Memoirs of My College Graduation

I cannot imagine how many times I have retold my college graduation story to someone. In fact, not just that fateful time of college merry-making but also those times of struggle I had while studying, every time when the need to retell it arises.

While people may have think it doesn’t need an ounce of nerve to have my story being listened to again and again, deep inside it kills me to recount back what experience, the good and the not-so-good ones I have to muster to get through some of the tougher times of my life. And everytime I came across with someone who whines and grumbles over little things because they seem not to suit his/her pleasure, when in fact they could be the very same thing someone out there may have wished in life to have, the urge to do the solemn task would rise in climactic trend. And so, in the following moments, I had my mental pages perused, dog-eared at the most dramatic parts, scanned for what lesson I could impart to those who listened, and are willing.

The war is over, at last!

Graduation day is a day of victory for students. Victory because after the years of battling over the professors assignments, projects, theses to pull through despite the financial, emotional, psychological or a mix of these odds one faced, finally the end line has come. No one except yourself can withdraw from the chance of having to walk the red-carpeted isle of the walkway towards the center stage where you’ll get the official nod of the school administrators that you are legible to graduate; unless the school finds a genuine fault like when computing grades that will hold back your momentary spot among the thousands of students vying to leave the school premises after graduation, you, as how your siblings, parents, relatives–near and distant– neighbors and the community expected you: a graduate–fresh, idealistic, with guts tantamount to a hundred political trapos, they say.

The onslaught of the year-end dilemma

However, graduation days sometimes had its flaws. Sometimes the very essence of graduation gets marred by what graduates aspire to be– how they will look like, what dress and shoes to wear on, jewelries to flaunt and what matches which, who will do the make-up, etc. Waste of time. Not to mention, waste of money.

Or perhaps, I was just being cynical about it. Because first, I never had any nor got the chance to be how I would have wanted to appear in my college graduation day. No wonder why I cannot take my graduation picture out of the album where it had been hidden since 2006. It looked totally not the kind I hoped it is but had been. Regrets? Perhaps. But to where shall I put blame to? My parents for not providing me the whims a graduate would want to have in exchange for the diploma I and them can now brag about? My parents, who despite our financial incapability had stubbornly made us pursue schooling? These two people who had to break their backs, turned night into day working, securing for ways on how my siblings and I can still go to school the following day? Then, perhaps it wasn’t them who played Grinch  that caused my bittersweet college graduation memories. I believe I caused it myself.

I remember how on the vesperas of my graduation, I strolled the city and Tabunok with only 300 Pesos on my pocket, wishing, hoping I could find something to wear for my graduation day (one for the Baccalaureate Mass in the morning and for the graduation proper in the afternoon) with that considerably tight budget. Sounds almost impossible. And it was.

Hoping from one mall to another, I no longer expected to find a valuable dress since the price of most graduation dresses especially during their peak season, were not even twice the amount I had on hand. Precious hours passed. The search continued. Luckily when I got to a Chinese Mini-Mart in Tabunok, I finally found what I had looked for, my  cheap graduation dress. Yes, it was cheap. (It actually just cost P200 or about $5 then). That was all I could afford to have; all that my parents could humbly provide.

Bittersweet, it always has been.

Graduations aren’t always about confettis and garlands.

While everyone was busy figuring out which wardrobe to wear at each occasion on that day, since I only had one option, I spared myself of the dilemma. What I wore during the Baccalaureate Mass in the morning was the same outfit I had in the afternoon during the graduation proper. Moreover, while most female graduates at that time may have hired someone to do their make-up, I did mine… alone (to think I’m the farthest thing from being a woman as I don’t wear make-up at all). The overall outcome? Well, I was just as happy as everyone, at least.

The whole graduation ceremony only produced me two photos (these two I’ve kept in the album). Both from the official school photographer. Since we didn’t have a camera at that time, that two memoirs are the only visual proof that I did attend my college graduation ceremony. At least I have two. In my high school graduation, I never had even one. Sad. Haply.

Caprices and whims by itself aren’t all negative. When you’ve done something great and you want yourself rewarded for it, even if others would think it as a waste of resources, so long as you won’t step on someone’s foot in so doing, then by all means, go for it.

“The most important things in life aren’t things.”

Anthony J. D’Angelo quotes

Now, do I wholly feel deprived with what I experienced? Partly, I was deprived but of my whims. Eventually, I realized that those aren’t the most essential factors I will need to start the new chapter of my life, in the real world–the one which is about to begin– the kind of life when dear old me will be tossed, scorched and pounded into the mold to be shaped to who I was destined to become . That is why I feel blessed I was able to graduate. That in itself, shall be a cause of merriment. I’ve even known some well-off friends and acquaintances who in spite of their money and capabilities failed to finish their college education. Perhaps they don’t consider it a threat to be an undergraduate considering the amount of wealth their families have provided for them. This just goes to show that it’s will, not wealth that will take you further and farther. After all, “a person with big dream is more powerful than the one with all the facts”.

The commencement of learning

Yet with or without the fancy things one would aspire to have had, I managed to surmount the odds. It’s the best consolation I got during that fateful graduation day in 2006. And it was the best gift I have given to my parents for painstakingly enduring the hardships of letting me finish my education. They could have chosen to let me stop, but they did what they think was best and will be best for me. I may never had everything in life but what else would I be asking for when I have the most determined parents in the world. If they, the workhorses of my life had nailed their trust that I would make it, then who am I to disappoint them? I am just the fruit of my parent’s labor afterall.

Had I not gone through the kind of life I’ve had or if circumstances had been different, maybe I won’t be scribbling here this slightly tormented journey of mine or even share it to you but for the hope of imparting what learning I could affect, I willingly yield to that intent.

The experiences one goes through are what defines a person. Good or bad, these strength-boosters are there to either make or break you. Thus, your fate, as the free-willed creature that you are, is governed by what choices you make. Either to stop or continue, to lay frustrate or bounce back, to aim for the win and be at par with the greatest or to be content being second. Whichever one chooses to go after, one must not forget that life is fleeting. And while it is best to live life to its fullest sense, it is likewise just as important to note that whatever goal we set ourselves into, no one other than the grass below our soles gets stepped on. Because, life is for me, is a ‘soul’ matter.

Experience is not what happens to a man.  It is what a man does with what happens to him.  ~Aldous Leonard Huxley

Why My Choice of Music Suggests I Am Older Than My Age

Music, as the Filipino that I am and for the hopeless romantic that I’ve been, makes more than just tickle my heart or uplift my rotten spirit. It brings home memories that sometimes I would not remember otherwise. Either precious ones or seemingly good-for-nothing memoirs of my fleeting life, music encapsulates me to that fateful time of which I am bound to give due respect and consideration. The songs and all the memories it conceals, serve not just a temporary vessel of those certain points which I tried to keep just to myself but a worthy remembrance of the days gone by–from childhood, to teenage and now my adult years.

Aside from prayer and meditation, listening to music is my primary resort to get rid of my sullen days. Yet instead of choosing light upbeat songs to kick the blues away, I opt for the gloomy, melancholic kind that either help me get through the feelings successfully or worsen the tone of my clear predicament. Either way, it is just great to let myself drift to whichever realm the songs would lead me to, but most of the times I ended up walking down memory lane with each particular song being played. When I say a song is a personal favorite, it certainly means more to me than just the ordinary reasons of liking something. One song corresponds to a point, a stage, a moment in my life which I consider precious and significant to my growth.

I was born two decades after the baby boomer era (Post WWII baby boom) come to its end but with the choice of music that I’ve enjoyed listening, it seems that I had apparently been born even before it, which left me to wonder if I really am just twenty-seven years old, now.

My choice of music varies greatly– from Pop (with Lady Gaga and Nikki Minaj as exemption), Alternative rock (Vertical Horizon, Nickleback and the rest in that genre), R&B (Usher, Mary J. Blige), Opera (Josh Groban, Luciano Pavarotti, Charlotte Church, etc) to the timeless Classics. But have to say, the last weighs and moves me more than the rest. Why? I for certain, would not know exactly why.

Maybe when you get goosebumps when you hear artists sung their piece as good as this,

and the feelings just remain that even after hearing, you found yourself humming to the tune, half- consciously envisioning how that artist did it, and in so doing you feel some heaviness or peace in your heart or you got taken to a certain period of your life (like when a certain guy who happened to live next door sung it to you on your 25th birthday and you just completely ignored him…OK, not really completely for you remember the song he sung) for having done such, maybe these, among others, are the reasons why particular songs became a significant part of our lives.

Or maybe because, you grew up listening to it since 1.) it’s a favorite of either Mom or Dad or 2.) it’s a favorite of both,

3.) it’s the song your brother would have his free time traded just to hear it

4.) or the other brother’s undying type of tunes.

Whatever reason you may have for loving a song, the emotional attachment that goes with it, is what makes it more delectable. Thus, instead of getting fed up by its continuous playbacks, you clamor to listen to it again and again. (Luckily, I know how to have my favorite Youtube videos repeat automatically at great ease! Thanks to my curiosity and Google, of course…)

I could name a dozen more tracks which I consider personal favorites and mostly they belong to the oldies. Whilst most people my age would go head rockin’ to the contemporary tunes, I otherwise find the greatest company in the remnants of the 70s and 80s music which I aptly consider the Golden Era of Music. For me Classics do more than just drive you head- rockin! It had a mysterious element in it which pierces you through; compel you to clamor for more. Ask those who profess their love to the genre and you’ll get varied astonishing responses.

So that’s it, who would think I am actually younger than my choice of music? If anyone here does, you’ve done one noble act. Thank you! It actually matter the least to me if get branded as old, outdated, boring, blah blah blah… And to those who pukes at the idea of getting stereotyped, well, sorry about that but me, I stand to defend the tenets I have of music . People like you and me get old, die and get forgotten but the music that captures my heart today will live on to do the same thing, somewhere some other time. That’s why they’re called immortal classics. They may get old but they don’t die. Immortality…

OK, ok I admit it, I’m a fan of the Bee Gees!!! :p

Just got lucky I found another one here:

http://mwoodpenblog.com/2012/05/18/disco/

 

From a Daughter’s Vewpoint

“A mother is the truest friend we have, when trials heavy and sudden, fall upon us; when adversity takes the place of prosperity; when friends who rejoice with us in our sunshine desert us; when trouble thickens around us, still will she cling to us, and endeavor by her kind precepts and counsels to dissipate the clouds of darkness, and cause peace to return to our hearts.”

- Washington Irving

Even days before, I already had in mind about writing a little tribute in honor of the very special woman in my life, my Nanay (Mother). I did try hard to compose something better than my previous works, sadly it proves futile. Instead of focusing on my blog contents, my drive to produce a sensible blog this time, creates more hassle than help. I cannot focus. I was bewildered. So I let the thinking cool down a bit, doze off greatly from time to time, repel what negativity comes to mind and just savor what the heart wants to say.

After a considerable time, I had me bolted in my seat typing this. It’s nothing spectacular actually. But, however mediocre this piece may seem, know that it comes from my heart. Anyhow, my Nanay knowing her as an avid fan of my humble writings, would love this. She may even cry upon knowing I am writing about her… OK, no more nonsense, I promise.

My Nanay has been a significant person affecting me and the way I view life. With her as the only (aside from me of course) woman in the family, expectedly, most of what I know now and what I am now, is a lifelong result from being her as my guide and fortress. But she knows this does not hold true to every aspect. She is not much of a disciplinarian but she is neither a carefree Mom who thinks less about her offspring. She is one concerned Mama whose naïvety can sometimes drive you crazy. Yes, she’s as naïve as my four-year old nephew, Xian. And we love to tease her and play her ignorance about things serious and trivial. To a times, she would cry, while us, we giggle to death.

Look in those eyes… Listen to that dear voice… Notice the feeling of even a single touch that is bestowed upon you by that gentle hand ! Make much of it while yet you have that most precious of all gifts. Read the unfathomable love of those eyes; the anxiety of that tone and look, however slight is your pain. In after life you may have friends, fonds, dears, but never you will have again the inexpressible love & gentleness levished upon you which none but a mother bestows.
- Macaulay

It’s not that we like to see her cry. It’s just to let her know that being a mother doesn’t always have to be serious all the time. That an innocent mistake can be a source of healthy fun among the family members. A fun that’s worth keeping and laughing.

There’s nothing so special about Nanay, except that she can juggle her time between her so many and often schedule-conflicting responsibilities as a Laity and that as our mother. As an active member of the Church (a Legionary for almost two decades already, a chapel leader and an officer, BEC coordinator, etc.), Nanay is probably the busiest woman I know. Although sometimes I would have preferred her to give up her many responsibilities in the church and just focused to her role as our mother, she refused and rejected the idea. At times I had a hard time figuring out why she had to do what she was doing, why we had to compete with other people just so we could have a moment with her, why sometimes we refuted on petty quarrels as a consequence of her responsibilities, but eventually, after witnessing (for almost twenty-eight years now) on first hand her passion with the little endeavors she had, I realized that her role as a mother is not only confined to the corners of our home– to us her immediate family but instead to wherever her presence is needed, may it be inside or outside the church. Reaching out and extending her hand to those who needs her is something I cannot take away from her, not even me her biological child.

And because of that, I loved her. I loved her stubbornness to stand with her ideals. I envy the fortitude and humility she possesses, something which I am finding hard to practice. She is a modern-day martyr who opts to be submissive to other people’s opinion to prevent possible clash, although sometimes situations just flare up uncontrollably.

As a practicing Catholic, Nanay brought us up to be faithful and true professors of our faith. Perhaps, my decision to consider entering the religious life has been affected, one way or the other, consciously or unconsciously by what I saw Nanay had been lovingly working since long time ago. I could not imagine Nanay without her church activities and the church without my Nanay in it. The one can’t be separated from the other. But she is nevertheless, still a person, not a saint.

There are however qualities which I wish would somehow disappear from her as much as there are odd/weird/bizarre personality that is uniquely Nanay’s, as she is not at all perfect. Like when she suddenly becomes a monster (just kidding) and initiates an argument, although this becomes visible only occasionally. I think, like Tatay (Father), we half- understand what causes such outpouring of emotion. It’s most likely the mental and physical stress, not to mention the severe fatigue that gets through her due to the varying work she had that made her react that way. That’s why sometimes instead of arguing with her, I just agree to what she has to say, for I know she’ll eventually cool down and therefore realize her mistake. (I think I did learn from her the strategy how to keep mum when the need to become a sudden PWD arises). But the good thing about her is that, she knows how to accept her mistakes, sometimes she just needs other people to help her figure that out.

As the kind of mother that she is, Nanay did her best to compensate for her little shortcomings. In fact she is a trying hard-to-be-perfect mother. Yes, she may indeed not be a perfect mom for us, but I believe she did what she can to do her role, as best she deemed it to be. Even if it means she’ll have to pass a meal so we could have ours, or keeping up with her “housewife roles” simultaneously with her out-of-home church responsibilities.

“A mother is a person who seeing there are only four pieces of pie for five people, promptly announces she never did care for pie.”
-Tenneva Jordan

For the countless times that Mother made me feel loved, for the many instances that she unconsciously affirmed to me that I am unconditionally loved beyond my imperfections and failures as a daughter, as a sibling, as a person, for assuring me without having to verbalize it that even if I am the most useless, incapable person in the world, or even if I happen to be born handicapped of something, she will stood by me through it all and loved me for me; for this I am honored to have her as my mother, however imperfect she may appear to anybody.

“ For all the ways you’ve helped me grow I want to say I love you so.”
- Unknown

Happy Mother’s Day Nanay Dora! And to all Mamas, Moms, Mums and Nanays out there! Thank you for giving us the opportunity to live, enjoy and experience life! Mwah! Mwah! Tsup! Tsup!

Weapon of Self- destruction

“Holding on to anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned.”

- Siddharta Gautama Buddha

Anger is like a poison. The longer you take it with you, the more likely you’ll end up hurting, if not killing yourself, sometimes without you having realized it. There are nevertheless ways to deal with anger healthily as much as there are strategies to escape from its terrifying wrath and all the consequence it brings. Defusing anger positively is always possible, though it requires great will- power.

Why is there a need to manage anger?

Anger is a human emotion that when uncontrolled would result to strained relationships and other complex problems. If taken as the natural human emotion that it is, maybe anger would not be viewed that negatively, after all, emotions are not in itself unhealthy. On the other hand, it helps humans keep track of their own inner humanity. Getting steamed up when confronted with a not-so healthy situation and expressing that emotion outwardly only becomes complicated because primarily the decisions we make in life are governed by the relation we have of others; by caring about how each decision we make will affect other people–their lives and ours, we tend to become submissive and resilient. As a result, when we vent out our frustrations, we take seriously what our responsibilities are and do it in ways that would not put our relationship with our co-existing creatures on the line.

Nonetheless, preserving relationships is as important as fighting for one’s ideals but in cases wherein you do not trust yourself fully to make sensible actions and just decisions, it’s still best to give way for more patience. Stretch out that patience while you can. Stay even- tempered and forbear what cross you have to carry. Or if not, just devise ways to escape from the possibility of engaging yourself in something you might later regret.

Here’s how I keep myself away from creating more trouble: by sending signals to the possible victims that I am at the verge of my boiling point. If I get lucky and the victim is vigilant and sensitive enough to sense why I am reacting the way I am, then good. That means, I need not worry about any unpleasant aftermath. But if I am unlucky, I will be the one doing the adjustment.

1. Becoming a PWD (deaf and mute), all of a sudden.

If you do not have anything good to say (as of the moment), please don’t say anything. Or be ready otherwise for the dreaded word war (and all its consequence). Sometimes, the heat will subside, sometimes even cool down by itself if the host’s anger will not be reciprocated. A sudden transformation to being a PWD will in no doubt send signal that you are not and would not resolve to a heated confrontation.

Or if you can still manage to keep a little soberness in you, a simple yes and no answer to every question might help. Just the same, although it may seem unintelligent, a cold response will beacon that a comprehensive conversation is the last thing you consider, for the moment. Unless maybe if the person is way too naïve to sense what that coldness means.

2. Turning to my safest sanctuary: my room.

Unfortunately, if strategy no. 1 becomes futile and ineffective to drive people away from my bad temper, I use this strategy. Sadly however, this made my family think that I am missing the silent, contemplative life inside the convent. Hereafter, expect a charade of spirit- boosting advises that to some extent influences me to make the long- awaited decision in my life– either to enter religious life now or enter it sooner… Glad I have the choice.

So, in this case, what I do is make them see (on purpose) that I am doing something, not just daydreaming whatsoever.

3. Getting occupied (on purpose).

This is a ploy I use whether I’m inside or outside my room to drive the victims away. Most of the times, one would see me totally engrossed in writing, blogging or doing arts and crafts (without real and concrete result).

Busy- busying can surely help get rid of interrogations which would only ignite more flame to the seemingly dormant volcano within you, unless again if the victim’s sensitiveness is way less than normal.

4. Sleeping.

It doesn’t sound like a productive strategy but it’s a proven more effective ploy I’ve used to completely escape from further interrogations. If this ploy fails, either you’ll end up fighting with the victim or fighting your daymare (if there is such a word).

When on the peak of anger, interacting becomes a dangerous thing. More often than not, it creates more harm than help to vent out irresponsibly.  Anger can destroy the host as much as it can destroy the possible victim/s, sometimes even worse. A person faced with an unpleasant situation, which for most times will serve as the catalyst to lose that calmness and composure within him will always have a choice–to lose it completely and wish to God no grave consequence  will happen or let that bursting emotion die a natural death.

Through prayer and sound discernment, I try to take the latter always. And yes, it’s not easy. It takes a lot of patience and humility to stay sober despite the provocative elements being hurled upon you but if you inculcate in your mind, engraved, sculpted in the recesses of your mind that there is more harm to speak your view, which are now marred by anger, especially if you have tendencies to bad- mouth, call names or curse people when on the onset of anger, it is still wiser (and humane) to just zip your mouth for a while until such time that the flame has subsided.

Until then, you may contemplate. Go to the most serene place closest to you (this time it could be your room) and think things over, again and again. And when the time is ready, when you sense that the door of communication has been opened again, jump in, speak your side, make known your view on the matter, but keep your wits as always and your heart ready for forgiveness.

However, if for some reason anger becomes self- destructive (physiologically) that instead of relieving yourself of the guilt it may cause when it’s directed toward others, then you have the right to free that emotion let alone relinquish it once and for all. As long as you don’t allow yourself to get totally consumed by the flame of that hot coal, I believe it’s still possible to stay human as how God created you to be.

“Hatred stirs up disputes, but love covers all offenses”. (Proverbs 10:12)

Weekly Photo Challenge: Unfocused

I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness for it shows me the stars.
-Og Mandino

The Ocean: My Enemy, My Friend!

“Faith allows impossible things to happen.”

Swimming is a life skill. More than the convenience one gets in knowing it, is the fact that it is a basic life- saving necessity that should be addressed appropriately and accordingly.

Since I was young, I knew I’ll grow up a lover of the ocean. I loved it ever since but sadly, I’ve never learned to face it, once submerged.

My father was once a fisherman, so swimming for him is no pain in the butt. He knew how to deal with the waters, its creatures and its often unpredictable characteristics. He even experienced several typhoons while fishing in the middle of the ocean and survived it all. How he once was carried away by the raging waves off to the town of Carcar about 20 miles from our place after a storm wrecked its fishing boat and still managed to get home. How he can last under water for several minutes, blah blah…

Ironically, all of his children- my Kuya, Jumar and I never learned how to tame ourselves when faced with our incredibly beautiful enemy. In fact, there were times when I almost drowned while swimming only to find out later that the culprit was a sand hole which happen to be a few inches deeper than the spot where I previously stepped on. Hilarious! That is why I envy the swimmers and those whose finesse in swimming is beyond par. I dreamed of the day when I could independently swam to the bottom of the ocean without having to fear the possibility of being attacked or get eaten by the great white shark. I dreamed of having to swim side by side with a butanding or with a dugong one day. And I am committed to make that dream a reality.

For several Sundays already, I’ve visited the territory of my enemy, not to wage war against it but to befriend it. I have to know how to swim, sooner. That is why even without professional help or anybody’s help for that matter, I am doing what I can to learn the skill on my own, as best and as fast as I could.

Learning swimming, especially if you don’t have anybody to teach you the right skill is hard, not to mention dangerous.

Most people say that it is best to learn the basics first in the swimming pool where you’ll get the focus you’ll need to learn the craft and where the elements are limited. But personally, if my goal is to enjoy the ocean for the beauty that it is, might as well that as early as now, I brush shoulders with these elements. It actually adds excitement to the experience and maybe additional swimming skill too in the long run.

In my twenty something years of existence, I only knew how to keep afloat. So at least, I needn’t start from scratch. However, since my goal is to become a skilled- swimmer, I still need to learn the other significant skills to survive the water. Until lately, I’ve surpassed my previous distance record for swimming freestyle. Yes, freestyle! And because of my excitement of having learned one stroke in swimming, I almost drowned. I forgot I was in the water.

Surprisingly, even with the little knowledge I had of swimming, I succeeded teaching my Sis-in-law how to keep herself afloat, even if to some it seemed impossible for her to succeed the task. At about 130 lbs., nobody in our company thought she would make it. Yet despite the mockery and bullying and the things they did to distract her concentration, Myra kept herself afloat! My little accomplishment. It felt so good. Extremely good.

Philippines being an archipelago wherein majority of the land area is surrounded by bodies of water, it is best to learn, if not master swimming. An alarming study conducted by the Swimming Association Inc., about 40, 000 Filipinos die of drowning yearly. In fact, it is the fourth cause of death for Filipinos after vehicular accidents, gunshot and stabbing. This data according to the chairman of SAI Mark Joseph, is very alarming. That is why he encouraged Filipinos especially for parents of young children to have their kids enrolled in swimming lessons as they most often became the victim of drowning, to learn this basic life skill.

Now, many may have asked why at this point in my life did I have the urge to materialize my dream of learning swimming… It’s because of him.

At an innocent age of four, Xian continuously begged for any of us to learn swimming. Why? Blame it to the earthquakes. If you think I am kidding, seriously I AM NOT.

Maybe because of what he saw during the Great Japan Earthquake in March 2011, the little boy has become very anxious about the possibility that what happened to Japan might also happen to us, knowing how prevalent earthquakes are today. He is scared that when a major quake occurs, a tsunami would washed away our place and since no one except his Lolo (Grandpa) knew how to swim, we would all die of drowning. That’s quite an anxiety to bear for my young nephew. That is why, to lessen his worries I commit myself to learn swimming. Thus, I’m giving myself two more swimming sessions to complete the task in preparation for my bigger responsibility as the superhero to save my young nephew’s life and the one to kill his anxiety eventually.

With many more skills to learn, more practices to endure (just in case I won’t hit my goal) and surely more water to take in and out, my faith allows me to continue what I’ve started, what I’ve aspired to carry out. Because I have a responsibility to take care of and a vow to keep– to myself and to the innocent one who looks up to me as the superhero he’s been waiting to save his little world.

Filipinos’ love for Music

When we talk of things that is dearly Filipino, one thing that comes to mind, aside from his love for food and God, would be his love for music. And no better way to express that than singing.

Filipinos are music lovers. That is a fact every Pinoy would agree on. We love music so much that we become faithful fans and followers of old and upcoming new artists alike. No wonder here in the Philippines, you see a lot of videoke bars around town. No matter where you are in the Philippines, be it in the buzzling metro or in a far flung barrio, finding a (working) videoke machine is no hard work. Moreover, finding a Pinoy belting out My Way or My Love Will See You Through, is an easy task.

If one hears a Pinoy sing his heart out in the middle of the day or for any other time of the day, for any local, is just an ordinary scene but for foreigners, it’s a different thing, especially to first- time visitors.  As they say, singing is distinctly Filipino, especially when we talk of videoke singing. A Pinoy is inseparable from the art, for his mind and soul clamors for it.

If rice is a staple in every Filipino meal, a videoke set is a principal commodity in every Filipino home.

Showcasing the Pinoy’s natural talent, whether he is a true-blue singer or just a frustrated one, is evident more especially during fiestas, festivals and other events in the life of a belting Filipino. And this romance spans even before the time of Magellan. Even during the pre- Hispanic times, Filipinos were known to be intent music lovers. With their own ethnic musical instruments like flutes, nose flutes and guitars, they expressed their penchant for the art in any way they can.

A Filipino sees music as a way to express emotions and to celebrate life. And he knows it at heart how to take that step further.

From life to death, music plays a vital role in every Filipino soul. While an innocent child gets soothed by his mother’s lullaby when she sings Sa Ugoy ng Duyan or gets entertained by the nursery rhymes she mumbles to him, a dying Pinoy on the other hand sometimes always had his list of songs to be played on his way to his new life.

Evidently, the numerous popular TV shows like the worldwide favorites American Idol (with our own Phil-Am Jessica Sanchez on it), X-Factor and The Voice among others are one of the clear manifestation of how Pinoys go gaga over music. If these shows would not have garnered credible views and have failed to attract sufficient advertisers, TV networks would have stopped airing these often expensive franchises.

Thus, like any other custom and tradition passed on by the former colonizers, Filipinos’ intertwining romance  with music is here to entertain, unite and distinguish us as the belting Filipino that we are… wherever in the world we may be.