DEadpOetSsOcIeTy

When I was a child, the family usually went to my grandmother’s home town every summer in Alegria, a small, seldom-heard town after Badian. Each night, I often asked my father why there were fireflies across the sea. He said that they weren’t fireflies but street lights, car lights and all the lights on the island of Negros Oriental. I didn’t believe him. At the age of four, I never got tired of asking the same question over and over until the most logical answer is presented. The story of fireflies, that was.

         Last week, I had set foot on that island particularly on Dumaguete City., a sleepy town as they may call it or the town of gentle people as I had heard. But wether its the town or the people, everything complemented to my three-night stay at Dumaguete City.

         It’s a small city. Neverthelass, a highly-developed one. Tricycles function as cabs - a big saving on my part. But most of the time, I prefer walking. Aside from challenging my sense of direction, it’s a one way of exploring the sceneries at my most favorable choices. Besides, the best way to surprise yourself with the sceneries is when you become your own tourist guide. One time, as I was about to cross the street, I stood for almost a minute before realizing the absense of traffic lights. So much for suprises! The only time I decided to ride a tricycle was when my collegues almost left me on the third night for our trip back here in Cebu.

         The sweet, buttery taste of sans rival had made me forgot the concept of modesty when Beth decided to share her supposedly "pasalubong" the next day. The cozy atmosphere of Antonio Coffee Shop, the solemnity of the Cathedral, a memorable place at Foodnet…

         Biking along the grounds of Siliman University, playing ghost hunting at night, dorm-hopping, walking around the boulevard while eating balot ( and accidentally then intentionally witnessing strippers dance in a bar where its door and windows are open to the public!), sharing self-made corny jokes… had made my stay in Dumaguete experienced with fun and remembered with nostalgia.

      Indeed, all these create stories far better than flapping butterflies.

        an hour ago, i was playing the sidney bristow role.
        i was in my room when my celphone beeped twice, indicating that a long message had entered in my inbox. the number was new. the message contained: D’AUDITORS OF PHIL.CHARITY FOUNDATION inform u dat ur Celphone no.Won Php950,000.00 2nd prize Winner draw last:OCT./15/07. Pls Call Me Now. I’m, CHRIS LIM COA.
        well, mr. coa, it seemed you had the wrong person to fool around with. i dialed his number but my load wasn’t enough for a call. talking about getting unlucky! but then again, i extended an effort of going outside and got my phone loaded. when he answered my call, i quickly introduced myself as anna magno of cebu. he greeted me with so much delight in his voice. so at first i played the innocent, naive person. he didn’t ask me to deposit a certain amount of money in an account…yet. but i was pretty sure that’s how a text scam works. so i brought up the topic. i asked where his location was so i can send the money i need to deposit in order for me to get my oh-so-big-2nd prize cash. he said that he was in his office. i asked particularly where. then he started to stutter saying he’ll send the address through text. i didnt insist but before i ended the call, i told him that i had to send his number to the national bureau of investigation to counter-check the validity of his claims. while he explained that it was no longer necessary for me to do, in a more stuttering voice, i was on my bed laughing silently. then i told him that there was nothing to be fussed about. it was just a protocol any person should do. and that’s when i started talking about text scams and he hanged up on me. gotcha!
        his number is 09165436615. i wonder how many texters there are who seriously take his bluff. but if there’s anything im sure of, it’s his subscription to globe unlimited texting!   

To write is to bleed

Shattering  silently…

The broken pieces of crystalline memories

Thrust there edges in my soundless reverie

My verses soak in crimson puddles

Tracing my hand that once fit unto yours

To write is to bleed

A thousand paper tears…

My eyes trying to draw the image of you

Only to vision an old picture

My thoughts in sail for answers

But the wind carries not your voice

Silence…

I sent out signals

To bridge our transoceanic distance

Let me be lost and oblivious

Silence…

You choose

Silence…

Hurting than angry words

Memories seep unto my veins

Let me be empty and numb

Lucid voice to echoes

Distinct portraits to silhouettes

Lighted imageries to shadows

Blazing fire to smoke

You are my bliss

You shall be

…my fading bliss

Imagine Snow White without her usual smiling
glow. Or Princess Aurora hitting birds with her fairy godmothers’
broomsticks. Or picture out Cinderella in tuxedo getting drunk on the
royal party. Little girls of avid bedtime stories would had have then a
different idea on how to be like a woman of poise and dignity. The art
of femininity, if I may call it.

Life is not asking much of do’s and dont’s
and we don’t really have to act like a princess to be woman accepted by
society. Otherwise, Hans Christian Anderson would have been sued by
feminists long ago for his fairy stories offensive to public morale and
decency.

It is never that hard to loosen up our
masculine side as we do all have, anyway, according to psychologist
Carl Jung. I believe it only takes a few steps to rediscover the true
you. A woman of poise and dignity transformed within 10 days.

Start with what the people can see right
away. No, this does not call for Fanny Serano to do you a total
make-over. Proper posture is what it calls for. Learn not to slouch.
Walk like your in the Grammy Award’s red carpet. In the filed of human
anatomy, we woman have a different pivotal attachment of the hips than
that to the men’s, thus, giving a natural sway of the hips when walking.

Learn how to carry a dress may it be elegant
or simply your daily school uniform. And smile always. In the study of
adults of various ages, a tendency was found for subjects to mimic the
expressions of those around them. Scientists at the University of
California in San Francisco have identified nineteen different kinds of
smiles, all of which capble of communicating a pleasant message that
will often be met with a smile in return.

If you have pets at home, start cherishing
and loving them like they’re your own children. Women may differ in
attitudes but all have motherly care in nature.

Surround yourself with pleasent feminine
aromas. Air out your house and add some fragrant flowers. Five hundred
years ago, soldiers in Europe used good smelling spices to distract the
injured from their pain. Today, doctrors are experimenting on what they
call aroma therapy. It awakens our senses and the brain at a
subconscious level. Not to mention, it may remind us of our feminie
side.

And on the tenth day, you have to believe in
yourself. The ability to do anything must be accompanied by the belief
that you can do it.

You don’t have to be Snow White or Princess
Aurora or Cinderella in real life. You just to be closer this time to
your feminine side. And you’ll see, within yourself, you shall lose
"the guy" in ten days.

ONE:

Stop posting multiple bulletins!!!

People would read your bulletin if they
really want to!

Or even stop saying, "READ ME", like I
said, people would read it if they
want to.

TWO:

To the people who have like 1,000
friends,

are you serious?

You dont know half the people!

You’re stupid.

Go play in traffic.

THREE:

Don’t ever post pictures and say

"OMG, I’m so ugly"

"OMG, I’m so fat"

because if you were,

you wouldn’t post them.

And if u do ur a f*cking idiot.

FOUR:

Nobody cares about threats over the
internet.

Don’t try to act hardcore with the
keyboard.

Fighting online is like racing in the
special olympics;

even if you win, you’re still retarded.

FIVE:

Quit crying because you’re not on
someones featured friends.

Who cares?

IT’S THEIR PROFILE!!!

NOT YOURS !!!

SIX:

Who really cares if I don’t accept you
as a friend?

MOVE ON!!!

Don’t send me another request or
message
asking

"What’s up with you not adding me?"

I don’t want you as a friend,

that’s what’s up dumbass!!!

SEVEN:

6th graders who have Friendster

and look like sluts, and act like
whores

go somewhere else because nobody

wants you here.

EIGHT:

If you have decided to read this,

you are a true Friendster Friend.

Real friends read their bulletins.

NINE:

I say you go and pass this on

and maybe it will finally get through
people’s brains.

TEN:

And if you open a bulletin and it says
something like

" Repost this in 100 seconds or a ghost
will rape your dog

tonight, or "some dead skinless girl is
gonna rape your mom "

QUIT BEING A DUMB A$S!!

Entry 2:  Their Story

I have seen their faces.  It was a confounding scene I have witnessed.  If last time I saw morbid deaths of victims, I came face to face with cold-blooded suspects. 

I have felt their side of the story.

It was already half past eleven in the evening and my notebook only had few scribbles on it.  That would only mean one thing.  No big story for the night.

            Beside me, at the backseat, was Des busy arranging her things in her bag.  I rolled down the window.  The street was free from deafening sirens.  No alarm.

            Next stop, home.  I assured myself. 

            “CIDG lagi toh nga sakyanan.  Naa gyud to’y sulod.” exclaimed Kuya Moy2x while making a sudden U-turn along Banilad Road.

            Or not. Mr. Disappointment rubbed its mocking face in of front me.

            The patrol car ran at a speed from 40/kph to 60/kph.  By the time we reached the Cebu City Police Office, other radio reporters were bustling around the corner of the front lobby.  Sir Ferdinand signaled me to go with him inside the room.  I grabbed Des’ arms and we went down the lobby where some of the police officers ogled us evidently.

            “Masscom intern mo day? Mga gwapa lagi kay mo.”, whispered one of them.

            Kita ka’g bala nga mosulod sa imong baba ron. I was tired and easily pissed off.  But the atmosphere changed once I sat beside with one of the suspects’ wife inside. 

Sir Ramil Paican, the TV Patrol news reporter, was already there. Sir Ferdinand Maños introduced us to him.

            “Kumusta man internship ninyo dri ABS dai?  Wala mo gi daog-daog aning Ferdinand?” he said while laughing. I just gave a faint smile.  I was staring at this woman beside me.  She was wearing a pair of shorts and loose shirt.  Her black slippers covered with earth dust.  She had her hair pushed back with a rubber band in what seemed like a quick makeover.  She touched her knuckles restlessly; eyes glued to the other door in the room.  I followed her gaze and I’d read the sign that said Interrogation Room.  His husband must be in there.  She was indifferent from Sir Ramil’s continuing funny remarks or the entertaining evening show on the flat-screened television in the office. 

            Sir Ramil must’ve noticed my silence and turned his attention to the woman. 

            “Asawa ka anang naa sa sulod, ma’am?” he said evenly.

            “O.  Nakuratan man lang mi’g kalit nga nisulod man ni sila unya gipusasan na la’g kalit akong bana.  Gikan pa intawn mi’g Carbon.” the woman said while glancing at the door from time to time.

            An officer came out from the interrogation room and signaled Sir Ramil to go inside.  I followed.

            Inside was there men alleged to be thieves riding motorcycles.

            One was dark, tall and sturdy with straight hair extending to the earlobes.  The second one had chinky eyes with fair complexion and medium in height.  The last man, and seemed to be the oldest, was short and had curly hair and guarded eyes.  All wore the same expression.

            Was it guilt or confusion written on their faces?

            They kept on shrugging their heads while the officer reported his information to the media men gathered in the room.  Some took pictures of their faces one by one.  Each of them faced the camera as if it was Medusa.  They cannot look at it directly.  And I, same, to them.  I cannot bear to add the scrutinizing stares they already had.  Were they innocent?  Or they simply seemed to be. 

            “Unya day, nalingaw ka nga masscom imo gikuha?”  Sir Ramil suddenly blurted out the question after we got out from the room. 

            “O kaayo, sir.” I answered.

             Or I simply seemed to be.

                Entry 1:  Lives Taken            

            Receiving
an alarm, ABS-CBN’s patrol car turning into a dashing bullet, arriving at the
crime scene, seeing the grotesque dead body, and suddenly I forget why I am
there. I am seeing every incident as if
it’s my first time. 

Welcome to
the real media world, Bai , I mumbled to myself. So help me God.

 I
stared at the dead man on the sidewalk at Osmeña Boulevard. He had his back on us. His front contour faced towards the wall of
the building. His hands landed limply
over his head. The bullet that pursed
in his left rib left a crimson color on his blue shirt. Witnesses said he was
still able to run at about a hundred meter before hitting to the ground. Suspect rushed away. Suspect remained unidentified.

 I
remained glued to the ground. Sir
Ferdinand approached me and handed me his radiophone. I stared at it blankly.

 I
can’t do it! Not a live report like this! My head was screaming.

 He
must’ve read my mind. “Ah tabangi na
lang ko kuha’g details.” he said.

 My
mouth seemed too dry to speak as I interviewed some people nearby. I tried to swallow the lump in my throat as
I jot down the details. I ended up
gathering only a few. 

 “La-ing
shooting alarm sa Lapulapu.” I heard Kuya Moy2x said. 

We quickly got back to
the car as soon as we got the details needed. I listened to Sir Ferdinand as he did his flash report while the thing I
was at turned into a dashing bullet again.

 We
arrived at Camelia where the incident took place. The police siren played red and blue disco lights during the
humid night. 

 “Taga
ABS mo, miss? Ulahi na nu-on kaayo mo.”
said a woman standing by her gate in the neighborhood.

 Oh
the reason behind our delay was nothing big. We just came across with some dead man a while ago. Nothing big really. I answered her in my mind.

 Do
people really view media as a hound hungry for a heinous story?

 A father
was shot three times while he was in his CR. A man entered his house, went to the CR and shoot him then and
there. Two shots at his head, one at
his neck. Suspect, wearing white shirt,
hurriedly dashed off from the house and rode his motorcycle. Suspect remained unidentified.

 His
twenty-two year old son was shocked when he went back to the house after he had
his cellular phone reloaded at a nearby store. I saw him sitting at his neighbor’s front yard. Some were futilely attempting to comfort
him. I can’t describe the look on his
face.

Sure, I’ve seen
these kinds of crimes, murders, homicides, whatever they name it. I’ve seen them on TV. I barely grasp the details. It hardly took my attention. But it’s different when you’re there in the
actual crime scene; knowing you’re breathing the same air as this dead guy used
to breathe with. Sure, my full
attention was already there but I’d still end up empty-handed with details.

 What
will happen to his son? Will he be
fine? Traumatic? How long will he be
able to handle such grief? Will the
killers hunt for him too?

 My
senior reporter, Sir Ferdinand, caught my eye.

 Snap
out of it, Bai! Get a grip of yourself and remember why you’re there. Do your job. Do this right!

 Ask
how the suspects got to enter their house? What time did this happen? Where
was he shot? How many times? Are there any witnesses? Who are involved in this story? Names and details, details, DETAILS!

 Do
this right. But what is right when the
right thing to do seem not to be right anymore? Even if I’ve no longer seen it not on TV, I’d still barely grasp
the details I need.

 The
radiophone tripled its weight in my trembling hand. I requested Sir Ferdinand
not to let me do the news reporting for that time again. 

I can’t seem to
focus on my tasks.

 Two
murders in one night. I shivered at
the mere thought of it.

 All
I knew that life turned cheap. It
became easy to kill.

            Communication is the starting
gear towards an informed public.

 Thousands
of years ago, an umalahukan shifted
from place to place in order to reveal the information to be disseminated.
American Indians of foreign lands inflicted fire on high mountains and once a
smoke was seen above the horizon, a signal had been cast.

 These
may be cited as examples for Harold Laswell’s one-way communication model. But as
time changes, communication evolves to cope with the demands of modern society.
Umalahukans are slashed out from the
picture and the idea of smoke signals becomes obscure and even considered a folly
if still practiced today. People start to acquire the sense of curiosity to the
occurrences far beyond what their physical senses could deliver. Hence, the transmission
of information from one far place to another in real time becomes a necessity.

 This
is where the role of mass media comes in. To notify the public with substantive
information and unbiased news are a journalist’s first obligation. This is the
other way of saying “the public has the right to know”. But this is not where
the responsibilities of media end. The act alone of transmitting messages draws
a two-way bridge especially from the citizens to the leaders in a developing
society. From the simple communication model of Laswell, it has been replaced
by the complex illustration of Schramm. The dogma of such theory provides an
interaction, effective and profound, among the people despite of their social status.
Thus, public service has been established. Truth, then, becomes the primary
concern of both the public and the media. A journalist’s job is to scrutinize
the facts and it is up to the individual to discern on his personal, rational
interpretations. However, many people especially those who are in the
Philippine governance often do not care if what is publish is true. If
journalists write about opposition, they are viewed as promoter of the aims of
other political parties and when the watchdog role of media is pursued, truth
is characterized as disloyalty if it falls into the category of criticism.
Independent journalists are then, often times, branded as unpatriotic and
anti-government.

  Media have been the sore eyes in the view from
the people who bear such prejudices. Media practitioners have been a felon of
their own responsibilities. The messengers have been blamed. Threats, indeed,
become inevitable. The danger towards the safety of media advocates turn from
subtle to evident. Is George Benaojan’s death the effect of a mere accident? Is
the life taken from Allan Dizon a result of his own lack of judgment? Directly
speaking, there are no laws which adhere to the safety and security of media
practitioners from such threats, may it be tacit or obvious. Hence, media
practitioners resort to the only law for intimidation purposes; the carrying of
firearms. Yet again, we cannot neglect the simple act of inquiring ourselves,
will everyone be benefited for the common good or will it only worsen the
situation? Does it lessen the threats or does it only cause more risks to the
media personnel and even to others as well?

 However,
the surfacing of such issue cannot only be traced back to the threats hurled to
the media industry. The root may lie on the possibility of unethical action
committed by media practitioners themselves which may led to the audacity of anonymous
threats. The method must be objective, not the journalist. Journalists are held
accountable for the stories that they write. Perhaps, firearms are not the only
solution at all.

            Communication is the starting
gear towards an informed public.

 Thousands
of years ago, an umalahukan shifted
from place to place in order to reveal the information to be disseminated.
American Indians of foreign lands inflicted fire on high mountains and once a
smoke was seen above the horizon, a signal had been cast.

 These
may be cited as examples for Harold Laswell’s one-way communication model. But as
time changes, communication evolves to cope with the demands of modern society.
Umalahukans are slashed out from the
picture and the idea of smoke signals becomes obscure and even considered a folly
if still practiced today. People start to acquire the sense of curiosity to the
occurrences far beyond what their physical senses could deliver. Hence, the transmission
of information from one far place to another in real time becomes a necessity.

 This
is where the role of mass media comes in. To notify the public with substantive
information and unbiased news are a journalist’s first obligation. This is the
other way of saying “the public has the right to know”. But this is not where
the responsibilities of media end. The act alone of transmitting messages draws
a two-way bridge especially from the citizens to the leaders in a developing
society. From the simple communication model of Laswell, it has been replaced
by the complex illustration of Schramm. The dogma of such theory provides an
interaction, effective and profound, among the people despite of their social status.
Thus, public service has been established. Truth, then, becomes the primary
concern of both the public and the media. A journalist’s job is to scrutinize
the facts and it is up to the individual to discern on his personal, rational
interpretations. However, many people especially those who are in the
Philippine governance often do not care if what is publish is true. If
journalists write about opposition, they are viewed as promoter of the aims of
other political parties and when the watchdog role of media is pursued, truth
is characterized as disloyalty if it falls into the category of criticism.
Independent journalists are then, often times, branded as unpatriotic and
anti-government.

  Media have been the sore eyes in the view from
the people who bear such prejudices. Media practitioners have been a felon of
their own responsibilities. The messengers have been blamed. Threats, indeed,
become inevitable. The danger towards the safety of media advocates turn from
subtle to evident. Is George Benaojan’s death the effect of a mere accident? Is
the life taken from Allan Dizon a result of his own lack of judgment? Directly
speaking, there are no laws which adhere to the safety and security of media
practitioners from such threats, may it be tacit or obvious. Hence, media
practitioners resort to the only law for intimidation purposes; the carrying of
firearms. Yet again, we cannot neglect the simple act of inquiring ourselves,
will everyone be benefited for the common good or will it only worsen the
situation? Does it lessen the threats or does it only cause more risks to the
media personnel and even to others as well?

 However,
the surfacing of such issue cannot only be traced back to the threats hurled to
the media industry. The root may lie on the possibility of unethical action
committed by media practitioners themselves which may led to the audacity of anonymous
threats. The method must be objective, not the journalist. Journalists are held
accountable for the stories that they write. Perhaps, firearms are not the only
solution at all.

    Their eyes were glued on the pieces of brown leather and bottles of rugby.  Different sounds screened the air.  Fingers danced on top of the long table.  Many Cebuanos had already experienced what it felt like to be in their shoes.  And the latter was supposed to mean literally!

    The making of step-in’s, wedges, strappy sandals, rubber slippers down to the boots and close shoes for men was the factor that built up the pride of Carcar.  These shoe products were sent out to different areas in Cebu.  From the different shoe factories in Carcar, these footwears were distributed to several markets and sellers.  In the case of KHOfeet collection, they supply shoe products for Footsteps store located at Colon St., Cebu. 

    Not only were these circulated around Cebu but these shoes had also reached places outside the region. 

    “Naay po’y mopalit nga whole sale diri para ibaligya ngadto sa Mindanao.” (There were also others who bought whole sales here for them to sell at Mindanao.), said a worker from Lirus Shoe Company.

    So famous was Carcar for its shoe factories that a group of townspeople decided to establish an organization that could unite all the manufacturers.  Hence, CUFMAI was created.  CUFMAI or Carcar United Footwear Manufacturers Association Incorporated was headed by its president Mercedita Apura.  Apura was the owner of Detasie shoe factory. 

    Together with her was Algerico Sandoy, vice-president; Jocelyn Yap, secretary; Timoteo Canape, treasurer and Ruth del Rosario as the auditor.  CUFMAI was created on October 8, 2004.  To mark their unity, shoe makers joined forces to create a huge shoe made of real brown leather which was paraded during 2004 and 2005 Sinulog.

    Along with all of these was the establishment of a large display center where different shoe manufacturers in Carcar can sell their products.

    A piece of vacant lot at Tangasan, Villadolid, Carcar was bought for all of the shoe companies to display their products under one roof.  A total of 16 stalls comprised the whole lot.  Among of these were Lirus Company by Boy and Jean Lirus, Lidabeth by Edison and Lidabeth Omar, Kevin’s Collection by Rodelio and Jocelyn Yap, JRE Footwear by Edna Enoria, Foot Fit by Ruth del Rosario, Detasie by Nicepuro and Mercedita Apura, KHOfeet Collection by Lorena Apura and Sammy Shoe from the names Sammuel and Mirna and many others. 

    This large display center became a stop over for business trips, company tours, travelers and tourists.  Fe Maninggo and Cleofe Custodio from Tabuylan, Bogo of Northern Cebu were among the customers.  Maninggo, a member of Brgy. Kagawad Olivo, said that they were having their “Lakbay-Aral” heading south. 

    Together with Maninggo and Custodio was their city mayor Raul Gerona.  Gerona said that they really planned to drop by in Carcar before going to Argao. 

    “Kahibaw gyud mi mahitungod aning mga sapatos sa Carcar kay taga Cebu gud.” (We really know about these shoes in Carcar because were from Cebu.), said Gerona.

    There were also Koreans and other travelers who stopped by to check out the various foot wears Carcar had to offer. 

    A single shoe factory can made an average of 60 pairs of ladies sandals per week depending on the styles and designs.  According to Narra Bacon, a worker in KHOfeet factory, a pair of sandals can be finished in a matter of one hour.  Lorena Apura, owner of KHOfeet, shared the basic procedures in making a step-in finger sandal. 

    The primary tools used were the sewing machines, heater, grinders, large scissors and rugby.  From a roll of rubber, the women shaped this according to a certain size.  After which, they passed the shaped rubbers to the men for the intermediate stage where the pasting, fixing, heating and grinding where done.  For the final stage, these were passed back to the women again for polishing and additional final touches. 

    The price of wegdes and step-in’s at Carcar ranged from P150-P220.  Boots and close shoes for men ranged from P 280-P350. 

    “Dili lang sa ampao og chicharon sikat ang Carcar. Kana pod ang mga sapotos diri.” (Carcar was not only known for its ampao and chicharon but also for its shoes ), said Keith Nadela, a 19 year-old resident of Carcar.

    So the next time you happen to pass by at Carcar, just remember the giant brown leather shoe.  Think big!