Hindi ibig sabihin na kapag ang isang organisasyon o samahan ay dumaan sa proseso ng pagpapalit ng panibagong lider nangangahulugang bulok na ang dating sistema. Ibig sabihin nito, hindi lahat ng binabagong estado ay kagigising lang mula sa bulok na sistema. Ang simpleng halimbawa nito ay ang pagtatalaga ng mga lider sa isang paaralan. Hindi nangangahulugan na ang dating lider ay hindi naging epektibo sa kanyang pamamalakad. Taon-taon tayo naghahalal ng bagong pinuno. Gaya ng Windows o Operating System ng kumpyuter. Taon-taon ay may ipinakikilalang bago, kaya naman, kung gusto mong palagi kang maging up-date sa daloy ng teknolohiya, kailangan mapera ka. Kaya tuloy, nagiging bulok na sa paningin ng mga tao ang mga nalulumang serbisyo na sa katunayan, maaari pa rin namang gamitin at pakinabangan.
Ngunit, nasa kamalayan ng yata ng mga Pinoy na kapag ang isang bagay ay dumaan sa proseso ng pagbabagun-tao, iyan ay sira na at wala nang pakinabang. Tulad ng aking upuang kanina’y kumpuni ni Itay.
Isa sa halimbawa nito ay ang pagtatalaga ng bagong dekana ng aming departamento: Liberal Arts and Education Department. Hindi lamang iyan, kasabay din nito ay ang pagtatalaga ng mga bagong Area Chair. Maging ako ay nagkaroon din ng maling konsepto ukol dito. Marahil, ay dahil sa maling salitang ginamit ko kanina, ang ‘pagpapalit’ na dapat ay ‘pagtatalaga’. Bagamat pareho ang nais ipabatid nito, naiiba pala ang kanilang pakahulugan. Sa aking pakikipag-panayam sa ibang mag-aaral at ilang guro, karamihan ay iba ang kanilang pagsusuri sa isyung ito. Kaya naman, pati tuloy pag-iisip ko ay na-‘windang’.
Mayroon din tayong kanya-kanyang paniniwala, ngunit, kailangan pala ay alam natin kung tama ang ating pinaninindigan.
Sa pagbabago- pagpapatuloy ng aming departamento, naiiwan ang hamon sa bagong talagang pinuno. Kung patuloy at patuloy pa rin binubulok ng mga taong nasa lipunan ang kanilang sarili, hindi na nakakabigla na mabubulok pa rin ang ating departamento o maging ikaw ay lalamunin na rin ng tinutukoy mong bulok na sistema.
P.S. – Thank You Dr. Bienvinida C. Artuz, Welcome Dr. Meda A. San Juan
Monday, July 13, 2009
MY MOTHER’S SECRET
When first day of school comes, it always reminds me of my mother’s myth of nourishing my mind for according to her, it would make me more intelligent for the whole school year.
It started since I was kindergarten. When I went home after my class in the morning, my mother always told me to drink the blackish juice she had made from a paper. What she did was, she burnt the paper which I had used before such as scratch or those I used in school for writing. After burning the paper, she dropped it in a bottle with water. Then put it in the altar.
If you were going to ask me how it looked like, well, it was like water dipped from a canal. The appearance of the water was black where the ashes had been suspended at the bottom of the bottle and some small sheets of burnt paper were floating on the water.
It tasted bitter, of course, it was because of the concentration of ashes in the water.
I don’t know what actually the real reason for drinking it. All I know, I had nothing to complain but to drink it though I don’t want to.
It continued until I stepped in high school. Before I went to school, I told her not to make anymore that kind of drink. But, when I went home, it was there again. She would just tell me that there was nothing wrong if I would believe on it. So, I was there again, drinking it over and over again.
I don’t know if it was effective. Actually, I graduated in elementary as valedictorian. And always first honor in my 2nd and 3rd year when I transferred at Quipayo High School.
When I was already in my fourth year in high school, I told her not to make it anymore because she would no longer convinced me to drink it.
She still did it anyway but it was drunken by my nephews and nieces who were also studying.
I graduated Salutatorian during my fourth year in high school.
It started since I was kindergarten. When I went home after my class in the morning, my mother always told me to drink the blackish juice she had made from a paper. What she did was, she burnt the paper which I had used before such as scratch or those I used in school for writing. After burning the paper, she dropped it in a bottle with water. Then put it in the altar.
If you were going to ask me how it looked like, well, it was like water dipped from a canal. The appearance of the water was black where the ashes had been suspended at the bottom of the bottle and some small sheets of burnt paper were floating on the water.
It tasted bitter, of course, it was because of the concentration of ashes in the water.
I don’t know what actually the real reason for drinking it. All I know, I had nothing to complain but to drink it though I don’t want to.
It continued until I stepped in high school. Before I went to school, I told her not to make anymore that kind of drink. But, when I went home, it was there again. She would just tell me that there was nothing wrong if I would believe on it. So, I was there again, drinking it over and over again.
I don’t know if it was effective. Actually, I graduated in elementary as valedictorian. And always first honor in my 2nd and 3rd year when I transferred at Quipayo High School.
When I was already in my fourth year in high school, I told her not to make it anymore because she would no longer convinced me to drink it.
She still did it anyway but it was drunken by my nephews and nieces who were also studying.
I graduated Salutatorian during my fourth year in high school.
Bagong kakawat
Nag-abot an partera, hinilot–hilot an tulak kan sakuyang ina.
Tigkua an presyon kan dugo.
dangan hinapot ni papa.
Araatyan lang daa, maaki na si mama.
Nagtabang man ngani akong magdakop nin manok.
Iyo na kaya yan an nakaugalian mi
sa kada mag-aki si mama.
Naoogma ako ta igwa na naman akong tugang,
Igwa na naman akong bagong kakawat.
Namumundo ako nin huli ta kadakol na kami digdi sa harong.
Sain na si papa maturog?
Makadurog pa daw siya ki mama?
Dikit na oras lang, naaraman ko na nag-aki na si mama.
Dae ko mapaliwanag an sakuyang kaogmahan.
Paglaog ko samuya,
Mau akong nadadangog ni hibi kan omboy.
Sabi kan matua kong tugang,
Gadan daa an ‘baby’.
Dali-dali kong hinanap an sakuyang tugang,
garu baga itong nag-aabang sa pagbukas kan dakulang puso,
sabay ang pagtunton kan anghel.
Kataid ko si papa habang tigpupunasan
Nin maimbong na tubig an bunso mi kudtang tugang.
Sa ikatulong aldaw daa iniyo ilulubong.
Tama nin gayo, garu siya anghel.
Mapution siya, kakulay ko kan ako aki pa man
bakong arog ngunyan na kulang na lang
dae na ako mahiling kong madiklom sa kaagtaan.
Garu lang siya turog na ikos
na nasisiraman sa lipot asin init sa luwas kan tulak ni mama.
Masiram sa laog, maimbong asin mayong ribok.
Maray pang dae ka na lang nagluwas,
baka mamatian mo pa an pagtios na namamatian ko na ngunyan.
Pag-abot kan hapon, nangalas ako kan nahiling kong
dakulaon an kabaong ni baby.
Sa isip ko, mahiwason man na maray an saeyang higdaan.
Maray pa siya, bakong arog kong nakikisusuan pa
makaturog lang nin tultol kun banggi.
Hastang kan nasirip ko an saendang lalawgon,
nasabutan kong pati palan si mama, sa untro aga man ilulubong.
Tigkua an presyon kan dugo.
dangan hinapot ni papa.
Araatyan lang daa, maaki na si mama.
Nagtabang man ngani akong magdakop nin manok.
Iyo na kaya yan an nakaugalian mi
sa kada mag-aki si mama.
Naoogma ako ta igwa na naman akong tugang,
Igwa na naman akong bagong kakawat.
Namumundo ako nin huli ta kadakol na kami digdi sa harong.
Sain na si papa maturog?
Makadurog pa daw siya ki mama?
Dikit na oras lang, naaraman ko na nag-aki na si mama.
Dae ko mapaliwanag an sakuyang kaogmahan.
Paglaog ko samuya,
Mau akong nadadangog ni hibi kan omboy.
Sabi kan matua kong tugang,
Gadan daa an ‘baby’.
Dali-dali kong hinanap an sakuyang tugang,
garu baga itong nag-aabang sa pagbukas kan dakulang puso,
sabay ang pagtunton kan anghel.
Kataid ko si papa habang tigpupunasan
Nin maimbong na tubig an bunso mi kudtang tugang.
Sa ikatulong aldaw daa iniyo ilulubong.
Tama nin gayo, garu siya anghel.
Mapution siya, kakulay ko kan ako aki pa man
bakong arog ngunyan na kulang na lang
dae na ako mahiling kong madiklom sa kaagtaan.
Garu lang siya turog na ikos
na nasisiraman sa lipot asin init sa luwas kan tulak ni mama.
Masiram sa laog, maimbong asin mayong ribok.
Maray pang dae ka na lang nagluwas,
baka mamatian mo pa an pagtios na namamatian ko na ngunyan.
Pag-abot kan hapon, nangalas ako kan nahiling kong
dakulaon an kabaong ni baby.
Sa isip ko, mahiwason man na maray an saeyang higdaan.
Maray pa siya, bakong arog kong nakikisusuan pa
makaturog lang nin tultol kun banggi.
Hastang kan nasirip ko an saendang lalawgon,
nasabutan kong pati palan si mama, sa untro aga man ilulubong.
Basura
My literary when I was in fourth year high school, I had found it this May 9, 2009.
Madalas mong sabihin
Na ika’y tao lang
Na ang lahat ay tila
Basura lamang.
O diba totoo?
Pero di mo alam na ang bawat
Lugar na tinatahak mo:
Mahirap, magulo, masikip
At higit sa lahat walang
Tiyak na paroroonan.
Sa ganitong sitwasyon,
Madalas mo ring banggitin
Na dapat matagal ka ng sumuko
Dahil basura ka lang
Na dapat ay matagal ng tinapon
Sa tabi ng daan.
Pero ang di alam
Marami pang batang-lansangan
Ang umaasa sa’yo
Nang magkalaman
Ang kanilang tiyan.
Madalas mong sabihin
Na ika’y tao lang
Na ang lahat ay tila
Basura lamang.
O diba totoo?
Pero di mo alam na ang bawat
Lugar na tinatahak mo:
Mahirap, magulo, masikip
At higit sa lahat walang
Tiyak na paroroonan.
Sa ganitong sitwasyon,
Madalas mo ring banggitin
Na dapat matagal ka ng sumuko
Dahil basura ka lang
Na dapat ay matagal ng tinapon
Sa tabi ng daan.
Pero ang di alam
Marami pang batang-lansangan
Ang umaasa sa’yo
Nang magkalaman
Ang kanilang tiyan.
IPIS
Naaati akong maray sa kada
makahiling ako nin ipis sa samung harung.
Kaya dae ko pinapalampas an pagkakataon
na dae gadanun an insektong
aram kong helang ang kayang darahun.
Alagad, kun ako sa ipis naaati,
egwang mga tawong kaya ining kuahon
gamit an saendang nguso
karibay an duwang milyon.
Kun arog kaiyan, sa aga,
pupulbaran kong ang ipis sakuyang hamilon.
makahiling ako nin ipis sa samung harung.
Kaya dae ko pinapalampas an pagkakataon
na dae gadanun an insektong
aram kong helang ang kayang darahun.
Alagad, kun ako sa ipis naaati,
egwang mga tawong kaya ining kuahon
gamit an saendang nguso
karibay an duwang milyon.
Kun arog kaiyan, sa aga,
pupulbaran kong ang ipis sakuyang hamilon.
Tungay
Kinatudan ko ng magbasa
kan Guinness World of Record,
sa laog kan saeyang klase,
eto bagang
mga kakaibang pasanto
kan mga ordinaryo
man lang na tawo.
Egwang lalaking
sa hawak dakul nin tattoo;
babaeng may pinakahalabang kuko
sa bitis asin muro;
lalaking pirang oras
na nagbitay nin suwi,
o etong babaeng naghahamil
nin mga turnilyo asin susi.
Pero ako,
hanggang digdi na lang,
hanggang matunaw
sa saemung atubangan.
Dikit na sanang aldaw,
ipepresentar ko naman saemu,
an tropeyong magigin ladawan
kan saimung kahigusan sa pagtukdo,
hali sa mga tungay
na sakuyang inipon asin hinulma
sa irarom kan sakuyang
kinamumugtakan
mantang dinadangog
kan saemung leksyon
dae lang tungkaon.
kan Guinness World of Record,
sa laog kan saeyang klase,
eto bagang
mga kakaibang pasanto
kan mga ordinaryo
man lang na tawo.
Egwang lalaking
sa hawak dakul nin tattoo;
babaeng may pinakahalabang kuko
sa bitis asin muro;
lalaking pirang oras
na nagbitay nin suwi,
o etong babaeng naghahamil
nin mga turnilyo asin susi.
Pero ako,
hanggang digdi na lang,
hanggang matunaw
sa saemung atubangan.
Dikit na sanang aldaw,
ipepresentar ko naman saemu,
an tropeyong magigin ladawan
kan saimung kahigusan sa pagtukdo,
hali sa mga tungay
na sakuyang inipon asin hinulma
sa irarom kan sakuyang
kinamumugtakan
mantang dinadangog
kan saemung leksyon
dae lang tungkaon.
The Last Quire
FIVE.
Not here to praise the evil deeds
of ambitious Saints,
of dictator’s pretentious bade.
In the village of abused labor paints
the elegance of the rotten system.
Born to fight for the lower prism.
There, freedom is a battle cry.
FOUR.
Not far in the chained mind,
in the blinded credibility.
Not free unless there’s a bar
that binds the limit of dignity.
You’re not born to hide
in the warm mountains afar.
Unleash! Run on your own gun.
THREE.
Strive off to struggle
to seek for the real battle
neither in the high glimmered gold
nor in the soft-molded cotton balls
in a ray blankly looking sky.
Real arena, at the bottom of yelling cries.
TWO.
Off the crowd, rally in a silence mob’s plane.
Off the corner, in a toasted activist’s lane.
You’re looking for the masses,
your strength…
your weakness…
Subconscious freedom in the river prints.
ONE.
Neither to belittle the muddy system.
Your point for the prevailing leaders
damned the coordinate
of freedom and democracy.
You write not for war but CHANGE.
.
You stand alone
over your mind and pen.
The more you shouted the forbidden words,
the more you become a hero,
the more you delimit the boundless thoughts,
the more you get SHOT!
Not here to praise the evil deeds
of ambitious Saints,
of dictator’s pretentious bade.
In the village of abused labor paints
the elegance of the rotten system.
Born to fight for the lower prism.
There, freedom is a battle cry.
FOUR.
Not far in the chained mind,
in the blinded credibility.
Not free unless there’s a bar
that binds the limit of dignity.
You’re not born to hide
in the warm mountains afar.
Unleash! Run on your own gun.
THREE.
Strive off to struggle
to seek for the real battle
neither in the high glimmered gold
nor in the soft-molded cotton balls
in a ray blankly looking sky.
Real arena, at the bottom of yelling cries.
TWO.
Off the crowd, rally in a silence mob’s plane.
Off the corner, in a toasted activist’s lane.
You’re looking for the masses,
your strength…
your weakness…
Subconscious freedom in the river prints.
ONE.
Neither to belittle the muddy system.
Your point for the prevailing leaders
damned the coordinate
of freedom and democracy.
You write not for war but CHANGE.
.
You stand alone
over your mind and pen.
The more you shouted the forbidden words,
the more you become a hero,
the more you delimit the boundless thoughts,
the more you get SHOT!
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