https://www.istorya.net/forums/blog.php?5916-Reservoirs en Sun, 17 May 2026 14:21:39 GMT vBulletin 300 https://www.istorya.net/forums/images/metro/blue/misc/rss.jpg https://www.istorya.net/forums/blog.php?5916-Reservoirs https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1890-Babbling-in-Bubble Mon, 03 Sep 2012 02:36:29 GMT My close friends have a term for me when I am in that state where I am in right now. BUBBLE. Without asking them to, they give me the space that I felt I need because my aura exudes me being lethargic. Languid. Sluggish. I love my friends for being able to know when to let me bubble up. When I do bubble up, it’s like I have my own sense of isolation. It’s self-imposed and I feel disconnected but not really. Especially in these times that when I want to burst out of my bubble, everyone is like a facebook-like-status-away or a retweet away for them to know you’re alive. The disconnection is really some gaps that I give myself from the outside world. No, I am not lonely. I get lonely but I am not a lonely person. Maybe you could say, I drift in and drift out. I fade in and fade out. And people say I am an extrovert. I find this funny. Coz I get to be very friendly, I laugh out loud, I talk. But I stop when there is no obligation to talk to that person any longer. Oh that’s the term—obligation. It’s a nagging thought that I do feel that way. I don’t like being obligated. And it’s funny that way because at our generation, we do need some sense of obligation. We are obligated to have a job, to be busy, be productive, to contact and interact with people, to like people. That’s natural, I guess. I blame my lethargic self to these obligations. It brings my mentality to a sense of confusion. Like being introjected to do what you should do or what society obligates you to but not really wanting to do it. So my life and actions are mostly in inertia. And it annoys me because I understand myself completely. I am a bad liar, it shows in my face. And I am certainly a bad liar to myself. I see no point in lying to myself and it gives me that feeling of being in statis, in mental breakdown. I wish I don’t understand myself that much. I certainly wish that I just do my obligation and move on without a care in the world. But that’s just it. When I feel obligated to talk to you, and I do talk to you, I bring in a little care, sometimes a little too much than I intend to. I want to be that “I don’t give a shit” kind of person but you know what, I can’t. I just can’t. It’s in my nature. I do care. A whole lot, especially when people I trust the most, people who I thought were my friends, talk behind my back. Oh, I’m sorry, is my knife hurting your back?—my friend Kaloy would say. And that’s why I guess most betrayals are done by your closest friends. Or friends you thought were close to you. Maybe they are just obligated, too. And because I care, I bubble. I protect myself with a fantasy of being able not to care, of disconnecting, of forgetting. But bubbles don’t last. And you can’t protect yourself forever. So I do my obligation- I burst my bubble. Connect. Move on to other obligations. Learn. Babble up in drafts. And wishing someone obligated to read may perchance to relate to what I’ve been babbling and bubbling about. My close friends have a term for me when I am in that state where I am in right now. BUBBLE. Without asking them to, they give me the space that I felt I need because my aura exudes me being lethargic. Languid. Sluggish. I love my friends for being able to know when to let me bubble up.

When I do bubble up, it’s like I have my own sense of isolation. It’s self-imposed and I feel disconnected but not really. Especially in these times that when I want to burst out of my bubble, everyone is like a facebook-like-status-away or a retweet away for them to know you’re alive. The disconnection is really some gaps that I give myself from the outside world.

No, I am not lonely. I get lonely but I am not a lonely person. Maybe you could say, I drift in and drift out. I fade in and fade out. And people say I am an extrovert. I find this funny. Coz I get to be very friendly, I laugh out loud, I talk. But I stop when there is no obligation to talk to that person any longer. Oh that’s the term—obligation. It’s a nagging thought that I do feel that way. I don’t like being obligated.

And it’s funny that way because at our generation, we do need some sense of obligation.

We are obligated to have a job, to be busy, be productive, to contact and interact with people, to like people. That’s natural, I guess. I blame my lethargic self to these obligations. It brings my mentality to a sense of confusion. Like being introjected to do what you should do or what society obligates you to but not really wanting to do it. So my life and actions are mostly in inertia. And it annoys me because I understand myself completely. I am a bad liar, it shows in my face. And I am certainly a bad liar to myself. I see no point in lying to myself and it gives me that feeling of being in statis, in mental breakdown. I wish I don’t understand myself that much.

I certainly wish that I just do my obligation and move on without a care in the world. But that’s just it. When I feel obligated to talk to you, and I do talk to you, I bring in a little care, sometimes a little too much than I intend to. I want to be that “I don’t give a shit” kind of person but you know what, I can’t. I just can’t. It’s in my nature. I do care. A whole lot, especially when people I trust the most, people who I thought were my friends, talk behind my back. Oh, I’m sorry, is my knife hurting your back?—my friend Kaloy would say. And that’s why I guess most betrayals are done by your closest friends. Or friends you thought were close to you. Maybe they are just obligated, too.

And because I care, I bubble. I protect myself with a fantasy of being able not to care, of disconnecting, of forgetting. But bubbles don’t last. And you can’t protect yourself forever. So I do my obligation- I burst my bubble. Connect. Move on to other obligations. Learn. Babble up in drafts. And wishing someone obligated to read may perchance to relate to what I’ve been babbling and bubbling about. ]]> thisbe.ara https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1890-Babbling-in-Bubble https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1874-Forever-8 Mon, 27 Aug 2012 05:44:05 GMT I miss the times when we were little kids: we would play tago-tago and bato-lata and patintero and jackstone, etc. No one minded where our playmates lived or what she wore, or how fat or skinny the other was. No one asked what income level their parents were or what kind of car they were driving. At the end of the day, no matter the status or physique, everyone was equal. We had scraped legs, muddy clothes, sweaty shirts and we were laughing, we had too much fun and we didn't have a care in the world.

I wonder what time in our lives we all grew up and made petty things matter more. Like how much we are earning, where we are working, what kind of clothes you are wearing. I wonder when the changes of a person is determined by how fat or skinny the person has grown instead of thinking how much this person has gone through a lot and survived; instead of being there when your friend needs you the most, no matter what. I wonder when we are encaptured with this sick, unspoken culture of status being more important than friendship.

I just wonder.

And fantasize that I am just an 8-year-old forever deep inside: not trying to fit in to anything, not trying to clamour into any recognition and acceptance, because these things are supposed to be freely given. Not begged. Not mercilessly asked. Not unrequited. ]]> thisbe.ara https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1874-Forever-8 https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1847-Love-without-limbs Sun, 12 Aug 2012 07:42:31 GMT Last February 12, 2012, a girl named Kanae Miyahara married her one true love.

I don't know who Kanae is but I do know the one she got married to-- the man without limbs. This guy touched my life in so many ways-- Nick Vujicjic. He said he is worthy of love and someone is destined for him.

I have learned if you have learned to love yourself enough, there will be a glow within you that you may never know. And no matter who you are, no matter what your status is, it will magnetize the one you love.

Love does not require limbs but a heart and a faith so pure.

So for those who are still searching, and are wondering why they haven't found someone to love them yet, maybe it's time to ask if you've loved yourself enough to love someone else. Love comes naturally when you don't search for it.

To Nick and Kanae, best wishes to you both! Thank you again for the inspiration.



God bless you both. ]]> thisbe.ara https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1847-Love-without-limbs https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1841-Of-Scars-Acceptance-and-Cerveza-Negra Tue, 07 Aug 2012 14:35:51 GMT I have a scar in my lower right lip. I don?t know if some of you may notice it (check my profile pic) but somehow, it merged so well on my lips that it becomes so unnoticeable to others who really don?t pay attention to my lips. However, it brought me a lot of insecurities back then. I had to hide my smile and try not to pose too much in pictures. Some would make fun of it and call me ?Burot! Burot!? I hated my lips. I hated it so much I was actually thinking of saving back then for surgery to have it taken away. Crazy, right? How did I get it? This must have been my earliest childhood memory. How young was I back then? I couldn?t recall. But I remember I just knew how to read. So I read everything in the house from newspaper headlines to letter headings to product names. We had miniature beer bottles back then so I read slowly the product name and ?kerveza negra.. (cerveza negra). My brothers guffawed and we were saying, whoever catches the other will become negra (no racism intended). So, we were running around like crazy?I was ahead of my brothers Nino, Nanie and AG. AG was so small, he might not know what were playing. Anyway, one of them tripped and the next thing I know, I also tripped and fell into the base of a standing fan. I was bleeding but no one noticed at first. My strict grandfather, seeing all of us on the floor, shouted and spank each one of us, including the bleeding me. He then saw me bleeding, it must have been a horrifying site. I remembered him shouting and calling my Mom and they were talking about hospital and stuff. I remember being in the operating room and the nurses telling me that it?s going to be all right. I was crying and crying at the sight of blood and at the sight of my grandparents and Mommy so frantic. I remember that I was groggy and sleepy and the next thing I know, I was at our house already with a big patch in my lips. It had to be sewed as it cracked open. I couldn?t eat or drink properly so I had to have liquid food and drink from a straw. The good thing about this is, my seemingly-notorious brothers treated me like a princess. They didn?t quarrel me for the time being, my parents would give me anything I want and I could command my brothers (hahaha!). But well, like the anesthesia fading away, so did the special treatment. Eventually, my patches were gone and what was left was this big scar in my lower right lip. Growing up, I didn?t have lots of friends. My brothers? friends were my friends. I didn?t go to girly overnights or have girl bondings or whatever, not until later in my life. There are a lot of insecurities, yes, that scar included, that have somehow stopped me from mingling with other people. Of course this was heightened with some people telling me, ?ewwww, what?s that on your lip?? or some people without saying a word, giving me that look. It was then that I knew, words can hurt. But what hurts more is being judged without really getting to know me as me. But there was this one friend who changed everything. We were at a zoo and we ate ice cream with other friends. He was taking pictures and I sort of bit my lower lip. He asked why I do that. And I told him, ?I don?t want people to see my scar?. And he said, ?What scar?? I pointed it out to him and he said he can?t see it. And I said, ?It?s there!!? And I said, ?I don?t care. I CHOOSE NOT TO SEE IT?. His name was Carl. I told you about him in my latest article, prior to my writing hiatus. Another friend noticed my scar. He noticed me covering it from time to time and he said, ?You know what my most favorite thing about you is? ? And I said, ?What?? He said, ?Your lips.? And I said, ?Are you kidding me?? I hate them! Can?t you see the scar?? He said, ?Oh yes, that?s what makes it more beautiful.. ? The friend?s name is Lito, yes, the same Lito who I married and who I take care every day and love more and more each day. Do you know why I can still stay positive after everything that has happened to me? It?s because I surround myself with these people. Carl and Lito were the first among my many real friends who has taught me that imperfections are there in each and every person. We are not perfect. We each have something to be insecure about. But do you know what erases that insecurity? People. Friends. Loved ones. People who choose to see past those imperfections and see you for who you are. People who do see your imperfection, yet, do not cripple you to focus on that. Instead, they hone you, entice you to be more than the scar, to be more than the imperfection or better yet, make something out of the imperfection. That makes me truly, truly blessed. Sadly, there are those that are not as blessed as I am. Many times have I encountered suicidal people. People who?d rather choose death because life becomes too unbearable for them. It?s sad. Sad, because, it?s not the situation that pushes them to get that blade or drink those pills. It?s the fear of rejection, the fear of being judged, the fear of not being enough, the fear of not being accepted, the fear of not being loved. They feel that death is a better option with the thinking that, hey, they might notice and remember my worth when I?m gone. I would like to say, that is sooo wrong! Yes, they will remember your worth. But you know what else they will remember? They will remember your mistakes, they will remember that even to the last second of your life, you decided to be a coward, you decided to waste life and not face it head on. I say, the best way to get past those fear is?be a better person. Show them that you are far better than what THEY think you can be. Surround yourself with people who make the best out of you. Stay away from those that try to belittle you. Sometimes, we bank our happiness too much on others that we do not know how to love ourselves on our own. How can you ask others to accept you if you yourself cannot accept yourself? If anything else, there is a GOD who will always accept you for who you are. Turn to Him. Love Him. Open your heart and let Him feel that immense love. My scar is still there but well, life goes on and I don?t mind it at all. True enough, it blended like it?s part of me. Somehow, it is a part of me. I won?t have that surgery even if I can afford it now. This is me and I love my scar. People who mean to me do not mind it and love it as well. Life is like that too, I guess. Life wounds us again and again and again. Eventually, they will become scars. And unlike external scars, they can?t be taken away with surgery or with creams. They don?t go away. It remains and becomes a part of us. In my own personal principle, it?s a matter of choice?let it become a part of you or let it wound you for the rest of your life. Life passes by, fleetingly. Good things and bad things happen. Good things won?t last. Same goes with bad things, they won?t last too. All we can do is surround ourselves with people who bring the best out of us, appreciate what God has to offer, give something back to life and most of all?live each day that we are given the best way we can, not unscathed but scarred. Scarred people are beautiful. You are beautiful. I have a scar in my lower right lip. I don?t know if some of you may notice it (check my profile pic) but somehow, it merged so well on my lips that it becomes so unnoticeable to others who really don?t pay attention to my lips. However, it brought me a lot of insecurities back then. I had to hide my smile and try not to pose too much in pictures. Some would make fun of it and call me ?Burot! Burot!? I hated my lips. I hated it so much I was actually thinking of saving back then for surgery to have it taken away. Crazy, right?

How did I get it? This must have been my earliest childhood memory. How young was I back then? I couldn?t recall. But I remember I just knew how to read. So I read everything in the house from newspaper headlines to letter headings to product names. We had miniature beer bottles back then so I read slowly the product name and ?kerveza negra.. (cerveza negra). My brothers guffawed and we were saying, whoever catches the other will become negra (no racism intended). So, we were running around like crazy?I was ahead of my brothers Nino, Nanie and AG. AG was so small, he might not know what were playing. Anyway, one of them tripped and the next thing I know, I also tripped and fell into the base of a standing fan. I was bleeding but no one noticed at first. My strict grandfather, seeing all of us on the floor, shouted and spank each one of us, including the bleeding me. He then saw me bleeding, it must have been a horrifying site. I remembered him shouting and calling my Mom and they were talking about hospital and stuff.

I remember being in the operating room and the nurses telling me that it?s going to be all right. I was crying and crying at the sight of blood and at the sight of my grandparents and Mommy so frantic. I remember that I was groggy and sleepy and the next thing I know, I was at our house already with a big patch in my lips. It had to be sewed as it cracked open. I couldn?t eat or drink properly so I had to have liquid food and drink from a straw. The good thing about this is, my seemingly-notorious brothers treated me like a princess. They didn?t quarrel me for the time being, my parents would give me anything I want and I could command my brothers (hahaha!). But well, like the anesthesia fading away, so did the special treatment. Eventually, my patches were gone and what was left was this big scar in my lower right lip.

Growing up, I didn?t have lots of friends. My brothers? friends were my friends. I didn?t go to girly overnights or have girl bondings or whatever, not until later in my life. There are a lot of insecurities, yes, that scar included, that have somehow stopped me from mingling with other people. Of course this was heightened with some people telling me, ?ewwww, what?s that on your lip?? or some people without saying a word, giving me that look. It was then that I knew, words can hurt. But what hurts more is being judged without really getting to know me as me. But there was this one friend who changed everything. We were at a zoo and we ate ice cream with other friends. He was taking pictures and I sort of bit my lower lip. He asked why I do that. And I told him, ?I don?t want people to see my scar?. And he said, ?What scar?? I pointed it out to him and he said he can?t see it. And I said, ?It?s there!!? And I said, ?I don?t care. I CHOOSE NOT TO SEE IT?.

His name was Carl. I told you about him in my latest article, prior to my writing hiatus.

Another friend noticed my scar. He noticed me covering it from time to time and he said, ?You know what my most favorite thing about you is? ? And I said, ?What?? He said, ?Your lips.? And I said, ?Are you kidding me?? I hate them! Can?t you see the scar?? He said, ?Oh yes, that?s what makes it more beautiful.. ?

The friend?s name is Lito, yes, the same Lito who I married and who I take care every day and love more and more each day.

Do you know why I can still stay positive after everything that has happened to me? It?s because I surround myself with these people. Carl and Lito were the first among my many real friends who has taught me that imperfections are there in each and every person. We are not perfect. We each have something to be insecure about. But do you know what erases that insecurity? People. Friends. Loved ones. People who choose to see past those imperfections and see you for who you are. People who do see your imperfection, yet, do not cripple you to focus on that. Instead, they hone you, entice you to be more than the scar, to be more than the imperfection or better yet, make something out of the imperfection.

That makes me truly, truly blessed.

Sadly, there are those that are not as blessed as I am.

Many times have I encountered suicidal people. People who?d rather choose death because life becomes too unbearable for them. It?s sad. Sad, because, it?s not the situation that pushes them to get that blade or drink those pills. It?s the fear of rejection, the fear of being judged, the fear of not being enough, the fear of not being accepted, the fear of not being loved. They feel that death is a better option with the thinking that, hey, they might notice and remember my worth when I?m gone. I would like to say, that is sooo wrong! Yes, they will remember your worth. But you know what else they will remember? They will remember your mistakes, they will remember that even to the last second of your life, you decided to be a coward, you decided to waste life and not face it head on.

I say, the best way to get past those fear is?be a better person. Show them that you are far better than what THEY think you can be. Surround yourself with people who make the best out of you. Stay away from those that try to belittle you. Sometimes, we bank our happiness too much on others that we do not know how to love ourselves on our own. How can you ask others to accept you if you yourself cannot accept yourself? If anything else, there is a GOD who will always accept you for who you are. Turn to Him. Love Him. Open your heart and let Him feel that immense love.

My scar is still there but well, life goes on and I don?t mind it at all. True enough, it blended like it?s part of me. Somehow, it is a part of me. I won?t have that surgery even if I can afford it now. This is me and I love my scar. People who mean to me do not mind it and love it as well.

Life is like that too, I guess. Life wounds us again and again and again. Eventually, they will become scars. And unlike external scars, they can?t be taken away with surgery or with creams. They don?t go away. It remains and becomes a part of us. In my own personal principle, it?s a matter of choice?let it become a part of you or let it wound you for the rest of your life. Life passes by, fleetingly. Good things and bad things happen. Good things won?t last. Same goes with bad things, they won?t last too. All we can do is surround ourselves with people who bring the best out of us, appreciate what God has to offer, give something back to life and most of all?live each day that we are given the best way we can, not unscathed but scarred.

Scarred people are beautiful. You are beautiful. ]]> thisbe.ara https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1841-Of-Scars-Acceptance-and-Cerveza-Negra https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1814-A-day-at-the-City-Hall Wed, 25 Jul 2012 06:51:16 GMT While processing some Philhealth requirements, I went to the Local Civil Registrar. It took me an hour to get hold of a local birth certificate. What a great experience it was. And that was coated with sarcasm. I had been referred to three different buildings because when I asked the staff where the Local Civil Registry is located, I deduced that it’s either they don’t know how to give good directions or they don’t know their own offices. Image: http://www.cartoonstock.com/newscartoons/cartoonists/mbc/lowres/mbcn596l.jpg When I entered the premises, there was this lady at the stairs giving forms. Shedidn’t have a uniform, she looked like she came straight from vending outside and happens to just sit in that particular spot. Her leg was up in the chair while talking to an acquaintance and I excused myself and asked her a question as to where do I go first to process my request. She seemed annoyed and said, “Mobayad pa kaha ka didto sa Treasurer’s Office!” (You have to pay first at the Treasurer’s Office). She said this matter-of-factly as if everyone knows this information. I kindly asked where the Treasurer’s Office is and with her leg still strewn in the chair, she pointed with her lips and said, “Didto o!” (There!). And she went back to her talk with her talk. It seemed important so I didn’t dare bother her or else I might strangle someone. Note that this was around 2pm on a Cebu summer day. The scorching heat of the sun penetrates to your core and leaves you dry-mouthed. So, I crossed the street to another building for the Treasurer’s office. While there were different counters and their signs seemed to be saying this counter is for something, etc., people were not lining up and they seemed to be cutting in wherever’s available. Good thing, my “counter” had good people and we tried to talk and lined up according to who was there first. The payment was faster than I expected but thanks to the people on line with me. Less thanks to the non-smiling personnel who did not give me any change because she didn’t have enough, she said. I let go of the P5 and went on with my way. I went back to the leg-strewing lady at the Local Civil Registry and she lazily pointed her lips upstairs and said, “Window 2”. Poor lady, she must have been so tired all day with her neuron-inducing work of giving directions to requesters. I went upstairs, went to Window 2.Most of the people inside are sitting on their tables, eating banana cue and laughing wholeheartedly. Oh, what a fun sight it was. But not for the heat-stricken requesters outside. I gave my request and my ID and without looking at me, this teenager (what are these kids doing in government offices?) returned my request in a puff and grudgingly said, “ID Number” and I said, “What?” and he said, “Isulat ang ID number. Alangan naman sad ako ang mosulat pa ana..” (Write your ID number, as if I’m the one who will write it for you”). I told him, “Tarunga ko ug sturya kay makasabot ra ko.” (Talk to me kindly because I can understand). He stared at me and I stared at him. I won the staring battle and he went back to hisbanana cue snack break (note: 2:30pm, an hour and 30minutes after lunch break) after I gave him back my request. They had a policy printed in wrong grammar: “No ID, No RELEASED”. And old woman approached one of the teenage employees and gave her cedula. It so happened I was at the old woman’s side. The teenage employee said, “Naunsa man tawn uy, di kaha ni pwede. Kaila kag ID? Di kaha ni ID. (What the heck. This is not an ID. Do you know what an ID is?” The disrespect infuriated me and I can’t help but butt in, “Kaila kag respeto dong? Tarunga kaha na ug sturya si Manang kay basin makasabot na kung tarungon” (Do you know respect? Try talking nicely to the old lady so she can understand). And he was looking at me with smoldering eyes and I talked kindly to the old lady and told her what ID’s are authorized in this certain office. She nodded in understanding and offered a Senior Citizen ID, gave it to the teenage boy, and without thanking any of us who just did a job that was supposed to be his, went back to whatever he’s doing. They also had a rule of “No shorts/ No sleeveless shirts inside”. A man wearing maong shorts was denied entry. He was even suggested that he buy long pants in a nearby mall so he can enter. The man said he came all the way from Naga and he doesn’t have enough money with him to buy the long pants. There was no explanation whatsoever on the stupid rule and why it can’t be bent during such circumstances. I said, “But I am wearing shorts. How come I was able to enter?” And I was wearing shorts. They looked at me and were looking at each other,trying to communicate non-verbally. As they were obviously shamed that I was able to pass, they let the guy pass and said, “Pagdali” (Hurry up). The guy gave me grateful smile and went on his way. Anyway, I had to wait for around 30minutes before my request was released. The waiting area by the way, had no fan amidst the scorching heat, the waiting benches were about to collapse and I had to witness more power-bashing from seemingly drunk teenagers who clearly does not have any sense of customer service. Now, this makes me think and motivated me to write this article. My mind was trying to analyze how it could have been so much better if there were clear-cut written-instructions outside so that their work could have been much better. They won’t get frustrated on people not understanding their processes. Moreover, it helps if proper customer service is given. I hate going to government offices for processing. Most people act as if the citizens owe them anything when in fact, these employees owe so much more to these citizens, who are paying taxes so that they can have their butts on those chairs. Seriously. If you hate government bashing, then please act like you don’t deserve it. While processing some Philhealth requirements, I went to the Local Civil Registrar. It took me an hour to get hold of a local birth certificate. What a great experience it was. And that was coated with sarcasm.

I had been referred to three different buildings because when I asked the staff where the Local Civil Registry is located, I deduced that it’s either they don’t know how to give good directions or they don’t know their own offices.



When I entered the premises, there was this lady at the stairs giving forms. Shedidn’t have a uniform, she looked like she came straight from vending outside and happens to just sit in that particular spot. Her leg was up in the chair while talking to an acquaintance and I excused myself and asked her a question as to where do I go first to process my request. She seemed annoyed and said, “Mobayad pa kaha ka didto sa Treasurer’s Office!” (You have to pay first at the Treasurer’s Office). She said this matter-of-factly as if everyone knows this information. I kindly asked where the Treasurer’s Office is and with her leg still strewn in the chair, she pointed with her lips and said, “Didto o!” (There!). And she went back to her talk with her talk. It seemed important so I didn’t dare bother her or else I might strangle someone.

Note that this was around 2pm on a Cebu summer day. The scorching heat of the sun penetrates to your core and leaves you dry-mouthed. So, I crossed the street to another building for the Treasurer’s office. While there were different counters and their signs seemed to be saying this counter is for something, etc., people were not lining up and they seemed to be cutting in wherever’s available. Good thing, my “counter” had good people and we tried to talk and lined up according to who was there first. The payment was faster than I expected but thanks to the people on line with me. Less thanks to the non-smiling personnel who did not give me any change because she didn’t have enough, she said. I let go of the P5 and went on with my way.

I went back to the leg-strewing lady at the Local Civil Registry and she lazily pointed her lips upstairs and said, “Window 2”. Poor lady, she must have been so tired all day with her neuron-inducing work of giving directions to requesters. I went upstairs, went to Window 2.Most of the people inside are sitting on their tables, eating banana cue and laughing wholeheartedly. Oh, what a fun sight it was. But not for the heat-stricken requesters outside.

I gave my request and my ID and without looking at me, this teenager (what are these kids doing in government offices?) returned my request in a puff and grudgingly said, “ID Number” and I said, “What?” and he said, “Isulat ang ID number. Alangan naman sad ako ang mosulat pa ana..” (Write your ID number, as if I’m the one who will write it for you”). I told him, “Tarunga ko ug sturya kay makasabot ra ko.” (Talk to me kindly because I can understand). He stared at me and I stared at him. I won the staring battle and he went back to hisbanana cue snack break (note: 2:30pm, an hour and 30minutes after lunch break) after I gave him back my request.

They had a policy printed in wrong grammar: “No ID, No RELEASED”. And old woman approached one of the teenage employees and gave her cedula. It so happened I was at the old woman’s side. The teenage employee said, “Naunsa man tawn uy, di kaha ni pwede. Kaila kag ID? Di kaha ni ID. (What the heck. This is not an ID. Do you know what an ID is?”

The disrespect infuriated me and I can’t help but butt in, “Kaila kag respeto dong? Tarunga kaha na ug sturya si Manang kay basin makasabot na kung tarungon” (Do you know respect? Try talking nicely to the old lady so she can understand). And he was looking at me with smoldering eyes and I talked kindly to the old lady and told her what ID’s are authorized in this certain office. She nodded in understanding and offered a Senior Citizen ID, gave it to the teenage boy, and without thanking any of us who just did a job that was supposed to be his, went back to whatever he’s doing.

They also had a rule of “No shorts/ No sleeveless shirts inside”. A man wearing maong shorts was denied entry. He was even suggested that he buy long pants in a nearby mall so he can enter. The man said he came all the way from Naga and he doesn’t have enough money with him to buy the long pants. There was no explanation whatsoever on the stupid rule and why it can’t be bent during such circumstances. I said, “But I am wearing shorts. How come I was able to enter?” And I was wearing shorts. They looked at me and were looking at each other,trying to communicate non-verbally. As they were obviously shamed that I was able to pass, they let the guy pass and said, “Pagdali” (Hurry up). The guy gave me grateful smile and went on his way.

Anyway, I had to wait for around 30minutes before my request was released. The waiting area by the way, had no fan amidst the scorching heat, the waiting benches were about to collapse and I had to witness more power-bashing from seemingly drunk teenagers who clearly does not have any sense of customer service.

Now, this makes me think and motivated me to write this article. My mind was trying to analyze how it could have been so much better if there were clear-cut written-instructions outside so that their work could have been much better. They won’t get frustrated on people not understanding their processes. Moreover, it helps if proper customer service is given.

I hate going to government offices for processing. Most people act as if the citizens owe them anything when in fact, these employees owe so much more to these citizens, who are paying taxes so that they can have their butts on those chairs.

Seriously. If you hate government bashing, then please act like you don’t deserve it. ]]> thisbe.ara https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1814-A-day-at-the-City-Hall https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1802-Constipated Sun, 22 Jul 2012 12:45:24 GMT Nagsakit akong tiyan, nagsige sad kunuhay kog huna-huna
kung unsa akong nakaon ug kung natun-ugan ba ko
Sa sige nakog duko ug hinilak sa kasakit,
niingon akong mga migo, "Bai, iutot lang gud na.."
In a huff and puff, ingon ko in denial
"Dili lagi ni panuhot!"
Nagthink sad kog, mas nindot ideny kaysa ma-aan kag palautot

Pero in truth, perti na baya nakog pugong
kanina pa ning buntag kagawsunon
pero ang office, with aircon baya, nya dugay pa ang break
maulaw sad ko moadto sa CR kay duol ra sa desk sa akong crush
Ulaw kaayo uy-- unsa pa lay ikasulti nila
Ingnon pa lang wa koy batasan kay wa jud kapugong
Worse, basin moingon silag gahi jud kog ulo
giingnan nga panuhot, di pa jud motuo

Dihang di na jud mapungngan, ni cooperate pud tawn ang akong utot
kay silent but deadly sila. nagpatay mali na lang akong expression
wa sad ni react akong mga kauban
pero daf*ck, perting lamia sa feeling uy
feeling nako gaan kaayo akong pamati
ataka, daghana diayng hangin atong tiyana uy!

Sa akong pag contemplate kay perting lamia sa feeling
Naka realize ko nga kung masakitan ta ba, mura sad tag gipanuhot noh
Kahibaw ka nga ang solusyon iutot ra jud-- simple.
Pero kita, padeny-deny pa--- Shaddap dudes, I'm not constipated
Mawagtang ra ni.
Sometimes pud, nindot pud ihold on kay pansinon ta when in pain
Bisan ganahan na jud ipagawas gud, magsige pa dyud ug huna-huna
kung unsay isturya sa uban
kay ngano-- sila ba diay ang gasakit, di ba ikaw man?
Palayo mo kung di mo ganahan makasimhot!

In other words mga part, in my non-constipated state
I therefore conclude nga ang mga tawng way gamit sa atong life
mura ra na silag hangin sa atong tiyan
don't hold on to them, let them go
let them out of your system
kay sila susama ra sa panuhot
nga ikaw ray mag antos kung di nimo iutot.

:p ]]> thisbe.ara https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1802-Constipated https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1797-Levi-s-Lullaby Fri, 20 Jul 2012 06:41:27 GMT I can't help but feel teary-eyed whenever I listen to this song. This brings me back to November 2011 whenever I visit the Neonatal ICU to have some moments with my son, Levi. He was so frail and fragile and I would always hum this song to him. Humming this song brings me to a sense of peace. Words always fail me whenever I visit my little one and somehow, a song connects us both together.

For some reason, when I see his dad during his weakest times on chemo therapy, this song keeps on coming back to my head. Are you humming this song back to me, baby? I guess you are.

You are such a sweet and brave little boy, just like your Dad. Thank you for keeping me calm, thank you for being my son, even for just a few days. You will always be.

I hear your thoughts, I hear your message. We are trying to be brave, little one... :)

I love you and I miss you.




Related Blog Articles:
Encounters with Destiny: 18 days of Levi
Encounters with Destiny: Day 1: My Ninja
Encounters with Destiny: Lito's Battle ]]> thisbe.ara https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1797-Levi-s-Lullaby https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1794-More Thu, 19 Jul 2012 02:56:00 GMT I don't want to sound Mother Theresa-ish but recent circumstances in my life have left me mature in dealing with things and in accepting life's turmoils.

I get sad once in a while but unlike before, I always seem to have a way of getting over that sadness and rise up to the challenge. There are no more sulking or wallowing in sadness.

The bigger our problems, the smaller our life's issues before were. Things that irk me before are smaller compared to recent problems. Thus, these small things do not bother me as much.

Life does not get easier. It does get you stronger though. As long as you choose to see the value of the moment, knowing that you are worth more, that you can achieve more, life will give you lots of tools to overcome its challenges.

Here's one of God's earth-assigned angels, Nick Vujicjic. I get inspired with his positivism,even if he has no hands or legs. This video is very touching. Hope you can also get something from it as much as I did.



God had a plan for my life.. to give hope to other people through my story... - Nick Vujicjic, one of God's earth-assigned angels.. If you don't get a miracle, become one. ]]> thisbe.ara https://www.istorya.net/forums/entry.php?1794-More