enough stories and colored drawings to captivate the heart and fire the imagination of every child.  It was a treasure trove of magic as I remembered it best.

Drawn to it once again, after all these years, I went to my room and read through it just like I used to.  And thus, I rediscovered my childhood.

Could I really have been one of those 12 princesses who danced the night away or traveled with Prince Ahmed and Sindbad throughout all of their adventures?  Did I really once grieve with Little Two Eyes, Cinderella, Snow White, and Lizina at the injustices they suffered at the hands of their relations or laugh with the Three LIttle Pigs, the brave tailor, and the clever hedgehog?

I was this princess or that peasant girl.  I turned into the good fairy that granted people’s wishes and made their lives better.  I was queen of the realm and owned a unicorn and animals that talked.  I knew I flew the skies as a swallow or a nightingale, and even then the elves in the forests were my friends.

It was such a magical world! What a pity, it vanished as I grew up.

Why is it that when we turn into adults, we betray our childhood? Why do we laugh at the little ones with their steadfast belief in an "other" world and tell them that such things do not exist.  Why, when we ourselves believed in  it, too?  We seem to think we are wiser, but are we?

I envy children because their knowledge, in a sense, is far greater than ours.  For a time at least, they will not have to be bothered by the realities of life, and they can go on believing in what we label as fantasy.  Their world is more imaginative, more creative, less tainted by acts of gross inhumanity.  Oh what I would give to reclaim childhood’s pure innocence and unwavering trust!

Sadly, time never stands still.  It takes us along in its journey to infinity, and somewhere along the way, disillusion sets in.  We learn in the most bewildering ways that there is a different kind of world out there to deal with where magic doesn’t count - nor will it ever again.  Instead of knights in shining armor coming to rescue us, we soon take to wearing an invisible armor to shield ourselves from the pain of daily living.  Walls are built and seldom breached.  Welcome to the real world.

That little girl, who, at the beginning of our story wanted to enter fairyland, finally gave up after trying so long and so hard.  She was so frustrated that she cried for several days..  Her heart was broken, and so was her belief.  And she resolved to put away her fairytale book - never again to be opened till years later.

Now, this isn’t a fairy tale.  That little girl, a long, long time ago, was me.

-0-

I’ve grown up, too, since I wrote this some years ago. What I’ve learned since then (and what you might want to remember) is that even though life sometimes offers us kalamansi, we can always choose to make kalamansi juice  (hehehe just a variation of the "lemonade-and-life" quote).

Enjoy life. Enjoy love. Enjoy all the blessings that come your way. As much as you can, don’t ever take off those rose-colored glasses. Somehow, it makes life a lot more interesting.

If you’re positive, if you’re optimistic… everything follows. The world will mold itself to the power of your will.

And that is what I know for sure.

Lovelots,

Tita

I stared at the monitor, disbelieving my eyes, and yet there it was:

James Oliver Rigney, Jr.
October 17, 1948 - September 16, 2007

The past few days of work-related stress cannot compare with the intense sadness and shock that I am feeling now.

My favorite author - Robert Jordan to millions of fans worldwide - has finally succumbed to illness.

The Dragon is gone.

"He came like the wind, like the wind touched everything, and like the wind was gone.”

======

To other Wheel of Time fans who haven’t had an inkling until now, I’m sorry you learned it from me. I feel your pain, too, and the frustration of not having the final book A Memory of Light finished the way we would have wanted. That is a selfish thought, of course, considering how Jordan struggled to finish the book while fighting his illness this past year. But selfishness aside, I know we all loved him as much for his personal greatness as for his work.

For more information on Robert Jordan, log on to http://dragonmount.com/.

May the Light be with all of us!

Been very busy lately which is why i haven’t posted here in a long, long time. Will post soon, though. Life has been busy. After the laidback life in Australia, adjusting to the hustle and bustle here in Singapore is proving to be an eye-opening experience. I have never seen such hardworking people, and I have never before been compelled to work twice as hard to keep up with other people’s expectations. Talk about proving that the Filipino can do it too! ;-D

As a movie buff, I watch everything from the sappy to the edgy, from the so-called artsy and intelligent to the slapstick; romance, suspense, thriller, action, fantastic, big budget or indie, you name it.  Save for slasher and horror movies, I make no exception.  With all those films in my head, with a basketful of favorites, never in my life has a movie merited an entry in my blog.

Except for tonight.  Gawd.  I just got home from watching a gawd-awesome movie and I’m still trying to get down from an excess of adrenaline high!

People, I bring you… the Transformers!

It’s supposed to be all about robots, but Transformers is far from being cold and stiff, never mind the overwhelming avalanche of humongous and intelligent machines that, well, transform. Like any Michael Bay movie, there’s rip-roaring action that makes it hard to rip your eyeballs away from the screen, and practically harder not to laugh from the flat-out humor (unless I’m really mababaw, but so were everyone in the whole theater then). 

It’s riveting. But the icing on the cake are the stunning visuals. Gawd-awesome. And it helped that they added a bit of heart to the movie. Think Optimus Prime with his big and noble sentiments. If he had been human, I’d have fallen for him already! And oh, the adorable Bumblebee!

I don’t know what film critics in the US will be saying since the movie opens in America on July 4th.  There will surely be a few tirades about the story and the appearance of the Autobots (My generation grew up with the Transformers in the ’80s, and so fans will know that Michael Bay’s Transformers don’t quite look like the original), but there is no doubt this is going to be one mean blockbuster at the box office! Bet you my hide, it will be!

I suspect this will be the start of another love affair for me. I will be watching Transformers over and over again. And again!

If someone can please just tell me how to get down from an adrenaline high? ;-D

Catch it at your local theaters!

–0–

Transformers… more than meets the eye.

Transformers, robots in disguise

Autobots waging battle to

destroy the evil forces of the Decepticons

The Transformers… more than meets the eye

Transformers, robots in disguise

The Transformers!

(Thanks to a Transformers fan named Marc who, all these years, still had the lyrics to the original cartoon series’ opening theme! ;-D)

In the rocky hills of Argao, Cebu where numerous generations of Albarandos have lived and died, there is a particular bend in the road leading to a village called Langub that, legend says, is haunted by evil spirits.  So it is that people fear to go by that bend at dusk, preferring the long way which meant wading through kalibunan (waist-high grass), risking lives to snakes and holes in the ground.

Villagers say that at night- and especially after a rain- if any one even dares to pass, an unseen spirit would manifest itself through a lighted candle that floated across the road.

Apart from God, His angels, and His saints, I do not believe in the supernatural.  As in white ladies, duwende, kapre, aswang, tiyanak.  You name it,  it’s all myth to me.  The source of this disbelief is that I come from a family of practical jokers on my father’s side.

That bend in the road? There are people still living in Langub who could tell you about their personal encounter with the diablo. I can imagine how frightened they must have been! But it has an explanation.

My father’s great grandfather kept a pet turtle, and ever the practical joker (the best ever been born in the clan), he would lie in wait among the boulders at the side of the grassy road.  As soon as he heard voices from far off, he would light a candle and plant it on the poor turtle’s back. Just as people were about to round the bend, he would release it. The timing always had to be perfect to ensure no one was too near to notice the turtle.  The candle would glow starkly in the provincial night; to anyone who didn’t know better (no one ever did), it truly seemed as if a candle floated by itself across the road.  ‘Tay Memong got his laughs from people scrambling to get away from the apparition.  He especially liked those cool nights after a rain when everythng was always silent and still, no breeze to spoil his little joke.

He repeated that stunt, among other things, until he grew tired of it.  But since many people witnessed the apparition and could swear on their lives or their mothers’ that they did see the evil spirit of Langub, the story spread and became legend in the area.

The next generation inherited the streak of mischief but foremost among them was my father’s granduncle, ‘Noy Andoy who, together with his cousin Ustoy, played one on three of the toughest bullies in the village.

According to plan, Ustoy was to challenge the three bullies into proving their bravery.  He was to spread the news that an agta (the equivalent of a kapre?) resided by a particularly ancient mango tree outside the village.

Macho men those bullies were (or believed themselves to be) they showed up at the appointed time on an almost moonless night at the tree’s base.

Having proven themselves by being there in the dead of night, the bullies laughed at Ustoy for no agta was to be seen.

One especially puffed up his chest and crowed, "Nahadlok sa ato ang agta, p’re (The agta is scared of us)!"

"Hulat lang (Just wait)," was all Ustoy said.

Soon enough, the smell of tobacco permeated the area.

"Ay, sus, p’re.  Naa ra gud dinha balay ni Noy Imong.  Kabalo bitaw kang pala-tabako kaayo to (Noy Imong’s house is just nearby, and you know just what a smoker he is)," reasoned the second bully smugly.

"Lagi, p’re," agreed the third. "Kana imong ingon naay agta? Ay na ta ana oi (is that why you say there’s an agta here?)!"

Suddenly, ashes rained on the bullies.  All three looked up.  Clearly smoldering in the night, from somewhere up among the branches, was the lighted end of what looked to be a cigar.  To the men below, it seemed that nothing but an agta could be smoking that high up in the tree at that time of night. 

The smoldering point moved in an arc. Hi folks.

All that was enough. The bullies ran like frightened dogs, tails between their legs, yelping all the way to anywhere but there.

Afterwards, the agta came nimbly down from the tree to join an Ustoy whose stomach was already aching from too much laughter.  The ‘agta‘ of course, was none other than ‘Noy Andoy.

I could tell many more stories of my ancestors propagating myths, so to speak, but that would take pages to relate.  From my father’s generation, I have none, probably because my dad ran away to Mindanao (back then, the Land of Promise) in his teens, leaving behind family and friends, determined to forge a better life for himself.

But even among the hills of lonely Bukidnon, he carried with him that unbelief for the supernatural. In his university days, friends dared Papa who never turned down a challenge to disprove what so many believed in and feared.

If I told you my father has eaten an extra tasty aswang, would you believe it? He says it’s even more succulent than chicken. Yum.

Oh, by the way, my mom is from Antique, another province that, like Capiz, is known for its many aswang tales. But her origins definitely has nothing to do with it (My mom moved to Mindanao, too, at thirteen with her family).

The agricultural university my father was enrolled in owned hectares of flatlands, hills, and untamed jungle back in the fifties. On one such hill stood a deserted hut with a tin roof.  Nobody knew who built it as the hut had stood there for decades.  But one thing everybody knew as fact: An aswang rested there at night.

One day, friends dared my father to stay there for an evening.

And so he did.

At almost midnight, Papa was awakened by something on the roof. Like a creature with talons, for it to make such a ruckus.

My father was almost ready to concede that this time he was wrong, and that the myth was after all, fact.  He thought he was finally going to learn his lesson the tragic way.

"Kwiiiii! Kwiiiii!" the creature on the roof gave a harsh laugh, and the scratching on the tin increased to a jarring crescendo.

Papa then knew he had to see it with his own eyes, whatever it was. With heart in his mouth, and tirador (native sling) in hand, Papa slunk out of the hut.

Outlined in the moonlight and perched on the roof was a bird. A big one. Papa wasted no time. With one expert shot, the bird keeled over.  He grilled it the next morning for breakfast and left some to show to friends.

To this day, Papa’s friends think he cheated and lied about an aswang being actually just a bird.

My father’s hypothesis is that people are only too willing to believe that otherworldly creatures fly the skies at night and alight on their roofs or overhanging trees without even bothering to investigate.  In reality, these are just nocturnal animals like the kwi, the one my father caught on the roof. With its evil laugh, noisy ways, and huge bulk, it is easy to see why it could be mistaken for an aswang or a manananggal.  As to why people choose to believe the mythical rather than the practical is something I shall leave to anthropologists.

These are just some of the stories I grew up with, and it is easy to understand why my high school classmates used to grit their teeth or shout themselves hoarse trying to prove me wrong (eh, batchmates?).

I still don’t believe in any of our folkloric creatures.  I never will.

But let me relate another story.  This time, I was more or less a witness to an extraordinary event.

In first year college, I was assigned a room in the BA Annex wing, which had four floors, of the Kalayaan Residence dorm in UP. Mine was in the Basement Floor, along with 17 others, 2 to a room.  By the second semester, my roommate opted out of UP and the room was left all to myself.

One evening, in early November, I was still up reading at way past midnight when I began to hear cries from the upper floors.  The dorm was always noisy, never mind curfew, so I thought no more of it.  Almost an hour passed and the cries didn’t stop.  It grew louder such that I could understand the words that went with all the shouting.

Someone was begging someone else to stop. Intense fear  was in her voice, clashing with another that held something I could not quite describe. Anger? Malice?

I decided to investigate.

The cries grew nearer as I went up the flight of stairs.  Oddly enough, in spite of the noise, I saw no one else around, and yet, the lights were still on in some of the rooms that I passed. Either everyone was too sound asleep or I was imagining it all.

It was no imagination.  I stopped at a door in the Second Floor and what I heard made my hackles rise. I do not think I will ever forget the unearthly sounds that came out of that room.

I stood paralyzed for a moment, not knowing what to do. Should I bang on the door and force it open or should I go to the Floor’s resident assistant?  I was all alone and there were two of who-knows-what on the other side of the door.

I finally decided to go back down to  the Basement, knocked on Heiress’ door whom I knew to be a late sleeper.  She had heard the cries, but did not dare go out of her room alone. She strongly advised getting the RA.  And so we did.  All three of us banged on the door while on the other side, one girl was crying and rattling the knob, wanting desperately to get out.  The door just wouldn’t open.  The RA went off to get the keys, and the lady guard arrived, too, but neither keys nor physical force would open the door.  Nothing worked, and the screaming went on.

Finally, the RA asked me to fetch Maria Luna, Guidance Counselor, Puerto Rican professor, and devout Catholic who lived in the dorm.  I ran as fast as I could.  When I returned, residents had begun to come out of their rooms.  Maria Luna requested the girl crying for help to calm down and pray with her.  Miracle of miracles, after the praying, the door opened with a gentle turn of  the knob. 

And so we learned about what happened.  The roommates, whom I shall call Fila and Dina (not their real names of course) were chatting together with the door half-open.  I do not now recall what they had been talking about, but if memory serves me right, the door closed by itself.  Dina saw an unearthly reflection on the mirror that hung  on the back of the door.  Frightened, she glanced at Fila, and saw her roommate’s face morph into something like the devil’s? According to her, Fila began to laugh in that low, supernatural voice we know so well from horror movies.  That was when Dina started crying and begging Fila - or whatever it was possessing her roommate - to stop scaring her and go away.  As the prayers were being said, Fila fainted.

The next night, Maria Luna gathered the residents in our wing and perhaps to reassure us all, tried to explain everything scientifically.  Something about the nerves in the brain overlapping producing some sort of hallucination. 

I don’t think anyone ever bought the dorm’s official explanation, least of all, myself, the sceptic.  Something happened there that night.  There might really be a logical explanation to it all but the hallucination theory, to me, just wasn’t enough.

I had a lot of questions. I mean, if it was hallucination, was it possible for two people to do so at the same time?  How does one explain using a key on the door, coupled with brute force, but not being able to open it while a single prayer did? Were Fila and Dina just playacting? If they were, to what purpose?  And I was there; I heard the cries.  Unless your life depended on it, I doubt you could fake that much terror. 

There are questions and there will always be questions.  To be sure, I still don’t believe in aswang, manananggal, duwende, or what-have-you.  Again, I never will. As my father always says, if these folkloric creatures truly exist, if they are as powerful as myth suggests that they are, then the Philippines would have been fully populated by them a long, long time ago.  And he’d rather be, it seems, an aswang given that he could fly everywhere without having to spend on plane fares! Amen to that, me too! ;-D

But I do believe in spirits now, both good and evil, no matter what Papa says (after all, the Bible - and Jesus himself - says they do), and that there are certain things way beyond the ken of human understanding.  My only prayer is that I would never have to experience it myself.  As I like to joke, I don’t really care if ghosts are all around me, hugging me, staring at me, talking to me, just that I never see them, touch them, smell them - in short, never ever be aware of them.  If I do, I know I won’t live to survive the experience.  I will die of fright.

Should that happen, I can just imagine the shame of quite a few of my ancestors now looking down from heaven. They, who never believed in anything but the logical and the explainable, the tangible.

Ah, but should that ever happen, after frightening generations of villagers out of their wits with a little creativity, St. Peter might well shrug at them and grin: How poetic can justice be?

My Author, My Life

by Hannah Clark (from Forbes.com)

There are readers, and then there are fans. Readers offer condolences when a favorite author falls ill. Fans offer bone marrow.

Robert Jordan, author of the best-selling Wheel of Time series, has fans. And if you want to understand them, take a look at his blog. Since last spring, when he announced he had a rare blood disease called amyloidosis, Jordan, 58, has been chronicling his life-and-death struggle online. Whenever he’s well enough to write, he thanks the fans who sent care packages, and those who donated to the Mayo Clinic, in Rochester, Minn., where he is being treated. Then there’s this: "For Jaime Platt and her sister, your offer touches me deeply. They were able to harvest enough of my own bone marrow stem cells that I don’t need marrow donation from elsewhere, but thank you very much. That was a kind and generous offer."

And you thought Harry Potter fans were enthusiastic?

Jordan’s readers are offering help because they’ve developed a close connection with him through his books. They’re also desperately hoping he lives to finish the series. Wheel of Time is like Lord of the Rings on steroids. Since Jordan launched the series in 1990, he’s added another ten books, and more than 14 million copies have sold. Fans are patiently waiting for book No. 12, A Memory of Light, which Jordan promises will be the last, even if it reaches 2,000 pages. "I’ve told people you might need a forklift to get it out the door," says Jordan, speaking by phone from his home in South Carolina.

But there is, of course, an elephant in the room. Amyloidosis has no cure. Untreated, the average patient lives only 12 months after diagnosis, says Dennis Krysmalski, founder and CEO of the Amyloidosis Support Network. With treatment, patients survive an average of four years.

Jordan’s fans are full of sympathy, but also fright of a more personal and perhaps selfish kind. His readers have been following the lives of Rand, Egwene, Elayne, Mat, Nynaeve and Perrin for more than 16 years. Fans have shared their concerns on Web sites like Dragonmount, Theoryland and WOTmania. "Of course you wouldn’t ever wish a possibly terminal disease on anyone," wrote one poster, codman25. "But what happens if he doesn’t finish the book?"

It’s a dangerous question. Most fans avoid posting such sentiments for fear of appearing tactless. Posters like codman25 are often chastised as insensitive by others who claim to care only for the well-being of Jordan and his family. Jordan himself chuckles at these exchanges. He doesn’t mind if fans worry about his ability to finish the series. "I hope I finish the books too," he says.

In the Internet age, fans can engage with a book long after they’ve finished it. They go online, meet other fans and participate in role-playing games. There’s even a Web site profiling couples who have met and married because of the series. (One happy couple, Amber and Markku of Espoo, Finland, met in a "clan" devoted to the Wheel of Time board game.) Rabid Jordan fans know all about Harriet, his wife and editor, and they even sent her care packages when they learned he was ill.

Jordan’s connection with his fans has grown even stronger since he began blogging about his illness. He has commented on his flat "behind" and opined on the virtues of Tabasco sauce. When readers asked his thoughts on death, however, Jordan, a Vietnam veteran and former atomic engineer, became more philosophical. "You deal with death the way you deal with breathing, or with air," he wrote. "Death is a natural and inevitable end." In other words, as he has written in all 11 books, "The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass."

Jordan plans to live another 30 years–long enough, he says to finish all the books that are in his head right now. That will require a large dose of luck, and so far, his luck has been mixed. The new drug he’s taking seems to be working well. Still, he can write for two hours a day at most, compared with eight or nine hours in healthier times. At this rate, he’ll submit the final book in 2008 for publication in 2009, says Tom Doherty, president of Tor Books, Jordan’s publisher.

If he gets better, he’ll write faster. No one wants to talk about the alternative. If he dies, could someone else finish the series? Authors like V.C. Andrews and Mario Puzo have posthumously passed along their series to other writers. Still, some fans worry that another author, even Harriet, wouldn’t be true to Jordan’s voice. Jordan, however, is open to the idea. "I’m getting out notes, so if the worst actually happens, someone could finish A Memory of Light and have it end the way I want it to end," he says. "But I hope to be around to actually finish it myself."

The decision, Jordan says, will be left to Harriet and Doherty, who has been a close friend and colleague for years. But Doherty isn’t ready to address that possibility. "I’m not prepared to concede that that’s going to happen," Doherty says. "I’m working on the belief that he’s going to beat this thing. Who else can tell this story?"

            Vic was an ex-seminarian with nice manners, and he also was  a classmate in my sociology class. I had just broken up with my college bf, and as a result, I went to noon Mass everyday hoping for a little miracle of the heart.  Vic attended Mass regularly, too, and sometimes, we ate lunch together afterwards.

            In my state of mind - or heart- it wasn’t surprising that I developed a bit of a crush on Vic.  My ex was an s.o.b and here was a religious guy who seemed to be an intellectual to boot.  Never mind, if he still wanted to become a priest.

            After some time, he invited me to go to Mass with his family.

            Oooh la la. I thought. Is this progress at last?

            The first semester of my final year came and went, still, nothing more significant happened.  Then the rigors of a graduating student’s life took over, and church was  no longer a priority.  Vic and I lost touch.

            Then I became interested in another guy whom I shall call Rah.  We were both graduating history majors; he was tall, and he was fun to be with.  The gift of  a heartache, courtesy of my ex, was long in vanishing but I thought maybe, just maybe, friendship with Rah was worth cultivating.

            Ah, but nothing came of that, either.

            Fast forward to year 2004. By then, my relationship with Marc was already two years strong.  I was at a building in Makati when somebody approached me.  It was Rah.  There were hi’s and hello’s and an invitation from him to eat lunch together.

            So there we were out on the building’s Patio, eating lunch, exchanging stories.  I told him I had a bf and he said he had broken up with his gf a year before. 

            He sat across from me, and I couldn’t help smiling a little smile.  Dressed impeccably, a designer’s scent wafted from him, teasing my senses - although my nose told me it was an absolutely different brand now.  And there’s that sexy way of his when he flipped the ashes from his cigarette, though I really am no admirer of smokers nor of smoking. Some things never change. Good old Rah.

            "Hey, Ca, " Rah said, leaning over. "There is something I need to tell you."

            Shaken out of my reverie, I could only mumble a soft,  "A-huh?"

            There was an earnest expression in his eyes when he looked into mine.

            "Ca, I don’t know how to say this–" He took a long pull from his cigarette, before expelling it in a huff.

            "Surely, Ca, you already know?" Another pull.

            "Do I know what?  And please, Rah, not in my face." I indicated the smoke which was threatening to suffocate me.

            "Sorry, sorry. " He took a deep breath and his eyes took on an expression of what I could only  describe as anxiety.

            "We’ve always been friends, right, Ca? What I am about to tell you might come as a shock. Kung sabagay, ngayon na lang tayo nagkita ulit.  Maiintindihan ko if…if iba magiging reaction mo."

            "What are you talking about? Sabihin mo na kasi." My heart was pounding now with curiosity and anticipation.  Shucks, if he tells me he likes me after all this time, gosh… Ang haba ng hair ko.  What am I gonna say? I do have a bf, Rah… Hmmmn, that would be a very appropriate line, wouldnt it? Shucks, letting someone down –

            "I’m gay, Ca."

            I thought I didn’t hear that right. "What did you say?"

            "I said I’m gay. Bading . Bakla."

            My jaw dropped.  Rah was gay?!

            "Oh my god! You’re really gay!" People glanced at our table, and I realized I had shouted.

            "Helloo-oo, girl! HIndi nyo pa ba napapansin yon nung college?"

            And he was right. There had indeed been signs.  That perfume, the way he dressed, that sexy way of flipping a cigarette.  Above all, I remembered, he had always  been a fan of Madonna. That, by itself, should have been a dead giveaway.

            Rah had come partially out of the closet about a year before and he was currently in a, well, gay relationship.  Meaning, happy. But only a select few knew about his sexuality.

            It’s been 3 years, however, and we’ve lost touch again, but I hope that wherever he is, Rah’s just fine.

            And then recently, I  went to lunch with Vic and a female friend of his. Vic was now an instructor. And he still has not gone back to the seminary.

            His friend and I were discussing the movie "Babel" and about how there was a certain amount of nudity in the film.

           "May mga lalake ba na hubad?" Vic asked suddenly.

           "Ay, wala, " his friend replied.

           "Ganon?" said Vic. "E di walang effect din pala sa akin ang movie na yan!"

           I stared hard at Vic. Say again?!

           The conversation went on to other things, and I decided I had imagined it.

            Not long after that, in the course of the conversation, the two friends laughed and Vic said, "Well, pasensya na  lang pamilya ko at ang bunso nila ay bading!"

            I blinked. What the (expletive) was that?

           My mind worked furiously. Vic is religious. He has always wanted to become a priest. Therefore, Vic couldn’t be– No, he was going to be a priest. No one who was gay could not want to be a priest. These two are tripping on me!

           Later, I was alone with Vic in his office, and he was discussing what his masteral thesis was. I thought I couldn’t hold my curiosity in any longer. I had to know.

          "Vic, napansin ko lang kasi kanina sa conversation nyo…I mean, ano… Um…wag kang magagalit ha? Ano… eh kasi…" I had to come up  with the most inoffensive line, and soon.  I disliked fumbling for words. Besides, if he wasn’t …gay, I’d be in serious trouble.

         "Lumabas ka na?"   I blurted finally.

         There was a moment of silence.  His eyes grew thoughtful and just as I began to worry I had asked the wrong question, he burst into laughter.

         "Ay naku, matagal na no!"

         And so it was that I discovered two of my former crushes "on the rebound" were gay.

         Moral lesson of the story?

         It doesn’t pay to go on the rebound.

         It’s Valentine’s Day, and I can’t help jumping onto the love bandwagon. Love is about five feet thick in the air today,  and I just had to add to that. (grin)

         Now, if you love someone and are loved back then treasure that love with all that you’ve got.  You are given one chance only to do things right. One mistake, and you could lose what some people would kill to have.

         If your love’s of the unrequited sort, then hope and pray. And pray some more.  But you must move on  with your life.  As great as the idea of love and falling in love is, it is never worth stagnating for.

         If your heart has just been broken, grieve then. Cry if you must. Mourn as you will. And then give your heart time to heal.  Bounce back when you’re ready and not when healing is half-baked.

         You wouldn’t want to make the fatal mistake of falling for the wrong gay. Er, guy. Would you? ;-D

         Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone!

          This entry comes with a warning. If you’re extra sensitive and do not share my interest, then close this page. Ora mismo. I hate to offend, and I hate to agitate those of you who harbor strong sentiments on this subject. But if you’re courageous and would like to learn more, then welcome to my world. Otherwise, get out of here. Fast.

         It’s that "f" word. Fantasy. (What did you think it was?)

         It conjures childish images of fairies, dwarves, kings and queens, swords, and sorcery. And it does have elements of the magical, but it is far from the fairy tales of childhood.

         Now I do not wish to impose my views on anyone about the genre; however, I am only too agitated.

          My favorite author is dying.

          We are now just supposed to be waiting for the last installment of his 12-book series, but any chance of it hitting the bookshelves is getting slimmer everyday. I don’t know about other fans, but I fervently wish he doesn’t die before he gives us closure. Make that, here’s to praying he doesn’t die at all; Heaven already has too many of our literary geniuses, surely, it could spare us mortals a mere Robert Jordan?

          Oh boy, mere he is not.

          To the uninitiated, Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time (WoT) saga is America’s answer to JRR Tolkien’s 12-volume classic epic The War of the Rings (of which The Lord of the Rings trilogy is only the more popularly known portion).

         The Wheel of Time’s Book One: The Eye of the World, first came out in 1990 to rave reviews, climbing to the top spot of bestseller lists, and consequently reaped a solid fan base.

         Of course, in this Harry Potter generation, you may not have heard of him. That’s fine. After all, he is a treasure appreciated only by enthusiasts of the subgenre that’s called high fantasy. (Guess what subgenre Harry Potter belongs to? Click here. Peace, you HP fans! ;-D)

         My love affair with high fantasy began 3 years ago, and I came into it fairly kicking and screaming.

         What is there about fantasy?

         First of all, books of this genre don’t necessarily mean kidstuff. In fact, if children were to read hard fantasy, they would appreciate it no more than they would, say a Michael Crichton novel.

         True, magic’s involved, but storylines don’t go anywhere near the Prince Charming-saves-Princess-in-distress-assisted-by-fairy godmother-versus-wicked witch route. Hard fantasy is for adults (nothing x-rated, to be sure).

         Adults who cling to the fantasies of childhood?

        Not at all. These are stories not of invincible superheroes and convenient endings. Rather, these are stories of the human race and others portrayed in an  alternate world. And it is always a harsher world, by far, of too many possibilites.

         Certainties, more like. Men and women struggle hard in the eternal war between good and evil. Heroes fall. Sometimes, they die. In the end, if the villains are overthrown,it is only because the protagonists did the donkeywork at a terrible price. And then again, only just.

         Escapist?

         If you think that’s escapism, then I have to declare you’re pretty kooky!

         You see, my friend, as the venerable CS Lewis (incidentally, Tolkien’s best friend and "Narnia" creator) once said, "normal fiction" - spy novels, detective/suspense stories, the like - presents a very real danger of falling for the illusion of the (super)human capacity to beat the odds. Heroes/heroines evade countless traps with nary a scratch, survive innumerable bullets, figure out what an expensive thinktank couldn’t, dance from one sticky situation to another with unbelievable bravado. And these were supposed to be characters who lived in a world we’re familiar with! That, my friend, is escapism.

         I was an LOTR fanatic for some time when  I hungered for more of the genre. There are relatively fewer authors of fantasy than there are of crime fiction. Consequently, there aren’t too many current bestsellers. Which means that if you’ve pretty much exhausted the usual bookstores, you’re done. But like a hapless addict, you just can’t quit.  Haunting bargain bookstores around the metropolis, great and small, got me quality fantasy that were no longer in circulation. Of course, that ran out, too.

         Then I was ready to panic; life without a new series to get lost in was a life of hairpulling, gutscreaming boredom.

         Enter the WoT.

         Marc has had the WoT collection for years (however, sans Books One to Three), but I never bothered with it. I was too loyal to Frodo and Co, and the WoT seemed to me like an LOTR copycat. I mean, how dare Robert Jordan. Besides, I wasn’t about to start in the middle of the series.

         But Fate stuck out her tongue one day. Oh yes. I was at a bargain bookstore when the first book I happened to see was Book One of the Wheel of Time in all its glory like a queen looking down from its shelf upon its subjects, shining like a beacon.

         And the One Ring was thereafter forsaken for the Wheel.

         What is the WoT?

          Essentially, it is the classic fight between good and evil. Three farm boys reshape the Pattern of the Ages, but only one is the greatest of them all, upon whom the fate of the world rests. He must defeat the Dark One  and save the world but in so doing, he  would, according to the prophecies, also destroy himself and the world.  A fine brew, it is.

          There are several succesful writers of fantasy, but Robert Jordan is a complete magician. He stands out in that in spite of the genre, he effortlessly suspends his reader’s disbelief. And that is as rare a gift as the sun on a stormy day.

          Anyone who reads his work finishes every book with the nagging suspicion that it all couldn’t have been just a product of the author’s imagination. His characters come alive and you know them like your next door neighbor; maybe even your friend. Above all, Jordan’s world provides a delightful background for concepts that were not quite accepted in the great masters’ time (Tolkien and Lewis, for  example). There is a certain now-ness that I have yet to find elsewhere.

        Alright, so he is my favorite.

        And he is dying.

        The whole world - at least the whole of Jordandom- is now anxiously anticipating the end. Of the series, that is. If we would even get to read it. Early last year, Robert Jordan was diagnosed with amyloidosis. It’s a disease similar to cancer, and medicine says that with chemotherapy, a man could live up to a year  after diagnosis. 

          They say treatment isn’t really looking up for Jordan. And it’ll soon be a year since his diagnosis. The 12th and final book has not yet been finished.

          When the news first came out, cyberspace, as tuned in to WoTmania, was promptly inundated with concerns. What will happen now?

          I remember reading about some biker fans who, when they heard of the rumour  that Jordan was terminally ill, attempted to  take the author hostage to forcibly have him conclude the Wheel of Time before he could have the chance to die. This incident was way before he was diagnosed with amyloidosis. It was only a rumour, and the bikers went home satisfied that the WoT author would not leave them hanging for eternity.

          That was then. Now, roiling clouds are really, truly gathering in the horizon for us, fans. In his blog, Jordan says that he intends to live beyond what his Mayo doctors have predicted for him.

          Oh gawd. I hope so.

                                               -o-

The Wheel of Time turns and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose inthe Mountains of Mist. The wind  was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

–The Wheel of Time by Robert Jordan

• Book One: The Eye of the World
• Book Two: The Great Hunt
• Book Three: The Dragon Reborn
• Book Four: The Shadow Rising
• Book Five: The Fires of Heaven
• Book Six: Lord of Chaos
• Book Seven: A Crown of Swords
• Book Eight: The Path of Daggers
• Book Nine: Winter’s Heart
• Book Ten: Crossroads of Twilight
• Book Eleven: Knife of Dreams

(This entry was written last year, saved as a draft, and I forgot all about it. Probably, I was hoping for good news to come if I waited long enough. Indeed, there are good news now.  As of 22 January, our beloved author’s future is getting brighter once again. Whooopeee!)