happy new year everyone!

Taming the Water Dragon for some luck!

wearing Broadway on my Levi's from UK

When 2011 concedes to 2012 tonight, I will be wearing Broadway on my Levi's from UK.

The boot cut, “Made in Mexico” Levi’s sold for P200 in a UK joint fronting the house of Mrs. Carmencita Montesclaros in Tandag. When I saw the “gash” on the knee, I knew it was meant for me.

I haggled for P100 but the salesperson said the lowest he could go was P150. I walked away, praying he would call me back. He did!

As I was holding my Levi’s, my mind was already going on maximum overdrive on how to jazz it up.


(it's Les Miserables!)



I went to Nong Vencio Fabor to have the gash zigzagged in the way I wanted. While the waistline was perfect for me, the length wasn’t. I was “41”, my UK Levi’s was “48”. It was painful letting go of the beautifully torn hemline.


(a repro of the painting by Cebu's famous artist but whose name shall remain a secret.)


Then I went to my artist. When I gave him the designs and he said he could do them, I had palpitations. I told him I will bid adieu to 2011 in style, he said my wish is his command.

I got my wish; he got his bonus.

2012 here I come!




(the gash details that had been zigzagged to specs! i specifically requested the artist not to smear the gash with paint.)

circumnavigating Tago for BISDAK

Our goal that day was to distribute 60 BISDAK coupons; and the plan was to begin at Iran and end at Mangga Dos.

The sun was up. But not wanting to be tricked, we armed ourselves with umbrellas. I wore yellow slippers; Ramil wore blue. Inside my bag was a jumble of eyeglasses, ball pens, notebooks, coupons, candies, USB, etc.

As we hit the road, I warned Ramil to keep his bleeding heart in check. We’re targeting 150 beneficiaries only, I said.

We went to Bongtud (popularly known now as Iran) and began at the same exact spot where we (Atty. Lumactod and Titser Mae) had left off a week ago. I took charge of writing the names and issuing the coupons while Ramil, the interviewing: Are you a member of 4 Ps? How many children do you have? What’s your work? Where do you get your food?

From Iran we went to Boulevard. Surprisingly, the community there was quite “well-off” compared to Iran, with some having tv and washing machine. Only a few coupons were distributed. When we reached Sapa, Ramil saw that some houses were leaning and half done. And because they are my neighbors, I've already pre-identified them.

It began to rain as we proceeded to Kasaw-kasaw, a community in Duma-duma that thrives on the waterfront of Tago River. Some houses have torn blankets as walls, others have nipa shingles with holes. It was a vision of poverty at its starkest!

Then we proceeded to the inner sanctum of Citrus Dos where most men and children were naked from the waist up, with skin made darker by years of fishing and weaving nipa under the harsh sun. As we waded through muddy waters, I told Ramil that we might get alipunga. His rebuke came quick: "Saba Romel, wa gani alipungaha iton carabao na permi galatak nan lapok."

"Kay may sapatos san mga yapating naman," I retorted.

Because some houses stand right smack in the river, we had to negotiate an unsteady and uneven foot bridge no wider than a child’s stretched thumb and middle finger. Things got a bit unwieldy because I had to maintain my balance while pressing the umbrella handle between my jaw and shoulder and writing the names in my notebook and making sure it doesn’t get wet from heavy rains. We prodded on until a foot bridge broke and I fell, leaving a scratch on my left leg. Ramil and I just laughed it off, blaming each other for being overweight. Since then, Ramil told me to keep myself at bay and leave it to him to get the names.

Then following a foot trail that overflowed with rain water, we headed for Soong and Mangga Dos. By this time, our umbrellas were already disfigured as many times they had caught either a clothesline or a branch. Though we’re both cynophobic, Ramil agreed to walk ahead of me, stopping dead on his track every time a dog barked its presence.

I remember visiting the same community 30 years ago when a typhoon hit Tago and as Seniors at Purisima School we distributed bundles of joy along with the SPC nuns. The community has grown, alright, but so do misery and poverty.

Every way we looked, poverty stared at us and never blinked.

But a situation like this doesn’t lack irony. We were in what could be the poorest section of Tago when a motorcycle arrived to deliver a purified water to one of the nipa shacks. As Ramil was busy interviewing potential beneficiaries, I did my own with the children. They may be poor, but they had names like Heathcliff, Jefferson, and Cauliflower. A baby sleeping on a makeshift hammock was named Obama while another child playing on the bamboo floor with a broken toy was named Shrek. I could only hope the parents got the spelling of the last one correctly, otherwise they’re better off naming their child Scream.

We went home past lunch time. Ramil was dripping wet but he seemed not to mind as he was always smiling. I bathed soon as I reached home, had lunch, and hit the bed. When I woke up I felt mild body pains everywhere. As I felt an onset of fever, I took Bioflu, then ate some Christmas leftovers from the fridge, and went to Emily where we had another good laugh about our circumnavigating Tago in half-a-day.

kulas

Kulas used to be Tago’s minstrel. Everybody remembers him as the person to go to if one wanted to audition for amateur singing contests in the 70s and 80s. A virtuoso in stringed instruments, Kulas shares his talent without counting the cost to interested Tagon-on musicians in the making.

But poverty has robbed Kulas of his music and his gift. He longs for those nights when the sky is sequined with stars and the moon is full and he sits by the window of his hovel, evoking stories of sadness and truth from the tired strings of his battered guitar.

Give Love on Christmas Day

Yesterday afternoon I sent Atty. Eric Lumactod a text message if he was free at 4 PM. When he asked why, I said I wanted him to join me in making an ocular inspection of the area where the targeted beneficiaries of BISDAK (Bisaya Inspired to Serve and Do Acts of Kindness), California-USA live. I'll make time, he said. I also sent another text message to Japan but she had already left for Tandag with Bingbing.

Atty. Eric and I met at the corner of Purok Calamansi. We went to the house of his batchmate, Teacher Mae, so she could come with us. While walking, he suggested to coordinate with purok president for the identification of beneficiaries. While it's a good idea, I have reservations because it can be tainted with politics. To this Teacher Mae agreed.

On our way to Bongtud it rained and the ever-ready Teacher Mae had brought an umbrella. What we saw in Bongtud broke our hearts. There was this shack no bigger than our toilet but three households live under it. If poverty and squalor had a face, we had come face-to-face with it yesterday. And I tell you, it's not a pretty face.





I've also made a survey of the inmates in Tandag. I have requested my officemate Bema, the wife of the Provincial Head of the Bureau of Jail Management and Penology, to request Ping to float the questionnaires. Today she gave me some of the filled out forms.



Here's hoping this BISDAK-coordinated love project will come into fruition because a lot of less fortunate Tagon-ons will surely have a merry Christmas.

campo montero

If not for the relentless text messaging of Belen Pareja-Laurente, I wouldn’t have attended the opening of Tago’s newest watering hole, Campo Montero, even if earlier that day, the owner had sent somebody to our office to invite me and another officemate. The fun starts at 5:30, the boy said as he left, like it was an afterthought.

I drove home braving the heavy rains at around half past five, reported to my post at Emily’s at around six and headed back home after a while to have dinner at 7:30. Then Bebel’s text messages started coming. And so at around 9:00 Gly and I walked under a drizzle to Campo Montero at the corner of Espinoza and Falcon Streets, just a block and a half from home.

The place blazed with tiny lights and crawled with people. Pitched at the center was a humungous San Miguel Beer tent in blood red. When I saw Aldrin Montero, SMC-Tagum’s top gun, in some corner, I knew why.

I went there as a freeloader and so I knew not if the sisig I munched and the 7-up and San Mig Lite I drank at the table that Josie Montero led us to were on the house or not. (It was opening night, remember?) But later, when Manong Lalo Medrano arrived, joined us, and made us order more sisig and beer, the tab got picked and paid!








I’m a virtual non-drinker and I’m on diet because my blood sugar has gone amok. I went there to strike a good conversation with friends and strangers and I got it from Campo Montero owners: young entrepreneurs-slash-cousins Toto Campomanes and Mikey Montero . I know these kids, Toto most especially, because while growing up they used to spend a portion of their summer vacation in Tago, staying with their Lola Awi whose house was just a stone’s throw from ours.

Campo Montero's tarp said it’s a wifi area but when I requested Josie to ask for the password, she came back with nothing. What was within range though was the “Laurente Family Network” but just the same, I wasn’t able to post my FB status in between stuffing my mouth with sisig because the connection was slow.

“We want this to be a family-oriented resto bar,” Toto said after he introduced me to Mikey. He added that it was also what Aldrin, another cousin, suggested.

“Do you have plans of putting a videoke machine?” I said, wanting to make sure.

Toto looked at Mikey and they both smiled. “No,” he said.

Halleluiah! Hearing Toto say that was like hearing angels sing. I mean, who needs another seedy videoke bar where your putting-up with unruly kids and injured vocal chords can make you want to go ballistic?

I want these young entrepreneurs to succeed not only because they're my neighbors but because big investments are involved and Campo Montero might just redefine Tago’s night life. That said, I gave them tips culled from my lectures as part time instructor at the graduate school of business in Tandag and from the numerous business seminars the Department of Trade and Industry had sent me to.

“Just be very sure of your target market,” I told Toto and Mikey. Will you go for preppies who just crowd the place and order a Junior Lapad enough to last them the whole night or go for yuppies whose disposable income puts them in the position to pay big in exchange for a cozy, quiet, and relaxing night?

I also told Toto and Mikey to go for branding. What are the things they want to associate Campo Montero with? Is it the food? Is it the service? Is it the ambience?

I felt I had shared enough things that night for Toto and Mikey to chew on. And here’s hoping they’ll think about them because as it is, there’s a host of concerns they need to address immediately. And I’m not even talking about the comfort room and the way the place is configured.

I can only wish these people good luck. But wait, did I say the sisig was good?

"bT3" grand finals

When the lights went out and the “bT3” video rolled to the strains of “Eye of the Tiger”, shrieks came from all corners. And when dancers darted from the wings and cart-wheeled to the center stage amidst swirls of fog, bubbles and strobe lights, the SRO crowd went wild with excitement!

And thus began the grand finals of “bT3” on 8 December 2011 at 9:00 PM at Tago Gym.



“bT3” had come a long way. What started as a seemingly far-fetched idea became a resounding success as more and more Tagon-ons came out of the woodwork to have their talents known! Since its maiden show on 1 October 2011, “bT3” had done a total of eight cycles, producing 56 auditionees. Of these, 48 got to perform but only 26 got through the semi-finals. Of the 26 semi-finalists, only 12 made the cut to the grand finals and had their moments of glory.




“bT3” is a talent show, and because talent is known to straddle a wide spectrum, the organizers, just for the grand finals, had formulated a generic set of criteria that included Overall Performance (50%), Audience Response (20%) and Entertainment Value (30%). This set of criteria became the tool by which the grand prize winner was picked. And that night the herculean task of playing God rested on the hands of the following jurors: Daisy Luna, Marcelinita Pareja, Maria Isabel Dolon-Insame, Ronaldo Paderes, and Ramonito Tan.

The competition was fierce and the talents presented were diverse: four sang, six danced, one did a stand-up comedy act, and another mixed lip synchronization with acting and fire dance. In the end, the jurors were unanimous in awarding Raffy Lastimoso of Purok Tambis the grand prize because of his unique and incomparable “krumping”, a form of dancing that originated in the Afro-American community that is expressive and highly energetic. The Virus Crew, composed of agile, graceful, and good looking youngsters from Dayoan won second while Vange Quico of Cagdapao won third with his effortless handling of a stand-up comedy act that made fun of gays and game shows.

“If this is not world-class entertainment, I don’t know what is,” Mayor Henrich M. Pimentel said in his speech. He must have been very impressed with the quality of the performances and the way the show was handled that he announced he would increase the “bT3” budget next year from P50,000 to P100,000! The crowd roared with appreciation!





The “bT3” grand finals handed out the following prizes: P5,000.00 for the 2nd Runner Up; P6,000.00 for the 1st Runner Up; and P7,500.00 for the Grand Prize Winner. The winners also received trophies. The non-winners got P1,000 each as consolation prize. All these cash bonanzas were made possible by financially talented Tagon-ons who shared their resources and love, namely: Hon. Henrich M. Pimentel and Tago LGU (P50,000); Ms. Sherlita Montero-Sumalpong of Guam (P30,000); Mr. Jonathan Portillo of Dubai (P5,000); Atty. Roberto P. Lozada (P3,000); Brother and sister Sherwin and Felisa Portillo (P1,000); and Ms. Judy Ann Cag-ong Gonzales of Saudi Arabia (P1,300). Another set of sponsors provided snacks to contestants, jurors, and members of the Dream Team throughout the first season of "bT3", thus: Dr. Laiden Elizalde-Oliguiber, Emily Patrimonio, Steve and Angely Yu, Dr. Gemma Young-Ardines, Milagros Paqueo, Mary Grace Elizalde and TT and Company.

“bT3” would have remained on the drawing board if not for the people who gave their unconditional support by doing what was expected of them even if it meant working behind the scene, beyond the spotlight’s glare. As members of the “bT3” Dream Team, the following people had done much, thus: Maria Elena Dolon-Pimentel, Emily Patrimonio, Nicolas Laurente, Belen Laurente, Christian Castillo, Vincent Namalata, Florephi Dagaang, Maria Isabel Dolon-Insame, Peter Espinola, Rollie Suazo, Jose Olvida, Olympia Escalante, Francisca Suazo, Dulce Jasmin, and Erwin Besina.



Hosted by Romel M. Oribe, “bT3” was organized by the Local Government Unit of Tago headed by Hon. Henrich M. Pimentel, the Sangguniang Kabataan Federation of Tago chaired by Hon. Nnekka Marie P. Laurente, and I-Love-Tago Movement.

Hey, Mr. Marvin Wilson: Are you talking to me?

Truth be told, I used to write like that. And looking back, I could only laugh at myself for not knowing better. But guess that happens to the best of us. Especially when we're just starting.

My acceptance to two of the country’s most prestigious writing workshops helped a lot in exorcising my writing with superfluous adverbs and adjectives. Adverbs, most especially. And I’m glad I’ve heeded the advice of Strunk and White (“The Elements of Style”) to write with nouns and verbs, not with adjectives and adverbs.

But it wasn’t easy.

Adjective as part of speech is a word which describes or gives more information about a noun or pronoun. By that definition, I had this mistaken notion before that the only way one can describe a person or thing is through adjectives. Same with adverb. I thought it’s the only tool to modify a verb.

But like I said, it wasn’t easy ridding my writing with adverbs and adjectives. Okay, most.

Then I discovered Mark Twain. In 1878 he wrote Orion Clemens a letter, thus: God only exhibits his thunder and lightning at intervals, and so they always command attention. These are God's adjectives. You thunder and lightning too much; the reader ceases to get under the bed, by and by.

In "Pudd’nhead Wilson", Twain again said that when in doubt, strike adjectives out.

I, too, used to overwrite. I was wordy and had the tendency to over-explain as though my readers (all three of them!) were barely out of kindergarten. But then again, I discovered Mark Twain. In 1880 he wrote D. W. Bowser a letter, thus: I notice that you use plain, simple language, short words and brief sentences. That is the way to write English--it is the modern way and the best way. Stick to it; don't let fluff and flowers and verbosity creep in. When you catch an adjective, kill it. No, I don't mean utterly, but kill most of them--then the rest will be valuable. They weaken when they are close together. They give strength when they are wide apart. An adjective habit, or a wordy, diffuse, flowery habit, once fastened upon a person, is as hard to get rid of as any other vice.

In my case, I'd like to think that I had tamed the beast within. Thanks to Strunk and White who told me to omit needless words.

But like they say, old habits are hard to break and I have my lapses. But only on occasion. See? I didn’t say occasionally.

tinuy-an falls: its etymology

A certain Mr. Loel Lamela is submitting Tinuy-an Falls to a contest sponsored by the Department of Tourism. In the accompanying description of his photo, Lamela related the etymology of "Tinuy-an". Though am sure he had a reliable source, I wanted to validate it because I myself don't know where did the word "Tinuy-an" come from. And so I sent a text message to Ms. Lorie Lim, the Tourism Officer of Bislig City. She texted back in Visayan with two versions.

The first version according to Ms. Lim is that the environs of Tinuy-an Falls were once inhabited by datus who pysically and sexually abused the natives. Wanting to exact revenge, the natives one day first planted impaled bamboo poles (locally known as suyak) underwater before going up the next tier to lie in wait.

Days passed; still they waited. When their chance finally came, the natives commandeered the boat that carried the datus and pushed it toward the edge---into the deadly abyss. Fearing retribution from the datus' family, the natives then jumped to their death en masse.

The verb "tuyo" (stress on the second syllable) is the Visayan root word for "suicide". As noun, "Tinuy-an" therefore means the site of the tragic mass suicide.

The second version states that during the olden days, there was no beaten track leading to Tinuy-an Falls. To go there, one had to "make time and find a way" which, in Visayan, translates to "tuyuon" which is both a verb (no stress) and an adjective (stress on the 3rd syllable).

Just a side note: The second version sounds forced because if one exercises logical thinking, the falls should have been named "Tuyuon".

Whatever!

Tourists flocking to Tinuy-an Falls have a choice: if they want blood and gore, then it's version 1 for them. If they want something that strains credulity, then it's version 2 for them.


(Note: I stole the photo from 365 Great Pinoy Stuff.)

posthumous parental citation

Two sleeps ago, I received a white envelope addressed to the “Family of Late Judge Benjamin A. Oribe Sr.”. It was an invite from the Local Government Unit of Bayabas to attend the Gala Night on 19 November 2011 at 7:00 PM at the Gym to receive the posthumous award for our father as former judge of Bayabas and for our mother as pioneer teacher. This is in connection with Bayabas celebrating its 50th year as town.

A fusion of nostalgia and sadness. That’s what I felt after reading the citation.

I was in elementary when Papa wielded a gavel at his sala in Bayabas. During vacation, he would tag Gly and I along. We looked forward to this summer episode as it meant riding a pump boat and dropping by Lapaz to see friends and relatives.

Two things I loved most about our Bayabas sojourn: the sumptuous dinner given by Papa’s closest friend, Carlos Yu, who had a big house next to where Papa lived, at the house of Tio Julio Quijada; and the boating and swimming adventure to this rocky paradise whose waters were sparkling and clean and whose tiny caverns held lato ready for the picking.

When swimming, Gly and I were assigned a lifeguard each. I don’t know if they were priso cavallero, all they said was that they were Papa’s bodyguards. Sadly I have forgotten their names and all that my memory has retained is the surname “Palacio”.

Tio Julio, his wife, and children were nice. We were closest to Lalay though because she was our contemporary. One time, during high school, Lalay and I belonged to the same contest category in a competition held in Tandag.

Because Papa would go home to Tago on Fridays, we’d stay in Bayabas for a full week. And if he saw boredom on our face before TGIF came, he’d make Palacio whisk us off to Lapaz. And there, in the company of friends and relatives, we would wait for Papa to lead us home.

I loved Lapaz then. Still do, actually!

The birthplace of our mother, Lapaz holds beautiful memories for us that until the day we die, it will have a special place in our hearts.

In Lapaz we were pampered, doted on, and given special attention not because we had a judge for a father, but because we were family. Nanay Can(dida), our yaya and Mama’s first cousin, was a perfect surrogate mother who indulged and loved us to pieces.

We enjoyed Lapaz so much that there were Fridays only Papa would go home to Tago. And Mama would not bother to check on us because she knew we were having fun and were in good hands.

Last May, during the 1st Morse Reunion that I had organized in Lapaz, a cousin showed me the site of the school where Mama studied. I was near tears even if a new school—Tabing Dagat Elementary School---has been erected.

Mama and her sisters, all eight of them, were teachers. For the record, Tia Mameng (the late Maxima L. Morse-Cesar), their eldest, was the first teacher that Lapaz---and probably Bayabas----had ever produced.

Papa and Mama’s citation on the occasion of the Golden Anniversary of Bayabas may have come a bit late, but we are happy that the legacy they had left behind has endured and is now being acknowledged.

We’re grateful and honored.

christmas cards

If there’s one thing I miss about Christmas of old, it’s sending closest friends Christmas cards. For the longest time I’ve been wanting to but never got around to doing it. Hopefully this year could be it.

As a UCCP kid in Tago, I used to look forward to seeing beautiful Christmas cards arrive from USA even before the start of the Season of Advent. In sizes like bond papers folded in quarters and in halves, these “stateside” charmers came in good quality card stock and embossed with Yuletide images in colors that glowed and glittered, making them totally superior to those sold locally that came with dull images stamped on cheap paper.

But these cards were pre-owned.

And so I held a card in midnight blue with nothing but the golden silhouettes of three magi and their camels following a star distant and solitary. Velvety to the touch, the card was visually powerful it would transform me into one of my favorite Bible story characters: a shepherd awaiting the birth of the Messiah. But then I would flip the card and get teleported back to the present with these words: “To Scott” and “Mr. and Mrs. Leivobitz”.

Looking back, it seemed Americans were lazy to write words on the card other than their names and the recipient's. Or it could be that they knew these cards would find their way to Tago for reuse of Protestant families that they made sure not to do so much scribbling. Either way it was a good thing because all we had to do was cut strips of colored paper and superimposed them on “Scott” and “Mr. and Mrs. Leivobitz” before giving the cards to our elementary teachers and some really special friends.

While technology makes it easy for people to send e-cards now, there’s nothing like receiving something that you can read over and over again without having to push a button and click a mouse. For a tactile person like me, I need to touch and smell the card.

Being the world’s greatest procrastinator, I’m really hoping I could send beautiful cards with equally beautiful messages of gratitude and appreciation to special friends before 2011 bids adieu. And knowing I only have few special friends, that won’t be too hard to do. Still, wish me luck. And you don't have to be a special friend to do that.

DREAMS

I used not to believe in dreams especially if they're about dead people.

We were brought up to believe that dead persons communicate with us through our dreams, that it's their way of asking us to pray for them. I've listened to countless variations of this theme, the most vivid of which came from Mother Honey Patrimonio. In her dream, her Nanay Pacing told her she felt cold, so cold her teeth chattered. Mother Honey woke up crying; Pacing had been dead for years and it was her first time to dream of her.

It was raining when she went to Tago cemetery later that day and there she discovered that the roof above the tomb of her Nanay Pacing had been toppled, and the rainwater coming from the roof of the adjacent tomb flowed directly to her grave.

While I respected these tales for whatever they were worth, I was not inclined to believe them. Is this because I don’t like talking about dead people? Maybe. Here’s a secret: the easiest way to ruin my day is to ask me or talk about dead members of my family. Dead friends okay, but not my family! Do that and you cease to be my FB friend in two seconds flat!

Nobody saw me visit the graves of my parents during All Souls Day of 2010. It had something to do with my siblings not telling me that the structure over our parents’ graves was in such state of disrepair that it had to be demolished. I got wind of the situation two days before the annual celebration of the dead. There was no way I could construct a new one without turning into my greatest pet peeve---people cleaning and painting graves on November 1!

And so I passed. That year I also didn’t make unique flowers for the dead, to the dismay of Elaine Pareja and Nita Manzano who have this habit of eagerly awaiting the floral magic I whip up every single year.

Tanie, my brother, went home to Sagbayan after I had decided to do the construction early next year as it was already rainy season. But three days later, I dreamed of my father.

In my dream, Papa put his hand over my shoulder and walked me through an area where four posts stood at certain corners. He pointed from one corner to another and told me numbers I realized to be dimensions. When I woke up, I wrote the numbers on a piece of paper. Then I sent Tanie a text message, telling him to come back to construct the structure that would house our parents’ graves.

When I told ‘Yo David and Tito Vols about this, Marites quickly applied mathematical operations to the numbers, came up with last-two combinations, and placed a bet on them. She lost!

Last October, Emily told me that Heledeza Elizalde-Rubio of New York had sent her money for the upkeep of her parents’ graves because she had dreamed of them. I smiled. But this time not the mocking smile of a non-believer, but the smile of someone who knows there are things he just has to believe in.

my letter to sammy

Dear Sammy,

Your FB status says you’re at Kaiser Permanente Pediatrics but something in me says this is not true. Knowing you to love la dolce vita, you’re at---and I’m guessing now---Grand Sheraton or Hyatt Regency in downtown Sacramento. Of course that’s assuming you’re not in Beverly Hills enjoying the world’s most expensive and extravagant spa treatments like getting a facial made of gold; having a massage with diamonds in hot rocks; taking a bath in beer; dipping yourself in fountains of wine; washing your hair (whatever’s left of it) with fishy caviar; and having pedicures made of rare edibles like White Chocolate Raspberry Truffle!

If there’s one thing you do best, it’s pampering yourself in style! And you deserve it because you don’t only work hard, it’s your birthday.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAM!



I always take pride in saying that I have few friends---if that's being choosy, then shoot me!--- but these are the friends I want to grow old with. And you’re one of them. No, this is not because we belong to the same Church or you lavish me with things that others can only wish for: Oscar de la Renta? Check! Ferragamo? Check! Armani? Check! Hugo Boss? Check! Cartier? Hmmmm….;p

You’re one of the few people who can truly make me laugh. And it amuses me no end when you, knowing misspelling and wrong grammar make me want to go ballistic, attempt to kill me with your “spelling” skills. But that’s one quirk I like in you.

We go way back, you and I. Remember the thing that happened at the gangplank of Cokaliong? Or the time when I was treated for thyroid cancer at Cebu Doctors Hospital and you kept me company even from a distance because I was exuding radioactive stuff? I may not have articulated verbally my gratitude to you, but I really appreciate what you did. And it’s something I will treasure for the rest of my life.

I’m so proud and happy for you for rearing a beautiful family. I know you’re not a perfect father---who is?--- but I’m sure Gian and Jacob will never trade you for Donald Trump or Brad Pitt. I’m not sure though with Helena, especially the Pitt thing. Hahahaha! Joke.

Because you’re a dear friend, it is my prayer that God will continue to bless you in your journey towards becoming a better father, husband, and friend. And it is my wish that you get everything your heart desires because you deserve it.

We love you. Happy birthday, Sam.

My Letter to God

Dear God,

Today I celebrate my birthday at my ugliest. My face, head, neck, chest, back, and arms have blisters all over them. That You let this happen on the week of my birthday makes me think that trapped inside each tiny bubble in my body is a message.

So: Is this my comeuppance, my greatest vices being pride, vanity and arrogance?

But You’re not petty, I know; and so I look at my contracting chicken pox as something that happened not because I was bad, but because a naughty varicella virus found me and made me a Xerox machine.

Still, it got me thinking.

A well-meaning friend, after knowing I’m on self-imposed isolation, told me to do retrospection. Thing is, I’m no fan of Socrates who said that an unexamined life is not worth living. I’m not into looking back at events ---good or bad--- because it would only invite regrets, and I have enough regrets as it is. It’s enough for me that I’ve asked forgiveness for my sins and whispered my prayers of thanksgiving and that’s about it. But of course You know this already, right?

Then the same friend suggested I do introspection instead. OMG! Oopps, sorry, I’m not supposed to say "Oh-My-God" before my God. But this friend doesn’t know when to quit and now wants me to talk to myself to know why I am what I am. For crying out loud, is she nuts? She should have been the one You afflicted with chicken pox and not me! Joke.

But let’s indulge her even just this once. Four years from today I’ll be half a century old, and You know what, God? If there’s one thing I need to be clarified on, it’s this: Why is it that people form adverse opinions about me on the sole basis of what they hear from others? Not that I care, but sometimes it bothers me. Really! And oftentimes I blame You—hahaha—because what causes all this bad rep is Your giving me the gift of being able to speak my mind with such brutal honesty. My gift is my curse, yes, and thanks to You.

Will I change my ways now that I’m celebrating my birthday with horrid marks on my skin? Will I stop caring about excellence and let mediocrity become the norm so people will warm up to me and request me to become their FB buddy? Will I hang my brutal honesty out to dry in order to launch a campaign for Mr. Nice-and-Easy? No, God, sorry. Even if You make this ordeal last forever, I still don’t want to be a bore.

By the way, just a bit of digression. If there’s one person most affected by what You’ve put me through, it’s Bugsy. You see, he and his friends are expecting another treat to the fiesta carnival in Tandag just like what they had two years ago. As I write this he’s sulking, knowing that it’s not possible anymore because surely his Dad won’t go out with a hood over his face or put him and his friends at risk of being infected. There’s always next week, You say? Too late, the carnival leaves town day after the fiesta. You know more about kids than I do and so don’t blame me if Your inbox brims with text messages that contain menacing emote-icons from Bugsy and the poor kids in my neighborhood accusing You for being such a kill-joy!

God, I know that You know that I just want to have fun with You today through this letter. And Mike Posner in the background doing a cover of Adel’s “Rolling in the Deep” as I write this can attest to the lightness of the situation. But the same lightness of situation needs to be set aside for a while because I want to say a few heartfelt lines. You see, I’ve lived long enough to know this much to be true: that You are a God of deliverance; that You are a God who listens and provides; and that You are a God who loves beyond measure no matter what. For these and more, I could only bend my knees in prayer. Thank you very, very much!

Please stop feeling guilty for what You’ve done to me because I truly understand. I’m ugly today, yes, but who cares? I’m alive and it’s my birthday!

Love you much, God.


RMO


PS

If you promise to leave only one pockmark on my face, I won’t delete my FB friends who won’t post a comment on my wall.

skimboarding (last dakan gayud, 'mor pa!)

As i wrote earlier in this blog, serendipity started it all!

Last summer we went to the backside of the cemetery near Bongtud to see the extent of damage wrought on tombs by huge waves. Done, we didn't back track, instead we walked along the shore toward the FMES area. And that was when we saw boys riding the wash of waves in their crude woodie board.

Impressed and wanting to inspire them, I told them to practice and make good for we might organize a skimboarding competition come Araw ng Tago. Because it was nothing but a whimsical spur-of-the-moment statement, I forgot about it. But what did i know? Two weeks before Araw ng Tago, these boys looked for me to ask me of my promise. Without hesitation I said it's a go!

Leap of faith, yes!

That night my mind went on maximum overdrive. By daybreak, I had my blueprint.

Early that day, I sent a text message to Gov. Johnny T. Pimentel, saying I need P15,000.00 for prizes and trophies. He texted back, saying he would shoulder it. Just like that.

I sent another text message to Engr. Nick Laurente and his wife Bebels, saying I want SK-Tago to be a co-sponsor of the activity and as such, SK should shoulder the cost of two snacks and one lunch for 70 people. (Their daughter Dimple is the SK Federation Chair of Tago.) The ever reliable husband-and-wife team said no problem, even adding that SK-Tago would pay for the tarpaulin. Just like that.

I prepared a nice and novel solicitation letter and asked Mayora Tata Pimentel (who earlier had joined the "I-Love-Tago" Movement) if it was okay to send one to Cong. Philip A. Pichay. (Remember that if there's one thing I hate with a passion, it's soliciting for funds.) She said she would handle it, adding that Mayor Henrich said that he would review the budget of Araw ng Tago to see if he could take charge of the balance of our event's budget. Cong. Pichay and Mayor Pimentel would later shell out P10,000.00 and P10,500.00. Just like that.

Though I made solicitation letters for the Vice Governor and all SP members, I only sent two for Vice-Gov. Mange Alameda and his son, SDS SK Federation Chair JR Alameda. They gave P5,000.00. Just like that.

The next day I was chatting with US-based Gemmadel Medrano, a fellow Seagull,and mentioned to her the event. She said she'd give P2,000,00. Another Seagull Emily Patrimonio gave P400.00. Just like that.

Out of respect, I sent solicitation letters to all members of the Municipal Council of Tago. Only Vice Mayor Alex Bautista (P200.00), SB Tata Yu (P500.00) and SB Al Espinoza (P500.00) showed support. Another solicitation letter to Ex-Mayor Jun Pimentel yielded P1,000,00.

Mayora Tata Pimentel and Ms. Gingot Dolon-Insame conceptualized and actualized the unique trophies made of stenciled tin mounted on narra driftwood. Mayora also made the bannerettes, flaglets, and wind cones that made the venue festive. Special mention to Mayor Roxanne Pimentel for lending us the tent that sheltered our judges. A lot of nameless people supported the event and we couldn't thank them enough.

The Statement of Receipts and Disbursements, now a matter of public record, showed a surplus of P13,020.00. (Because it came after the preparation of the financial statement, the P250.00 printing cost of thank-you card charged by Bag-ong Subang is yet to be deducted.)

"I-Love-Tago" Movement made the 1st Tago Skimboarding Competition happen.

thank you so much

The 1st Tago Skimboarding Competition was successful because of the following, thus:

* Hon. Johnny T. Pimentel (15,000.00);
* Hon. Philip A. Pichay (10,000.00);
* Hon. Henrich M. Pimentel (10,500.00);
* Hon. Manuel O. Alameda Sr. (3,000.00);
* Hon. Manuel F. Alameda Jr. (2,000.00);
* Hon. Nneka Marie P. Laurente (for taking care of food and snacks and tarp);
* Ex-Mayor Hermenegildo P. Pimentel Jr. (1,000.00);
* Hon. Alejandro S. Bautista Jr. (200.00);
* Hon. Wilfredo M. Yu (500.00);
* Hon. Aloysius R. Espinoza (500.00);
* Ms. Gemmadel L. Medrano (2,000.00);
* Ms. Emily O. Patrimonio (400.00) ;
* Ms. Roxanne C. Pimentel (for lending us the tent);
* Dr. Earl Cloyd Mira (for judging the contest);
* Mr. Veni Vidi Vici Suarez (for judging the contest);
* Mr. Rey Mcfe Tutor (for judging the contest);
* Ms. Maria Isabel P. Dolon-Insame (for facilitating some things even if she's in Quezon City);
* Ms. Victoria L. Quinonez;
* Engr. Vidal M. Luna (for providing the "portable sounds" during the opening);
* Mr. Junde Espinoza (for promoting the tilt on FM radio);
* Mr. Richie Lisondra and Ms. Mekmek Cruz (for facilitating the release of Gov. Pimentel's commitment);
* Ms. Anelie Manzano (for facilitating the release of Mayor Pimentel's commitment);
* Barangay Council of Purisima (for acting as fund conduit);
* Hon. Jug Gundran (for reading the contest mechanics during the program)
* PNP personnel (for controlling the crowd);
* Drivers of dumptruck and service vehicle;
* Casual employees (for doing tasks we couldn't do ourselves);
* Trisikad drivers;
* Mariele's governess;
* Prayer warriors (for bending their knees for the activity to enjoy fine weather);
* Nameless others who, without our knowledge, did something that contributed to the success of the tilt;

and most specially,

* the skimboarders who provided us with great entertainment!

WE OWE YOU BIG! Thank you very much.


I-LOVE-TAGO Movement
***
Ms. Maria Elena P. Dolon-Pimentel
Engr. Nicolas C.Laurente
Ms. Belen C. Pareja
Romel M. Oribe

jevan, the skimboarder

Jevan is a child of the sea. And when skimboarding began gaining popularity this side of the Pacific Ocean, he practiced day and night and became good at it. Now he’s an unbeatable force in the Grommet category of skimboarders 13 years old and below.

A poor fisherfolk’s son from Bongtud-Tandag, Jevan’s skimboard was made from a piece of marine plyboard washed onshore when a Cebu-bound cargo ship capsized near Mancagangi Island three Decembers ago.

Jevan joined the 1st Tago Skimboarding Competition as “expert” because there was no grommet category. Easily he won the hearts of spectators both with his skimboarding skill and his honesty to show what he really is----a poor boy who wants to excel in a water sport he has learned to master!



Unlike his opponents, Jevan wore no board shorts because he had none. What he had was a faded black jersey shorts whose seat had holes. As a rule, surfers and skimboarders don’t wear briefs (don’t ask me why), but because his shorts had holes in them, Jevan wore formerly-white briefs with bacon waistband.

When it was his turn to hit the waves, that was when Jevan turned into a riot. Poised on a mound of slate-gray sand meters from the shore, he would then clutch at his woodie board with two ebony hands and run toward the waves. But halfway through it, his shorts and briefs would fall and his other hand would be quick to pull them back to prevent himself from riding the waves in full monty.

Laughters! Whistles! Claps!

Tiny and fragile-looking, Jevan rode the wave like a flotsam: light, graceful, and pliant. Though he had to tug perpetually at his shorts and briefs from the impact of onrushing waves as he flipped and glided, Jevan still managed to enter the semis. Eventually he lost to much better and older skimboarders.

Jevan may have won a petty sum of two-hundred pesos for performing the best long-ride, but deep within him he knew he won big by captivating the hearts of Tagon-ons!

See you next year, Jevan!

the 1st tago skimboarding competition made waves

Take that to mean literally and figuratively!

The 1st Tago Skimboarding Competition unfolded on 13 August 2011 at 9:00 in the morning at Tago shoreline before a crowd of at least 300. The weather would have been perfect if not for a slight shower. And when it finally improved, the wind turned gusty, the better for the waves to form and for the multi-colored bannerettes, flaglets, and wind cones to unfurl in full splendor, thus transforming the venue into an arresting setting that could only come from the glossy pages of Mabuhay magazine.

The competition had beginners (exclusive for Tagon-ons) and expert categories (open to all), with 13 and 20 skimboarders composing the two sets. Judges were themselves both skimboarders and surfers, namely: Dr. Earl Cloyd Mira (Chair) and Messrs. Veni Vidi Vici Suarez and Rey Mcfel Tutor as members.

Donning a horizontally striped shirt that matched his Nikes, Mayor Henrich Pimentel arrived just in time for the short opening program to start. In his welcoming remarks, the mayor congratulated the organizers and made a pitch of making Tago the sport and adventure destination. When he added that the 2nd Tago Skimboarding Competition may come sooner that we all think, the crowd, most especially the skimboarders, applauded.

When the program ended, it was already low tide and the waves had receded, creating a sandbar in front. The judges decided to have the elimination round done in “free-style.” But first, they made the skimboarders perform a long ride (a special award) in a “kawa-kawa” just behind the makeshift tent that Ms. Roxanne C. Pimentel lent the organizers.

After the skimboarders drew lots to determine which heat they belonged, the competition began!

The thin wash of waves limited the skimboarders to execute some power moves, but still they enthralled the spectators, eliciting even ahhs and ohhhs from them. When all heats were done, the skimboarders, the judges, and the organizers went to the residence of Engr. Nick Laurente for some buffet lunch that included a lechon.

While the skimboarders and judges were enjoying their lunch, the waves at Tago shoreline began to grow and form beautifully. And by the time the riders hit the shores again, the sun was shining brightly and the Pacific Ocean was ready to provide the waves the players wanted.

And so the stage for high performance skimboarding was set!

From the semis to the finals, the waves were superb and the crowd had grown thick and more appreciative, just the way the skimboarders wanted them.

As the skimboarders romanced the waves and gave the performance of their lives, the audience clapped, cheered, and shouted their admiration. And surely, with the way the skimboarders did some power moves, the sea gods must’ve been flipping their fins in glee and screaming their gills hoarse!

When it was time to give out the awards, the spectators were clapping hard, giving a clear message that they agreed with the decision of the board of judges.

Mike Menardo was the champion (P2,00.00 with trophy) in the beginners category with Earl Urbiztondo as 1st Runner-up (P1,500.00 with trophy) and Ariong Medrano as 2nd Runner-up (P1,000.00 with trophy). The awards for Best in Long-ride and Best in Wipe-out went to Mike Menardo and Yolob Ambray (P200.00 each). Aldon Pamogas won as champion (P3,000.00 with trophy) in the expert category with Jasor Ortiz as 1st Runner-up (P2,500.00 with trophy) and Crisanto Cuizon as 2nd Runner-up (P2,000.00 with trophy). The awards for Best in Long-ride and Best in Wipe-out went to Jevan Judol and Jasor Ortiz (P200.00 each). Jaysor Ortiz also won the award for Best Woodie Skimboard, adding P200.00 to his winnings.

Ms. Tata Dolon-Pimentel, the mayor’s wife, made the unique trophies that combined tin and narra driftwood. Mrs. Belen Laurente took charge of the food so sumptuous the judges and the riders couldn’t help but say their profuse thanks over and over again.

The 1st Tago Skimboarding Competition was a project of SK Federation of Tago through Hon. Nneka Marie P. Laurente, LGU-Tago through Hon. Henrich M. Pimentel, Provincial Government of Surigao del Sur through Hon. Johnny T. Pimentel, Congressional Office through Hon. Philip A. Pichay, and the newly-organized and soon to be a foundation “I-Love-Tago” Movement headed by Romel M. Oribe, with members Maria Elena P. Dolon-Pimentel, Nicolas C. Laurente and Belen P. Laurente. Other benefactors include Vice Governor Manuel O. Alameda Sr., SK Provincial Federation Chair Manuel Alameda Jr., Ex-Mayor Hermenegildo P. Pimentel Jr., Hon. Alejandro S. Bautista Jr., Hon. Aloysius R. Espinoza, Hon. Wilfredo M. Yu, Ms. Mari Isabel P. Dolon-Insame, Engr. Vidal M. Luna, and Seagulls Ms. Gemmadel L. Medrano and Ms. Emily O. Patrimonio. DJ Brother Jay also helped in promoting the event in his radio program.

The 1st Tago Skimboarding Competition was successful in educating Tagon-ons about a new sport. But what is more significant is that the event made use of Tago’s natural resource that for the longest time had been thought of as something fearful and deadly. Another age-old urban legend had been dispelled!

And because the 1st Tago Skimboarding Competion made waves, the time has come for Tago to ride the crest and make a big splash in sports tourism!

******
(Note: for complete photos of the skimboarding competition, go to the FB walls of Maria Elena P. Dolon-Pimentel, Glynda and Romel M. Oribe.)

gidz

He ran toward us and kept pace as we slowed down to find a place where we could park. With the sun on his face, he gave hand signals to the driver so he could squeeze the Adventure in between vehicles so many they made the area look like Japan, a day after it was hit by tsunami.

As the door swung open, he flashed a set of white, even teeth and mouthed what could be his standard greeting: Good morning, Ma’amSir, welcome to Enchanted River. Gidz Calmarez poh, Ma’amSir, at your service!

Talk about having us at hello!

Barely 12 years old, Gidz Calmares is one of the five juvenile tourist assistants that LGU-Hinatuan allows to operate within the confines of Enchanted River. That he is fast earning the reputation of a first-rate tourist assistant is impressive because he didn't have any training on tourist servicing. Let loose by LGU-Hinatuan, Gidz had to learn on the job, playing everything by ear.

But more than possessing natural skills, the kid has charm that charms tourists.

Gidz knows how to delight his customers: he carries bags; he volunteers information; he gives lavish compliments; he books you a cottage; he arranges for your food; he takes wacky shots of you if you trust him with your digicam; and he knows how to say thank-you.

Because he lives in Barangay Cambatong which is about 2 kilometers from Barangay Talisay where the Enchanted River flows, Gidz wakes up at 5 AM and sets off to his place of business on foot. Asked what he likes most about his “job”, he says money. Gidz earns between P300 and P500 daily, a good part of which is turned-over to the Enchanted River caretaker, an employee of LGU-Hinatuan. However, Gidz can get back the amount in the form of school supplies and other personal things like slippers and clothes.

That explained the UK cargo pants and fake Havaianas Gidz was wearing!



The third child in a brood of six, Gidz is proud to say that he gives his mother money from what he earns. And he doesn’t mind if she spends it on videoke and "last-two." What is important, he says, is he’s able to make her happy.

Gidz knows the importance of education. And he doesn't mind if his income will shrink when school opens because he can only work during weekends.

I asked him if he sees himself doing what he presently does 10 years from now. “No,” he said.

“And so, what?” I said.

“I’ll go abroad and when I have enough money, I’ll come back and put up a hotel.”

“ Here?”

“Yes,” he smiles impishly.

Smart kid. Here’s hoping he wasn’t making all those up.

siony boy

A boy she’s not! But she loves it when people call her “Siony Boy.”

By day, she’s as enterprising as she gets, peddling anything from fish to firewood to charcoal to fruits. By night, she’s as entertaining as she gets, singing anything from “Bed of Roses” to “Nakaka” to “Hanggang” to “Dancing Queen.”

In her late 40s, Siony Boy is Tago’s resident stand-up comedienne, a buffoon who cracks her punch line in crisp broken English.

Born Asuncion Martinez Tajonera, Siony Boy has been put through the wringer many times that she now looks at life’s misfortune as nothing but a cliché. And this is how she survives. With much fewer regrets, if ever.

All over Tago, Siony Boy is known to be multi-skilled, a trait she exploits to fend for herself, her aging mother and her daughter.

Back in 1998, Siony Boy was a June bride in Boracay!

In blinding white organza gown, Siony Boy walked down the aisle looking like she was ready to roll on the floor laughing. But the ceremony ended without Siony Boy pulling any trick like stripping down not to her black lace drawers but white cotton skivvies.

For Angel Alejandro, Siony Boy’s groom, it was literally a dream wedding. Many times after his father died, he had shown up in Angel’s sleep, asking him why he hadn’t asked for Siony Boy’s hand yet. Angel finally gave in when in one dream, he saw his father sitting on his grave with his back toward him, sobbing.

Siony Boy’s father-in-law was her valued customer in Boracay during the 90s. That time, she worked as collection officer of her brother who was into selling Footstep products. The old man must’ve been beguiled by Siony Boy’s easy ways and jolly personality, not to mention her bag of antics and mastery of carabao-English, that he told her that if he were single, he would marry her. But because he was not, he did the next best thing: paired-off Siony Boy with his son.

If she was attracted to Angel, Siony Boy wouldn't say. What she said was that Angel was a quiet man who owned three carabaos and worked as casual employee in Caticlan.

Angel never courted her, she would say; it was Angel’s father who courted him for her, she would add jokingly.

Angel domesticated Siony Boy who, in 1999, gave birth to a beautiful angel she named, well, Angel.

When Siony Boy was about ready to resume work, her brother’s business suffered an irreversible setback. Not used to being house-bound, she asked Angel that she be allowed to go to Manila with Angel. In Manila where most of her relatives lived, she told Angel, she was sure to find work and be fine. Angel approved, but Siony Boy's policeman brother did not. He sent her money for fare in going home to Tago.

Siony Boy says she hasn’t heard much from Angel. She just leaves it to Angel to exchange text messages with her father. Angel never sends Angel money but Siony Boy doesn’t cry over this because she knows that angels abound. In America. In Australia. Even in places she doesn’t dream of.

In March 2011 at Tago gym, Siony Boy mounted the stage to pin ribbons on Angel who finished elementary as class valedictorian. Being a local celebrity that she is, Siony Boy was met with thunderous applause. As Angel bowed in gratitude, her face beamed with pride for having a “dual-Sim” for a mother.

And that, definitely, is no cliché!

manhangad, part three

Islaw was a proud and self-proclaimed voyeur who talked about his exploits like they were part of his curriculum vitae. His notoriety was such that newbies groveled before him for tips on where and when to go, what to do and wear.

Islaw’s shrine was Endong’s house. What made this bungalow a natural magnet for perverts were Endong’s three pretty daughters and a secret slit in the toilet. Secret because Endong and his family didn’t know about it!

Among Endong’s daughters, it was the middle that Islaw lusted after the most because she had a skin like a debarked cassava, a tone she got from her father. The eldest and youngest, while lovelier, had the morena skin of their mother. More than chicos, Islaw liked singkamas!

The secret slit in Endong’s toilet was angled in such a way that a peeper could see nothing of the face or the head of his victims, only a portion of their back and a full leg as they sat on the bowl. But when these targets stood up, that was the time a voyeur could get a glimpse at their buttocks. But since all perverts have fertile imagination, it was all the peeper needed to shoot his sexual rocket to orbit and go big bang!

For the longest time Islaw had been wishing for that rare moment with Endong’s elder daughter. Though he had tried many times, he never got lucky. Still he kept on coming back, knowing that peeping is like fishing: you need to be in the right place at the right time!

It’s all about timing, he kept reminding himself. Then one night, the King of Peep finally smiled at him.

The mere sight of a glowing thigh and leg made Islaw weak in the knees. But knowing the moment to be fleeting, he got down to work pronto, summoning all mental images of her while letting his right hand acquire a life of its own.

After a while his quarry moved and rose.

Islaw stood transfixed, his eyes glued to the pleasing sight before him. And knowing the end of the show was near, his right hand went berserk. But then the body turned sideways---toward Islaw’s line of vision---and stooped to get the dipper.

Islaw exploded. Even if his eyes were glued to the scrotum of Endong!


to be continued...

manhangad, part two

Stories about manhangad abound: Someone---a policeman---almost got shot and had to leave Tago in shame; another got blind after he pressed an eye against a peephole and the girl he had hoped to lay lascivious eyes on poked him with a pointed object; still another broke a bone when he fell off a tree. The story went that he was masturbating while ogling a girl when a mosquito bit him in the cheek. Apparently the mosquito sucked hard that he couldn’t ignore it. But he couldn’t stop either!

“Whew, pressure!” he must have said to himself. But pleasure overruled pain, and with the hand that he unclasped from a branch, he whacked the pesky insect!


Orlan was a seasoned voyeur whose favorite quarry was the band majorette of a rival school. This pretty young thing was assigned by her mother to wash the dishes at night just as her elder sister was tasked to prepare supper.

The majorette’s house had singbit walls---nipa fronds clipped together by sticks---and bamboo floor. Because they were not nailed entirely on the wooden brace, some bamboo slats rose when somebody stepped on their opposite end, creating concave gaps underneath the floor.

To get under his prey's house surreptitiously, Orlan had to crouch low. From his vantage point, he had a worm's eye view of the girl standing, wearing under her skirt candy-colored panties stitched with days of the week. But it aroused him more when she wore "Friday" and "Tuesday" on Wednesdays and Saturdays.

There were times that she seemed to notice his presence, but like a chameleon, Orlan would turn into a pig, a dog, or a cat. One night, Orlan was sitting on his heels and fondling himself while looking up. For balance, he placed his left hand under the concave gap on the floor, gripping the wooden brace. He was so into it that the next thing he knew, the sharp edges of the bamboo floor were digging into his knuckles. And that was when he noticed another skirt, a much bigger skirt above him: It was the majorette’s heavyweight mother!

He pulled his hand---the other hand---away, but it felt like a bulldozer was pressing it. As blood dripped from his knuckles, he bit his lower lip to silence a scream.

The pain pierced him so bad he couldn’t understand what the majorette and her mother were saying. He closed his eyes, willing the corpulent woman to go away. But instead he felt the pressure tighten on his hand. When he looked up, he saw a General Milling panty being pulled down by jumbo hands with chorizo fingers.

Orlan dodged noiselessly, but there was no escaping the onrush of the fat woman's pee. As the salty water trickled down his face, Orlan could only wish he had sore eyes!

to be continued......

manhangad

Back in the 70s when cyber porn was still unheard of, the favorite game of pubescent males was “manhangad”. This “spectator sport" is in pursuit of prurient interest and requires daring and the ability to fade in the dark like a shadow.

Literally “manhangad” is a Tagon-on verb that means “to look up”, but colloquially it connotes engaging in Tom’s favorite pastime---peeping! As action word, “manhangad” has become archaic and its contemporary equivalent is “mamaklad”.

As a nocturnal sport, manhangad’s golden era was in the 70s, when Tago had yet no electricity, and most houses were built high from the ground. Because the floors of these houses were made of wooden planks or bamboo slats nailed not close to each other, there were gaps galore. The better for Tom to peep!

Also during this time, most toilets were nothing but a hole in the floor affair, and to relieve themselves Tagon-ons had to squat. While at it, they did anything like reading Bisaya or Liwayway, gazing at the contour of their genitals and combing their pubic hairs for nits and lice, or watching pigs down below looking up, waiting for manna to fall. For Tagon-ons doing it in outhouses built above sea water, things were no different except that it was some fish that snatched everything that came splashing.

(to be continued...)

skimboarding in tago

Tago faces the Pacific Ocean whose wide variety of waves breaks into the shore of fine, slate gray sand. This setting is perfect for high performance surfing except for one thing: it's deadly!

We call our shore baybay and to it we attach the term ayuan, which means it begs relentlessly until it gets what it wants. So when we say that our baybay is ayuan, we mean this: it takes souls by force!

Every Tagon-on with the gall to go swimming at baybay knows that he has to watch out for higit, which happens when waves recede from the shore, dragging bathers to death with bizarre, brute force. Oscar Duque and Policarpo Medrano were two of the casualties. Poly, like Oscar years earlier, was already heading for home after swimming with a friend when he soiled his feet. He ran back to wash, never to be seen again.

And so it is with a sense of danger that Tago’s youngblood flirt with higit as they engage in their new sport--- skimboarding!

It has already come to my attention that boys go skimboarding in baybay, but it was only last summer that I saw two of them clutching an attractively painted board. Knowing that skimboarding or skimming is as alien to Tagon-ons as text messaging is to fish, I was intrigued: How do they do it? Who taught them?

My bestfriend Wiki told me that skimboarding is a boardsport in which a skimboard (a smaller counterpart to a surfboard) is used to glide across the water's surface. Unlike surfing, skimboarding begins on the beach, it starts with the dropping of the board onto the thin wash of previous waves. The players may use their momentum to 'skim' out to breaking waves, which they then catch back into shore in a manner similar to surfing.

Wow, just about perfect for Tago!



Last week, we went to baybay to know the extent of damage wrought by the recent flood. And we chanced upon a group of half-naked boys building sand castles. About them were five or six skimboards scattered like they were tossed by waves. Not far from them, perched on a stump, were upturned glasses and a plastic pitcher whose residue gave us a hint of its previous content.

Then a chubby boy picked up his board that carried an eagle, threw and ran onto it while it was gliding across a thin layer of water. But he fell even before I could blink. Then another rider glided over a layer of water towards a wave and when he reached it, he shifted his weight and wrapped around it, spreading his hands as the wash of waves propelled him back to shore.

I found myself clapping!



I borrowed the skimboard of one rider and inspected it. While professionals use a skimboard in “composite” construction of fiberglass, carbon or kevlar, this rider used a ply board that he salvaged from a bunkhouse of the contractor of Tago-Lapaz bridge. I ran my hand throughout its length to see if it had a nose lift or a rocker, a curve from nose to tail known for better control of bigger waves. I found none; what it had were dents.

Wiki said that riders generally favor a board made of length reaching about their mid-chest height when stood on end and with a thickness that ranges from 3/8 inch to 1 inch, this rider’s board however was nowhere near these specs.

I returned the board to the rider and asked him for a shot.



Seconds after we walked away, I looked back and wondered if their parents had told and warned them about the lore of our baybay. But as they glided across a thin layer of water with their skimboards, I saw not fear but a carefree spirit being unleashed.

The gods be damned!

2011's first flood

Flooding, although it usually carries a negative connotation, is quite a natural process and is simply the response of a natural system---a river system---to the presence of too much water during an interval of time. When excess discharge is present in a river or stream, at first the water moves more quickly and perhaps some erosion of the channel takes place. If discharge increases too rapidly, however, water must move out of the channel and out onto the surrounding area, known as the floodplain. (Science.jrank.org)

Tago is a floodplain, and so the recent flood was par for the course!



Living alongside Tago River sharpens my survival instinct. And thanks to the conventional wisdom of my neighbors, I’ve learned to befriend the water, know its motion and meaning, and tame its denizens including the much-feared tangkig or sea snake.

When floodwaters came rampaging in the afternoon of January 3, 2011, I was not bothered that much, after all, we grew up seeing the river swell to irregular proportion usually at the end or start of the year. Tuig, my neighbors would say, referring to the time of the year when a change in the lunar phase pushes the water to its highest level. However, when the water invaded our sala---a first for all of us in the house---and rose knee-high, that was when I began to feel worried.

What if the rains won’t stop, I remember thinking to myself.

When the water entered our garage and started licking the tires of my Jazz, I drove it to the jeepney terminal. Meanwhile, in another garage, my other car was already given a half-bath by the flood. I would later transfer the Jazz to a higher ground where its roof got beaten by unremitting rains the whole night through.

After we had secured everything---or so we thought---I went out to check my neighbors. Living near the dike that was already invisible, some stayed on top of their dining table that they nailed hastily to the floor. Others made their sink their sanctuary.

It was a tableau of utter helplessness!

When I insisted on having them evacuated to our home, they declined, preferring to wait it out even if the table top and the sink were a fraction of an inch from the fast-moving water.

I went around Tago, and everywhere there was water as though all the angels in heaven were shedding tears all at once. And drenched Tagon-ons were all over the place: some were pushing their vehicles, others were paddling to the main streets their boats filled with children, pets, and belongings.

By midnight, I had a sense that the worst was over, and so I decided to call it a night.

But what a night!

Then suddenly I saw in a corner, near the sungkaan table, a black box: my attaché case that contained important papers like my car mortgage and passport, a digicam, the external memory of my netbook, $200, and my jewelry. In the frenzy of securing more valuable things, I forgot that it was hidden behind a cabinet.

Well, we gotta give something to Poseidon!


**************


right in the middle of our sala!



at the kitchen where i had late dinner while the flood gave me a foot spa


my floating bed