If I were a rich man…
All day long I’d bidee-bidee-bum..
I’ve tasked myself to watch, as many as possible, film adaptations of popular broadway musicals. My friends and I started off with one of the biggest and winningest and first in US history— the much-loved Fiddler on the Roof.
I guess my praises for the film/musical is like putting sand in the beach. But allow me to write what I like about it:
1) Fiddler on the Roof – the title itself speaks for many of us struggling to earn a decent a living, trying to save a few pennies to enjoy simple luxuries in this seemingly unfair world. If struggling is already difficult in itself, why add ‘playing beautiful music’ to your mountain of troubles? I guess that’s where the beauty lies. That we are called not just to survive, but to play rich music. While risking our life and limbs.
2) If I were a rich man… Ahhh, I can never nor will i ever remove this simple aspiration from my being. Who hasn’t dreamed of becoming rich? Or just a teeny weeny better off than one’s present condition? We all know Tevye’s litany of what-ifs, but what I like most is when he wishes to be rich so that he could have time to read the good old book, the Old Testament. Ayyyayaay…
3) Lets drink to whatever comes! Remember the scene in the bar when Lazer Wolf treated the whole house because he though he could marry Tevye’s oldest, Tzeitel? The loyal clients were wishing Lazer Wolf: And may your future be brighter ones, not like our present ones! and another one “and if your good fortune never comes, here’s to whatever comes!” This is very Filipino! Drinking all your concerns away!
4) Where your heart is, you’re (at) home! The scene where Tevye and his second eldest, were waiting for the train to Siberia was really endearing. Tevye couldnt understand why her daughter will leave the family to visit (and stay close to) her student-communist boyfriend imprisoned in stone cold Siberia. It is love, she replies. It is love that makes a person leave her home, and it is home when and where there is love. Deep, no?
5) To end I can never forget Tevye’s personal relationship with God. He was praying to God, complaining to HIm, joking with Him, wishing Him for a few things… Amazing! and Tevye’s is not even educated. Well perjhaps that’s the reason he’s close to God, hehe.
Anyway, those are my two cents. Enjoy the film or musical if you can see it. But honestly, if you were rich, filthy rich, what would you do?
Little Ways to Help the Environment
(LUIS LIWANAG/AFP/GETTY IMAGES)
The city of Manila, among the 5 most populated cities in the world, faces constant floods during the rainy season as it lies below sea level. Drainage in residential areas and roads are small and often get clogged by garbage and free plastic bags.
Hence, why not make plastic bags more expensive to discourage their use? Ireland is getting the most accolade for reportedly eliminating 90% of its use and raising millions in revenues. Shoppers are encouraged to use reusable shopping bags (probably of cloth).
Major cities are following suit. Bombay, Taiwan, Singapore, and Bangladesh, to name a few. And because of this, demand for Bangladesh-made jute bags is skyrocketing. Whoa! Talk about market rewards for good behavior.
But I think more than the economic incentives, its the positive change in social habits that is more remarkable. In Ireland, Dubliners sort of ‘look down’ on you if you carry plastic shopping bags. National shame on you?
It’s high time Filipino/Manila lawmakers follow the same path. Charge plastic bags, in major supermarkets, bookstores, etc. This is a best way to reduce a top source of solid waste clogging water arteries in Manila.
Hungry for Leaders? FEAD the youth
I’m part of this innovative (and very tiring) leadership program for incoming college freshmen sponsored by the Foundation for East Asian Development (or FEAD). Early last month they took the grueling entrance tests in UA&P, followed by a more grueling panel interview (done by yours truly and another hilarious guy named Hans). It was a torture for some of them and we had to let those go. Sayang naman. But I learned a lot from their answers.
What impressed me most is that these kids (omg, they’re almost my sons!) are highly driven and they want to accomplish things. They are tech-savvy, they love the internet and social websites, and a good number of them pray. They want to have clean fun and they want to change society for the better.
Wow. When I entered Diliman I just thought about what books to borrow and where to eat. Long live Idealism! I hope we could ‘satisfy’ their cravings for leadership.
Give us today our spanish bread
I am taking up spanish lessons in Instituto Cervantes, nivel uno (Level 1).
Our teacher is a wonderfully patient, young Filipina, a graduate of European
Languages in UP Diliman. She has had stints teaching high school, working in
a call center, but she went back to her first love — teaching spanish. So
after post graduate courses in Spain, she was hired by Instituto.
Anyway, we are 15 in the class. The youngest is 23 years old, the oldest, 47
years old. That’s a wide spectrum. At 30 I’m one of the oldest in the class.
Our teacher is only 25. But what struck me most was they need Spanish in
their work. Almost all of them will get in contact with something spanish,
either in Spain or in the US. I’m the only one who have no practical (i.e.
with income implications) use for this course. I have two classmates who are
brothers working as laborers in construction. You can see it from their
bulging muscles, pitch-dark skin, and ‘rough’ manners. But despite their
lack of university, they’re very simple and very funny, like all
good-natured laborers. Several of my classmates will work in households as
domestic staff. One works in a cruise liner. Two have applied as
occupational therapists in Texas. An accountant will be transferred to a
branch in Madrid. Two work in call centers and spanish skills pay more. One,
probably the best-bred in the class, judging from her impressive
communication skills, works in a 5-star hotel in Makati. She needs it to
talk to spanish-speaking clients.
Until two weeks ago, I had always thought of spanish as a language only of
old rich families in the Philippines. Or of old, greying Filipino
intellectuals (spanish being a required course in university back then).
Blame the ‘nationalist’ historians, blame the media.
This is the first time I saw the ‘human’ side of it. Spain’s economy is
growing. Spanish opens doors to greater income, hence freedom from an
uncertain future, freedom from hunger and lack of education, freedom from
false promises, freedom from Philippine politics. In my case, emancipation
from boredom.
Willjett
“Gusto ko pong mag-fine arts”, he sheepishly replied, with his right hand drawing on his small pillow.
I often accompany college and high school students to visit indigent patients of public hospitals. I’ve been doing this for the past ten years. Some sort of mini-exposure trip. Some guys I’ve brought have learned profound lessons. Most have thought of it as a welcome ‘eye-opener’, a pause in their daily grind. I’ve had one or two who backed out when they couldnt stand the stench and the sight. We usually bring treats, goodies, sweets plus a little amount of money. Being the ‘most’ experienced, I would ask a nurse on duty who she could refer to us. It never
fails to amuse m e to see that quizzical look on the nurse’s face (a patient who needs merienda and money? All of them need any assistance!! Why only one, you lazy, capitalist bast@#%!) That sort of look.
That warm afternoon I went with a recent graduate of Biochemistry, who is waiting for job interviews. We went to Ward 11 of PGH, Pediatrics Ward. One thing I like in PGH is that it is always bursting at the seams. Doctors, nurses, students, interns, clerks, med reps, insurance agents, occasional tv crew, patients, families, guardians, guardian angels. So our entry hardly
caught a second look. We went up to a young nurse, showed her our gift to a patient (a box of doughnuts) and asked for a referral. She said all 40+ patients need assistance. She even wanted to divide the donuts equally among them! (Ma’am, I am neither Jesus Christ nor do I want to multiply those donuts. Dunkin Donuts might sue me for illegal multiplication of bread). So
she gave us Willjet, 12 years old, male, suffering from a liver disease. Bed 41.
Like other wards at the ground floor, Ward 11 is a pavillon with high windows and ceiling and huge pillars supporting the upper floors of the building. It reminds me of an old-fashioned ballroom for waltzes and a chamber orchestra or a big band. But at that time real estate was very precious. Patients and guardians were all over the place. As we walked inside a few sighs and
sobs managed to escaped from the suffocation. Towards the end of the pavilion we turned left. We found him two beds away from where we turned, beside a pillar, his eyes away from us and towards the entrance. His guardian was not there.
He had a small, oval face, thin lips, and kind, penetrating eyes. His thin frame was covered with yellowish brown skin. Despite his big shirt, his stomach bulged, and we thought that this kid would not live long. Or so we thought. We then introduced ourselves. His lips tried to smile. At that moment his grandmother came. Rather young-looking for a grandmother, she was in her fifties. And like all good grandmothers, she talked a lot.
Their story is a common refrain. Willjett’s father is a construction worker, the mother does odd jobs. They couldn’t stay away from their job for a long time. He is one of 4 kids, the oldest being an HRM student. She told us that they’ve spent more than 2 weeks in PGH, and the doctors were subjecting Willjett for more tests. Something was wrong with his liver. CT scans and a biopsy were needed. The lola seemed very strong-willed as she mentioned casually that Willjett might have cancer of the liver. During this time Willjett just stared towards the entrance, so I decided to talk to him.
“Do you play sports?” He shook his head. Not much. But he liked running around.
“Do you like anime?”. He nodded and smiled.
“Do you like Initial D?” (An anime series I saw while waiting for my turn in a barbershop). He smiled even more. He liked drawing. His grandma said he had a good hand.
“What do you want to take up in college?”
We learned more things about him. Math is his favorite subject in school. In the pavilion he would go around, talking to other patients and laughing with them. The nurses would often tell him to go back to his bed as he needed to rest. He nearly died of some respiratory illness when he was 3-4 months old. As the lola talked, I realized that there was a lot more to this little guy. A born fighter and a survivor, rare in a kid. And he had a natural capacity to make friends. Even rarer in adults.
The lola was very thankful for the company, the small talk, and the little money (P200) and treats we gave. We told her to pray for a cure or a quick recovery, and that all of us could raise the money for the CT scan and biopsy. As we were leaving I asked Willjet if he remembered my name. He quickly replied “Kuya Paul”. I mentioned my name only once when we introduced ourselves. He had good memory.
Two weeks later we went back to him. My friend (a different one) got P 2,600 from selling his toy cars and we decide to give P1,500 to Willjett. We found him with his father, who was on leave from his construction job. Willjett was lying on his side, his skin even more yellow than before. His father said Willjett didnt sleep well that night, due to a fever and screams from a nearby patient. We had a nice chat with the father. The usual small talk, banter, encouragement, aspirations of hope, of a better life. As we said goodbye, I asked Willjett, who was lying with his back away from us, if he remembered me. He slowly turned his head (the whites of his eyes are now yellow) and answered “Kuya Paul”.
There are hundreds, even thousands, of poor patients like Willjett. What struck me about him esd his unusual intelligence, his cheerful courage, and seeming defiance to be chained to his bed, to his sickness. Anyway, PGH needs donations of cash and food, but especially occasions for small talk, for laughter, for sharing stories and swapping encouragement. This Lent is a good time to visit the sick and learn from them.
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Paul's Alarm 