Insight

Words are different across cultures. We may have some words in common. However, they may not mean the same. Take for example the word bastos.

When you say that someone is bastos here in the Philippines, it means that he or she is uncouth. I found out that this word was not emotionally charged in Turkey. I saw this pack of cigarettes on a duty free store in Istanbul. Yes, you see it here in this BLOG. Bastos is a cigarette brand.

You may fret if someone calls you bastos here. But in Instanbul, someone might be asking cigarettes from you.

Cultures are diverse.

Travelling helps you bridge that gap. Do you have a word in your region (local or international) that has a different meaning in another place? If so, please put them in the comments section.

Maybe we can create an opportunity for greater understanding.

Last Sunday, March 9, was my opportunity to see our National penitentiary, the Bilibid prisons. Last Sunday was the culminating activity of our academic year for the Philippine Jesuit Prison Service. The group wanted to honor the graduating students whose fathers were inside the penitentiary.

The prison compound is orderly and neat. It is like a village. Only that there are more men than women. I saw a playground. I saw a hospital. I saw a tennis court. I saw sari-sari stores. I saw inmates selling prison art and souvenirs. I saw celebrity inmates whose stories and struggles we have read in the papers. I saw inmates surrounding and protecting them too. I saw the list of organizations inside the penitentiary (outside, we call them gangs). I saw TV antennas. I also saw men closely drawn to God.

The church inside the penitentiary was probably the only one I have seen where the men outnumbered the women in attendance. Last Sunday was different. On any Sunday, I’d normally hear women and children assume choir duty. But this time, it was the men playing the instruments. I saw husbands and wives savoring moments together like lovers on trysts.

But last Sunday too, I saw men singing to God and offering praises to him.

I also saw children tucked underneath the arms of their fathers. This was one day of the week when they could be with the fathers whose presence they long for.

As the day drew closer to 4pm, we had to file back to the exits. The guards cleared all of us who were leaving.

When I entered, two stamp markings were placed on my right arm.The markings spelled the difference between the inmate and the visitor. The prison guard was clear to say that I should never lose that stamp. If ever I did, I’d have to stay until prison authorities made sure that I was not an inmate. Those were the only marks the guard looked for when I stepped out.

Outside of prison,  no one checks for stamp pad markings on anyone’s right arm. We don’t need them because we are free.

Everything in prison seemed to look normal. All elements we see in the free society are inside the prison compound. Well, except for crime and freedom.Random crimes, perhaps, will happen inside. However, the inmate is definitely not free.

While the inmate longs for freedom, freedom we enjoy all our days. This is the same freedom we tend to abuse and take for granted.

An unintentional search in Google led me to a video I did a couple of years back. I embedded the file here.

I did this video back in 2006 for an Education reform workshop in Germany. This was sponsored by the Friedrich Naumann Foundation (FNF). This video clip was my final presentation.

Education is my contribution to my country’s growth. Teaching is my expression. Teaching I pray, will plant the seeds of love and hope in my student’s hearts. Hopefully, they become good citizens. Hopefully, they can discern the right path in a world full of gray permissibles. Hopefully, they can fill the world with their passion and talent.

I pray they be the change the world thirsts for. As I pray for you dear students, I journey with you too.

Till our paths cross again.

I have four visible scars in my body. I recall getting my first one when I was about 6 years old. We spent summer in my father’s province. The house we stayed in was surrounded by cacao trees.

It was harvest time. Someone called out to me and gave me ripe cacao fruit. I ran and moments later, my knees got stuck in the barbed wire. The wire was there but I didn’t notice. My lesson: I should watch where I’m going.

The second scar is on my left eyebrow. I got this when I was in Grade 4. While waiting for my school bus, my busmates and I decided to play basketball. But since we did not have a ball, we looked for a substitute. We found a can. In one of those “rebounds,” the can slipped my hand. It hit my brow. Of course, I wounded myself. My lesson: I should use the right equipment.

My third scar is on my hairline. I got cut when I was in Grade 5. At that time, our principal always asked someone tall enough to reach for the school bell. At 330pm everyday, the bell had to be rung to signal that we all could go home. One afternoon, I was given that chance to ring the afternoon bell. The principal looked in my direction and asked me to go ahead and ring it.

There was also another boy at my back who thought he was the one that was spoken to. So we both ran up the stairs and raced towards the bell. I got there moments ahead of him. I think I pulled the string too hard because the bell fell on my head. My lesson: Check for overlaps.

The fourth scar is my bent arm. I got this when I was in my mid 20s. I broke my arm because I met a vehicular accident. I was supposed to travel but got invited to a friend’s birthday celebration. I had too many bottles of beer the night before my trip. The day following, I had a terrible hang over. I asked someone to drive for me.

On the way to my destination, our vehicle had to avoid a speeding bus that overtook at the opposite direction. When my driver swerved to the right side of the road, he did not notice the truck parked at the side of the road. So we hit the back of the truck. My impulse was to brace for impact with my right arm. Unfortunately, my arm was the casualty. LESSON: Never drink the night before you travel. That way, you can be responsible for your safety if you are the one driving.

Of course, there are scars that are not seen. No visible wounds can be seen. But the effects we carry for a long time.

Broken promises, failed relationships, health problems, derailed careers, lost friends, disempowering words, shattered goals, and the list goes on. Name your invisible scar. I bet you have your own story to tell too.

Everytime we encounter a scar in our lives, we pick up a little lesson or two. Sometimes we end up repeating some of our mistakes. But most of the time, we try and avoid them altogether.

What of Philippine politics? Why do we seem to be in circles all the time?

Could it be that our scars, as a nation, are not deep enough? Or is it perhaps,  because we haven’t learned our lessons yet.

The last time I went out on the streets was Edsa 1 in 1986. I was a college freshman studying in Ateneo at that time. Heeding the call of Cardinal Sin, we gathered and went to Logistics command gate at Camp Aguinaldo. The nights following, we kept on coming back because it did not seem that we were in the think of an uprising. The mood was festive, although there were occasional moments of fear and doubt. I took to the streets because I felt the time was right for a fresh start for the Philippines. Many people felt that way too. I personally hoped that we would have a better country after Marcos.

Change also happened during Erap’s time. The crowd that congregated for EDSA 2 was still clamoring for the same things I remember asking for during EDSA 1: getting rid of corruption, better government, better leadership, and a better future.

22 years later, here we are still on square 1. The tables have turned against the EDSA 2 beneficiary. Now Pres. Arroyo is at the receiving end of all the accusations once hurled against Pres. Estrada.

Our politicians never learn from history’s lessons. As we demand that they be good examples to society, we also forget that we have our own personal challenges to overcome. Sometimes, we too, fall short of other people’s expectations.

Can this short list be examples of “moderating” our “personal greed?”

• beating the red light;
• breaking traffic rules;
• drunk and reckless driving;
• driving without motorcycle helmets;
• gossiping about co-workers;
• occasionally flashing a government official’s calling card when we get flagged down;
• offering to bribe the traffic cop who flags you down for a traffic violation;
• cutting corners at whichever government agency requires you to queue for several hours;
• using wang-wang at EDSA although you are not authorized to use it;
• occasionally using the company cell phone for personal calls;
• using the company car for personal trips;
• playing solitaire on our desktops during office hours;
• charging a personal meal against the company’s representation expenses;
• awarding purchase orders to those who promise commissions;
• whittling down the tax you pay to government;
• taking over-breaks at the office;
• throwing trash on the highway;
• dumping your trash on the river;
• driving a smoke-belching vehicle;
• spitting on the streets;
• pissing on the walls;
• cheating at quizzes and long tests;
• copying assignments from our classmates; and
• …..

The list doesn’t end here. Feel free to add your own. Feel free to justify too, that they CAN BE okay, and therefore, tolerable once in a while.

These little things, though local and personal in scope, eat away at our core. I fear that the more we tolerate the little indiscretions, the more we desensitize ourselves to bigger “exceptions” through the years.

Whether the accusations against Pres. Arroyo are true or not, I pray the truth come out. But while we crave for the quality of life we long for, we should not surrender the responsibility government alone. Nor must we blame government when this change does not happen.

I agree with Cardinal Rosales when he said that change involves all of us: change in big things and change also in little things.

Change from the outside also requires change from the inside. It is not a change of government that will stop all the ills in society. It will also start with making the right decisions at the smallest level. Not necessarily because we want to, but because we OUGHT to.

The challenge of EDSA is a national challenge. We must not forget however, that it is personal too.