The Christmas songs!

We don’t play Christmas songs anymore like we did 25 years ago when we played them not for ourselves alone but for everybody who cared enough to listen.

One of my fondest Christmas memories involved ‘Iyo Mati Luna. A war veteran with an eternal movie in his mind, the man was passionate about music. And it was a delight to pass by his house because Ray Conniff, Matt Monro, and the Carpenters would be crooning their soothing tunes without fail.

Iyo Mati would be playing holiday songs for the whole stretch of the Christmas season. And because their stereo extended from here to there, the melodies would reach us and we soaked them up.

I liked Iyo Mati’s choice of music better than Papa's. Like me, he liked English Christmas songs that are slow and melancholic.

But then time ravaged ‘Yo Mati’s stereo. And shortly, technology set in with gadgets that use head phones, making songs very private and personal.

For me, songs need to be shared. That’s why I never like using the iPod of old and the ear piece of my cellular phone.

Because I’m a fool and an old romantic, I long for houses to play Christmas songs the old-fashion way. Isn’t it ironic that just when songs have become easy to obtain as they are downloadable and free, nobody plays them for all to hear?

That makes it sadder.

Tago's halo-halo of old

It was like chewing a broken glass without the blood! That’s how I remember eating halo-halo as a kid.

The halo-halo of my youth was "glassy". It may be wanting in milk and had fewer ingredients like black beans, sweetened ripe bananas, and cubed gelatin in ROYGVIB, but to this date, no Digman, no Razon’s and no Chowking halo-halo could ever replace it in my book. Guess that’s the way with comfort food.

In the 70s, Tago had only one halo-halo parlor. Owned by the Elizaldes, it was on the same spot where Alondoy now sells pudding. Inside the estante perched on a table were tall plastic glasses that tapered dangerously near the base. It was hard to miss those classic opaque glasses just as it was hard to control the craving from running amok. And when this happened, I had my bag of tricks ready to make Mama and Papa shell out some coins for my cold addiction.

At the Elizalde snack bar I would sit waiting. By the door that opened to the kitchen stood the iron ice scraper that Imelda Castillo operated. Silver and tarnished, it was about two feet and a-half tall with a wheel that if turned would pin down tightly the block of ice, the better to scrape it against a blade of sharp steel. Underneath, a bowl waited for shavings to fall.

Imelda would then get from the estante one tall glass that carried some colorful ingredients, and knowing it was me who was her customer, she would pack it with ice and press down, repeating the process many times until she created a perfect mound and the glass was ready to break. After pouring milk from a measuring cup into the glass, she would serve the halo-halo along with the sugar.

Because there was no topping then--no scoop of ice cream, no sliver of leche flan--- I would look at the halo-halo mound for a while, amused that the milk had created acne scars on it. Then like a surgeon careful to do an incision, I would work on my halo-halo using the slim and elegant spoon, ensuring not to make the mixture spill over.

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Question: Why haven’t we halo-halo addicts filed a protest to not fill the glass to the brim, making it hard to maneuver? Isn’t it easier to make the glass half or three-fourths full, then we just scoop some ice shavings on a bowl and add them to our glass?

Answer: Addicts are called addicts because they can’t think straight especially when they're "high". Ergo, they can't complain.

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What I loved about the halo-halo of old was that it had “shards” of ice and I liked the feel and sound of them crashing between my teeth. I don’t like my halo-halo to have fine ice shavings (Razon’s is an exception) because that’s a shake, not a halo-halo. And I don’t want my halo-halo to have so much ingredients however eclectic because that’s a fruit salad, not a halo-halo. I don’t want the ingredients to get in the way of ice fusing with milk.

Now back to Imelda and her halo-halo.

Because it had so much ice than usual, my halo-halo was thin on milk. But it didn’t matter because Imelda made sure I had unli sugar. And when a group of customers entered just when I was almost done with my halo-halo, that was when I got lucky. In which case I would take my time finishing my halo-halo because I was certain that Imelda would give me the excess ice shavings. Never mind if at this time, my halo-halo would taste no better than an iced water.

Oh, how I miss that experience!

I’m no foodie and so if this post turns out to be a misnomer, consider yourself forewarned.

Some eating places have opened in Tandag and I haven’t found time to visit them. I’m so predictable in that I dine out invariably at Goldbar and only upon invitation of friends, which is not often. But if there’s a restaurant that has improvement of grammar and composition skills on its menu, then I will make myself an instant habitué.

Even if I’m no foodie, I always ask for the meaning behind the name of any bistro that opens. Like in the case of Huit Deli and Bistro Aioli.

Though I still have to dine at these two, I have asked around about the food and its price, the service, and the meaning behind the strange-sounding names. I get the usual answers for the first two, but I always get a stammer and a clam-up for the last.

“Bistro” and “deli” I know, but “aioli” and “huit”? No, sir!

My best friend Google says that "aioli" originated from Occitan, from "ai" (garlic) and "oli" (oil). It is a Provençal traditional sauce made of garlic, olive oil, lemon juice, and egg yolks. Another definition says it's a mayonnaise flavored with garlic and sometimes other ingredients as red pepper. It's pronounced as "ahy-oh-lee" or "ey-oh-lee".

When I asked Gly if her orders came with aioli sauce in all the times she ate at this bistro along Osmena Street, she said not once. Uh, okay.

As to “huit”, well most of the hits Google gave me talked about shops selling lingerie. But a deli doesn’t sell panties and negligees, right? And so Mekmek Cruz’s Huit Deli in Dawis must be from the Old French "uit" which was derived from Latin "octō", which means eight. The "h" was added to avoid confusion with "vit".

Knowing "8" to be a good number in business, I believe this is the reason behind the choice of name. But then again, I could be wrong.

When Sheila Portillo-Buhion, via Facebook, asked Dongay Pareja (who, in turn, must've asked Mekmek) on how “huit" is pronounced, Dongay said it’s pronounced exactly like the opposite of dry. But Wiktionary says the correct pronunciation is /ɥit/ or /hHit/. (Note to self: Ask Mekmek.)

Make no mistake about it: this is just an armchair research dabbed with a bit of conjecture on my part. And so when you next dine at these places, better ask for the exact meaning of the names as intended by the owners and the proper way to pronounce them.

Just a post-script. I’m part of a government agency that assists entrepreneurs in areas both crucial and mundane. And sometimes we give our clients tips on how to give their business a name. I won’t bore you with legalese and business-speak, but let me just focus on practical things like:

1. As much as possible make the business name self-explanatory. This means that by just reading your business name, the customers know what business you’re into.

2. Make it simple. Because potential customers are more likely to remember simple snappy names than long drawn-out over-engineered names. By the way, simplicity doesn’t mean you can’t be unique. Uniqueness and simplicity are both a function of a creative mind.

3. Don’t be pretentious. Being pretentious is not the same as being unique. While the temptation to give your business a trendy name is there, this may not work in your chosen industry and locale. And so better stick with sensible and memorable names that are easy to pronounce.

of pyramids and dreams

When man minted the first money, he was clueless that he’d be forever held hostage by it. Then and now, money and all its trappings have become such a central force in the lives of men, driving them to commit the most grotesque crimes.

That man can’t have enough of money must be God’s subtle way of censuring him for his financial proclivities. But this must be a tad too subtle that it completely escapes him.

Money per se is not bad. In fact it does a lot of good things for us other than simply letting us get by. But the rub is, it has to be earned, and how one earns it becomes an ethical concern.

While others earn their keeps the honest way, some throw all moral caution to the wind and devise devious ways just to get rich. Like dream merchants engaged in pyramiding schemes.

As defined in RA 7394 (Consumer Act of the Philippines), pyramid sales scheme is a sales devise whereby a person, upon condition that he makes an investment, is granted by the manufacturer or his representative a right to recruit for profit one or more additional persons who will also be granted such right upon condition of making similar investments. This scheme offers nothing but false hopes that one day “investors” will reach the top position to qualify them to amass money beyond their wildest dreams. But the odds are great that entities or persons close shop before investors reach the top slot, leaving the investors holding an empty bag. Or that the whole operation collapses from over-saturation, leaving in its wake more losers than winners.

This stratagem is nothing but a variation of an old, tired theme. Remember the hullabaloo in Surigao City not too long ago that almost led to the death of the rapacious mastermind? Or the race to the post office a few years back for money orders? Or the promise of receiving so many panties in multi-colors and sizes?

What is beyond me is that persons lured by this financial mirage now are the same persons who had been victimized many times over in the past. It would have been pretty obvious to them by now. But it is when things get obvious that one becomes dense. Indeed, it is said that people who don’t learn the lessons of history are bound to repeat them.

And if like us you’re part of a government agency whose mandate included ensuring this get-rich-quick scheme doesn’t thrive, things can get herculean. We’re up against so many persons who think we are the line that separates them from their dream. And because their eyes are already ablaze with peso signs in pure, unmitigated monetary lust, no one is willing to come forward and aid us in nailing down the rogues. And don’t tell them it’s a badly placed investment because it’s their money not yours. Alright. But isn’t the only thing necessary for evil to triumph is for good men to do nothing? But guess who gets the flak when things clear up?

This ploy will always work for as long as there are persons whose all consuming greed goes beyond hoodwinking their fellowmen. For as long as there are gullible persons whose primal dream of making it big is fueled not by the value of hardwork but by expediency. For as long as the government is helpless to extend the long arm of the law because of lack of support from people who matter.

A friend once told me that if a thing is too good to be true, chances are, it’s not true. Yet many believe that dreams like these do come true. Well, not always. Oftentimes dreams like these become nightmares. In which case, one hopes to wake up with his sanity still intact.

And by the way, what’s a pyramid? It’s nothing but a tomb. For mummified dreams.



(Note: The ongoing furor over Aman Futures' get-rich-quick scheme drove me to reprint this article I wrote in February '98 for Aghat, the now defunct official gazette of the Department of Trade and Industry I edited.)

Berto and the Surigao Treasure

Last August, I had the chance to visit the Ayala Museum and marvel at the Philippine's pre-colonial treasures in an exhibit dubbed as "Gold of the Ancestors".

The trip was highly personal because all I wanted to see was "The Surigao Treasure", specifically the "Mang Berto Collection." Mang Berto (Morales), of course, is a townmate and the piece of land in Magroyong where he accidentally dug those treasures was owned by my father's relative and my mother's closest co-teacher, Tia Payning. Oftentimes, enroute to Sagbayan for a summer vacation, we would drop by Tia Payning's house in Magroyong so Mama could chat with her. We didn't have an inkling then that just a few meters from where we sat eating boiled camote, Mang Berto would find the marvelous golden pieces that now adorn the halls of the Ayala Museum.

The "Surigao Treasure-cum-Mang Berto Collection" is beyond awesome!

In a documentary made by ABS-CBN, Dr. John Miksic, one of the expert interviewees, said that the "Surigao Treasure" is the single most important and tangible heritage of the country. And Dr. Baker, a curator, added that it is the largest collection of Philippine archaeological gold in the world.

The video screening that preceded the tour mostly featured breathtaking pieces from the "Surigao Treasure". But more than feeling good and proud of our heritage, I felt pity for Mang Berto.

Watching the opulence of the pieces, I was nagged by an image of a toothless Mang Berto being interviewed by Che-che Lazaro for Probe's “Surigao Treasure: Gintong Pamana” show. Then the irony hit me: while his golds have glass for a home in posh Ayala Center, Mang Berto has a crumbling nipa shack in rustic Victoria.



I would give my right arm to know how Mang Berto felt when Che-che Lazaro gave him a tour of the Ayala Museum to identify the golds that his bulldozer hit in Magroyong one wet summer morning in 1981. Looking at the video in YouTube, I can't tell what is contained in those eyes that have become tired and dull. Regret? Most likely. But there's more.

Maybe one of these days I'll ask Mang Berto for a chat. And if he'll allow me, maybe I'll write his story.

Me and my maybes.

(Photo credit: Ayala Museum)

plates

I love plates. And this only means one thing: in previous life I was either an impoverished German potter in Meissen or a Scandinavian duke collecting plates in a castle that caressed the skies.

Search me, but I really don't know what's in plates that enhances my mood. All I know is that it feels like payday every time I see a nice one.

However, I collect no Lladros. Not because I can't afford them but because they don't excite me. Really!



My being "anti-signature" extends to my secret passion of collecting plates. I have spent over half a lifetime of proving that a proletariat can have a taste better than that of the bourgeoisie if only he knows how to hone that taste despite his limited resources. Life is fair in that taste is not a function of class.

And so I collect decorative plates that are cheap but unique, at least to me. But please spare me those tacky types that bear the names and landmarks of places one has visited.



Most of my plates are seconds, rejects, those that didn't make the grade for the export market. Luckily, I see a defect not as something that mars the beauty of the plate, but as something that lends more charm to the item. Like the Japanese, I love the aesthetics of imperfection.

I have my mood swings alright, but I only need to look at my plates to find my balance. When I grow old and loneliness becomes unbearable, I will host a banquet where no two plates are alike.

thanks, bliss

that my blog has found its way back to indention heaven is all because of that wonderful girl who has just migrated to Arizona, USA: Ms. Bliss C. Matabaran-Fenwick!

Bliss is bliss. Can't thank you enough.

dear bugsy

Dear Bugsy,

Today is your 8th birthday and I can't thank God enough for giving you to us.

I'm going to tell the whole story of how you came into our lives. And I'm sorry if it took me all of 8 years to do so. But I'm sure you'll understand.

God laid out His plan on a clear Saturday afternoon, 96 full moons ago. Coming home from my graduate class that day, I saw your Lola Bebe---Dad and Mom's first cousin---watching TV with a scrawny lass about 15 years old . I smiled and nodded at them and went straight to my room and slept. Lola Bebe has grown familiar to this habit of mine, she being a frequent visitor.

Your mommy woke me for lunch. At the table, the girl was seated farthest from me. I looked at Lola Bebe and winked while pointing my lips at the girl. Lola Bebe smiled and said: "Si Tata, my working student." An intelligent Math teacher, Lola Bebe lives in Gamut, Barobo.

I had a class that afternoon and I was ironing my clothes (because I don't usually repeat what I wore in the morning) when Lola Bebe came up to me. She said Tata was pregnant (how and by whom the story was quite incredible to print here) and that she wanted Tata to stay with us until she was ready to give birth. The plan was to haul Tata somewhere after her stay with us.

I'm doing this, she said, because Tata's father would kill her if he knows about her condition. Her alibi to him was that she was bringing Tata to Tago to be the caregiver of Mommy Gly who was supposedly sick.

I told her we'd talk about it when I'm done ironing. At the executive sala I sat in front of Lola Bebe. Mommy Gly was watching TV. I had a feeling she already knew what Lola Bebe was about to tell me.

Hidden from us by a wall, Tata was sitting in the sala by the main door, alone.

Lola Bebe repeated her story. It was already apparent that you were up for adoption and that Lola Bebe wanted me to be your surrogate father. Alas! she didn't have the courage to ask me. Finding the responsibility of raising a child overwhelming, I played dumb. Then I told Lola Bebe I would call my officemate (who happens to be her husband's relative) who once told me that she wanted to adopt another baby and another one for her childless sister. The phone was busy. I tried again. The same. For five times that I dialed her number, her phone was busy.

(The same officemate would later tell me that she wasn't using her phone at the time I told her I called her and that her phone, which was always by her side, didn't even ring.)

I felt thirsty. On my way to the ref I looked at the girl sitting on a chair in the sala. On her lap was a tattered cloth bag the size of a short brown envelope. I knew that all her belongings and all her hopes were contained in that tiny bag. She looked at me and smiled in a way so awkward it pierced my heart and shattered my resolve. Until the day I die, I wiill never forget that smile. And in that very moment, I stood there transfixed, a vow forming in my head: Even with sights unseen, I will adopt your child!

Bugs, maybe I can tell you the rest of the story personally. What I want you to know is that you're luckier than all of us: While we didn't have that rare privilege of choosing our parents, you had God choosing your parents for you! That's our way of declaring our unconditional love for you.

I look forward to the day when I can share to you what happened inside my room on that rainy night when I talked to your biological mother who was to leave the day after, probably never to come back. God knows I cried buckets because I felt her helplessness of leaving you to us. But God will strike me dead if I didn't promise her that you will grow up knowing she's your biological mother, and that any time she can come back and make up for lost time with you.

Bugs, we love you no matter what. You know that, don't you? And here's our promise to you: Nothing's gonna harm you, not while we're around.

Love you much,

Daddy

how Tinuy-an Falls got its name (a repost)

For the longest time I never bothered to find out how Tinuy-an Falls got its name even if I was asked gazillion times by friends and acquaintances. Finally last year, I got to send a text message to Ms. Lorie Lim, the Tourism Officer of Bislig City, about it. She texted back with two versions.

The environs of Tinuy-an Falls according to the first version were once inhabited by datus who pysically and sexually abused the natives. Wanting to exact revenge, the natives planted impaled bamboo poles (known locally as suyak) under the fall's catchbasin before going up the next tier to lie in wait.

Days passed and no datus were on sight. Still the natives 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. The sparkling waters of Tinuy-an Falls turned crimson.

The natives fled but few meters away they realized they had nowhere to go because the datus' family would surely catch them. Fearing retribution, the natives ran back and 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 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).

To me, the second version sounds contrived because grammatically the falls should have been named "Tuyuon" rather than "Tinuy-an".

Tourists flocking to Tinuy-an Falls have two choices. You want blood and gore? It's version 1 for you. You want something that strains credulity? It's version 2 for you.

Whatever floats your boat!

The Immaculate Conception Parish of Tago will turn 100 years in 2013. And I heard that the exact date of the centenary is still being debated on because there are Catholics who think the date does not fall, as popularly believed, on the Feast of the Immaculate Conception which is December 8. Whatever. The point is, a celebration as big as this needs a blueprint as early as now.

The first thing to determine is the theme of the centennial. This is crucial because it serves as a hinge that holds all activities together. And not to forget, the theme must come from the parishioners themselves. In short, no need Sotto-fying (copying, that is!) grandiose themes from Google because they might not capture the essence of the celebration as intended by Tagon-on Catholics.

Also, make the theme simple but meaningful. And the best way to conceptualize a theme is through consensus building---and not through a contest, heavens forbid!---in a process that facilitates refinement. In short, it doesn’t have to be crafted in one sitting.

It is important to have the theme this early to use as promotional tool. With it, one can already print collaterals (pins, shirts, fans, etc.) to drumbeat the activity and create awareness long before the big event. In fact the parish can even earn money while promoting the activity by selling these items this coming fiesta.

For sure suggestions will come from all corners, it’s the parish’s cien anos after all. But lessons have been learned that more activities do not automatically translate to a more festive and meaningful celebration. Badly handled, they could even deny the celebration the focus it deserves. What I’m saying is: all suggested activities must be evaluated and approved in terms of how they contribute to the theme. If they don’t, then drop them no matter how high profile the activities are. Or even if they already have sponsors. Only after the activities shall have been identified will the working committees be composed. The committee size must be small, handling small concerns. This way, there’s no reason for committees not to do their tasks well.

An executive committee (ExCom) composed of committee chairs must also be constituted. In the remaining 100 days to the centennial, the ExCom must meet every Sunday after mass to discuss progress and problems. The next Sunday, chairs must give updates on the problems they shared the week before. This way, the ExCom can track progress and act on problems that are beyond the control of concerned committee chair to solve. The ExCom must also identify milestones, which is actually establishing timelines within which certain major targets must be accomplished.

Solicitations must capitalize on the number “100”. In the carro for example, ten Catholics may donate 100 pieces each of anthurium; another 10 for 100 pieces each of chrysanthemum; another ten for-----you get the point.

Because hymns are integral to religious celebrations, a choir composed of----yeah, you’re right----100 men, 100 women, and 100 children will occupy the loft above the main door. Nothing short of a symphony! A maestro must be engaged months before the big event to give ample time to master the pieces.

The cathedral being the focal point of the centennial celebration must be spruced up. However, and this is important, all facelifting and refurbishing jobs must be finished three months before the big day. September 8, 2013 to be exact. You see, there’s no point for Catholics to cover their noses from the smell of fresh paint while hearing the concelebrated mass of 100 priests on December 8, 2013.

Centennials are the most opportune time to educate people on their shared history and heritage. That said, a photo exhibit and other memorabilia must be mounted. To write the history of the parish one must do interviews and data gathering, and this should be done now. This history must form part of a souvenir program that could also be used for fund sourcing. Just make it a sort of a coffee table book to lend it class. If budget allows, a consultant may be hired.

Enchanted River of Hinatuan

Looking at the pictures of Enchanted River in countless Internet sites, one may scream Photoshopped! But such is the essence of Hinatuan’s most famous tourist spot: it’s too magical to be natural.

Cambatong, where Enchanted River is located, is steeped in oral tradition. And the lore of how the river got its mystical tint is not hard to believe. For who else could have created this bewitching palette of colors but the ethereal beings endowed with the powers of magic and enchantment? Legend has it that one firefly-lit night fairies floated above the river while elves watched from cliffs and banks. With their wands the fairies stirred the water, toyed with sapphire and jade, and made the tones fade and meld to achieve a shade of bluish green that now paints the bed of Enchanted River.

About 12 kilometers from highway junction, Enchanted River straddles the boundary of Talisay and Cambatong in Hinatuan, Surigao del Sur. Though some portions of the well-maintained dirt road are undulating, they don’t make the ride as bumpy and dusty like some tourists blogged it to be.

What lends credence to the name Enchanted River are these: fishermen swearing to seeing various fish but couldn’t catch any no matter how they tried--not by hand, spear, or net; fishwives laying their fish traps at dusk only to find them hanging on a branch the day after; a foreigner plunging into the visible riverbed and finding it unfathomable; a father and son seeing two long-haired, alabaster-skinned women bathing under a plump moon then vanishing in a swirl of fireflies; boatmen gaping at sunken boulders of twisted images that were there one day and gone the next. Also, there’s a cave farther away, just before the river flows out to Hinatuan Bay that faces the Pacific Ocean. Accessible by foot during low tide, it showcases limestone naturally carved as furniture sets and positioned as though Neptune were hosting a party for underwater denizens.

An added attraction when visiting Enchanted River happens at noon when the bell is rung and bathers are requested to get out of water for about an hour. As Hinatuan Hymn begins to play, groups of fish come out from nowhere like on cue and feed on food scraps the caretaker and tourists throw into the water. This feeding frenzy makes spinning tails and scales catch light, turning the natural pool into a liquid canvas of the magical and the fabulous.

Enchanted River’s old name was Libwak. It was the Father of Tourism himself, Modesto Farolan, who gave it its present name through a poem entitled “Rio Encantado”. (The same had been set to music by Francisco Rio.) Then pre-war manager of the Madrigal-owned Port Lamon Lumber Company that exported round timber, Farolan wrote it for Geminia, a local lass that was his inamorata. The poem is a romantic evocation of Enchanted River as an unspoiled, untouched, and undiscovered trysting cocoon for lovers. It talks of “crystalline stream flowing from hidden spring,” “rocky brims ‘mongst vines,” “orchids and ferns,” “canopy of rich green mirrored in water tinted blue,” and “purple gold lined with gems.”

Farolan’s Enchanted River may have changed over time but it enthralls just the same. While the turquoise riverbed remains unchanging beneath cool waters that sparkle like quicksilver, the environs have given way to some structures that others may find incongruous with the thematic concept of nature. Where cliffs used to be, the Local Government of Hinatuan has built concrete staircases to make it easy for tourists to bathe and swim. Few meters away from the bank that overlooks the river are some cottages that tourists can rent for P100. A wooden foot bridge on stilts leads to the terminal of outrigger boats that ferry tourists to the nearby Vanishing Island and beach resort for P150 an hour. For non-swimmers, there’s a kiddie and adult pool. Stalls offering various seafood at reasonable prices operate outside the cordoned area, just across the main gate.

Lifeguards are employed for safety precautions and life jackets are rented out at P100 each for whole day’s use. An entrance fee of P20 is collected.

Be forewarned: parking is difficult and staying overnight is not allowed.

Swimming in Enchanted River is like swimming in a Monet painting. And what makes it more bewitching is the element of dread attached to its stunning visuals. But for the brave-hearted, it’s plunging into the abyss that makes Enchanted River a surreal experience. And one wouldn’t know the feeling until he gives it a try!

(Note: this blogpost had been published by the Philippine Daily Inquirer on 29 September 2012. Here's the link: http://newsinfo.inquirer.net/279714/nature-spins-magic-in-enchanted-river )

Ms. Ann Corpuz-Alarde, great friend

Our recent trip to Manila was a shining testament to how kind friends could be. That said, this post is not an attempt at sycophancy; it’s an expression of gratitude.

Ms. Analyn Corpuz-Alarde practices generosity long before she got to where she’s now. In fact, generosity pulsates in her veins you think of getting her as blood donor should the need for transfusion present itself in the hope that the same streak of generosity rubs off on you.

I know Ann long enough to know she’s a woman of finer taste. So privileged to be born with it, she hones this flair further with non-stop reading, a passion we both share.

Since high school, I’ve been a grateful beneficiary of Ann’s generosity. One time, knowing I had an antiquated cellular phone, she sent me a Nokia with a camera. She’d sent me books, magazines, foodstuff. And yes, DVDs because movies are another passion we share.

I don’t see Ann often because she seldom goes home to Tago. And in rare times we swapped text messages, she would always tell me to see her should I find myself in Manila. Just to share a laugh, she would say. While I had so many chances, I never sought her because generosity, even if it’s good, is something that kills me.

The last time I met up with Ann was about 10 summers ago. Knowing I love theatre, she brought me to the comedy show of Rex Navarette at Music Museum in Greenhills. All tickets were sold-out that day, but she still managed to find ways to get some for us.



If not for Emily who arranged a trip to Manila for me and Dee via budget fare of Cebu Pacific last week, I wouldn’t have renewed ties with Ann. And when Ann knew our junket coincided with the Philippine-run of Phantom of the Opera, she got us tickets without being asked. That’s vintage Ann!

If you’re with Ann, you better had a tummy the size of Makati because she has this habit of making you taste and try everything. And dining, for Ann, follows no schedule, coming as it does in short intervals.

On Sunday, 26 August 2012, we were to watch Phantom of the Opera at CCP. Ann lives in Novaliches and since we had a tour of the Ayala Museum in the morning, we met at Greenbelt 5 at lunchtime.

Unknown to Ann, Emily and I agreed that she was to go home with Ann to Novaliches after lunch. I would join them at CCP later in the evening as I lived in Paranaque. But then Ann told Emily that she had already reserved a room at Makati Shangri-La so we wouldn’t have to go home and change. Whoa!

At P7,280.00 each, the Phantom of the Opera tickets that Ann got us were premium. So close was I---second row to be exact!--- that only an orchestra pit separated me from the stage. If you were that close, it’s easy to be overwhelmed by the unfolding scene and the fast changing set. And for this promdi, it was a hair-raising spectacle!

After the show, Ann bought us memorabilias--- a CD soundtrack and a white mug. Then off we went to Diamond Hotel for some midnight snacks. But the restaurant had already closed and so we repaired back to the Shang where Ann ordered room service.

The next day, Ann knocked to say we were having buffet breakfast at Circles where the array of food was both eclectic and plenty it could feed all residents of Tago in just one go!

We checked out carrying Makati Shangri-la mooncakes sheathed in magenta satin and etched with Chinese art and characters.

Because Ann knew we were meeting our high school batchmates in Serendra, she herded us to Bonifacio High Street, wanting to show us the place as it’s now the favourite watering hole of the stars. We had late lunch at Café Juanita where on the side, I tutored Ann’s sons on some things Tagon-on. Then with just a 30-minute interval, we had cake and tea at Chelsea. By the time I sipped the last drop of my chamomile tea, I was about ready to burst!

Ann is an extraordinary friend not because she has too much to share and spare. But because all these years she has remained child-like, that is: unassuming, soft-spoken, and effortless! But what really endears Ann to me is that she strikes me as someone who is oblivious of the good and wonderful things she does to her friends. And that, to me, spells the greatest difference!

To a great friend, Ms. Analyn Corpuz-Alarde, thank you very much.

Tago became a town three times: first in 1865 under the Maura Law of the Spanish Regime; second in 23 August 1883; and third in 6 November 1918 by virtue of Executive Order No. 41 signed by then Governor General Francis Burton Harrison. Now, if this written and oral history is something to go by, then there’s something wrong in the date we celebrate Araw ng Tago.

Recently we celebrated the 94th Araw ng Tago from 9 to 11 August. But where did “94” and “August 9-11” come from?

Let’s admit it, guys, we got it all wrong! And if it’s wrong, then we must correct it.

If I were to decide how old Tago is, logic dictates that I’d start counting from the day it was made into a town for the very first time, which was in 1865. That makes Tago not 94 years old but 147. But then again, I don’t have the month and date, so I’d rather not choose it as basis, unless I have no qualms about “doctoring” history by adding an arbitrary month and date.

Moving on to my next bet, 23 August 1883. If I adopt this as basis, at least the celebration will continue to be on the same month of August. I just have to change Tago’s age from 94 to 129 years.

I have to admit that in terms of strength of authority as basis, nothing beats 6 November 1918 because it is supported by an Executive Order. Apparently, the date of Governor General Harrison's EO was made the basis of Araw ng Tago celebration as it placed the age of Tago in 2012 as 94. But then again, why celebrate it two months and 25 days earlier?

There, my fellow Tagon-ons, lies an anomaly.

Since the watch of then Vice Mayor Roque “Nonon” Villamor I have been telling public officials to rectify the patent error but nobody has taken up the challenge.

Any celebration must have accurate basis. And as far as basis goes, nobody argues with history.

Res ipsa loquitor.

2nd Tago Skimboarding Competition

As prayed for, God gave the 2nd Tago Skimboarding Competition fine weather and great waves!

With sand art as backdrop, this year’s skimboarding competition was set off by a beach fashion show that featured six pairs of models carrying bright-colored skimboards and sashaying to David Guetta’s Sexy Chick. Wearing a matching outfit of bra-top and boy leg shorts donated by First Lady Tata Dolon-Pimentel, the girl models made hearts race with their flawless skin and svelte frame. On their part, the male models wowed the crowd with their ripped bods and washboard abs.

Graceful, multi-colored wind cones and flaglets made by First Lady Tata Dolon-Pimentel created the mood for the competition as they danced to the rhythm of the wind as though entreating the gods and goddesses of the sea for their support and mercy. When the first skimboarder met an onrushing wave, rode it, and performed tricks, the crowd roared with approval.

And thus began the 2nd Tago Skimboarding Competition!

This year’s board of judges was headed by a 34-year old professional skimboarder from Switzerland, Cedric Perreman. He was joined by two comebacking judges, Veni Vidi Vici Suarez and McFel Tutor. Attendance sheets showed that there were 35 adult and 14 grommet participants, some coming from as far as Cantilan and Surigao City.

Low tide being early that morning, the waves were well-formed, the better for skimboarders to impress the judges with their power moves, thus earn brownie points.

In between heats, the spectators had their pictures taken either at the sand art or on the photo booth that allowed them to appropriate the body of a well-built skimmer.

Lunch, as usual, was served at the residence of Engr. and Mrs. Nicolas C. Laurente with lechon as the main course. The judges and the skimboarders, like last year, had their fill of sumptuous food.



God being always good, He continued blessing the competition with an even better waves down to the last heat in the afternoon. This made one of the riders who had joined a lot of skimboarding competitions say, "Your waves here are great; they're worthy of national skimboarding competition!"

Before the awarding ceremonies, the skimboarders did some clean-up of the area, putting trash into a plastic bin. Some wind cones and flaglets were repositioned while boards were placed upright for added effect.

When dusk set in, lanterns were unleashed. As they reached for the sky, everybody said a little prayer of thanksgiving to God for being so merciful and kind.

This year’s winner in the adult category were: Jaygo Missiona, 1st Prize (10,000.00); Aldon Pamugas, 2nd Prize (7,000.00), and Jasor Ortiz, 3rd Prize (5,000.00). Special awards: Most Promising Skimboarder, Martin Vallescas (1,000.00); Best in Wipe-Out, Ronald Ancla (1,000.00); Best in Long-Ride, Aldon Pamugas (1,000.00).

This year’s winner in the grommet category were: Kenneth Castillo, 1st Prize (2,000.00); Rejohn Nahial, 2nd Prize (1,500.00), and Jevan Jimene, 3rd Prize (1,000.00).

Winners also received handpainted skimboard-inspired trophies made of narra that First Lady Tata Dolon-Pimentel designed and adopted herself. As consolation prizes for the adult category, a pair of boardshorts and drifit shirts were given to 21 skimboarders courtesy of First Lady Tata Dolon-Pimentel. Head judge Cedric Perreman offered to provide the same boardshorts and drifit shirts to non-winning grommet skimmers. (The category being an afterthought, no provision for non-winning grommet skimmers was made.) He also asked to be allowed to print the 2nd Tago Skimboarding Competition official shirt so he could give some to selected skimboarders.



The 2nd Tago Skimboarding Competition owed its success to the following donors, sponsors, and supporters: Hon. Johnny T. Pimentel (P20,000.00), Hon. Henrich M. Pimentel (P55,000.00), Hon. Nneka Marie P. Laurente (P3,000.00), Ms. Gracey Elizalde (P2,000.00), David Y. Patrimonio for the kilometric electrical wire, Ms. Maria Isabel Dolon-Insame, Ms. Maria Elena Dolon-Pimentel, Sr. Fidelisa J. Portillo, SPC, and the men and women of I-LOVE-TAGO Movement.

Carrascal's Bunting Contest

My closest friends know that if there’s one thing I want outlawed, it’s bunting! And so there was a sense of irony in my being picked as head judge of the Bunting Contest of Carrascal yesterday, 10 July 2012.

My team included budding painter Mr. Ryan S. Novo and former teacher and present Administrative Officer of PGO, Ms. Soledad V. Vaz. After being whisked by a silver gray Innova from Tandag to Carrascal, we were given the judging sheet. I asked Ms. Charlita Montenegro, the committee chair, if she had operational definition of the metrics that included Creativity (25%), Originality (20%), Aesthetic (30), Color Combination (15%), and Online Voting (10%). She said none. The judges being of different persuasions and backgrounds, I called for a huddle in an effort to arrive at a common understanding of the contest criteria. (We always do this in Tago and each time I'm engaged as contest judge.)

We defined the metrics this way: Creativity is the manner by which the participants handle and manage different materials to come up with a cohesive whole; Originality is the extent to which the participants innovate and shift from traditional bunting design as staple fiesta decoration; Aesthetic is the capacity of the overall design to trigger a positive effect on the visual sense of the judges; and Color Combination is the interplay of colors and hues, one that truly reflects the festive mood of the occasion. We factored in the Online Voting Results by using the weighted average method the result of which was added to the total individual scores of the participants. We used the rank system to pick the winners.

The three of us had different choices, in short, the decision was in no way unanimous. It was not even a majority decision because we had different bets for the grand prize winner. And just because as chair I was required to submit an anecdotal report of the contest, we deliberated on the result by sharing observations and insights.

One participant’s buntings were colorful and reflected a very festive mood but didn’t score high in originality as they were a tad too conventional. The buntings of another participant were the most colorful and the most festive, showing use of varied materials that came in different shapes and sizes. However, this “variety” was not controlled that the whole thing didn’t cohere aesthetically. The buntings also looked sparse. Another participant used a very common material but put a new spin to it and came up with a beautiful palette of colors. The buntings were so pliant that when the winds blew, the colors exploded, evoking a feeling of simplicity and ease. The buntings were tight and plenty they practically made the streets look like they had valances. Another one made creative use of eclectic materials to fashion different shapes that would form part of an intricate design. Though the color combination wasn’t as festive as that of other contestants, it was the participant’s way of exploiting the thematic concept and wrapping up the whole thing beautifully that made the entry a cut above the rest.

Looking at most of the materials (plastics and cellophanes most especially) reinforced my stand against buntings. But please banish all thoughts that I allowed my personal bias to get in the way because my choice of winner was not based on it. After all, that feature was not part of the criteria.

Let it be said that the buntings made the streets of Carrascal beautiful, so beautiful in fact that as we walked, we felt like footloose royalty. Kudos to the organizers!

Wait, did I say I got an honorarium worth about a month of gas for my Jazz?

Munching on Tikud Amo

Thanks mainly to Facebook, Surigao del Sur has finally gone mainstream as a three-in-one tourist destination. But there’s more to this sun-kissed province known as “Shangri-La by the Pacific” than its famous troika of Britania Islands, Enchanted River and Tinuy-an Falls.

One must not forget that Surigao del Sur is also famous for seafood that it’s even tagged as a place where crab is a delicacy, not a mentality. This feature now seems to take a back seat because budget tourists must go from one natural marvel to another on a single day.

Woe to them because they don’t know what they’re missing! Think not of crabs, prawns, lobsters and common shellfish as one can get them anytime, anywhere. Think instead of the exotic and rare tikud amo.

Literally monkey’s heel, tikud amo is not usually displayed in food counters of diners along the now-concreted highways of Surigao del Sur. Instead, it’s sold like contraband, served only when demanded by customers in-the-know.



Ivy Doguiles, owner of Erve’s Fastfood in Lianga, serves tasty tikud amo dishes whose secret recipes she inherited from her Lolo Moises, who had been preparing and eating this traditionally considered aphrodisiac long before it gained prominence at the turn of the new millennium.

Like her grandfather before her, Doguiles has three masterpieces—kinilaw, stewed and boiled tikud amo.

Tikud amo is a rock oyster with a calcified, rough and spiny shell. Its whitish-gray outer shell is connected to its pearly white inner shell by a thin black ligament so striking that it looks like it’s placed there purposely for effect. Inside, its soft and creamy tan body is configured to look exactly like a monkey’s heel, thus the allusion.

In her research titled, “Preliminary Study of Tikud Amo on its Potential as an Oyster Culture Species,” Gemma Asufre, a researcher from Surigao del Sur State University, wrote that, interestingly, tikud amo is unknown in the International Species Nomenclature Database.

Though it is observed to have similar characteristics as the widely cultivated oyster species such as the Cassostrea iredalei and C. edilus, the flesh of tikud amo differs in color and morphologic descriptions. Asufre thus concluded that it’s a new species as no information describing its biological features could be found.

By Surigao del Sur standard, tikud amo is expensive. A small serving costs P90; raw, it sells at P350 a kilo. Such is the price because tikud amo is not gathered in shallow waters but in Lianga Bay whose depth tests the endurance of one’s lungs and eardrums, Doguiles said.

And owing to the nature of this bivalve which attaches one shell to a solid surface and remains fixed in place, a diver does not chisel it off as it’s difficult and time-consuming; instead, he pries open the shell with a knife, collects the meat and swims back to surface before his lungs burst. (This also explains the rarity of the empty shell that usually comes bigger than a regular guyabano.) A diver has to plunge at least five times to amass a kilo of tikud amo.

According to Doguiles, in Lianga town, it’s not the number of tikud amo that’s endangered but the divers. Because it’s not always available, it’s easy to understand why one has to get lucky to have a taste of this cuisine said to trigger increased level of sex hormones.

Gourmands already addicted to this mollusk declare that its delicate, toothy texture doesn’t overwhelm the palate the wrong way. And the best way to eat it is to munch on and savor the salty liquor from parts that are chewy but not exceedingly chewy as tikud amo’s less tender relatives, the cuttlefish and the octopus. However, it’s the portion that is sweet, milky and crunchy that sets it apart from other staple seafood of its kind.

All three of Doguiles’ pièces de résistance have the same wonderful fusion of flavors heightened by some parts gummy and other parts crispy quality of the meat. And because common practice dictates that shellfish is best eaten raw, it’s her kinilaw that’s to-die-for.

Any gastronome will know from the get-go that Doguiles’ kinilaw is delectably different because she doesn’t use the traditional nipa palm vinegar for her marinade, though it has the usual condiments. While Doguiles would admit, if prodded, that she uses tuba, one could sense there’s more to her kinilaw than mere coconut wine.

When visiting Surigao del Sur, tourists with adventurous palates must include in their travel plan stopping over at Erve’s Fastfood where tikud amo fares are served plainly.

“I don’t bother so much about presentation. I just make sure I have the freshest tikud amo that I cook with little fuss, letting the flavor of the ingredients do all the work,” Doguiles said, aping the words of her lolo.

No monkey business there, just plain culinary truth.

*****
(This was published by the Philippine Daily Inquirer on 17 June 2012. Here's the link: http://newsinfo.inquirer.net/213719/munching-on-monkeys-heel. )

That expanse of vacant lot between the PUJ terminal and Tago Public Market has been, for the longest time now, a double whammy: It’s useless when it could’ve been an economic driver, one that could create wealth and jobs for the local government and its constituents; it’s also costly as the LGU must maintain it so it won’t become an eyesore, especially that it’s the first thing visitors see when they alight at the terminal.

Given the impending completion of Tago-Lapaz Bridge, the time has come for this stretch of prime lot to be converted into a business hub.

To do just that, I would divide the area into four quadrants that I would delineate with pathways, using the existing lane connecting Elizalde Street to Tago Public Market as reference point. Then in each of these quadrants, I would build a low, single storey arcade offering for lease back-to-back stalls with identical floor area. Because a certain part is still under legal dispute (the lot adjacent to Young’s residence), I would focus on areas along Falcon and Purisima Streets.

As for the terminal, I would choose between the existing and the unfinished one because aesthetically and cost-wise, it’s not good to have two. But I would make sure the surviving structure is the best located strategically and one that poses less hazard to commuters and pedestrians.

I often hear vacationing Tagon-ons express frustration over the area’s continued non-use when the same patch of land was once a bustling commercial center. I also often hear prospective investors express frustration over Tago’s lack of business spaces they can rent and do business in. One wants to put up a beauty parlor and as I write this, there’s not a single beauty parlor in Tago; another one wants to establish a refreshment parlor; while yet another, a funeral parlor!

Doing this landscape makeover, I could then cater to all these needs.

Much as I object, I often hear it said that business cannot---yes, that’s right, cannot!---thrive in Tago for a myriad of reasons, the severest being the very high cost of doing business, specifically permit and license fees. While this is true, it’s not irremediable. But Your Honor, that’s for another round of self-talk.

Tinuy-an Falls (a repost)

I come from Surigao del Sur, a province whose bosom has been meticulously designed by God to play host to numerous natural attractions, not least of which are beaches.

But I'm no beach person, and God is not called God if He doesn't know that not everybody likes beaches. So He made waterfalls so people like me can have something to write about.

I always have a special fascination for waterfalls, which makes everything easy to understand why God made sure I'd be born in Surigao del Sur. And I'm willing to bet my whole year's pittance of a pay that my province has the most number of waterfalls than any other province this side of the continent.

Let me tell you about my recent discovery---the Tinuy-an Falls in Bislig.

Late last year, the Provincial Tourism Office launched the Discovery Tour that included Tinuy-an Falls. I was not part of the camera-toting, tripod-dependent, paparazzi vest-clad group. I just happened to be at the right place at the right time. When the tourism group made a courtesy call on Mayor Paterno Guaza, I was having an audience with the latter. Upon seeing me, Lala Ambray, provincial tourism officer and a good friend, egged me to join them.

If Surigao del Sur were a globe, I live near the equator, while Tinuy-an Falls, which is in Bislig, is part of the South Pole. Thus, it was my first time to hear about it. And because I have an enduring love affair with nature, I joined the group, raring to add another name to my ever growing list of natural concubines.

From Bislig, Tinuy-an Falls can be accessed from two points: San Isidro-Bagnan and Mone. If you have a ride, it's best to take the Bagnan route because a one-lane, PICOP-maintained road leads you to that precise point where the waterfall joins the river. Otherwise, the Mone route becomes your best bet. By comparison, it's closer but you have to take a 15-minute walk after a PUJ ride.

A trip to Tinuy-an Falls right at the very heart of PICOP's concession area in Bislig can easily become a dream come true for wholesome thrill seekers, especially for the “I-want-to-commune-with-nature" type.

I've seen so many waterfalls, including the fabled "7 Waterfalls" of Lake Sebu. But Tinuy-an Falls inspires the kind of awe that makes one want to genuflect. Standing at a vantage point where the full length and breadth of the waterfalls looms ahead, it's easy to appreciate God's magnificent flair for creation. And that is why, to say that Tinuy-an Falls is simply breathtaking is to miss the whole thing altogether. Because Tinuy-an Falls is more than that!

Metaphoric of the province, Tinuy-an Falls is a surging cascade of sheer beauty in its rawest form. Painstakingly carved by nature, the three-tiered cascade gushes out mirror-like water that becomes a psychedelic canvass as it captures the blue skies, lush greens, and exotic blooms. But more than anything else, Tinuy-an Falls is a perfect sanctuary. The melodious tunes twitted by birds blend beautifully with the swish-swash of leaves and the soothing cascade of water.

Maybe God willed Tinuy-an Falls to be discovered so much so that He designed it in such a way that everybody may enjoy it. Children can do their thing in the lowermost tier where the water is only waist deep. Teens can take a dip in middle tier under thick foliage, while the adventurous may dare the rapids or simply wash their worries away in the uppermost tier.

The three tiers are bedecked with flat rock formations that are so well-arranged they might as well be the concert stage of angels and fairies. And if you plan to unseat Lady Di as the most photographed person on earth, Tinuy-an Falls is the best studio to consume all those rolls of film.

Let me inject a bit of history here. During the halcyon days of the early 80s, PICOP built a rest house nestled just a few inches away from a cliff, overlooking the falls. For countless times, top honchos of PICOP broke bread with their guests and visitors. But an ensuing insurgency problem made Tinuy-an Falls more like a pocket of dread rather than a soothing place of retreat. For a time, it became literally a part of a road less traveled by.

Fortunately today, thanks to an improving peace and order situation, Tinuy-an Falls is fast becoming the tourist destination it once was.

One caveat though: Tinuy-an Falls, at least for now, offers no amenities like cottages. You cannot buy anything there except time. You pay nothing except respect for nature. So bring enough provision. While you may find other nature trippers any time of the week, it's still best if you go in a group. Nothing sinister, only that Tinuy-an Fall's leitmotif of “anything goes" can be best enjoyed with a group. Unless, of course, you are the monastic type who badly needs the sound of silence to unlock the true meaning of your existence.

If you decide to visit one day soon, have the biggest pack on your back. You might not have enough of it and may want to make it your second home. Not a bad idea, actually. But not for me! Because you see, next to waterfalls, I happen to love movies. But that's completely another story.


(The Philippine Daily Inquirer printed this on 2 August 1997. I cringe looking at the suffusion of adjectives and cliches, but hey, it was my first published article!

Note: Disregard the caveat because it's no longer true.)

what would i do if i were to upgrade the tago town plaza

The greatest strength of Tago town plaza is its design: sprawling with impeccable symmetry. Thus, to improve it is to respect this very element that makes it a park that’s a cut above the rest. And to do that, some structures have to be uprooted and others relocated.

Pagoda must go. No ifs, no buts. Without any historical relevance whatsoever, the Pagoda has become a canvas for vandals and a convenient comfort room for the uncivilized. From years of deterioration and neglect, it is reduced to an eyesore.

Same goes for the Kiosk. That it sticks out like a sore thumb is not its greatest crime; it is its forfeiture of an old pathway that is! By closing that passage to traffic and ruining symmetry, the Kiosk has to be demolished.

The Veteran Marker must be relocated. While we recognize the memorial’s importance, it doesn’t have to be where it’s at right now. Surely there must be a place in Tago that is historically appropriate for this marker.

As centerpiece, the rotunda must be given a make-over with Jose Rizal as the focal point, standing tall on a pedestal facing the town hall. A water filament may be fitted on the pedestal that is an architectural delight in itself so that even if the water filament stops or is not working, the pedestal can still fascinate on its own. (This is why I dislike fountains because maintaining them is next to impossible and once they stop working, they become eyesores. Dare: If you can show me a fountain that works 24/7, you’ll have my brains. But that’s assuming I have one.)

The rotunda may be done in cobblestone, in a pattern that replicates ripples. Brick benches will replace those scattered around the rotunda and other parts of the plaza. Instead of gaudy lamps other cities and towns are using unabashedly, humungous lamps on antique posts will be placed strategically to achieve the desired rustic effect. Think Vigan!

In place of Pagoda, a huge cobblestone pathway leading to rotunda will be built, with brick benches and flower beds on both sides.

What the plaza lacks is a community stage, something better structured and situated than the Kiosk. To address this, the tennis and basketball courts should be moved parallel to each other toward the center path, after all this southern portion of the park will get bigger by the uprooting of Rizal and the Kiosk. But first off, the pathway from Rizal to Garcia Street must be restored to facilitate human traffic and symmetry.

The stage shall be built along Garcia Street, on the area where the tennis back-stop now stands. For symmetry, on the basketball court side parallel to the stage, a multi-rung bleacher shall be built. These two courts shall be framed by bleachers facing each other to facilitate viewing.

The see-saws and the slide shall be repaired and restored to their original shape. The swings shall be relocated to areas where their use shall be maximized without sacrificing symmetry. The two posts fronting the Catholic Church shall be spruced up with wrought iron and unique but conservative lamps.

Existing old flowers and palmeras shall be uprooted and replaced with newer, nicer, and easier to maintain species. Floral beds and vignettes shall be established in strategic locations to serve as focal points. Existing trees shall be pruned to make them taller, thus providing a better view of the heavens.

While the plaza’s area is big, certain parts are not maximized, especially that stretch from the corner of Dr. Garcia’s residence to the corner of Hall of Justice. Ironically, this is where people usually stay in the afternoon and at night. But as it is, people just sit on a small ledge by the drainage canal which is both unsanitary and hazardous. To make them better places to hang out in, back-to-back long benches shall be placed, especially in the area fronting the Church where people wait for requiem mass to end. But again, this must be done with symmetry in mind.

As I said, one of the greatest strengths of Tago town plaza is its sprawling nature. And the only way to highlight this feature is to make our plaza free from visual obstruction to provide an uncompromising view of all corners. Other than Jose Rizal standing tall, everything else should be structurally flat. Think Luneta!

I want the plaza to have no wires crisscrossing the skies, no ungrammatical billboards, streamers, and tarpaulins hanging loose. I want the plaza's streets to be rid of old, unserviceable heavy equipment and other vehicles of government. I want the plaza to have nothing but space---a huge space!---with a scattering of lamps, posts, and benches to exude an old world charm.

The road from the Church to the PNP station will set the delineation of the park, that is, the southern part is for sports and recreation, while the northern part is for hanging out and passing time.

Lastly, I would keep the plaza well manicured and clean. Always!

1st Tago Diving Competition

I’ve been hearing from Iyo David that on any given day, swimmers, all in the name of fun, jump from Tago-Lapaz bridge into the wavy waters of Tago River. Mayor Pimentel had validated this when he and Congressman Pichay went there recently to see the extent of bridge completion. All these had led to my holding a back-to-back kite flying and diving contest on 19 May 2012 at Iran, under the auspices of I-LOVE-TAGO Movement.

The day before, I went up the Tago-Lapaz bridge to do a last minute check on the venue when swimmers in various stages of undress came up to me to ask me to hold a diving competition. Clueless, I asked them to agree among themselves what categories to compete in, how the contest would be judged, and winners picked.

As they say, those who play the game should make the rules, and so I asked them.

“An una, kon sinoy pinakalami na trick,” suggested one whose dark skin glistened.

“What does ‘trick’ exactly mean?” I asked.

“Yaon mag eksibiksyon gud paglakso; yaon mag tinambling-tambling ba.”

Okay, I got it. What else?

“Yaon tigsub,” said another from behind.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“Yaon pag tigsub niya way kisaw nan tubig, kibale ba, kon basketball pa, way bukog.”

Okay, I got it. What else?

”Yaon pinabuto,” said another.

“And how do you do that?” I asked.

“Yaon paglakso ba na mubuto an tubig tapos mo ulbo.”

Okay, I got that, too.

Each of the 15 contestants performed the trick, the tigsub, and the pabuto amidst cheers from the crowd who watched the extravaganza with bated breath.

The two policemen---SPO4 Serra and Sullano---picked the following winners and awarded them with cash prizes: Ryan Balmis for Best in Tricks; Samuel Bautista for Best in Tigsub; and Ner Dy for Best in Pabuto.

Because it was fun, there's a plan to make this event a regular summer feature of I-LOVE-TAGO Movement.

1st Tago Tabanog Fest

The 1st Tago Tabanog Festival soared to unexpected heights with a total of 26 participants four of whom were women. The youngest participant was four years old while the oldest was 28. It was estimated that close to 400 Tagon-ons went up the Tago-Lapaz Bridge to witness another first of its kind from I-LOVE-TAGO Movement (ILTM).

The kite flying contest was for flat, conventional type. But surprisingly, the kites still charmed, coming as they did in different shapes, colors, and sizes. The organizers picked the major winners using the following criteria: Design (including Artistry [15%] and Uniqueness [15%]) 30%; Ease of Flight or Take-off (35%); and Gracefulness (35%). Minor awards were given to Intutan (smallest), Badinga (biggest), and Kinahimaya (crowd favorite). The winners were: Kahlil Dominique Amindalan, Grand Prize (2,000); Val Laurente, 2nd Prize (1,500); Nilo Gallardo and Ariele Nicole Amindalan, 3rd Prize (1,000). The smallest kite was flown by Brian Mark Cabadonga (500); the biggest by Val Laurente (500); and the crowd pleaser by Mark Pontevedra (500).

In order not to confuse the judges and to facilitate ease in judging the contest, the participants were made to fly their kites in batches of five. And when finally all 26 kites were flown simultaneously, the crowd roared with approval and clapped their hands. As kites dotted the clear blue skies of Tago, people looked up and stared in amazement as kites danced to the rhythm of the wind.

To sum it up in four words: it was a success!



I-LOVE-TAGO Movement is indebted to PNP personnel for crowd control and if not for them, the contest would not have been conducted orderly. ILTM is also grateful to Ms. Gracey Elizalde of Singapore for donating a cash prize and to Ms. Bingbing Dagaang and her brother who provided assistance without counting the cost. And most importantly, ILTM owed much support from Mayor Henrich Pimentel for allowing the PNP personnel to be at the venue and for helping promote the activity via local radio and tv stations.

During the awarding that TV6 covered, it was announced that next year’s Tabanog Fest will be bigger as it will have the flat and the figure kite categories and that a training for figure kite will be conducted in preparation for the big event.



After prizes were given, the instant diving competition ensued. But that's completely another story and another blogpost.

USC, my USC

I hied-off to Cebu solo over the weekend with no agenda except to cross-out an entry in my 2012 Bucket List. I stayed in a nice pension house located at corner R. Landon and Pedro Cui streets, just a 5-minute brisk walk from USC and my former boarding house at Junquera Extension.

Early Sunday morning saw me walking to my alma mater. I took the Cebu Christian School route, the same route I took on foot in college every time my allowance ran low.

The main gate of USC was closed, it was Sunday after all. The adjacent door for visitors, however, was open and I saw two guards resting their heads on the table, sleeping.

On the wall was a marker: USC’s history in a capsule. Because it wasn’t there during our time, I read the scribbling and held my tongue. I would be too much of an ingrate if I lashed out at my alma mater on slips in grammar and punctuation.

I knocked. The guards, as if on cue, looked at me.

“Do you accept visitors?” I asked.

“No, Sir, we don’t. You may come back tomorrow,” said one in the vernacular.

“What if I buy you breakfast?” I said, smiling.

“Thanks, but no.”

“Okay. What if I give you a land title for a hectare in the hinterlands of Mindanao?”

“It’s still a no, Sir.”

“You know what?” I said, “I graduated from this school and it’s my first time to come here after 26 years. All I want is a go-see if things have changed and maybe take a photo or two.”

He looked at his companion who said, “But you can come back tomorrow, Sir.”

“You see, I’m having my raft done and tomorrow morning I’ll be sailing the rough seas to Surigao. Is that too hard a request from an old man to grant? ”

Wait, did I say “old?”

But that must’ve done it because the guard said, Okay, three shots tops!

I posed. He flashed. All at the lobby.

After thanking the guards, I walked to the corner where the old Catholic Trade once stood and had my breakfast of corned beef and caked yolk on an egg-shaped plate that rotated when I raked in my food.

(Note: I requested a pedestrian to take this photo.)

2012 PSAA HOMECOMING: well done!

The 2012 PSAA Homecoming roared with sounds from the 60s and the 80s, thus facilitating a bittersweet trip down memory lane for the golden (Class '62) and silver (Class '87) jubilarians. But as the night wore on, the musical evolution peaked with Lady Gaga's Edge of Glory and Adele's Rolling in the Deep, making the youngblood dance like there was no tomorrow.

Though it started quite late, the program was short. Alumni sang the hymns of St. Paul and Purisima School and honored the jubilarians with certificates of appreciation, commemorative pens and mugs, and tribute videos. A certificate of appreciation was also given to board passer alumni as they brought honor and prestige to Purisima School, especially Engr. James P. Lacia who, after graduating cum laude at UP-Los Banos, placed 7th in the 2011 board examination for civil engineers.

The tribute video for the golden jubilarians was specially affecting because it brought Purisimians back to what was Purisima School like in the 60s and how it was to study in the SPC-run Catholic school in those years. In their nostalgia-steeped responses, Silver Jubilarian Salome A. Herrera-Villaruel and Golden Jubilarian Hermenegildo P. Pimentel Jr. both expressed their gratitude to Purisima School and to the Sisters of St. Paul of Chartres for instilling in them the core values that to this day have guided them to become better persons. Pimentel shared how their batch heaped honor on Purisima School when it ranked first in Surigao del Sur in that year's National Test through their valedictorian Rufina G. Luna (RIP). He added that another batchmate, Pedro L. Cejoco Jr., got perfect in Physics, an unprecedented feat at that time.

This year's homecoming was made livelier by a Davao-based band that the golden jubilarians made possible through Mr. Aldrin Montero. Mayor Henrich M. Pimentel, himself a semi-Purisimian, provided a new drum set that he and his "crew" personally set-up.Kudos to Ms. Salome A. Herrera-Villaruel, PSAA president, who prodded on despite the non-support of most PSAA officers. It was her perseverance and patience that rewarded her with what Purisimians considered as the best homecoming ever.

a specter of death in tago

There’s a specter of death in Tago. And everybody believes it’s all because a tagkaro has been tweeting a death knell for almost a month now.Whether tagkaro is crow or raven in English, the fact remains: it’s a messenger of Death.

According to old folks, when a tagkaro makes a sound, someone’s going to die.In DREAMS, my short story published by the Philippine Free Press, I wrote about omens, thus: "And so it was with relief when Anna learned much later that every death in the island village of Kinabutan involved a premonition--- a black butterfly; the scent of candles; the accidental breaking of a plate or a glass; a dog baying in the dead of night; someone dreaming of a wedding, or falling teeth, or riding a boat; amimispis murmuring in the dark corner of the house; even the passing of clouds over a crescent moon."

At a time when you seldom see birds dotting the Tago skyline, it makes you wonder where this tagkaro comes from, why it sounds at dusk, how much is its quota, what is its process of selection.Iyo Acoy and Longlong Bagohin left for Manila after the tagkaro has already claimed at least 15 lives in Tago alone. When 'Yo Coy and Longlong died in Manila, my friends sent me a text message if I had heard the tagkaro sing a requiem in some metallic corner of MOA or a grassy space in Serendra. Perhaps it did, but I must have missed it as I was busy flipping over the price tags amidst the frenzy of a mall-wide, midnight sale.

Somebody had suggested, just to end this scourge, to launch a bird-hunt, a sort of “To Kill A Tagkaro”! But then an old man said that it’s all for our own good to do otherwise.“Don’t even dare shoo the tagkaro away because if you do that, it will multiply. And if it happens and they launch into a symphony, may God have mercy on Tago!”And so what is there to do? Let’s just pray, he said, that soon it will go away on its own.Makes you wonder if the tagkaro is a pet let loose by firms offering funeral services. In which case, it makes you wish for a bird-flu outbreak.

(Note: Photo stolen from the Net)

where have all the fish(es) gone?

We were eating cassava pudding at Japan’s this afternoon when Duchess popped this question: Where have all the fish(es) gone?

"Huh?" I wanted to say, but then I realized it’s more than two weeks now that I haven’t eaten fish because the ones being peddled in Tago are either tamban or bolinao.

Since Tandag market rose from its ashes, I seldom go there because parking is hard. And somebody who does the marketing for me almost always buys meat because she says the fish is “not your type.”

Duchess says the fish available is always bariles which, they say, comes frozen all the way from Cotabato. If you get lucky, you can buy danggit, but only in rare times.

A mole told us that lapu-lapu, ahaan, liplipan, etc are sorted and reserved for buyers fom Butuan and Davao and hotel and resto owners in Tandag. Unless you have the moolah to outbid these buyers, you have to content yourself with what a favorite author terms as “remnants of remainders.”

For Surigao del Sur that brands itself as Caraga's seafood capital, this is bad.

oracion is back in tago

When Fr. Apolinar L. Orozco was assigned in Tago shortly after the death of Fr. Cesar Reyes, the first thing he did was to bring back the oracion. And this simple act of ringing the church bell at exactly 6 o'çlock in the évening gives Tagon-ons a sense of deja vu.

Suddenly I was a kid back in the 70s.

Be home before the oracion or there will be hell to pay, our father would say. Thus when oracion found us still playing in school or at the plaza, fear gripped us. But oracion means other things to other people: for Catholics, it's a cue to say the Angelus, then the Rosary; for Protestants like us, it's a signal to set the table ready for dinner; for nocturnal creatures, it's a hint to dust and spread their wings and fly.

For the longest time, no Tagon-on had heard the pealing of the church bell at dusk. Not until Fr. Apol became the cura paroko of Tago.

While our oracion signal came from a century-old bell, today's oracion is announced by a recording of bells clanging, followed by another recording of people praying the Angelus.

Bugsy had better be home before the oracion or there would be hell to pay.


(The beautiful photo of the Immaculate Conception Church of Tago is by Ange Bersabal.)

things our parents scared us with when we were kids

It's the 70s and you still don't know that 40 years later you'd be holding a sleek gadget no bigger than a cigarette pack which enables you, among other things, to connect to people all over the world and record a private act that might just turn into a sex scandal, giving you a ticket to fame or infamy.

Yes, I digress.

It’s the 70s and you still don’t know what techno-based fear is and the panic it creates every time you forget to bring your phone or your memory stick, or you realize your laptop is about to run empty in the middle of a presentation, at a place that suffers from a power outage.

Again, I digress.

It’s the 70s and your fears are real. Which is to say, scary.

When you don’t feel like taking dinner because you’re still full or you don’t like the viand, what does your mother tell you?

”Don’t you know that when you go to bed without eating, your soul will leave your body to look for food? Now, imagine what will happen if an envious cat pushes the lid back to its place and traps your soul inside the kettle where it is eating?”

Shivers!

After force-feeding you daily for months with multi-vitamins and still you remain no fatter than a string bean, your mother finally knows why: you’ve been hosting in your scalp and hair wingless insects that feed exclusively on your blood!

When this happens, it’s “goodbye playing with friends; hello nit picking with mother.” There’s no torture more brutal than having your mother make you sit still and hang your head low as she rids your scalp and hair with obligate ectoparasite while your friends play outside, their laughter ringing in your ear.

You complain. You throw a tantrum. You cry. But what does your mother tell you?

“Okay, you can go out and play. Just be ready because the lice in your head might fly and carry you to Mancagangi.”

Shivers!

No matter the repeated reprimands and reminders, there are times that you still go home after the church bell has rung the oracion. This time it’s your father: Pray the m---s won’t catch you because if they do, then may God have mercy on your soul.

Then he launches on to this story: Imelda Marcos needs thousands of kids as peace offering to the sea god because her pet project, the San Juanico Bridge, has caused the fortuitous death of the queen mermaid when a drill hit her in the navel. Imelda is given a deadline to do atonement else she would grow scales and become Dyesebel. It is said that she's so desperate she hires a good number of m---s to go all over the Philippines to kidnap kids.

Shivers!

(More next time.)

Tago of yore

Piecing together the Tago of old is quite easy to me because I’m fond of talking to old people and asking them questions. Their memory may not be infallible, still there’s a lot to be gained from their recollections.

I have two wonderful sources of factoids about Tago of yore: Iyo Hindu Montenegro and Iya Dading Bautista.

I love it when I see Iyo Hindu sitting by his lonesome on a bench by our corner where Luna and Laurente Streets intersect. And I love it more when ‘Yo Hindu never seems to tire answering my questions about crabbing, a craft he had perfected long before his family-imposed retirement few summers ago.

I also love going to church every Sunday because I know that after the church service, when we all repair to the shed, Iya Dading will be sharing some trivia about Tago. Last Sunday I learned two things from her: That Tago River used to teem with crocodiles and that the whole stretch of Baybay was a nesting ground for tortoises.

“Did the crocodiles claim some victims?” I said.

“You mean eaten?” 'Ya Dading said, then shook her head. “But there was one fisherman from Poro whose leg got chomped off.”

I don’t know if it was part of Tago’s urband legend but when I was a kid Papa told us how Iyo Suelo Curada (then our neighbor) once wrestled with a crocodile entrapped by his bobo.

Knowing that in the past Tagon-ons mainly used riverine transportation, I asked how then did they travel safely. By making sure we don’t paddle near where sampinit and bakhaw abound because that is where crocodiles lie in wait, she said. Also by bringing big stones ready for use when the need arises, she added.

How?

She explained: When the water is very still, it’s likely that a crocodile would surface, its corrugated back floating like a giant peel of sour sop. And when this happened, she’d be quick to put stones in her hands, submerge them into the water and clang the stones like a cymbalist. This would create an underwater noise so disconcerting a crocodile has no choice but to flee.

I’m sure Discovery and National Geographic Channel had featured this, but this I learned last Sunday from ‘Ya Dading. She said that when the crocodile eggs are hatched, the baby crocs would run from the shore to the water where the mother crocodile is waiting with its mouth wide open. Nature wills it that most of these baby Lacostes will be eaten alive by their mom.

Why?

“Just imagine what will happen to us if all these baby crocs survive,” she said. Stupid me for forgetting some lessons in Ecology!

“But what annihilated the crocs in Tago?” I asked her.

“Dynamite fishing,” she said.

"Did you know that our Baybay was a nesting ground for tortoise?" she segued. At certain time of the year long before I was born, Tagon-ons would watch hundreds of newly hatched tortoises inch their way to the salty waters. Despite the order of then Mayor Acevedo to stop poaching tortoise eggs, Tagon-ons continued the practice, driving the land-dwelling reptiles to migrate to more friendly environment.

When I was in Grade Six, I remember our class running to Baybay because somebody caught a huge tortoise. I’m not sure now, but I think it was brought to the house of ‘Yo Kikoy Acevedo and put inside a large container of rusting iron half-filled with water.

Knowing the contribution of “Lolong” in boosting tourism in Agusan del Sur, I can’t help feeling sad for Tago.


****
(photo filched from the Net)

Do you remember the time when kids were kids?

Did you notice that parents now no longer use baby talk to their kids? And did you also notice that parents now keep track of their children’s growth by knowing how adept they have become at using their laptops or their touch screen cellphones with Android power and Swype feature?


Our parents had it differently then. When they wanted us to chew on something, it was “nam-nam”; when they wanted us to swallow something, it was “ma-mam”. When our bladder was full, it was time to “wi-wi”; when our ass was full, it was time to “u-uuu”. And do you still remember how hard it was for our parents to make us “u-uuu” by resorting to onomatopoeia to “pump-prime” shit? Sometimes it took us too long that our parents would start spreading their necks like cobras and turning red like diyoy.


A digression: According to psychologists, this baby-talk would oftentimes lead to children developing late their communication skills. I don’t know. All I know is I had childhood friends who couldn’t produce the right sound of words even if we were already in elementary. And because there were no speech therapists then, my friends were made to eat the vagina of sows just so they (my friends, not the sows) could articulate words correctly.


Moving on: Do you still remember the time when our parents would make us stand erect as they chalk-marked our height on the wall? And do you still remember the time when entering first grade required no tests on letters, numbers, shapes and colors, just the ability to touch your left ear with your right hand wrapped over your head?

Nowadays it’s the children who speak in tongues to baffle their parents. No, I’m not talking about words like erpat and ermat morphing into tapre and tamre. Nor I am talking about tsula, the new term for kiss and orimos, the new term for having sex. Rather I’m talking about words that are coined with the intention to mislead and deceive.

As for deception, our parents had it differently then. Remember the time when our parents didn’t want us to know what they were talking by resorting to speaking in English or spelling the words? Consider the following scene.

Father (upon seeing Mother come out of the room): Mupanaw kaw?
Mother (quickly pointing her lips at you as you played with your sarsa on the floor): Careful, the little boy is listening. (Then nods at your Father.)
Father: Where to?
Mother: T.A.N.D.A.G.

Poor you! Because there was no cable TV then to teach you English or how to spell before you entered Grade One, you were clueless that a classified information had been exchanged right under your nose.

Now you remember.


*****
(photo: stolen from the Net)

My 2012 Bucket List

I'm not good at keeping New Year resolutions; and anything I'm not good at I abandon. What I'm into now is doing a Bucket List.

The Urban Dictionary says that a Bucket List is a list of things to do or visit before you die. Some say it comes from the term "kick the bucket" (a euphemism for dying) while others say that it must have come from the Rob Reiner movie called "The Bucket List" in which two terminally ill men (Morgan Freeman and Jack Nicholson) went on a road trip to do the things they wanted to do before they died. Over time though, a "Bucket List" has come to mean a list of things you want to do or places you want to visit. Period.

My 2012 Bucket List, in no particular order, includes the following:



1. The Ayala Museum. The fact that it is the most important private museum in the Philippines, showcasing a number of exhibits that cannot be found elsewhere in the country, makes it a “must-visit” for me.



2. Corregidor. Of course we all know that Corregidor is famous the world over for its role in war and history. An island day tour to this three-mile long rock island remarkably shaped like a tadpole at the entrance of Manila Bay must be worth it!



3. Intramuros. I simply have to visit again this historic Walled City via Carlos Celdran's Walk This Way Tour. I have a hidden agendum: I want to see how Carlos Celdran does this world famous act of his because I want to do it (the walk-tour) in Tago, that is, after I’m done with mental reconstruction of our hometown of yore. You know, like where the Japanese garrison was located, where POWs committed mass suicide, where the Yamashita treasure was allegedly buried, where the Dutch priest hanged himself, etc.



4. University of San Carlos. Just to see how far has it succumbed to the lures of commercialism.



5. Watching a play at Resorts World Manila. No explanation needed.

6. Laswitan, Cortes, SDS. Been hearing how beautiful this place is. That this natural marvel is just a few kilometers from where I sit right now makes it easy to visit.

7. Holding a Summer Class for Basic Writing and Public Speaking. I need to do this to do Items 1 to 5.

Caveat to stalkers: If you see somebody wearing aviator shades with highlight on his hair in any of the six places mentioned above, it's not me!