What a semester!

The semester is over, and I can say that this semester is by far the most productive semester that I've ever had. Not that I was slumbering the previous semesters or, as the Bisaya would put it, nagpadako ra ko'g itlog. It's just that this semester alone, I've done things I never did before:

Thank you, Ma'am, Sir

As my tribute to some of my memorable teachers, I wrote two essays, honoring their contribution to my upbringing. The first essay, "Ma'am G, how could I thank thee?" was published in the Learning section of the Philippine Daily Inquirer. The second, "Mr. Zombie," was published in The Mindanao Times.

The first essay is my tribute to Mrs. Lourdes Gamutan, my Lit 1 and English college teacher, whom we fondly called Ma'am G. The second one is my tribute to Mr. Felipe Zombilon, my 3rd year English high school teacher, who prefers to be called Mr. Zombie.

Of course, there are more teachers I would like to thank, most notably:

Ms. Lorna Castañares, my 2nd year English teacher. Thank you, Ma'am, for teaching me that books are to be read, not dreaded. You were the first teacher who forced me to read books. From you, I also learned that sobriquet is the other word for nickname, that a camel is also called dromedary, that a beggar can be called mendicant, and many other words. In your class, Ma'am, I experienced for the first time "The Sophies' Social" where you taught us how to sip the soup and eat the food with grace and finesse.

Mr. Romeo Rosales, my 4th year Math teacher and adviser. Thank you, Sir, for telling me that I'm good at Math even though I almost flunked it while I was in 3rd year. I know you wanted me to major in Math, but I've taken up Social Studies. Still, I haven't forgotten what you told us: That whatever we do, we must always give our best.

Mrs. Cabel, my Grade 3 adviser. Thank you, Ma'am, for accepting me in your class. I was from a private school then. Since the school did no longer accept me (I don't know why), I had to transfer to another school. My mother decided to enroll me in Kapitan Tomas Monteverde Sr. Central Elementary School. All the sections, however, were already full. Yet my mother insisited and she approached and pleaded you to accept me. You did. It's been many years, Ma'am, that we haven't seen each other. But when we do, you still remember not only my face, but also my name.

And to all my teachers---past and present, dead and alive, strict and its opposite, rich and wretched, cold and senile---thank you Ma'am, Sir.

A call to arms

My first memories of a flood are probably of when we were still living in Jade Valley, a low-lying subdivision located along the Davao River. If I remember it right, the place was visited by floods for four times over. They said the worse flood was during the fourth time when the water reached as high as the rooftop.

To me, however, it was the third time because I had experienced it myself---by the fourth flooding, we had already moved out of Jade Valley. On March 15, 2000 (Araw ng Davao!), around 2 o'clock in the morning, somebody was knocking hard on the door, telling us to evacuate as the water was rising fast. When we went out of the house, bringing nothing but the clothes we're wearing, the water was already knee high.

We safely evacuated in Juliville, another subdivision adjacent to Jade Valley. For several days, my siblings and I stayed in my grandmother's house, in Lanang, but my parents stayed in Juliville, and waited for the water to subside.

[caption id="attachment_1090" align="aligncenter" width="458" caption="An aerial view aboard a Philippine Air Force chopper shows devastation brought by Tropical Storm Ketsana in Cainta, province of Rizal , eastern Manila. (Photo courtesy of PSDMN---Private Sector Disaster Management Network)"][/caption]

So we were spared from the ravages of the flood. But when we came back, I heard many stories from my friends. Some recounted how hard it was to wait for rescue that they weren't sure whether it would come. Some recounted how they staved off their hunger and thirst. Others told me how they tried, if vainly, to save their furniture and belongings. Last week, those memories came flooding as I watched on TV, and saw the flooding in many parts of Luzon.

Meh! Meh! Meh!

Two years ago, Hector Bryant L. Macale of Center for Media Freedom and Responsibility blogged about “the increasing importance of society pages to newspaper publishers and/or editors.” Then he asked if we are “seeing similar trends in the other sections, especially the youth?”

 

Today, a reader in the Inquirer dished out a mouthful of criticisms against society pages parading the profligacy of the upper crust, unmindful of the millions who live in “abject poverty and destitution.” The situation seems akin to what the lunatic Roman Emperor Nero did in the past: fiddling while Rome is burning.

 

How would the “socialites” react to these criticisms? I venture to speculate that they would simply say, Meh! Meh! Meh!

 

Early this month, Collins English Dictionary included the word “meh” in its 30^th anniversary edition. “Meh” is defined as an interjection for indifference or lack of interest.

 

Telling them that they should not flaunt their flamboyant lifestyle because many are living in abject poverty and destitution? Like Bart and Lisa who were invited to a trip by their father Bert (the three are all characters in “The Simpsons”), they would just reply, Meh! Meh! Meh!