Damé
She will be missed. Certainly.
Damé (read "dam" with a goat's mee) left us almost 5 years ago. But she is missed and will always be. She was a charming stocky woman of humble height and complexion as brown as her garden soil. Her legs would arc like bows pressured against the ground. She had that noticeably black thick hair that would unfurl into a wavy length reaching her shoulders. She had finely-drawn pencil brows above her dark deep eyes that would give you an inch of fear in a single look. And who would ever forget her faved fashion - stripes and tucked in just above the belly? Damé wasn't really a charming woman, but she was my fifth grade teacher.
But this is not how I remembered my "maestra". There were much more to those thick dark lips.
There is more to those casual pinches she gave us. There is much more intimacy in what my "maestra" taught me than any other teacher I have ever had. Frankly, it wasn't the high grades either. She taught me how to be a better person - but never better than how she was.
The elementary years shouldn't be this reminiscing. I loved the sunshine as everyday our "maestra" would distribute the hoes and water containers and shovels to everyone and in her usual mumblings, "Get out of the room and into the garden!" We'd rush to it and side by side tackle the morning tending our Group gardens. You see, Damé loves to plant peanuts and tomatoes and eggplants. She would roam around pinching at every child she sees doing less. I wasn't the teacher's pet but I would always find my "maestra" standing beside me murmuring things sometimes I couldn't understand and sometimes I just don't wanna listen. I might be her favorite receiver as she broadcasts her witty remarks that would cover from Politics to Celebrities. I'd listen, or perhaps, I was just forced to listen.
One morning, she had us to another routine gardening. We were planning to plant peanuts that time and the garden is being prepared. It was like holiday that day and only a handful of us were present. I was over-eager that time as I loved peanuts. With my hands I scooped a handful of half-moist soil and sprinkle it back gently silting out dry roots with my fingers. Damé gave a frown as she looked at me with soil in hands. "That isn't done like that. You see, plants are like people, they wouldn't want spurs in their mouth." Then as if like a master of her own craft, she gently scooped a good amount of soil and using her fat fingers, gently silted the sand. As if good pupils, we found ourselves mesmerized by her skills and we soon found ourselves listening and watching each of her words. You see, it was special that day. We were few and our "maestra" is giving us the best times of our lives. Certainly, she wasn't a terror after all. She was famous for being one. Maybe it was just that because she was holding 40 students and it's more than what she can deal with? I had more questions afterwards.
She was teaching Filipino language to us. In fact, she was supposed to teach nationalism but she always ends up teaching more to character. I hate sermons so do everyone. When she's busy on the board writing, we would make fun of her. But she had a keen sense and she'll get down to her favorite pinchbag Arnold. "Ouch!", Arnold would say with one eye winked and tongue out. Damé wasn't very sensitive anyway. It was 1986 that time and the EDSA revolution was on the radio. We live far from Manila so we never mind about it. But our "maestra" was better than our other teachers, she said,"How about 10 points for telling us about EDSA?" She's giving it all away so I gladly raised my hand to volunteer. "Ma'am, Cory and Ramos are now hiding at Kamprame!" Of course I just overheard it from a radio on my way to school that afternoon. 5 years later I would know it to be "Camp Crame". But Damé did not say anything. She might have thought that those things never interest us. Or maybe she thought that that was enough to interest us? She was right twice.
The elementary was over and soon I found myself going back to her. But this is different. She already retired from teaching and I was a budding Education student. She was not my inspiration. I was sent to her house to help on cleaning things up. Being a faithful student, I helped her tidy things up. Sorting our her cabinet, I discovered that my old "maestra" had skeletons in her closet. Not really. She had the most complete Comic collection ranging from the time when comic books were published in only three colors. She had American Comics (novels only, no Capt.America) and Filipino Comics. I was a comic collector and so I was greatly impressed. Would you gladly give me some? "You can borrow them but you have to return everything." she answered. Smiles were drawn on my face. I love the wretched hag! After leaving with a carton full of reading goodies, she called out, "Can you let me borrow that Spanish dictionary of yours?" "Certainly ma'am," as I realized I was holding that dictionary which is a Christmas gift from a friend. "Why? What will you do with it?" I asked earnestly. "Sometimes, I have to review my past." she replied with a charm in her smile.
Five years later, I had to go to the Funeral Parlor. She died of colon cancer. The terror "maestra" left in her 70's. But she will be missed. Questions in my mind came like balloons popping as I finally realize what things I much have missed from her. What did she really taught us? Oh yes, peanuts don't like soft soil, ants would eat their way to the peanuts' seeds. People don't like soft words, they eat your heart out blindingly. Comic books tell stories, keep them faithfully. Sometimes people have secrets worth keeping and better left untold. There are still more to the woman I should have learned.
Looking into my life, I find myself walking into steps she had made before me. I was merely fitting my soles into these hollow engraves on the sands of time. I am now a "maestro" and I don't know if I bring terror into the eyes of my pupils. I can't say if my pupils listen to what I speak and mumble about. I can't tell if I was inspiring them something. These I don't know. But do they know about my valued comic collections in my closet? Do they know about my hidden interests in fish hobbying and blogging? Do they know that I was proficient in Spanish once? Certainly not.
Ma'am Damé, now I know how it was. Certainly you will be missed.
arzakem posted at 7:36:00 PM
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Saturday, August 20, 2005
"Life gets Sweeter (and it's vein-deep)."
So what has changed? No nothing, no vows, no promises, no diet rules, no exercises, no nothing. Somehow, I just got well from bed after a three-day struggle with what I believed to be complications. But I don't want to start this page with the uneasy sureness I just declared - that what kicked me down was really a diabetes complication.
I had always been allergic to temperature changes, pressure, and discomfort. I had always known that to be inherent to me way back since last month when I took the FBS test (Fasting Blood Sugar they say) with a rocketing 400 blood sugar level. Huh, that's great, I'm diabetic, I thought for a while. It was raining that time, so I had to get the result from a clinic downtown with great effort as I have to cross an alley while getting wet at the same time. Does the weather know that I'd be shock with my results and its delaying my knowing of it? Funny.
I remembered, back in 1996, it was my first year of work. I just graduated college and I'm starting the independent life. The first quarter year of my work was great. But the next months started my self-coined "suffericious" days of living. And I wanted to note that in "days" as opposed to "months" because it had been too frequent. My allergic attacks started and almost every week I had to ask my Supervisor to allow me to go home as I wanted to lay down at home and rest. She'll look at me with perhaps pitiful eyes as she examines my Uticaria Hives growing all over my visible skin (and more inside). The she'll say "Go Home!". Hospitals won't cure me, I always believe it. Public Hospitals in our region here in the Philippines are not places for resting but I believe to be places to catch each one's contagious diseases. I just don't want to spend with better hospitals offering great venue but for a very expensive price. I was too bankrupt those days and I don't want to start earning debits on my first job. I'd go home struggling with my capricious vomiting though sometimes I could not hold it and I would ask the taxi driver to stop for a while as I'll pour my guts out along the hi-way. Sick! I don't wanna recall those days but I had to. Sorry if you're havin' snack there. And did I ever tell you that home is about 18 kms away from where I work? Really sick.
I almost lost my job the following year. I was an employee characterized for being always absent, unresponsive, losing direction, and always getting out of work schedules. I was always less-compensated as everytime I had to go home, they deduct it from my salary, though sometimes, my bosses would give me more as I plead with pity. Sorry guy was I.
My health remained staggered in the following years and it gave me a break when suddenly this seemingly ill bedfellow of mine left me with good healthy days in the year 2002. No more vomitings, no more allergies no more dry guts, no more heavy heads. Thank God this is what I call life. I'd bet anybody would be willing to give half a luck for this. If only that sickness won't comeback. Actually I went to the doctor a few years ago and what she diagnosed of me was allergy (though at first she thought it was fungal infestation). I read aloud my symptoms - my allergies first appear as spots, then grows into large oval-shaped ruby-colored swells, no fluids; my breath runs too fast my heart can't race with its beats; my head grows heavy and I can't focus, like I was drug-heavy or shall I say High; my eyes get bloodshot and my face and lips swell; my fingers numb; my eyes get blurry; and I can't carry my body's weight. That's it, that's how I felt. And the doctors just listed Telfast or Virlex on an Rx and give it to me saying, "Allergies. You have Allergies." My God, that's it?
Now I'm more stable with a new job and new place, though it's still 18 kms away from home. My sickness got less in magnitude. After coming back in my stressful years of being unemployed, it seems that I have finally understood my sickness to be stress-driven. Last Month, I was surprised to find that my urine seems too clear. I asked for advice from a friend and he drove me to a clinic to get my FBS test. Ok, nothing to lose. The next day, I took the result and was shocked of the result. My sugar level went 400. That's high, I thought nervously but I kept it with me. I had to overwhelm my stress. Maybe this is what I was bringing with me all along. Maybe I was really in complications of being insulin resistant. So I took the doctor's advise - loss weight, change diet and exercise, Or else die. He really never said the last line. I was just jumping into conclusions. And what about my stress? He gave me things to divert my overweary mind. Take the music therapy. Yeah, why not? So I went buying that Nomad Muvo USB MP3 player and I'd go work and go home listening to music by Kula-shaker and Little Wing by Stevie Ray Vaughan. What a sweet life this is. It could be my best relief. And I almost forgot about what the rest of the doctor's prescriptions were - loss weight, change diet and exercise. Or else die.
Three days ago, I fell down to bed again. A lesson in life I should learn. The last line went into my head as if a CD running continuously - orelsedieorelsedieorelsedie...
I don't wanna die, not this way. I have to loss weight, change diet and exercise. Yeah starting next week when I get up well again. This time I have to make up with my constant losses. Anyone got an advice I'd be happy to hear though. In the meantime, I'd stay well and look for brighter stars ahead. No promises, only gains.
arzakem posted at 8:25:00 AM
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Saturday, August 13, 2005
From the Earth to the Moon
How would you like a roundtrip to the moon for a hundred million dollars?
Definitely, who wouldn't want a trip to the moon? Imagine the following benefits:
a. becoming history's first lunar tourists;
b. the chance to be closer to your inner wildthings than anybody else;
c. be one of the passengers of the world's most reliable spacecraft, the Soyuz; and
d. the chance to find out how it is to be really departed from your dear ones (no more naggers
Well, of course you can also discount the following disadvantages:
a. becoming part of a big experiment on finding out what happens to tourists if they are sent to the moon;
b. undergo a training like every other astronaut and would-be astronauts. I don't really have an idea but they say it always gets closer to hell;
c. of course, lose a hundred million dollars on the process which could have been your best car ever or your tenth trip around the world with all the luxury; and
d. I think you'll be spending more time photographing Earth that way, Earth is more beautiful isn't it?
Somehow, the point gets to the fact that man really had exceeded his grasp. When Verne introduced the cannonball idea of getting into the moon, he was really not joking that time. He really did introduced us to a way. And now, years and years later (I'm no historian, go to Wikipedia if you wanna know), he had gotten us into sending tourists there. And by the way, this space-spending spree for the "lucky few" will happen around 2008 or 2009. Start saving your dimes, kids, but oh sorry - I think this limited-time offer will be sold out before Christmas 2006. Yeah, try counting those autocratic dictators all around the world. They love travels and spending. And to think that only 27 people in history had ever made it to the moon, you would love to be number 28 and so forth!
It's like a Boeing trip. Not really. But of course, you'll be training for it. I don't wanna be rude, but hey, should be then that those Bin Laden suiciders be planning terrorist activities again, they would drive it straight to the moon :) .
I've started saving now - at least for that witch broom in auction house. I have no 100 million dollars neither any hi-tech camera. Now, that's yours, you lucky bums! If moon travel is really that easy nowadays, we'll be seeing Martian Winter Games in the near future or Lunar Sea Games at that.
Read more of it here. Or just buy that Jules Verne book from Amazon (if it still is sold). That would give more inspiration than casual daydreamings.
arzakem posted at 8:50:00 AM
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Sunday, August 07, 2005
Who wants to live forever?
If you would, you can download this short film from Pocketmovies. This is the link: "Meeting Agnus" . This "movlet" just makes me think somehow a little bit lonely.
So what is this about? Just relationships my friend, and no more. Somewhere back in time, I used to believe that the measure of a man's life can be mathematically checked by counting the number of people he left as friends minus those he'd encountered as enemies on the time of his death. Somehow, nobody can count for you. We always deserve our personal views and opinions. And nobody can always have a clue on counting which is which and who is who. It's like a balance scale - make more friends and less enemies or else you'll get negative. We'll why be afraid of getting negative? Let's insert the religious Hell scare here and you'll know why I was much afraid of negativity those days. Negativity isn't really a certified word in this. I just made it up from my Math lessons and being a Math teacher myself. Friends come and go, that's how it is with me and anyone else in this world. If I have to count the ones who make me positive, it could be that I might as well be counting friends who were friends but never made an impression to my life after all. Making friends for me is not an easy task, and making friends is not like hey-i-know-you-you-smiled-at-me-you're-a-friend stuff. Friends should leave scars - enough for you to hate them, and turn you closer to negativity.
I was a very friendly person, as how I continually feel of me now. Friendly in the sense that I wanna make impressions into other people's lives even if they don't in my own point of view. I could say I still cling on to what I believed a long time since. They make positives of me and I don't have anything in return. Or maybe I just don't know, subscribing to the thought that I am no telepath and I never will know. Maybe I should re-assess my declarations and call me "very helpful" instead of "friendly". But is it correct if I say that "you only help somebody if he is a friend to you?" Maybe not. "You only help somebody if he is somebody who will treat you a friend in return." any which way will do.
Friends in the past have made and broken me up. I am a person in pieces and glued together by different people I have made friends with in the past. I had been giving away positives for them this whole history of my life. It had always been my motto to be of service to anyone as prescribed my my limitations. I am very grateful for them friends of mine. Or at least not friends but acquaintances. But I do not always have the time to count backwards and see if I gain more positives than negatives. I do not always have the time to check it out if I still have the chance to regain a lost positive from a negative I acquired from different people. Ah, my friend Yen once, I do recall, she gave me dozens of negatives years ago. Couldn't blame her. I am just a little sad that I would never have the memories to remember if she gave me more positives to compensate the negatives I made to her. Friends will pass if you would want them to.
Somehow, I don't want to finish my number line in a negative point. I wanted to make friends with more people to lessen my earned negatives. Friends that would make impressions in me and friends that would give more room for positiveness. Or maybe I would just end up and trash this positive-negative theology of mine and think of life the other way. Maybe I was really wrong - measuring a man's life that way. Maybe life is not a question of "how did you fare?"; maybe life isn't mathematically definite after all; maybe life doesn't end in negativity always ( if we submit to the idea of a second life, a third, a fourth, and so forth); maybe life is but a race to death; maybe life is but an excuse to God's immortality syndrome; or maybe life is not about making friends but making wars and destruction; maybe life is but the angels' vacation to hell. To succumb to a movie's line of questioning, "what's the meaning to life, the universe, and everything?" I really don't know.
I haven't had much activity this week but the movlet I've downloaded and watched was but spine-tingling. Friends make us up. And to grow old with them is great. But we have limitations. C'mon people, let's finish life up with smile in our face, upon the realization that we had people who stare in us up for the impressions we made in them enough for them to exit this world with the same glimmer from a smiling face.
arzakem posted at 9:59:00 AM
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