Onyot's Trip: Walang basagan ng trip!

[caption id="attachment_2201" align="aligncenter" width="394" caption="Taken during our trip to Seagull Mountain Resort (Seagull 3), located on the outskirts of Bukidnon and Davao City (BuDa)."][/caption]

I have many nicknames. But it's "Onyot" that survived the test of time. I don't mind if you call me Onyot. I have become used to it anyway. In fact, now I like it when you call me Onyot. It's as if you and I have known each other for so long a time.

So I'm Onyot, and ito ang trip ko.

Trip, in English, denotes a "voyage," a "journey." But from the dingy and squalid kanto and looban of Philippine slums to the posh and bongga subdivisions, the word "trip" takes on a different meaning.

It refers to the things you do to break your humdrum routine, to express your in-ordinariness in this ordinary world, to wean yourself from a stressful work, or to try things for the sake of trying them.

Someone's trip might be food, manicure, or, uh, saving Mother Earth.

But sometimes if you do something as outrageous and bizarre as the acts of Jesse Caigoy,"Master of Pain," something as outlandish as having a Winnie The Pooh tattoo on your back, something as banal as planking, people would ask you this standard question, "Anong trip mo?"

"Wala lang!," or "Walang basagan ng trip!" is, of course, the standard retort.

When I started teaching, in 2010, I thought my teaching experience would be a fodder for my blog. I thought the bouts with students in particular and school life in general would be a well from which I can draw inspiration to blog. But no, I was caught in the thick of making lesson plans, preparing slide presentations for class, making test papers, checking test papers, recording and computing grades, reading essays, accompanying students to contests and conferences, meeting with parents, and complying with a host of other paper-works.

As a result, blogging became less frequent. Blog posts were sparse, mostly limited to announcements, slide shows for students to download, and a few lousy write-ups---lame attempts at reminding people who stumble upon this blog that its owner still exists. Soon, all I wanted was not to blog more often, but to have a goodnight's sleep.

Nevertheless, I continue to write. Sometimes, if I have time I write about teaching. I never write about sleeping. Most often I write about my activities in between---mga bagay na trip kong gawin.

That explains why I found the name of this blog---Onyot's TRIP---most fitting because this blog has been, is, and will always be about my trip: trip as a journey and voyage, and trip as wala lang, I just feel like doing it.

So welcome to Onyot's TRIP. And please walang basagan ng trip!

If I weren't teaching, I could've been reporting

Before I applied for a teaching job, before I decided that my uncle no long has an interest to send me to law school, before someone texted me that the school where I'm teaching now needed a Social Studies teacher----before all that, I once submitted my application to SunStar Davao. The job I was looking for: Reporter.

One  afternoon, the administrative assistant of the paper sent me a text message, asking me if I could go to the SunStar office for an interview and entrance exam. I said yes.

There, I was interviewed and was asked to take a test. But I wasn't informed I was to take a battery of tests. I started at 10 am, and ended at 2 pm.

By the time the administrative assistant sent me another text message, I was already applying at Stella Maris Academy of Davao.

Part of the reason I did not become a reporter was also my own doing. I was not brave enough to accept the job because of the insecurity---financial insecurity---it gives me. The pay was so small it's equivalent to half of the salary I'm receiving now. The work is so hard---I have to turn in four stories a day.

But it doesn't mean I hate to be a reporter. I love to be a reporter, because as a reporter you get to be paid for your writing. And I love writing. Yet I have to get real about my situation.

Ah, the tension of opposites.

The end

Today marks the end of my On-Campus Practicum at Holy Cross of Davao College-High School Department. As a final activity, I asked my students to give their feedback on me in general and on my teaching performance in particular.

I find some of the comments flattering. "Bonjour! Merci for being a good teacher. I adore the way you handle our classes." Some are banal and predictable. "Thank you, Sir, for teaching us. I learned a lot from you." Of course, what are teachers for? Some are downright honest. "Honestly, I find you irritating. Pag nag-discuss ka kulang. Masyado ka ring strikto at maiksi ang pasensya mo. Pero thank you pa rin for the effort."

Teaching is taxing. But what keeps me going is when I received a comment like this:

Sir, thank you for everything. I hope that you'll succeed. Sir, idol gud tika mag-tudlo, mag-education pud ko then sundogon nako imong style para masaya. Good luck, Sir!

To all the fourth year students of sections St. Teresa of Avila, St. Matthew, St. Cecilia, St. Clare, and St. Lorenzo, thank you. For better or for worse, you're already part of what I am today and what I will become tomorrow.

Teaching is performing

On November 7-8, 2009, we had a Theater Workshop, one of the series of seminars that Education interns for the second semester would have to go through. Mr. Norman Narciso, who has an extensive experience and training in theater, facilitated the workshop.

Mr. Narciso said that a two-day workshop is quite an ambitious endeavor because it normally takes three days to complete the workshop. Still, he did not disappoint us. So for two days, he trained us like we were real theater actors and actresses. We underwent several exercises that, we were told, would enhance ourselves and our teaching performances as well.

On the first day, we started by grouping ourselves into ten. Of course, those who already knew each other flocked together, although Mr. Narciso asked us that, if possible, we should not be with out friends. This mattered, he said, because in the exercises that would follow, it would determine how fast we could connect to people whom we are not familiar with. But his suggestion fell on deaf ears.

Which is which

I am no poet. But I don’t hate poetry at all. Though I shun the way poets obscure their message, I still like the way they weave the words to produce so beautiful a sound like only a poem can.

I’m just a tepid fan of poetry. That perhaps explains my short list of favorite poems. One such favorite of mine is “The Road Not Taken” by Robert Frost—partly because it’s easy to read and decipher its meaning, but mainly because it resonates with me:

Teachers: A privileged lot

Like it or not, this essay won as champion in the Essay Competition for English during the Education Inter-School Competition last February 28, 2009 held at the Holy Cross of Davao College. It bested five other entries from University of Immaculate Concepcion, Ateneo de Davao University, Jose Maria College, University of Southern Philippines, and University of Mindanao. It's written at the spur of the moment, so I took the liberty of editing it.
***

There's a story that has become a favorite among teachers.

Once, St. Peter — typically portrayed as the bearded hard-to-please gate keeper of heaven — went into his usual rounds of screening souls. The good deeds each one had done on earth are the bases of St. Peter for choosing who gets to enter heaven. He asked one soul, a doctor, what had he done while he’s still alive. Loud and proud, the doctor said he cured the sick for free. St. Peter asked another soul, this time it was a lawyer. The lawyer said he defended the poor and oppressed. Then, St. Peter asked an engineer. The engineer said he built buildings and bridges, some of which became the marvels of the world today.

But no one seemed to impress St. Peter. A lowly soul approached St. Peter and said, “I taught them all.” Right then and there, St. Peter allowed the teacher to enter the strictly guarded gates of heaven.