childeoftheblood's journal

There are moments that pass us by like ghosts, unfelt in their brief brush with our narratives. and there are moments that live on--in the collective memory of a community, in photos and videos, in stories that pass on from one mouth to another. they mark our memories, give us clues to the mystery of our ever-shifting identities, and encase our history within a solid glass of emotions. they mark the greatest transitions in our lives.

i was married a week ago. i like my wedding. before the ceremony i was more concerned about the practical isues of marriage and living under the same roof, while my wife-to-be was more nervous about the wedding itself than the rest of our lives together. but during the wedding itself, i finally understood her.

we had spent the last six months preparing for our wedding. as children of this age, we wanted to capture something that would be expressive of our common passions. we were both passionate about literature. we were both very interested in film. and so when one of our favorite pieces of literature--The Lord of the Rings--was expertly transliterated into film, we were in heaven. We felt this was a great moment in pop culture history, and it felt good to be part of the cultural hysteria that LOTR had become. and so to push it further, we decided on a Lord of the Rings theme wedding.

i can't really say much about the preparation. lorie did most of the work. i hardly felt the passing of moments that led me to THE moment. before i knew it, i was standing near the altar watching my bride walk down the aisle.

the universe opened before me and i wanted to cry. at that moment, she was the most beautiful woman in the world. how i wanted to thank the universe for leading me to thi moment. from this day forward, she would belong to me and i would belong to her.

but going back to the wedding, there was something truly magical about it, something surreal. there i was dressed as a man of gondor waiting for my bride. our guests, an assortment of middle-earth races and creatures, looked on with interest. our ring bearer really looked like a hobbit, like a little Frodo. Our usher was Saruman. our priest carried Gandalf's staff and spoke elven several times during the ceremony.

it felt good to mark our lives with something that belonged to our generation. who cares if people found it corny years later. our wedding was screaming, "this is the dawn of the 21st century and we're part of it! we had ring wraiths for guests and we were married by gandalf!"

days later, my wife and i were still talking about it. nevermind that there were stuff we needed to take care of in our house. it was still a mess and we still haven't bought essential things like a refrigerator or an oven. But the future could wait. this moment belonged to us.

thank god for wedding pictures.

(to view wedding pictures, please access www.photos.ph/aueysantos/lor)

I got this accepted for publication by a group publishing an anthology of different perspectives on the 2001 people power revolution here in the philippines where we overthrew our president, Erap Estrada.

kind of cheesy and my girlfriend and soon-to-be-wife complains that i made her sound like a bimbo. oh well. it's not a masterpiece, but my publisher says it's not bad for political propaganda purposes.

Love in the Time of Erap

I

I owe to Erap my entire love life.

I was a twenty-one year old instructor at the UP teaching communication and humanities courses and I never had a girlfriend. My entire academic life from elementary school to university was a jagged narrative of one rejection to another. In retrospect, I really don’t know why. Perhaps I was ugly. Perhaps I was a loser. Perhaps I was cursed. But the magic of the night of all EDSA II nights broke the curse, and now I drink my happiness to Erap the Corrupt, Erap the Fool, Erap the representation of all that was sick in Philippine society.

The night Erap was finally gone from Malacañang, my friends and I decided to celebrate. We met at Trellis and ordered our dinner—sisig and other pork meals to symbolize the disempowerment of Erap the Pig. With me were two very good friends—Sandra Roldan and Baryon Posadas, both also young faculty members of the English Department as I was. Vegetarian Sandra ordered her own meal to avoid eating the meat. She was a fellow believer in national democracy and member of the Congress of Teachers/Educators for Nationalism and Democracy (CONTEND). She was more than happy to see the fall of Erap, oppressor of the poor in benefactor’s clothing. Agnostic Baryon’s politics was vague to me, but he cared enough about the country to want the blatantly corrupt number one man to go.

“What’s taking Lorie so long?” asked Sandra.

“She’ll be here soon,” Baryon nonchalantly answered. Tonight we were happy, and so we kept the conversation going with me sipping my Pale Pilsen, Baryon his San Mig Light, and Sandra her wine.

And then she came, Maria Lorena Santos in her brown spaghetti-strapped shirt and long, brown skirt. Under the moonlight, her flowing, waist-long hair seemed to me as alive and vibrant as the night. Maybe the magic of the night was beginning to take its effect on me. Maybe I was starting to get drunk.

“Hi, Lorie,” greeted Sandra.

“Your hair,” I started dreamily, “there’s something about it, I don’t know. It’s beautiful.”

“Okay,” Lorie replied, flattered and confused at the same time.

“Are you hitting on Lorie?” Baryon asked.

I went back to my beer and smiled.

II

Lorie was also a colleague at the English Department. In fact, we went way back. Back in college, we were classmates in medieval lit, in early Philippine lit, and in the mandatory Rizal course. There might have been some attraction then, but aside from the occasional bantering over funny sexual themes in Chaucer, nothing ever came out of it. I was madly in love with a certain French-speaking, Catholic girl who would, like everybody else, break my heart, while Lorie was involved with someone else. At any rate, it would never have worked out then. She’d be blasted by my evangelical org mates for her anti-religion stance and I’d be blasted by her pseudo-cool, literary enthusiast friends for being so square. We graduated at the same time. In fact, she was a couple of seats away from me in our college graduation. I figured we’d never see each other again and that was that.

It was therefore a surprise when I discovered that she’d be teaching at the department, too. We hung around in the same barkada of young faculty members. Those were the days—with me, her, Baryon Posadas, Sandra Roldan, Massie Santos, Dante Gagelonia, and Yvette Tan. Within two years, only Lorie and Sandra would still be teaching—the rest would either be retrenched or would resign as a result of department politics. But two years would be a long time, and for the moment we were having fun. Ours were days of teaching, designing and preparing lessons, and checking tons of paper and nights of drinking at Big Sky, discussing religion, politics, and critical theory.

But as we reveled in our small world, trouble was brewing outside. President Erap, who won by a landslide in the previous election through pro-poor slogans, was now imposing anti-poor policies. Macho Man Erap felt popular support for him was so high that he could get away with anything. He brought the presence of the American military back by pushing for the Visiting Forces Agreement (VFA). He crushed any hope for peace talks with the Moro Islamic Liberation Front (MILF) by attacking their camps—during a period of ceasefire! He was getting tough on mass demonstrations that only reflected the frustration of the awakened poor. And all the while, evidences of corruption and negligence in his government were leaking into popular awareness.

Some cold mornings before my 8:30 a.m. class, I would have breakfast with Lorie at the Faculty Center basement. Any chance for sending romantic signals would be crushed by my need to talk about national politics. If there was anything that Lorie wasn’t into, it was my politics and my religion.

“I’m really not into rallies,” she started once during breakfast. “I don’t see the point and they often just lead to violence. I don’t understand how a Christian like you could support mass actions like that. Weren’t you taught to just pray and ‘turn the other cheek’?”

“Nothing wrong with praying,” I replied. “But I don’t think the Church should just sit around while evil is growing. What did the Church do when Hitler was growing? Nothing. And what did American Christians do to stop their country from going to or sponsoring wars? Nothing. And what did some Filipino pastors do when Marcos declared martial law? They praised the Lord and said at last the communists would be eradicated! I mean, enough of this political neutrality! The kingdom of God is at war with sin, and sin is not just an individual condition but a sickness of our social orders that leads to oppression and suffering. To fight against the oppression of the poor is the church’s battle. Where others just see structure and superstructure, I see the prince of evil ruling over a fallen, cannibalistic world order.”

“Okay,” she smiled, freaked out by my preaching.

I sounded like a fanatic and I knew I turned her off. But what could I do? I was passionate about the topic. And perhaps, unconsciously, I wanted her to know that I was beginning to have a growing passion for someone, too.

III

That wasn’t the last time I’d encounter Lorie’s question. During the time when student and workers’ rallies were erupting all over, I would sometimes cancel class to encourage students to attend. The rallies were becoming more powerful. For some reason, we were getting a lot of media coverage.

To me, it was odd and surprising. Usually, the media wouldn’t touch rallies with a ten-foot pole. Governments like to create the myth that their country is okay and that dissent is only coming from an insignificant minority. Ignoring anti-government rallies is the media’s share in propagating this myth. As far as I remember, students and workers could scream their voices hoarse in front of Malacañang, but they wouldn’t get media coverage during the Ramos presidency.

But now, it was evident that something was up in the political and social atmosphere, something big. It was so big, in fact, that the media could no longer ignore the ever-increasing mass actions of students, workers, and even professionals like teachers. All over the country, the frustration of the angry masses was seeping more than ever into family living rooms. Images of unarmed students and even teachers being dragged, truncheoned, or sprayed with water from a fire truck hose were being broadcast nationwide almost every night where previously only a few streets could witness police brutality live.

Still, when I cancelled class, a student asked, “What’s the use?”

“What do you mean?” I asked back, a bit unnerved.

“I mean,” she began, “nothing ever comes out of it. You can scream all day, but those in power will still do what they want to do. The VFA still pushed through and MILF settlements will still be bombed.”

“The effects of mass actions may be unapparent in the beginning,” I replied, “but it will serve its purpose.”

“Which is?”

“Which is to communicate to those in power their errors. We live supposedly in a democracy. We are accountable to our leaders because we put them there in positions of power, but who are they accountable to? They’re accountable to us. And it’s up to us to wake them up when what they’re doing no longer serves the interests of the very people who elected them and whom they are supposed to represent.”

“But it doesn’t work.”

“You don’t know that it doesn’t. And there’s another purpose.”

“What?”

“Most people live blissfully unaware of the issues around them until it’s too late. Government policies are assumed to be good and those who beg to differ are assumed to be evil dissidents and potential terrorists. But when people hear legitimate grievances on TV-covered rallies, they may start to re-think their positions. And when people see thin, unarmed students getting banged up by truncheon-wielding policemen hiding behind shields, they may begin to empathize with the ‘evil dissidents’ and realize that true evil may lie after all in the power of the police state. I mean, they may start thinking, ‘Why is this unarmed student standing his ground despite his obvious disadvantage? There must be something in the principles he fights for to keep him going.’”

“I don’t know, sir,” my student shook her head. “When I saw that on TV, what I thought was, ‘Why don’t they ever learn? It’s useless and they’re getting hurt for no reason.’”

I shook my head helplessly. I had power in my classroom—power over ideas—but I wasn’t God. I had my limitations.

To my credit, I made sure my English class was interesting by connecting it to the real world out there even if I had to make wild connections. Like the time we were talking about synonyms and antonyms. I pointed out that antonyms could sometimes become fabricated lies. Antonyms divided the world into light and darkness, good and evil, order and chaos. And so when we become conditioned to think that communism is the antonym of democracy, we connect the former to evil, darkness, and chaos while democracy represents good, light, and order. But communists are very much concerned about democratic rights. From their point of view, they are fighting for a truer version of democracy. But popular education has led us to believe that democracy and communism are polar opposites.

Another time, I was reviewing denotation and connotation. I pointed out that connotations could justify murder. See, denotation was the dictionary meaning of a word while connotation was any concept that popular imagination has connected with it. So the denotation of darkness is the absence of light and its connotation is evil or despair. But what happens when the media keeps connecting two concepts so one becomes an inevitable connotation of the other? For example, Muslim and terrorist. The media was so full of stories concerning “Muslim terrorists.” Why specify Muslim? It’s not like they ever talked about “Christian terrorists.” During Erap’s time, the constant repetition in papers and on air of the term “Muslim terrorist” was messing with our collective psyche so that terrorism became a connotation of Islam. Muslim equals terrorist. And so when Erap launched his ill-advised war against the MILF, I was surprised by the number of people on the street who supported his massacre.

But this was all I could do. Weave ideas to teach what I believed to be true. And so when my student insisted that mass actions were useless, I didn’t argue anymore. I let the class go and no longer expected to see any of them at the rally. I had been a student, too, and I had done my best to resist know-it-all professors. Other students were already on the streets and I needed to join them. As for my students, I have done all I could. I have taught them that antonyms could lie and connotations could kill.

IV

Erap’s offenses against the Filipino people kept coming, pushing us into a deeper and deeper state of despair and disillusion. On the night Erap’s cohorts in his impeachment trial at the Senate won the vote to keep “the envelope” closed, the country could take no more. The rest was EDSA II history.

The next few days were a blur. I was mostly with my barkada. They weren’t the type to attend rallies, but we stayed when we could. We joined the throng of people at the EDSA shrine and listened to anti-Erap speeches. We cheered whenever we heard new updates, like when Erap came on TV and said the envelope containing the Jose Velarde accounts would be opened once the Filipino people dispersed. His position was weakening and he knew it. The people did not disperse and screamed “Erap Resign!” Even Gavroche, Lorie’s cocker spaniel, was there. The dog was being walked with an “Erap Resign!” bandana tied around his neck

I even saw some of my students there. Months later, my student who told me rallies were useless would shift from biology to sociology. She was going to be a doctor, but something must have made her change her mind.

And so we sat when we could, as if in a national picnic, and stood when there was no space. When we got hungry, we went inside the mall just beside the shrine and got a bite. Then we would come out again and stay there till late in the evening. New people would be coming by the time we left. We would return the next day.

One evening, Lorie and I returned to the rally after dinner. We got uncomfortable with all the standing around. Instead of looking for seats inside the mall, we went inside the shrine. There weren’t too many people inside praying. In fact, the calm silence inside the shrine was a direct contrast to what was going on outside. We sat. Inspired by the house of God, I started to preach again about God and revolution to my single captive audience. But she wasn’t being turned off, and soon I shut up.

For a moment we sat in silence. Without even looking at each other we felt absolutely connected. Perhaps the all-consuming heat of the national fever drew us together. Perhaps the same, unmistakable sense of unity that removed barriers of class and background among the people removed personal barriers of insecurity between us. Perhaps it was the sense of power, the sense of creating something new as we stood on the brink of deposing a traitor, that made us see that we could create new possibilities for ourselves. It was the sort of mystical experience that would not have been possible in simple, day-to-day meetings among routine classes and drinks. We would have met every single day at the department, just on the verge of making that jump but not quite, and everything would be the same. But tonight, by the time I took her home and left, something was different between us.

And so on the night of our celebration, on the night Erap was gone from the palace, the four of us—Baryon, Sandra, Lorie, and I—went to the Adriatico Circle in Manila. We just found a spot and sat on the ground, sharing a bottle of wine to drink to the future of the Philippines. Under the stars, Lorie and I leaned against each other. Two years later, I would propose marriage to her on this very spot. But tonight, we were tentative and unsure.

We retired in Baryon’s house. We got drunk some more and then we all slept on bean bags in the living room. I slept beside Lorie and I held her hand. Earlier we all got sentimental because of too much alcohol and started talking about old flames. I cut off the conversation by screaming, “This is pathological! You guys are all in love with an absence!”

My words struck a chord in everyone, but especially in Lorie. She snuck towards the living room and curled on a bean bag. I lay myself beside her and held her hand. I told her it was going to be okay. I was there. And after all, we’ve already kicked out a president. We could do anything. I was so drunk I fell asleep holding her hand. I woke up for a moment in the middle of the night and, thinking she was asleep, kissed her hand, and then fell asleep again. When morning came, she was still holding my hand. Later on she would tell me that she was awake the whole time. She couldn’t sleep because I was snoring.

As I write this, it has been almost three years since the EDSA II people power revolution. I’m now working as a freelance writer while Lorie is still teaching at UP Diliman. Lorie and I are getting married in less than six months, and Gloria Arroyo, having betrayed the hopes of her people who catapulted her into power, will probably lose the upcoming elections. In this land, we will raise our family through many national administrations to come. Despite the discouraging state of affairs, we feel safe here. Lorie has her classroom and I have my word processor. We know from experience that this country has the guts and the spirit to rise up and defend the future of our children and our children’s children.

This post was edited by childeoftheblood on Dec 22, 2003.

My last journal entry was about quitting my job for network marketing. unfortunately, things aren't going well for me in that area. it was very discouraging from the beginning, but people in the industry had always been encouraging. still, i think there comes a time for a person to throw in the towel and that time for me is now. I'm not closing the door totally. I still think network marketing is a good business model. Maybe in a few years, i'll be more mature to handle it,improve my people skills, etc. But right now, I give up.

so here I am, having resigned from my job to do network marketing only to find out I really don't have what it takes. I have no other source of income. It's kind of depressing at home and I can't even post regularly at NAO now since my internet access was in my former job (no internet at home).

Then it dawned on me--no use wasting my time. It's hard to be in business because of the Philippine economic crisis (we're always in a crisis) and it's hard to get a good job in a place where 5 million people have no jobs out of a total population of 70 million. So i might as well use what God has given me--my brains and my word processor.

Yes, folks, i'm going to try to make a living out of writing. I've already contacted two local publishing houses and have gotten advanced royalties for two projects. The first book i'm writing is a biography of this hotshot military guy who happens to be a christian. it's supposed to be inspirational. The second book is a sort of academic book on manhood. you know, what it means to be a man, issues of manhood, good and evil in the patriarchy, etc.

it's a scary move for me because very few people in the philippines can say that they make a living out of writing books. the popular notion here is that filipinos are not a reading people. even the "popular" authors aren't earning very much. but so far i like the advanced royalties i've gotten. if i'm really prolific, maybe i can make it work. in truth, i'm actually excited. it feels good to be making something and being paid for it. it's not like having a job where the work is this abstract thing. when this is over i will have an actual manuscript--the work of my hands, my mind. I will see hundreds, even thousands of copies in my publisher's basement. damn, it feels good. wish me luck, guys. :-)

I've resigned from jobs before. Usually i would write a brief, detached, formal resignation letter. At one university where I used to teach, i filed a study leave for one semester and just never came back. As in all the other jobs, I have my reasons for leaving my job as educational consultant. They're the usual reasons. But what makes this different is that... I actually feel sad.

I remember feeling a sense of relief when i had resigned from other jobs. this is true for this one, too. But it is mixed with a certain measure of sadness. I'll miss this place. I'll especially miss my boss. She was not the usual kind of boss--the bossy types. She's more like a strong mother type. She wasn't a wuss, knew how to inspire fear and respect in her people. But she also treated me like a son.

Today I wrote my resignation letter. It went like this.

"I regret that your initial evaluation of my decision to go part-time is right: it’s not enough. As you know, I wish to spend more time and effort in taking care of my Bel-Air aroma-biotechnology business. It was you who said that if I wanted to do this, I should go all or nothing. I wish to pursue that now and am therefore tendering my resignation from EduQuest effective the 15th of September.
This decision, though I believe to be the right one, nevertheless saddens me. I have gotten used to the company, have become quite comfortable here. More than that, I have learned a lot from the company and especially appreciate how my skills have grown in making presentations and maintaining relationships, particularly in the area of customer care. I have also made friends here and I count you among them, and that makes this harder. Nevertheless, I feel that it is time for me to leave the security of employment and take the risky leap into business and pursue my goal of financial security.
Another thing I learned from you is never to burn my bridges. My link with EduQuest is one bridge I particularly have no desire to burn. Perhaps we shall meet again in the future. If I happen to, God forbid, fail in my endeavor, I shall perhaps be knocking again on EduQuest’s door. Or if I succeed and then decide to pursue further education all the way to a Ph.D., then perhaps I can extend my services as a consultant.
In the mean time, I shall deeply miss the company and all the people here who have colored my life these past nine months."

It was quite painful handing it to her.

"So what's this? Is this your resignation."

I nodded.

"What's your reason?" And then she caught the first paragraph. "Oh that. Well, I totally understand. You have to give it a shot."

A sigh from both of us.

"Well, maybe you can still do some stuff for us. We can contract you for individual projects, write modules maybe..."

"I'd love that."

"Good. That's great."

I was about to leave when she also stood up. We kissed each other on the cheek and shook hands.

I will miss this woman. More than a boss, she was a mother and friend to me. She taught me a lot--how to "feel" business prospects, how to be a smooth talker, how to design projects in such a way clients want you more, and--most importantly--how to pursue my dreams. A year ago, she had told me I wouldn't last in the company. Like Peter to Jesus, I denied it. I intended to be faithful to the company.

"No. You're different. You are destined for greater things."

And you know what--I believed her.

There is a saying--"There is one sentence in your lifetime that will build you up towards greatness and one sentence that will break you and hurl you to the pits of despair. You will certainly get the latter. If you're lucky, you'll get the former maybe once."

I guess I'm lucky. Lucky to have known her.

Maybe I'll invite her to my wedding.