Protacio, 38

Garo man nanggad ribo-ribong dagom an duros ngonyan na banggi—siring sa ginhalâ niya saimo kaidto.

Tinuturusok kan kada panas an pusikit mong kublit; kinikiriblit ka; pinapasalingoy na paminsaron mo idtong mga aldaw na dai kamo nagpopondo kangingisi. Kawasa ika an saiyang pirming binabangít—sa kapikunan na naturalisa mo, ika man biyóng naiingít; minangiriil sa sinasabi tungod sa imo kan bâbâ niyang matabil.

An pagkamoot abaanang kapeligroso. Tibaad igwa kamong namate sa kada saro poon kadto—kung kaya an puso mo nawaran nin diskanso. Siya man nagparalagaw, nagparatrabaho; kadakuldakul inasikaso; garong an iniisip nindo pirmi kun pâno makapalagyo.

Mayo na siya ngonyan; sa mga kabukidan kan Kabikolan, igwang kung anong kapaladan an saiyang napadumanan; sarong aldaw sa Juban, kaiba kan saiyang mga kasama, siya tinambangan kan saiyang mga kalaban.

An parasuba sa buhay mo nagtaliwan na; mayo nang maolog-olog kan saimong ngaran; mayo nang malapaskan saimong mga kanigoan; mayo nang malangkaba kan saimong kamahalan. Bwelta ka na naman sa pangabuhi na tibaad igwang kamanungdanan.

Sinurublian sa Hiligaynon 
ginhalâ, sinabi
paminsaron, pag-iisip
naiingít, nababalde
bâbâ, nguso
makapalagyo, makadulag
nagtaliwan, nagadan

Bolaobalite, 1976

Ma, pasensiya dai na ko nakapaaram saimo
amay-amay pa si first trip marhay ngani
ta nakasakay ako. Dai ta ka na pigmata
paggios ko ta turog-turog ka pa, pagal-pagal
kakaaling ki Nonoy pirang banggi na man
nagpaparapastidyo; pero kun kinakarga ko,
pwerte man baga, nagsisilencio.

Hilingon ko na sana tibaad yaon na
man ko diyan sa Sabado. Pero sabi mo
man ngonyan na semana tibaad mag-abot
na si Onding ni Jeremias. Marhay kun siring
ta igwa na kitang mawalatan kan mga sadit.

Digdi sa eskwelahan, siribot naman kami
ngonyan ta muya kan mga maestrang
mag-Christmas party kaiba kan mga magurang
sa plaza—apwera pa kan sa mga kaakian.
Nahugos na samo an PTA kaya dakulon
gibohon ko digdi. Mga lesson plan ngani
dai ko pa ubos macheck-an. Pero marhay
man ta igwa ako digding masarigan.

Kansubanggi—iparayo nin Dios—
nagralaen naman si pagmati ko. Nagimata ako
sa init; ginagaranot ako; basa-basa si sakong
ulunan, tumtom pati higdaan. Pero tinutumar ko
si bulong na pigreseta kadto sa Naga. Dai ka na
maghadit ta maboot man si May Peling; siya
an kasera ko digdi. Pinapatundugan niya ko ka’yan
sa mga aki nin pangudtuhan o minsan mirindalan.

Nurong semana, makompleanyo ka na baga
kaya maghalat-halat ka ta ako may surpresa.

Exaggerations

Sa puro nin muro

Nagliwanag an altar

Asin sa samong atubang

Nagtindog an Pading Halangkaw

Binasa an Ebanghelio kan Aldaw:

“Sa ulo ng mga nagbabagang balita.

This Bikol poem titled “Ritwal” written by Bikol poet Frank Peñones, Jr. presents our disappointment from watching news TV nowadays.

At the tip of one’s fingertips, the screen lights up when he presses the machine’s button.  Then before the TV audience, the “high priest” stands and declares the reading of the “gospel of the day”: he starts reading the news.

Comparing news to the Daily Gospel spells the effectiveness of Peñones’s poem, perfectly mocking the reality how we the audience treat television with deference. But just as the audience considers news as gospel truth, Peñones’s reduces television to a ritualistic and routine endeavor, with both hosts and audience transformed into automatons.

And when the media high priest declares that what he has is “nagbabagang balita” (scorching hot news), the “ritual” is further reduced to exaggeration. It’s card-stacking and plain propaganda at its best.

It is tragic how television nowadays becomes the site of exaggerations of the real thing—and not as sensible avenue for critical thinking by the audience.

In particular, there is much pretense in how TV news anchors in this country convey information to the public.

Consider Mike Enriquez and Noli de Castro. These two—whom others now call institutions—tend to sensationalize every piece of information that their production team has prepared in the very manner they express it to the public.

First, Enriquez wins awards for his broadcasting style. I do not know why. But Mike Enriquez’s newscasting is pure exaggeration. He speaks so rapidly to the extent that it is only he who understands what he is saying. In a sense, you are rather only entertained—and not sensibly informed— by his presence.

In his every single appearance on news television, he seems to be eating his own words—but honestly, he sounds like a character in a comedy movie who rather mocks newscasting. More honestly now, he reminds me of Steve Carrell’s character in the Jim Carrey movie Bruce Almighty.

Enriquez should go back to his speech classes so he might as well observe slashes and double slashes when reading something. He needs to pause; and stop. So he can best be understood.

For his part, Noli de Castro has always sounded inflated all these years. In the poem stated earlier, Peñones is referring to Noli De Castro whose “Magandang Gabi, Bayan” augured well for the Filipino audience. And, well, as a consequence of his public identity, he became the country’s vice-president.

De Castro’s loud, imposing voice reading the country’s daily news gets our attention only because he reads the news with some kind of wild energy, making any serious item sound so utterly tragic and even a rather simple piece of information sounds very serious.

While it is good that he should project some verve, the right energy in reading out the information to the public, doing so in a pretentiously serious manner (as if it’s in critical condition) does not help the viewer much in sifting information for their own purpose.

The same thing is true in the case of other national newscasters including Ted Failon, Mel Tiangco and Korina Sanchez. What are they rushing for, anyway? Did the TV moguls ask them to read five or more news articles in 2 minutes or even less, so as to accommodate more advertisements in between their newscast? Okay.

When read by these newsmen, the daily news becomes so nerve-racking and tense. And upsetting. They may be tasked to heighten the public’s sense or awareness on social issues, but what they really do is to seem to always shock the audience even when the kind of information being relayed is otherwise lighthearted or even trivial.

Arnold Clavio, Vicky Morales, Paolo Bediones and others on primetime news TV can benefit from listening to how their forerunners really sound so ridiculous. They should not wait for the time that they themselves would be reading news at the rate of 1,000 words per minute only to rake ratings [when their time comes to be the leading news anchors]. But if they also do, by then they will have begun an era in which speed, not sensible information—is the mere yardstick of newscasting.

Can't they look to how news anchors over BBC, CNN or Australian TV appear poker-faced and sound composed even when reporting major news stories to the rest of the world? To these journalists, it is clear that their purpose is to simply convey information to the public without much sentiment so as to allow the audience to feel the thing—or sift the issue from the information—themselves. We can only admire how field reporters from across the world feeding news into big networks appear totally unruffled despite being situated in battlefields or calamity-stricken areas. 

Back in our country, with the way these news anchors race past each other—pataasan ng boses, making news and events appear that they matter even when they really don’t, it appears that TV networks only rally against each other to rake ratings for themselves.

The terms “News and Public Affairs” suck because all the networks care about is profit—each second on airtime is profit. It’s still the economics at the end of the day.

No Country for Old Men

The Commission on Elections (Comelec) in Capiz headed by Mr. Wil Arceño recently dismissed the forthcoming Sangguniang Kabataan (SK) elections as needless if not unnecessary, deeming it a futile exercise primarily because it is not the youth themselves who call the shots, but other members of the barangay or the community.

Comelec’s dismissal was revealed even as it also announced that the barangay elections will proceed along with the youth polls in October this year.

How important is the Sangguniang Kabataan? We randomly surveyed members of the voting youth—and what we got was a mixture of opinions. While one said that “Wala man gid obra sa SK (Wala naman talagang trabaho sa SK),” saying that it only exists during basketball games or pa-Liga sa Barangay, another quipped, “Depende man na sa barangay (It depends on the barangay),” adding that what is important is that the voice of the youth is duly represented in the barangay council.

While we now find ourselves contemplating the same dilemma, one barangay captain randomly relayed to us how this issue remains debatable. He said that there is nothing wrong with the senior members of the council interfering with the matters of the youth. Besides, they who ought to be the future leaders need to be taught or mentored on governance and everything it requires. This presupposes that the elected youth are naïve in matters of governance or say, implementing projects for their fellow youth constituents or even the bigger community. 

But it is a different matter altogether when funds reportedly appropriated for youth projects in the barangay are not accordingly given or shelled out for their purposes. Across the country, stories are told about how senior members of the barangay council or even the parents of the elected youth appropriate projects and funds for purposes other than the development of the youth. As such, the SK that prevails is still SK—only that it means Sangguniang Kamagulangan (Council of the Elders) or Sangguniang Katingulangan (Council of the Elderly).

As per the Local Government Code of 1991, the 10 percent of General Fund of the Barangay earmarked for SK “shall be spent to initiate programs designed to enhance the social political, economic, cultural, intellectual, moral, spiritual and physical development of the members.” The SK chairperson also serves as ex-officio member of the barangay council and is entitled to a barangay councilor’s honorarium.

The presence of Sangguniang Kabataan is the privilege given for the youth. Therefore, the best thing that the members of the non-youth in the barangay council can do is to let them speak out their concerns, without being dictated by anyone. Parents and the senior members of the barangay can only do so much as to provide for the youth and their well-being—perhaps extend to them pieces of advice on matters of how to improve themselves, but the SK privilege is not in any way reserved for them. Never should the senior members of the community speak or assert anything in their behalf.

Two Words in Our Time

Recently, I have observed two words that have entered our modern lexicon, both of which merit some discussion and perhaps, appreciation.

Consider the first one: selfie. Announced by Time Magazine as one of the top 10 buzzwords for 2012, “selfie” refers to any self-portrait photograph—taken by the subject himself or herself with the use of a modern technology gadget like a cellular phone, tablet, or just about any portable camera; and later uploaded on Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, or any other social networking site.

Writing for the BBC news magazine online, Charissa Coulthard says that, owing to the fact that this type of photos has been flooding social media sites in recent months, “selfie” has become commonplace enough to be monitored for inclusion in the online version of the Oxford English Dictionary. Coulthard reports that a search on Instagram retrieves over 23 million photos uploaded with the hashtag #selfie, and a whopping 51 million with the hashtag #me.”

Further, one selfie alone posted by one of my FB friends as her Profile Picture elicited some 90 Like!s from all her friends from across the world. What can be more amazing than that?

But among others, selfie serves some purpose. Upon the very act of posting one’s own picture online, the subject flings himself or herself open to public examination. Because the self becomes the subject of public scrutiny, judging from the likes and comments that the post elicits or draws out from other Internet users, he or she can be made aware of their own charm, or the lack of it.

And if one selfie elicits many reactions, with some of them even citing certain aspects of the photo or features of the subject, the whole exercise can guide the person which of their characteristics can be considered desirable—and which cannot.

The concept of selfie then rises beyond vanity, or some penchant to take pride in and parade one’s own beauty. In a sense, the selfie is able to relay back to the subjects not only how they look good to others but how else they can look better.

The entire online exercise—from choosing which picture to post to enhancing them using software applications to actually posting it to eliciting reactions from others—allows for self-examination and even introspection.

Then, there is the other word—“Bombo” or “bombo,” functioning both as noun and verb—which I suppose has already been a household name long time ago.

In the provinces and cities across the country, the Bombo Radyo by the Florete Group of Companies from Iloilo has permeated the public consciousness owing to the presence of their radio stations across some 20 major provinces in the archipelago.

Through the years, Bombo Radyo has staged commentators and announcers for their news and public affairs department who have criticized on air practically almost everyone whom they consider misbehaving, errant or corrupt both in private and public spheres.

Virtually, the Bombo programs have gained notoriety even as its literal drum noise barrages on air—indeed, in order to parade its subject’s misdemeanors for everyone to hear. While it has gained the ire of its subjects, through time, the commentary culture it has fostered has also helped create a Filipino audience critical of social issues.

So commonly nowadays you would hear how one public figure or even an entirely anonymous person literally “figured in public” because “na-Bombo siya,” meaning—his or her name was mentioned in the Bombo Radyo commentary program), which also means he or she figured in some scam, scandal or anomaly.

During Bombo Hanay or similar commentary  programs, the commentator host raises a particular issue that primarily concerns the public, presents the allegedly errant personalities or officials and then, basing on reports of malfeasance, strips them bare to the bone.

Their accuracy or observance of media ethics notwithstanding, these and the counterpart commentaries in other radio networks keep the public officials and other social leaders in check even as they do not only examine the issue but also more than scrutinize the behavior of the personalities involved.

It is always best to attack the issue as the case in point. At times, however, the verbal criticisms on the radio become vitriol, cannot help but do so “below the belt,” because the host can hardly separate the issue from the personality involved.

As such, the word Bombo performs a function similar to the one delivered by selfie. Through this, Bombo keeps its subjects in check and makes them aware of themselves. And by doing so, the media involved is virtually holding up the mirror of the community to its own constituents to make them see the ills of their own society. Such has always been the mandate of the fourth estate.

In this sense, both “selfie” and “Bombo” subject the personalities or persons to be judged per se; and both forms of criticism create avenues to critique the self, and how it can do better or be better.

While this parallelism may appear new, the thing about self-criticism is not new all. Not surprisingly, such concepts elicited by both words had already been pondered ages and eons ago, particularly by the Greek Socrates,  who said: “The unexamined life is not worth living,” or something to that effect. Trite but true; so trite but so true.

My Leader, the Hero; or A Guide to Recognizing Your Saints

One time in the 1980s, a helicopter flew over our small barangay. I went out to join other kids in the neighborhood. The sight was glorious—we saw things falling down from the sky. Perhaps it was the first time such kind of aircraft flew over our neighborhood. 

We the kids were so amazed. We ran around like crazy picking them up as more of them flew down from the chopper. We thought they were money bills. 

They were flyers and pocket calendars belonging to a candidate whom I now only remember as Ballecer. He was running against another candidate named Bubby Dacer (the PR man) for assemblyman in the third district of our province. 

Bubby Dacer’s posters, along with those of his opponents, were plastered everywhere in our barangay, especially on the wide walls of the koprasan of the Bercasios, a warehouse near the marketplace we called Triangle where we bought our goods from rice to fish to plastic balloons to halo-halo. 

The faces of these politicians would be hard for me to forget. Time and again, I would see their faces on those posters pasted on the walls of the koprasan where I usually passed to run house errands. Because these posters were never defaced, it was time—months and years—that eventually wore them away. 

I also heard their jingles over DZGE and DWLV, then prominent radio stations based in Naga City. Young as I was, I also sang (along with) them.

During elections, my mother headed the Board of Election Inspectors (BEI) in our grade school. From the sample ballots, I saw and learned to memorize senators’ names who would later be prominent—names like Mamintal Tamano, Santanina Rasul, Ramon Mitra, Teofisto Guingona, Macapanton Abas and Leticia Ramos-Shahani, among others. 

I clipped and mounted their pictures, and also copied their faces on my notebook. Some of these materials I even placed as covers for my school stuffs. 

When Corazon Aquino became president, I copied her image from a poster which was distributed to all the classrooms. For this, I used Cray-pas for a portrait of her which I drew on one of the back pages of my notebook. It was a smiling woman wearing big eyeglasses. 

I emphasized the wrinkles from her nose to the mouth when she smiled. I used orange for her face and black for her hair and yellow for the dress. I was amazed at my creation. I used so much pastel on the portrait of the new president perhaps because it was my first time to use such kind of art material. I rather saw that portrait as that of my mother.

Back then our classrooms had high ceilings—the old Marcos type, I later learned. The Sacred Heart of Jesus was placed on our front wall facing the class—and was flanked by two posters that read—“Knowledge is power” and “Read today, lead tomorrow.” 

The picture of the new president was mounted on one of the corners of the Grade 6 classroom. She was placed along with Jose Rizal and Andres Bonifacio, in such a way that we looked up to them. 

In high school, we were also told to memorize the names of government officials—from our local officials to the cabinet secretaries of then ministries (during Ferdinand Marcos’s regime) and now departments (in Cory Aquino’s new government).

Through time, I got lost in the long list of names of senators and politicians and cabinet officials whose names were changed more often—because they were either sacked or revamped or simply resigned. I came to know more about them, or rather, about them more.

From the news, I later learned of their projects and their programs. Then I was also told of their corrupt practices—of the problems they were now giving to the public. I would also learn the words graft, corruption. Bribery. And plunder. Through the years, I have lost track of who is doing which and what. Who is more credible than whom? Who is more believable? One day, I just didn’t know how to believe in what they’re saying anymore. Or what they’re doing.

One day, I just stopped believing in them. I found there are other better things to do than believe and what they’re saying. Or doing.  One time, I just started to believe that like most children’s tales, politicians and yes, their identities and their sensibilities—such as their faces mounted for everyone to see—are only for children.

Nothing Writes So Much As Blood

Nothing writes so much as blood.

The rest are mere strangers.

—corrupted from Lawrence Kasdan’s Wyatt Earp, 1994

Dear Mother

Some twelve years ago, when I was working for Plan International Bicol, gathering information from the NGO’s beneficiaries-respondents in the upland barangays surrounding Mount Isarog and the Bicol National Park, I kept a notebook where I wrote the following verse for my mother Emma, who passed away in January 1996.

In that job, I kept a journal wherever I went—perhaps to relive the days with my mother whom I dearly lost during her life [I hardly had time for her when she was sick because my editorship in the college paper ate up my schedule] and tearfully loved after her death [after college graduation, there was not much to do aside from job-hunting and freelancing with media entities around Naga City]. And there was not much reason to hunt for jobs at all because there would be no one to offer my first salary.

The original scribbles below were written on a yellow pad paper.

The Sea House

For Emma, who loved so much

1996

Tomorrow 

I will build a house

by the forest near the sea

where

six palm trees 

will become 

brave bystanders by day—

and 

warm candles by night.

Pride from a Published Poem

After so many versions and revisions, a national magazine then edited by the National Artist for Literature Nick Joaquin—published a longer submission (see below) before the end of the year. The publication of my poem in Philippine Graphic Weekly thrilled me to no end. I felt too lucky to have my [too personal a] sentiment printed in a national publication.

It even seemed like the tribute to my mother was more heightened. For one, she would have loved to see my work printed on a national paper. Sad to say, though, it is my contemplation on her death that would give [her or me] such pride.

The Sea House

Philippine Graphic Weekly, November 1996

I hate to leave really.

But I should go home tonight.

Tomorrow I will build a house 

by the forest near the sea 

where I alone 

can hear my silence.

For it, I gathered six palm trees

stronger than me, to become

the pillars, firm foundations

of my tranquil days to come

which I will not anymore hear.

I know the trees are good 

for they survived many typhoons in the past

which uprooted many others

and which made others bend,

and die.

I hope they become bright lamps

along the black road

where I will pass through 

when I go home tonight.

I hope they’d be there

and that they would recognize me.

And if they don’t, it wouldn’t matter.

I would not want any trees other than them.

For I know they are very good.

But tonight, please 

let them be 

my warm candles.

And when I’m home 

I will be certain:

Tomorrow, I will have built a house

in the forest near the sea where

Every palm tree can hear his silence. 

And the others can listen.

A Reader’s Response

Finding the poem in one of my diskette files when I applied for work in Quezon City and Manila, my brother Mente—perhaps to while away his time in SRTC [his workplace then where I typed hundreds of my resumes] in Kalayaan Avenue back in 1997—must have liked it so much that consequently, he translated it in Bikol, rendering a rather old, archaic Bikol version.

An Harong Sa May Dagat

(Para qui Emma, na sobrang namoot)

1997

Magabat an boot co na maghale,

Alagad caipuhan co na mag-uli 

Ngonyan na banggui.

Sa aga, matugdoc aco nin harong 

Sa cadlagan harani sa dagat,

Cun sain aco na sana an macacadangog 

Can sacuyang catranquiluhan.

Sa palibot caini, matanom aco 

Nin anom na poon nin niyog 

Na mas masarig sa saco, 

Na magiging manga harigi—

Manga pusog na pundasyon 

Can manga matuninong cong aldaw

Na dae co naman madadangog.

Ma’wot co na sinda magserbing 

Maliwanag na ilaw sa dalan

Sa macangirhat na diclom, 

Cun sain aco ma-agui 

Sa sacuyang pag-uli 

Ngonyan na banggui.

Ma’wot co man na yaon sinda duman 

Asin na aco mamidbid ninda. 

Alagad cun sinda malingaw saco, 

Dae na bale. Dae nungca aco mahanap 

Nin caribay ninda, nin huli ta aram co 

Na sinda manga marhay.

Alagad sa atyan na banggui, 

Hahagadon co na sinda

Magserbing manga maiimbong 

Na candela cataid co.

Asin cun aco naca-uli na

Sigurado aco na sa aga

Naca-guibo aco nin harong 

Sa cadlagan harani sa dagat

Cun sain aco na sana 

An macacadangog 

Can sacuyang catranquiluhan.

Asin an iba macacadangog.

My Brother, My Reader, My Writer 

Perhaps having the spirit of the classicists who dearly loved the classical age before them, for one, reinventing an old manuscript to serve their own purposes, Mente made an English version based on his English translation.

Perhaps wanting to relive for himself the memory of our dear mother who was rather fonder of him [than the rest of us], Mente turned in his own masterpiece based on the published poem. Notice how the versification has radically changed—from irregular free verses to a series of couplets—and ending with a one-liner which is supposed to be the poem’s closure.

In the process, the version he rendered would become totally his original work. Comparing his piece with the original published piece, I see that the new work now brims with new meanings and warrants a different, if not disparate interpretation.

The House by The Sea

(For Emma, who Loved So Much)

1997

I leave with a heavy heart 

But I need to go home tonight.

Tomorrow, I’ll build a house by the sea,

Where only I will hear my tranquility.

Around it I’ll plant six coconut trees

Which are stronger than I am.

Trees that will become the stable foundation 

of my quiet days, which I will no longer hear.

Undoubtedly, these coconut trees are of the best quality

Because they have overcome a lot of storm, that uprooted the others.

I want them to light the way through horrible darkness,

Where I will pass when I go home tonight.

I like them to be there and for them to know me

But never mind if they’ve forgotten me.

Nobody can replace them 

Because I know they are good.

But tonight I’ll ask them to be like candles,

Warm, beside me.

And when I am home

I will have surely built a house by the sea 

Where only I will hear my tranquility.

And others will hear it, too.

A Promise to Write (A Poem)

After having undergone a number of literary workshops, I realize that images, symbols and metaphors [if any if at all] I used in the first draft are confusing and too overwhelming—giving it a puzzling dramatic situation. Now, I realize that the poem published in the past and wholly appreciated by my dear brother—with my sister perhaps, my sole readers at the time—carried double and mixed metaphors which rendered the piece fragmented, incoherent and totally not a good poem at all.

And perhaps because it was dedicated to my dear mother, I never subjected this piece to any workshop which granted me fellowships. I submitted other pieces, and not this one, perhaps because I considered the work too sacred to be “desecrated”—or more aptly slaughtered by the write people.

The images in the poem were drawn mostly from emotion, not reason. There was not even a clear use of figurative language or tropes such as metaphor or irony, a fact that would be abhorred by the American New Critics (who espoused that everything that we need to know about the poem should already be in the poem itself—and to the very least, never in the author’s intention, never in my sincerest wish to dedicate it to my mother.

Heaven Is a Place on Plate

Dining Out and Other Cafeteria Eathics

Any sensible urban worker who is given no choice but fetch food from sources made accessible in a civilized jungle called a city or a university must acquire some neighborly ethics if he is to properly feed himself and achieve something through the day. Eating in cafeterias or similar types of food sources requires that he learn a number of things on how to feed on properly and hopefully be nourished.

Dito Po ang Pila

Kun habo mong dai ka matunawan, magsunod ka sa linya kan mga nagkaerenot nang nag-oororder. Dawa halabaon na an pila, dawa huri ka na sa appointment, dai ka nanggad magsingit sa iba, o samantalahon na magpa-cute sa kabisto mong crew just to get ahead. Mayong maoogma sa bentahuso kundi si Taning sana. Magsala, sa kagagama-gama mong maenot kang makakua nin kakanon, mataon lugod saimo an tutong na torta, tipo kan sinapna, o tunok kan lapu-lapu.

Patience is virtue—gustong sabihon, saro ‘ning timeless na kostumbre o pag-uugali na nakakapamarhay sa siisay man na tawo. Dawa idtong barbarong ninuno ta mga perang oras naghalat bago nagluwas an usa sa ampas saka niya nasilô ‘ni. Ngonyan na mga panahon, sa kadlagan na inaapod tang siyudad o unibersidad, dai ka na masiod nin manok bago makanamit nin tinola. Mahalat ka na sanang ilapiga an paa o mailatag an pecho sa saimong plato kaya dai na kaipuhan magpalakpalak o magputakputak ta ngani sana makapanogok.

Just follow the crowd, toe the line, keep your cool, then ask for what you want, and dine.

Bawal An Dagdag

Kun bisto mo an crew, pwede ka gayod magpadagdag. But unless you badly need that extra spare rib or cabbage leaves [which are probably pesticides-grown anyway], do not ask for extra amount of anything from the one that dispenses your food. So you insist, okay, ask if you can order half.

But you hard worker certainly do not deserve half serving of anything, unless you give your company or your country half of what it deserves from you. Scrimp and scrape you do. Perhaps save in other things like marked-down CDs or cheaper thrills or retail cellphone loads or bargained 3 for P100 FHMs—but for your food, spare this idea of saving.

 

Better yet, order dishes in full, so the idea of dagdag is out of question. The more you are inclined to haggling, the more it will appear to the crew that you are hungry—and this does not help because the crew will never be concerned with your hunger. They are just there assigned to portion and dispense properly for the business. And nowadays, the crew does not dispense the reasonable amount of food you are charged. But it is okay that the food given to you appears “unreasonable.” Just think you will be dispensed more amounts next time.

The cafeteria business, just like fast-food giants, places importance on one marketing aspect called food portioning. Because the prices of raw materials and ingredients required for preparing food will never be saved from inflation, profits from this business are sensibly drawn from the quantity of food the business prepares and the quantity of food it can save to feed its own staff. Well, you know. But the advantage here is that the cafeteria food can be assured of the presence of freshness and the absence of trans-fats.

Dahil kadaklan na beses bawal an dagdag, mag-andam ka na sanang mag-order nin duwa tolong panira, bako sanang saro. Kun habo mo nanggad mabitin.

Logically, when you do, you are not just paying for the food, but essentially the service, services? rendered to you—which includes, among others, a clean washed plate [hopefully free of the smell of dishwashing liquid], a properly bussed table, despite its being in a mess hall; ventilation or air-conditioning, whether or not you personally require it; and of course the food itself that has probably undergone some quality control in the kitchen.

No need to argue

Talking about quality control, consider the next ethical principle in cafeteria dining. By all means, despite all tensions and stress pressed on by hunger, never ever argue with the service crew. Certainly in no instance should you get disappointed or intimidated by anyone who gives you your food even though you find it unpleasant or disagreeable.

While not all of them are likely to be trained to suit your dining ethics, it is important to treat them as if they treat their food like it’s their own. Even if they don’t. Even if you found some foreign matter in your soup, or the dish you were served tasted like Tide or Ariel, deem it important to “suspend disbelief.” In a more familiar term, always give them the benefit of the doubt.

Do not raise your voice to complain. Simply reach out to them to query in cool and composure. Clarify that the service rendered is not generally acceptable. Ranting and raving about “some soap in the soup” or plastic straws in the pinakbet will not help.  Just suppose you are given imagination to transcend reality. Or remember one Holocaust survivor named Viktor Frankl famously used his imagination to transcend the tragedy he was forced to witness. In his story it can be deduced that perhaps imagination is more powerful than knowledge. But here in your story, ignorance is indeed bliss. Not having known that there’s a fly on your soup makes a whole lot of difference from having known it.

Although, sabi nga nila, Kung malayo sa bituka, okay lang yan. Therefore, check your system, whether your food indeed passes through your stomach. If it doesn’t, you are one lucky organism—feeding on using your other organs.

 

But seriously, consider this. Ernest Hemingway’s The Old Man and the Sea is not about dining until the marlin is cooked by old Santiago [which he does not]—but it’s certainly about survival. There is a part there which says “a man is not made for defeat. A man can be destroyed but not defeated.”

 

The crew may poison you but it should not destroy your willingness to seek medication from the nearby doctor in case you get to swallow some plastic served with your pochero.

 

Ask For Receipt

Kun dai man kaipuhan na bayaran kan opisina mo an kinakakan mo dawa na ngani on official business ka, dai mo na gayod kaipuhan maghagad nin recibo. Dakula an karatula kan BIR na nakapaskil sa cashier na an sabi ASK FOR RECEIPT, alagad dai ka maglaom na tata’wan ka nin recibo pag bayad mo. Mag-andam ka na sanang sabihan kan cashier na hinahalat pa ninda an stub kan recibo hale sa BIR. Dai ka na magngalas dawa maaaraman mo ara-atyan na an kakanan na iyan since 1962 pa nagsisirbi sa mga employees alagad mayo pa nanggad recibo. If at all, you were taught in high school to be considerate. Think of good manners and right conduct. It is never good to intimidate people.

So unless it’s a matter of life and death, do not ask for a receipt. Mas orog na gayod kun cooperative an kinakakanan mo—such business involves benefiting a big number of underprivileged families and their sensibilities. Garo man sana naghulog ka na ka’yan nin pirang sensilyo sa lata kan Bantay Bata 163. Sabihan ka pa kaiyan, “an darakulang business ngani mga tax evaders, alagad mas concerned sindang magsingil sa mga small businesses na arog mi.”

Ano na sana an pulos kan nanu’dan mo sa social responsibility o sa moral philosophy? Think of social justice. It won’t hurt to give to small people. Dai ka ngani nag-aangal sa VAT kan bago mong Wrangler jeans. What right have you to question the purpose of this representative of the lesser evil? Sige lang, because the food you are about to eat is not evil. No food is evil. Unless it comes from one.

Hala ka.

Eating Utensils

A cafeteria is a public place, so don’t expect that the utensils you are using are germs-free. One pair of spoon and fork must have fed all types of mouths or more than you can count. Kaya Bawal an masiri pagkakan sa cafeteria. Wisikon mo na sana an kutsara sagkod tinidor na nakapalbag kairiba kan mga sanggatos na iba pa. Magpasalamat kang dakul kun an la’ganan kan mga utensils nabuhusan nin nagkakalakagang tubig, tapos napaso ka pa kan kapotan mo. Mainit-init pa pagkakan mo. Okun habo mong magkahelang ka, magkakan ka sa cafeteria nin aga pa, mantang an mga kakanon nag-aaralusuos pa. By the time, swerte ka ta pati an mga utensils tibaad maray an pagkakahurugas. Bagong karigos pa sana si naghugas.

Alagad dai ka maghadit dawa dai disinfected an kutsara sagkod tinidor mo. Kun may pag-alaman man na mag-abot, an magiging helang mo tibaad helang man kan iba, kaya mas makakaantos kamo—nin huli ta igwa siempre sindang maiimbentong bulong para sa helang kan kadaklan saindo. In principle, in order to sell, pharmaceuticals as business in themselves have ISO-certified R&D arms that know the needs of the common good. Here, think collective. Hindi ka nag-iisa.

Alagad. Sabi kan mga gurang, maraot man an grabeng pagkatubis o masirî (squeamish). Garo idtong nabasa mo sa Reader’s Digest kaidto na don’t be too clean; it impoverishes the blood. By being too squeamish and obsessive-compulsive (OC) about not catching dirt or germs, you do not develop immunities to germs. You don’t make your antibodies work. You reduce your own resistance to the world, which is one of dirt. But washing hands properly is enough. Proper is just enough. Over is more than enough.

Don’t Just Grab A Bite, Eat Your Food.

Any meal is the most important meal of the day—kaya dai paglingawing kakanon an inorder mong kakanon. Yeah, you cram to go somewhere: an appointment, a fieldwork, a meeting—yes, nourish your career, nourish your soul [araatyan masimba ka, makihilingan sa amiga, mayaba-yaba] alagad ngonyan nourish your body first—make your cells tissues organs systems work. Girisa an mahibog, daula an matagas, sapaa an malumhok, halona an saradit. Maaskad an adobo, malagtok an maluto o minsan parareho an namit kan tolo mong panira—kumakan ka sana. Mayo ngani kaiyan an iba. Sa pagkahapay ngani nagagadan an iba. At least ika igwa.

Eat, drink, with or without Mary—in other words, eat for the sake of eating, regardless of whether you like it or not. Pagkatapos mong magdighay, rumdumang marhay. Food alone can’t save you. It fills but it hardly nourishes. 

First finish or get done with your salivation; perhaps only after then can you start & think of your salvation.