A Letter For Myself

March 16, 2001. My freshman year in the Ateneo was about to end. In our last English 14 meeting, our teacher, after summarizing what we have gone through the past five months, asked us to bring out pen and paper for one last writing activity: we have to write a letter addressed to ourselves. The letter should basically contain what we have learned throughout the semester, and to write what we feel that moment. After finishing our letters, she then gave each of us an envelope, and asked us to put our letters there, as well as to write our mailing addresses at the back. The letters will be sent to us after graduation, she informed us. Probably most of us forgot about the activity the week after, since the final barrage of exams already started.

Fast forward to the present. Last week, I woke up with a white envelope beside me (obviously someone wanted to give it to me, but the person fond me peacefully sleeping). No, it wasn’t another Landbank letter informing me of my available balance left. I looked at the back portion, and it took me about 5 seconds to recognize my own penmanship. This dumbfounded me for a moment, but, after some pondering, I realized that this might be the letter that our teacher promised to send. True enough, after opening, I found a back-to-back letter written in intermediate pad, written by and sent to myself. Before reading, I calculated how long I wrote it, and wow, the letter’s more than 6 years old. Then, I tried to recall the stuff I wrote, but I couldn’t remember a bit. Thrilled, that’s when I started reading.

I have to admit that I was disappointed about my letter’s content. Apparently, I did not take the exercise seriously. I think I assumed that my teacher would be reading the letters of the class, and this made me write sipsip comments for her. Also, the content of the letter is very exaggerated and sarcastic: I was wishing that the English block could take more classes together, when, in fact, I am not close to any of them. And I had to hold back nonexistent tears because of such “once-in-a-lifetime experience”. Wow. My letter is devoid of what I was really feeling back then.

On a positive note, there was unadulterated thrill before I opened the letter. I never felt that sensation in a long while. Also, it was fun to reminisce what happened to me in my freshman year, specifically in English, since my letter specified some events:

1) Our En11/12 teacher would ask a random person from the class to write one paragraph from his/her composition. After the student finished writing, he will then ask the rest of the class to edit the work. I was surprised (and relieved) that even my very fluent classmates had problems with their grammar and tenses. But I was most delighted when our works were made “tighter”: unnecessary phrases and metaphors were deleted to give way to simpler and more apt ones.

2) Our En 13 teacher made us read 8 novels – in one semester. Considering that I was a slow reader compared to the others, this was a nightmare for me. But of course, the rewards came later.

3) I had to do a small part in the play of our En 14 class. That was very unthinkable back then, since almost all the other actors were close friends already, and they can really act, while I was only volunteered for it since nobody else would. I played a priest with issues that I already forgot (I think gambling).

I am considering to write to myself again; I believe this is a healthy exercise. The letter from years ago can highlight the many changes that you have been through. An electronic version just wouldn’t do – it takes away some essential elements. Though I just can’t keep it in our home and read it five years after; it will guarantee a lesser experience, for the envelope’s sight will make you remember the stuff you wrote. Asking the post office to mail it to myself years after might only result to prolonged stares or laughter. Having someone to keep it for you might be the best alternative, provided that the person is very much trusted (and not a voyeur or a fledgling blackmailer), is still young and not forgetful, and can be traced when the time arises.

Past might be past, but we are equipped to go through them even for one last time.

The Philippines *heart* EY

Last Friday at around 5:30 PM, after my Geometry classes and some math training matters, I trooped to Trinoma with Ma’am Joyce to watch the first of a series of shows of American Idol finalist Elliott Yamin at the Ayala Malls. I have marked the date September 21 months back, when I first read about the event on a local broadsheet. I secretly longed to watch him perform first-hand; I even wished that for some reason, he came across my blog and read my tribute to his rare talent - and he will give me exclusive backstage passes and signed CDs. Ironically, I was sporting my Fall Out Boy look, and some students were convinced I was going instead to Araneta to watch the band (I heard FOB’s show was sold out, so there was no chance for a last-minute switch).

I can say that I’m a fairly frequent Trinoma customer, so I was re-reminded about his arrival last week, when huge tarpaulin posters paraded the mall. I never told anyone about Elliott and his Philippine stint, save for close friends and co-fans, so I wasn’t pleased of the advertisement at first. I want as few people in the activity center as possible to increase the probability of minimizing the literal distance between us. But then, that’s just very self-serving; great talent should be showcased to a huge audience. So I had to face the fact that there might be shoving and slight chaos given a glimpse of the star.

Former Pisay classmate Patrick informed me that, earlier, he lined up to get free stubs for the show, but he wasn’t successful. The concierge started giving stubs at 10, and they were out of stubs by 10:45. It seems it’s obvious by now that I’m not the only Elliott fan in the city. So I aborted my plan to go to the mall by 3 PM.

When Ma’am Joyce and I arrived at the activity center, people were already positioned on the metal railings, immediately behind the still-empty seats. There was a table selling Elliott merchandise – CDs, posters, etc – and I almost bought an album if I had enough money. Which made me realize that, inasmuch as I’m a fan, there still are people more rabid than I am, those who had the CD when it first reached Philippine shores (as opposed to downloading the songs), those who memorized each line of each song already, those who voted for the said songs in MYX and requested them on the radio stations, and those willing to cut class or skip work just to try their luck with the stubs. Apparently, the members of the official Yamin fan club (Yaminoys, if I’m not mistaken), walked past the mall guards, probably after proving their identities. They made it a point to wear identical “I EY” shirts, which were sold exclusively at their yahoogroups, and they brought with them their own stylized tarpaulin. They represent the least upper bound of a certain non-empty set, while I’m just a mere upper bound.

Since the first floor spots are already marked as territories, we headed to level 3 for a balcony view. Incidentally, that’s where Pisay Bio teachers were waiting, including Dacs, someone who, like me, followed Elliott’s rise to fame. She informed us that Elliott visited the Bench store, and he went onstage already to do soundcheck. And that he muttered Filipino words like “salamat po” to the delight of the people. Since the show won’t start until 7, and we still have one hour of waiting to do, I joined them in sitting on the floor, and I managed to check some quizzes. I just stopped when other fans were targeting the same balcony view that we have.

Ten minutes before 7 PM, the railings were full of people, and I can’t concentrate on my QuadraPop cellphone game since some people were practically glued behind my back, so I have to do some harmless but obvious shoves. When the band members took their spots, the ladies started shrieking, which solidified by the time Elliott took his. He was clad in simple clothes, probably to highlight his no-hype voice. The girls beside me were shriek experts: it’s as if they were the ones cueing the crowd when the next set of shouting should be. If Elliott had a three-hour show, I would eventually partially deaf like him. My left ear was never exposed to this proximal high intensity that could catalyze a new wave of iceberg shrinking.

Dacs was quick to mention that the empty chairs were mocking us. We totally don’t get it: they lined up early to get stubs, and they will be late for the show. Well, the seats were more likely reserved for the sponsors who do not know what they were missing.

Elliott was still the same idol that we monitored; probably the only difference (aside from the curly locks and vulcanized teeth) is he’s performing meters away, which is a big deal. He mentioned that his Trinoma performance is his first show abroad. Wow, I’m part of (the footnotes of) Idol history. He was such a powerful presence. I only know two songs from his album, but the effect of the other songs were just as strong. I sometimes caught myself with an open mouth, in awe as to how this guy sings splendidly well. He started the show with his upbeat Movin’ On, and he ended with three popular songs: Wait For You, the smash hit; A Song For You, his AI audition song (or probably the song that started it all); and, when the audience clamored for more, he did Moody’s Mood For Love, a capella. When he took his exit, the multitudes trooped to level 1 for the meet and greet.

Ma’am Joyce and I settled at the Math teachers’ “extension office” in Trinoma to continue checking papers, after we greeted our friends in the same venue (some Pisay students were inside the restricted area). The Elliott experience had after effects: I will drop my red pen to mention superlatives for the singer. It was a fun moment to foster the fan in me this day.

I guess if you put your heart to where it should be, things will fall in the right places. I hope we can hear from Elliott for decades; as I mentioned earlier, his talent is of no hype. And if ever he returns again and I’m fortunate enough to have a free schedule, I hope the the two shriek experts would be miles away from me.

Walk This Way

About 3 in the morning, I awoke to an unusual pain. My left leg was suffering cramps. The non-athlete that I am, I did not know what to do to lessen the suffering. I am not aware which position will cause relief. For about one whole minute, the solid feeling was there, and I almost shouted for help, but thinking about how our neighbors would react, I decided to find a remedy by myself, for myself. Probably the most normal thing to do was to massage the muscles affected, and it worked. Back to sleepland.

Looking back, I did walk a lot yesterday, more than the usual walk I do to get to school (Ateneo). Since September 15 is ACET day, I woke up earlier than usual, and decided to take the Cubao-LRT route than my Philcoa-UP routine. I walked a little over two blocks to ride a jeepney that will take me to España, then I crossed the street, then rode a Cubao jeepney. Afterwards, I headed to the Araneta Center-Cubao LRT station, and alighted the train when it stopped at the Katipunan station.

Other students riding the LRT would prefer walking for about 3 minutes from Aurora Boulevard until they reach the tricycle terminal near Mini-Stop Katipunan. From here on, they will just ride the trike displaying an Ateneo sticker and to their class. I however, am a big fan of walking (and saving my coins for something else). From Aurora Boulevard, I travelled by foot to Ateneo until I got to my classroom (a pitstop in a washroom is a must, for my sweat glands will again perform its niche).

I like to think that I am good enough in walking even with vehicles just inches by your side, since sidewalks are not always pedestrian-friendly. When “trapped” in between an approaching car and a parked one, I do not hesitate to contort my body and my bag to avoid collision (as opposed to just taking a few steps back). With this oh-so-useful talent, I can appreciate the establishments on my right. I don’t usually buy, but thinking about what they offer keeps me busy and makes me forget the agony of the feet (a pun I got from Thy Kingdom Camia’s Portia). Here are the more notable ones for me:

Mini-Stop offers Hot Loops doughnuts - not my favorite, but they are the most accessible, so they will do in cases of cravings – plus all the C2 flavors. Pan de Manila has a reasonably-priced Pesto Cheese Bread, perfect when reheated. Then there’s Craving’s; I only get to eat in this place when it’s someone’s treat. McDonald’s Katipunan will always be a group study haven, and it seems the manager is aware of this; the ambience is very conducive for reading.

Crossing the street, there’s Shakey’s, where some of the McDo customers park whenever there’s a shortage of space. I have yet to try their ice cream buffet. Beside the pizza parlor is Cantina, where soon-to-be-drunk dudes hangout. Starbucks accommodate the more sober clientele. Then everyone’s favorite, Jollibee is side by side National Bookstore, with two cannons at the entrance.

I then walked up the overpass, and as a matter of habit, I looked left and right and inspect Katipunan traffic. Then, while heading towards the other side, I will look at the FBR Building and check if an orange sign is still there. The orange sign is for Cello’s Doughnuts and Dips, my hands down favorite. After entering Gate 2.5 (affectionately called as such, since it is in between Gates 2 and 3), I walked first towards the library to return some books, then to the cafeteria to eat a waffle dog.

My Algebraic Structures teacher wasn’t around for my 9AM class, but she left us a seatwork, due on Wednesday. After trying to answer the items, I left Ateneo at about 10:30AM and headed to Rizal, but I had to be back by 1PM for my Modern Complex Analysis class. On the way back, I feared that ACET traffic will be in its full force, and true enough, vehicles in Katipunan are barely moving. So, again, I had to walk from Aurora to Ateneo (I bought siopao and a dougnut from Mini-Stop for my improvised lunch), this time faster, since it was already 12:55PM.

I arrived at my building at 1:10PM, but luckily, my professor isn’t around yet, so I wasn’t late and I was jubilant while eating my asado siopao. After more than three hours of reporting, I again needed to go back to Aurora to ride the LRT, then enter Gateway and proceed to MRT. This is also a long stretch, but commuters do not mind this already (I’m even updated on what’s going on in Araneta Coliseum). After buying my ticket, I alighted at North Avenue and entered Trinoma since I have matters to do. After that, I had to cross Mindanao Avenue to ride a Quiapo jeep, which I will alight to ride a Blumentritt jeep to reach home and get my rest.

It’s odd that my right leg isn’t hurting as much; as far as I remember, I use both legs alternately. Maybe I put more force with my left that with my right? I wouldn’t know.

Another mystery for mankind to solve.

One Ring To Rule Them All

The cellular phone could have only been a trend. I almost dismissed it as another marketing triumph in the same league as hand sanitizers and iced coffee, in terms of redefining necessity. Yet it stayed as a necessity, not only because of the marketing savvy of Globe and Smart. It took a while before PLDT fixed their backlog problems, and pagers were useful in certain circumstances, but obviously lacking in a lot of aspects.

Going digital was a major move for the two telecommunications companies to capture the market. There were cases before wherein a subscriber’s bill is multiplied five-fold or even more, because some other people can access their numbers for some reason (their phones were cloned, so to speak). Also, the phone companies that produced the units – with Nokia at the forefront (at least in the late 90’s) – manufactured classier versions of the bulky phone (remember the extendable antenna). The color, size, and weight became not only necessary but sufficient criteria for some middle-class buyers.

Features probably precede the physical appearance of a phone in what a customer wants. Nowadays, a cellular phone is also a digital camera, a personal computer, a media player, a radio, even television is now mobile. This is on top of what is in a “regular” cellular menu: clock, stopwatch, calendar, alarm, calculator (some even have foreign exchange) and games. I, however, am not one who wishes for a phone with the abovementioned packages. I only need to things: an expansive phonebook memory (with every new batch of students comes a new set of phonebook dwellers) and a lot of space for the messages (I have kept important and striking messages for years already). I do not need IR, or Bluetooth, or GPRS, or 3G, but it might be harder and harder to find a unit with not one of the unneeded features.

There was a time when changing phone casings, logos, ringtones, and even the backlight were a big deal. An Identity needs to be established, and the cellular phone is the outlet of choice (probably the reason why teenagers won’t let go of their phones even when eating). Greenhills was (still is?) the haven. Actually, the trend persists up to the present: the downloading of games, ringback tunes (wherein something aside from a ringing tone is heard by the caller) , and (polytone) ringtones continue. The fact is, the combinations of the line carrier, the phone unit, and all the hundreds of features is a lot, but still is countably many. Finite. With roughly 45 million subscribers from all the networks (figure has no basis and is just an estimate) in the country, a person cannot personalize a phone. Or still, if ever there is a unique phone, the owner is still part of a greater Identity: that of The Cellular Phone User, someone who follows the dictates of society. Why, some people really treat the cellular phone as a status symbol. No wonder the cellular phone is still the top graduation gift.

My ate was the first to have a cellular phone in the family; she had a Nokia 6150 if I remember correctly. The rest of us had to share when our tita from Melbourne sent us her Panasonic unit she wasn’t using anymore. This was about eight years ago. We were really excited; my brother used to have only a pager. They hurriedly bought a SIM card in a mall (how cheap these are nowadays) and activated the phone. Even if sharing a number with my two brothers was a hassle, we nevertheless enjoyed the idea of connecting with our friends via current technology. We used to drop calls to our contacts, and tried our best to answer theirs, which will cost them eight pesos. We were also addicted to forwarded messages. I recall that SMS messages were free before, and then the free messages were limited to 150 starting October 1999, until
Eventually it wasn’t offered.

I had my own cellular phone around September 2001. It was supposed to be a grad gift, but I had no qualms in receiving it semesters after my actual marching from high school. I was also not particular with the brand and model, so I was elated to receive a Nokia 6210 Cyber Silver edition. It looked very stylish and elegant, and it was capable of – gasp – sorting messages into folders, a feature that I really liked. Haha, I was also amused of playing snakes without the border and with special fruits for bonus.

I miss my first phone. I never had “cool” monotones, or any logo or wallpaper. I never wanted to replace it, even with the onset of color phones, and it was still with me even after graduation (March 2004). My number then was the contact number I wrote in my resumes for job applications. So I was both mad and sad when I lost my first phone. It was May when my mother-side lola slipped and broke her femur; I’m done with college, and all my siblings had either a job or summer classes, so I was her hospital companion. I really didn’t mind; I will just look for a replacement if I had to go to Makati if there was a scheduled job interview. One morning, my phone wasn’t on the table where I usually put it. Maybe it was a nurse or a maintenance crew who got my phone. I was at fault too; I became too comfortable in the hospital room designed to look like a normal room in the house. I then realized two things: my sorted message folders are gone, and, more importantly, my contacts. The incident just had to happen while I’m looking for a job. Fortunately, my mother lent me her phone for the moment, and I eventually formalized things with Pisay.

My second phone is another gift from my mother; probably a late graduation gift, but more of a replacement for my 6210 so that I can return her Nokia 1100 already. Again, I didn’t dictate which phone I should get. I received a Sony Ericsson T230 around August 2004, a classic phone in my opinion, and this one’s in color. It has more features that I never maximized, but it has less space for messages. Through my years of teaching, this is the only phone I used, while my coteachers and students upgrade once I a while (some even have multiple units). Maybe I’m being exponentially thrifty. There were actually a lot of times when I could (or should) have bought a new unit. Unlike with my first phone, I was less careful with the second one. I dropped it approximately 80 times already, thrice from a double-deck bed, with full speed. This T230 is very sturdy, to which I can attest. It never collapsed or disintegrated, but was of course subject to minor scratchings.

I once dropped this phone face first, and the screen popped out, but it was still intact. I was too lazy to glue the screen back, so there it was, unpermanent. I misplaced the screen, and for months it looked like my phone was skeletal. When I finally found the screen in a bag compartment, I made sure to use epoxy on it.

There was another instance when the phone wouldn’t function anymore after yet another drop. After turning it off and on again, I know the phone is still functioning, but the screen is black. I realized I can manage calling or sending text messages, since I can imagine the menu without the need of a visual. I wonder how long this will go one. The next day, the LCD was working again, only to find out that, among the around 250 contacts in the phonebook, only 40 were accessible (for Jasmin Hipons, only Daryll and Jio were). There was a way to see the other numbers, so I had to copy each number by hand, and type the numbers everytime I need to contact the invisible people. It took about a month before the other contacts were again accessible, and again, I hushed all the people persuading me to buy a new unit.

There were no unhurdled problems with the phone, but the accompanying charger isn’t as indestructible. Probably squished by the books inside my bag, one of the small metal rods (I don’t know how it’s called) broke and became unattached. Part of the charger is already exposed; you can already see the microtechnology. However, skilled (or kuripot) as I am, I managed to find a way to charge the phone by attaching the rod at a certain angle. It was actually very dangerous: sometimes, the outlet will spark. Still, the day came when the technique couldn’t charge the phone already. I knew I had to buy a new one.

Last September 3, after our classes an some other matters, I trooped to the Sony Ericsson store in Trinoma with Ma’am Joyce and Sir Edgar. I realized that this will be the first time that I will buy a phone for myself, with my unit of choice. I did not dwell too long in choosing which unit; as long as it’s basic and cheap, then it’s an option. Preparing the paperwork actually took longer. So here with me now is my third phone, a black K510i. (I’m still not ditching the second; I will still have the charger fixed by a professional)

I hope this phone lasts for years also, like the first two. I hope also that I would still not depend too much on it (except for time telling, since I do not sport a watch). I didn’t buy immediately because I have to, but because I need to. I have to be contacted by a lot of people, and I need to contact people in return.

I have witnessed people who just can’t survive without clutching their phones and texting the night away, or those dying in vain just to here the phone ring. This technology has already dictated our needs, but its benefits cannot be denied as well. I just hope that we will still have good sense no matter what new features will come about in the years to come. And may we always remember that it is just a tool to serve our more relevant functions.