Peripheral yet Central: Notes from a 20-Year and Going Urban Democracy Project in the Philippines

Presented on October 5, 2010 during the Second General Assembly of the IFP Philippines Alumni Association (IFPPAA) at the MMLDC, Antipolo City.

WHEN we were about to get our degree from the Department of Land Economy in Cambridge in 2004, a Cypriot classmate, who is an expert in real estate finance, asked me what my plans are after graduation.

I asked: How about you?

He said he will probably work for one of the leading London-based property conglomerates. At that time, I really had no doubt he will succeed. An indication that it came to pass is the fact that he used to sponsor one of the annual student awards at the Department in honor of her grandparents.

For my part, I said then I will go back to my native city, where I think I stand a better chance of making a difference.

Looking back at that brief conversation, I think that on the whole, my decision to go back to the city government of Naga after completing my IFP fellowship turned out to be a good decision. But to say that the outcomes of that decision was a clear example of an either-or proposition – economists like Assad Baunto would love to call it a zero-sum game – totally misses the point. Which should nicely lead me to a discussion on the dilemmas we face as IFP alumni.

A Good Decision
But before I do so, allow me to explain why I believe it was a good decision. I will highlight three points:

1. Professionally, going back to Naga enabled me to make good use of my schooling. My graduate work at the Department of Land Economy focused on planning, growth and regeneration. Today, my work as head of the city’s planning and development unit enables me to apply the theories and principles on urban planning to Naga’s development.

For instance, the way Philippine local governments today conduct their planning has been revolutionized and rationalized, aided by a study conducted by UP SURP and enshrined in a joint memorandum circular issued by the DILG, DBM, NEDA and DOF issued in 2007. While we are taking measured steps towards delivering these documents, I can fairly say that we have a better handle of the process, thanks to stuff I learned from my Cambridge professors and the English experience with the so-called “urban planning machinery” that drives housing and urban development.

Almost a month ago, I was gratified to hear a high-ranking functionary of the DILG speak about the need for greater civil society participation in generating baseline LGU performance indicators in its flagship Local Governance Performance Management System (LGPMS).

This was precisely our experience and realization several weeks back during our planning workshop in crafting Naga’s comprehensive development plan that used LGPMS data. Essentially, it boils down to the fundamental weakness of the system – which has to do with its self-rating nature. Without outsiders actively engaged in the process, there is that temptation to window-dress data driven by the urge to make one’s locality look good. But this of course comes at the expense of truth telling, which is a basic requirement of good planning.

2. Personally, going back to Naga enabled me to raise my family, and see my children grow before my very eyes in the same city where I work. This was the single biggest problem I faced when doing graduate work in Cambridge: a Ph.D title appended to my name would have sounded fine, but the best university in the world (according to the 2010 QS World University rankings) was simply not the best place for a homesick father of five (at the time) and faithful husband to his wife.

As an IFP fellow exposed to the comforts and opportunities of a First World society, I must admit staying put in the UK – regardless of what the PSSC and the Ford Foundation will say – crossed my mind. I am sure all of us, one way or another, had to face this temptation. But every time, the family card would trump all possible permutations where benefits outweigh the cost of leaving them behind.

So for me, it matters less that I am earning Philippine pesos and not British pounds; what matters more is that when I rise every morning, I get to wake up beside my best friend of 18 years, cook for and eat breakfast with my children, and drive them to school before I go to work. Yes, it is definitely a challenge to make the most out of a government worker’s salary, which often requires foregoing many comforts and luxuries that come quite easy for OFW families in our neighborhood; but these are tradeoffs I have learned to accept in exchange for the sheer pleasure of growing up with my children.

3. Psychologically, staying in the City Government of Naga actually brought me immense self-satisfaction. In my own little ways, I am making a difference.

For instance, the quality of local decision-making has improved because of my department’s newly acquired capability to do evidence-based policy analysis. Take for instance the currently raging issue of whether City Hall should raise rental rates at our newly rehabilitated public market. The study we did, in response to a directive from the Sangguniang Panglungsod committee on market affairs, has crystallized the available policy options to both the executive and the legislative. And to a great extent, the numbers behind those options have shaped the ongoing debate, in the process tamping down heated passion that used to carry the day.

Then, there’s also our enhanced capability to come up with trailblazing local initiatives. Just two days ago, we formally launched the Naga River Revitalization Project, a multisectoral effort that seeks to finally reverse the decline and degration of the city’s major waterway. In May, when I submitted it to a pioneering training program for local governments jointly sponsored by the World Bank and the Singaporean government, even my city hall colleagues were not convinced, thinking there were other more urgent matters that the city government should respond to.

But after a highly successful 10-day stint at the Lee Kuan Yew School of Public Policy in Singapore last July, where we developed an action plan to implement the Naga River project under the supervision of WBI and LKY faculty, the World Bank has apparently decided to adopt riverfront development as the overarching theme for its second round of training. If things hold up, we will most probably be invited back to share our experience to the next batch of Asian cities chosen to participate in that event in July 2011.

There’s also that ongoing effort the come up with a new joint memorandum circular to govern the use of the Special Education Fund (SEF) by Philippine local governments, which is central to my work on and abiding interest in Local School Boards. Of course, it helps that my former mayor is now the acting secretary of the DILG (for how long, I don’t know). But I find it truly fulfilling to have been invited to actively comment on the several drafts of the JMC, and with some of my recommendations actually being adopted – at least in the most recent version I saw. With all the mishaps and missteps attending P-Noy’s young administration, I am not sure whether that JMC will actually see the light of day – and I really pray that it does. But whatever happens, my experience shows that it is entirely possible to do good work in the periphery sufficient enough to impact central policymaking.

Finally, there’s of course the 2009 Presidential Lingkod Bayan Award accorded to our Public Service Excellence Program (PSEP) Team, of which I am the deputy team leader, at the Naga City government. Our team is primarily responsible for bringing about three editions of the Naga City Citizen’s Charter, the pioneering effort of the Naga City Government to empower its citizenry by promoting transparency and accountability in service delivery. England, by the way, has a long tradition of promoting services charters.

Naga’s Citizen’s Charter, the first of its kind in the country, predates by seven years Republic Act No. 9485, more popularly known as the Anti-Red Tape Act (ARTA) of 2007” that requires all national and local government agencies to come up with their own service charters. RA 9485 only came into effect when it was signed by President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo on June 2, 2007.

In recognition of this, the Civil Service Commission accorded to us that award, the highest recognition “conferred on an individual or group of individuals for exceptional or extraordinary contributions resulting from an idea or performance that had nationwide impact on public interest, security and patrimony.”

Dilemmas
But coming home to one’s country armed with a degree made possible by our fellowship, which should make Mareng Winnie Monsod proud even if we are not her students at the UP School of Economics, is not all bed of roses. Truth of the matter is, we are faced with two formidable dilemmas:

One, was it worth my while? Correct me if I’m wrong, but from what I sense from our Yahoo e-group, a good number are having difficulty finding jobs that pay well, not so much psychologically but financially. This, to me, is a gut issue, and we don’t have to invoke Maslow’s hierarchy of needs to make it so.

Compounding the problem are the raised expectations that come with completing that fellowship, both from our end and from others. From our end, the fellowship is the nearest thing to being an OFW: in my case, I am able to set aside some money that I regularly send home to support my family. But it was only as good as it lasted; homecoming meant going back to the real world, warts and all. And then there’s the unwarranted expectation from others, especially from relatives, that having a degree from a university abroad is the “Open Sesame” that automatically unlocks the door to fabulous riches described in the stories of the Arabian nights.

Secondly, with the uncertainties of the future, did I really do the right thing? Doubts about the wisdom of coming back to the country starts to creep in when our current realities – that is, the opportunities supposed to come with our schooling – do not match up with expectations. This is exacerbated when one begins to compare himself with better-off OFWs who are actually doing well financially, and they did not have to go through the rigors of what we went through, starting from the pre-academic trainings mandated by PSSC down to the thesis and dissertations we had to submit as requirements of the our degree!

A Way Forward
While these dilemmas can be very unsettling at times, I never fail to derive inspiration from one movie I recently saw and enjoyed with my family, so much so that my children would watch it over and over again.

I am referring to the 2009 Bollywood hit entitled “3 Idiots,” a highly engaging 2-hour 44-minute comedy – which incidentally illustrates the huge gulf separating Indian and Philippine cinema.

The Internet Movie Database (IMDb) website describes the movie’s storyline as follows: “Two friends embark on a quest for a lost buddy. On this journey, they encounter a long forgotten bet, a wedding they must crash, and a funeral that goes impossibly out of control.” This, of course, does no justice at all to that movie, so I suggest that you take time downloading a copy on your favorite bittorrent application and watch it yourself.

There are, however, two memorable quotes from IMDb that I would want to share:

“Today my respect for that idiot shot up. Most of us went to college just for a degree. No degree meant no plum job, no pretty wife, no credit card, no social status. But none of this mattered to him, he was in college for the joy of learning, he never cared if he was first or last.” – Farhan Qureshi

This, I think, goes at the very heart of our motivation for pursuing higher education. The typical perspective, represented by Farhan’s, is that getting a degree is merely a means to achieving higher ends – a good job, financial security, a happy family, a higher standing in society.

But there is that other perspective represented by Rancchoddas Shyamaldas Chanchad aka “Rancho” – the joy of learning is by itself a worthy end, and everything else is secondary: the icing on our cake, the gravy to our chicken.

“Pursue excellence, and success will follow, pants down.” – Rancho

This second quote, I think, is the movie’s central message. To me, this is a powerful response to problems created by the two dilemmas I outlined above. Its effectiveness in resolving these issues in our own individuals lives will pretty much depend on ourselves.

And my little experience of staying put in Naga shows that one can choose to wage his battle even in the periphery, outside of the power center that is Imperial Manila; yet by pursuing excellence with passion, he can do enough good work as to impact society at various levels, from the grassroots to a town or city, from a province to a region and even the nation itself – and make a difference.

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A life changing surgery

A WEEK before the furor on Rizal's green house in Calamba hit the headlines, the three of us -- Lynn, Patricia Anne (our 5th we still call Nokie, but who now wants to be called by her real name) and myself -- found ourselves staying in our national hero's hometown.

Occasion was "Life Changing Smile" surgical mission arranged by the Calamba Medical Center (CMC), which is celebrating its 20th anniversary this year, in partnership with Operation Smile and the City Government of Calamba. The mission provided free cleft lip and palate operation at the 4th floor of the CMC Complex from June 15-17.

Nokie is turning six next month and the speech problem she had two years ago still persists, belying earlier assurances by local and Manila-based doctors that it is just a case of delayed speech which will correct itself when the right time comes.

Early this year, we brought her back to Manila and had her checked by an pediatrician specializing on speech problems; she referred us to an EENT who promptly diagnosed that Nokie's is a case of submucous cleft palate -- the outer lining of her palate is intact but the underlying muscle is not joined, which is most probably the reason why she has difficulty speaking clearly.

Last year, Naga (and several other Philippine cities) hosted an Operation Smile mission but its website showed there is none scheduled for the year. There are international missions scheduled in Southeast Asia, the nearest being Vietnam, but the ones for the Philippines have been concluded last February. Fortunately, when I inquired with its Philippine office, I found out there will be three local missions scheduled for Calamba in June, and Pasay and Makati in July. Renewed hope immediately replaced my quiet desperation.

The internets connected me with Dhey Nañola, CMC's bubbly marketing supervisor: first by Twitter, then by Facebook and finally by email, through which she sent the instructions and forms we need submit. It was already days past the extended June 1 deadline, and there are still data gaps and signatures by Pacol barangay officials we need to fill up.

Because I have to fly to Manila for a speaking engagement and the Camarines Sur Polytechnic Colleges (CSPC) board of trustees meeting to attend to on behalf of my principals, my eldest son Ezekiel had to take care of the rest; by midday, he emailed back to me the completed two-page form, which I immediately forwarded to Dhey after pasting Nokie's 3R picture I took the night before.

On June 10 and 11, Nokie had to take the blood test twice because her hemoglobin level (at 112) was quite low the first time around. After a good night sleep and iron supplements, it shot up to 119, only one notch lower than the 120 minimum but good enough that the attending pedia cleared her to undergo surgery.

On June 13, she and Lynn went ahead because I have important meetings to attend to in view of the approaching 61st Charter Anniversary of the city, which will be highlighted by the launch of the Naga City Governance Institute (NCGI) which the city planning office is handling.

In the late afternoon of June 15, I finally joined them at the CMC. Twenty four hours later, after calmly marching with a doctor and a nurse to the operating room, she went under the knife and emerged from the operating room about an hour later, terribly angry at the ordeal (and probably mad at the apparent betrayal of those she joined peacefully just an hour before?) with legs kicking and arms flailing at everyone.

Only when her mom cried unabashly and apologized did she regain the calm and steely resolve to overcome every hurdle just so she can speak clearly and finally join her younger sister Daddy (aka Ophelia Bianca, Jian Di or Bulilit Bulilit ang Liit-liit, depending on who's calling) at the latter's Peñafrancia Educare school.

The road ahead to Nokie's fully developed speech may still be long, or it can be short enough to be just ahead of the corner. I don't know: according to the doctors who briefed Lynn last June 15, the reconstructive surgery is no magic bullet for speech problems associated with children like Nokie. They have to unlearn how they now form words, and this can be difficult and will take time.

But with her palate now hopefully functioning well after the surgery, I am confident that we have addressed the physical constraint to Nokie's fully developed speech. Just moments ago, after a little prodding and coaching, she was able pronounce "Papa" correctly. Needless to say, I remain very hopeful.

As the world celebrates Father's Day, no gift can be greater, and for that I have to thank CMC (especially Dhey and Doctor Herbosa, who operated on Nokie), Operation Smile Philippines and the city of Jose Rizal for making it happen.

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'Lola Oas'

TWO DAYS ago, we finally laid her to rest at the Bagsa cemetery in Oas, Albay, beside her husband she outlived for 18 years, the last 13 of which she spent with us in Pacol.

During the funeral discourse given by Ramil Martinez, our circuit overseer, I couldn't hold back my tears, as I do now while writing this post, as we sang "The Resurrection Joy." Ordinarily, when attending the funeral of other Jehovah's Witnesses, I would sing that melancholy song with gusto, fired up by the biblical hope of resurrection, knowing that our sorrow is but a fleeting pain we all must bear.

But that warm afternoon, my voice gave up right at the end of the first line. I ended up sobbing quietly and wiping my tears on my little Nokie's red dress. When the talk ended and it was time for us to close her casket and take the two-kilometer journey to Bagsa, my wife Lynn and other kins were crying hard, especially Nana Puyet, her younger sister whose house in Tobog hosted Mama's last two nights in her hometown.

My Sofia and Pep were crying inconsolably, especially the latter who doted on her "Lola Oas," as the late Corazon Recongco Reoveros came to be known among my children and close family friends. The night before, a relative installed a karaoke at Nana Puyet's frontyard, where anyone, for five pesos, can sing any available tune in the songbook to his heart's content. I asked Pep to sing "Panalangin" once more, knowing how special that song is to her grandma.

Alas, what that song yearned for was not to be, at least in this earthly life. For glioblastoma multiforme (GBM), the deadliest and most devastating form of brain tumor, took her life. Death came rather quickly, though not suddenly. Last summer, we took the car and drove to Manila, where I brought Mama and Ophelia Bianca to Tata Tol (as we call her brother Melchor), in San Pedro, Laguna. Despite her advancing age, she was still vibrant and full of life and love for her grandchildren, especially my seven who literally grew at her feet. Little did I realize that it was to be their last time together as siblings.

About a month back, she was still her usual self: the overly protective lola who will never allow anyone at Grandview Elementary to mess with her grandchildren, the able overseer of the Prilles of Pacol household while I and my wife are away for work, the steadfastly faithful witness of her God, the glue that for 13 eventful years held our family together. Until one fateful Saturday morning in mid-October, when after securing our daily fill of tsamporado, macaroni and pansit from the neighborhood joint, she inexplicably slipped and hurt her head.

As Mama wouldn't get well as she used to, two CT scans confirmed the unthinkable: our Lola Oas was dying from brain tumor. When she was discharged from the hospital on November 1, her doctors wouldn't tell us how long. But we did not realize Mama would leave us so quickly.

Last Wednesday afternoon (early evening at the US West Coast), as we were preparing to board our return flight to Manila from a San Francisco conference, Lynn's text message came swiftly: Mama has passed away. Pep's slighted grandma was 75 when she left us, but God willing, we look forward to seeing her again, in her usual hopeful, zestful and vibrant self, in the near future.

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'Where in the world is Willy now?'

TWO COMMENTERS have asked the question, the first one evoking the computer game involving Carmen Sandiego. Porfirio, the other one, asked whether I got sick or went out of the country.

Well, I'm still in Naga, in that lovely little spot in the world we call Pacol.

I didn't get sick in the physical sense of the word, thankfully -- although I am close to overcoming a persistently durable cough (commonplace here, I am told, at this time of year in a climate gone crazy), and some episodes of arthritic attacks that make plain walking a terrible ordeal.

But I did get sick in a different way.

With the way things are in our country, I get this feeling as if evil has triumphed. And everything we do is for naught. So why bother? Why write, and why blog for that matter?

Until I read Juan Mercado's column last week. Especially the following quote from the fallen El Salvadorean bishop Oscar Romero:

“We accomplish in our lifetime only a tiny fraction of God’s work. Nothing we do is complete. We simply plant the seeds that one day will grow. We cannot do everything. But this enables us to do something, and to do it very well.

It may be incomplete. But it is an opportunity for the Lord’s grace to enter and do the rest. We are workers, not master builders, servant-leaders, not messiahs. We are prophets of a future not our own.”

The article took some time to sink in, but gently reminded me of the good so commonplace that I refused to see.

My seven wonderful blessings -- a source of boundless joy in our cramped little home filled with a cacophony of voices whose laughters, cries, shouting and even hushed conversations become a living symphony -- without whom life would be nothing.

Sixteen years of solid, happy, eventful and productive marriage to a most loving wife.

A community that may not be the richest, the cleanest nor the mostly orderly in our part of the city -- but is vibrant, dedicated, colorful and alive.

The sweet, pleasant early mornings that greet me everytime I would don my ancient sneakers and negotiate the bends and turns around Grandview and Green Valley.

Work that is fulfilling, with people ready and committed to give their all, in a city government where public service remains what it should be.

All I had to do is look a little bit closer and count these blessings.

And blog about them.

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Beloved

"TARA Bud, tano ta dai ka nagbubuhat dyan? Maeskwela ka baga!" I asked Budi while preparing to go to work early as we have a Management Committee meeting at 7:30am during Mondays.

Budi however wouldn't budge, his face still lying smack on the sofa.

"Pigprobaran ko nang gibohon yan project mo. Dai ko makua ang patama. Magsabi ka na lang ki ma'am mong pigtabangan na nantig ako ni papa pero dai talaga kaya. Mas maray na yan kisa mag-submit kang binakalan sa sentro na bako man ika naggibo."

"An importante kayan, su experience. Bako man talaga su gayon," I added to buttress my point. "Toltol man bagang titser si ma'am mo, bakong arog kan iba."

My wife Lynn came down the stairs, bringing our youngest Mika with her and deposited her on the kuna. "Sige na Bud ta gibohon ko," she said. As if Heaven smiled on him, Budi quickly got up and started working on his project again -- a flower leaf woven from colored cellophane-wrapped manila paper tubes.

"Su mga taga-Urban ngani ma'am, nagbarakal na lang sa centro," Eve, our household help during the day who resides at the adjacent Green Valley urban poor community -- more popularly known as Urban -- butted in, volunteering an info that seemed to lift up Budi even more.

Meanwhile, Pep was letting loose plaintive cries alternating with deep sobs from the second floor. "Baba na igdi Pep. Darha na mga notebook mo igdi sa baba. Igdi ta na lang tapuson," Lynn called out.

Concerned, I quickly gulped some coffee, left my breakfast and went up to Pep. "Madya na baby. Apod ka baga ni mama mo. Sa baba na lang daa gigibohon assignment mo." But she wouldn't budge and the sobs continued.

Left with no other choice, I scooped my Grade I daughter up -- she's one of the biggest in her class even at 6 -- and her stuff and carried her downstairs. Seeing her mother helping Kuya Budi out, Pep knew she had nothing to worry about: they will have something to submit once classes start. And the sobs became fewer and finally stopped moments later.

"Tara Kulot? Ready ka na mag-school?" I asked Sofie as I came down. My future little teacher was already dressed up in her Grandview school uniform, then combing her rather large, Farrah Fawcett-like locks. "Balon ko Pa?" was her reply.

After dropping Pep beside her mom, I rejoined Buddy -- who had been helping herself at the already cold champorado -- at the breakfast table.

"Haen si Banok?" their mother asked, referring to Nokie.

"Oto, torog pa sa higdaan."

Checking on my watch, it's already 6:50. Sensing I might be late, especially because I still have to print out the usual two sets of the ManCom minutes, one for myself to help my notetaking, the other for the Big Boss, I quickly cleaned my plate up, finished my coffee and then brushed my teeth.

A few minutes later, with my backpack on, I was set to go on my scooter. "Babay Papa. Ingat," our big burly Buddy cried out repeatedly.

When I texted her at midday, I found out Lynn, burdened with our kids' projects and assignments -- some of which are no longer reasonable, and of which I intend to write the concerned teachers about -- did not report for her geometry class at Cam High anymore. She's now trying to help fix our eldest's science project -- a rather elaborate model of a virus -- in Pili, at the shop of our niece Glenda. In another hour or so, we'll be motoring back to Grandview, back to our seven wonderful blessings, and another long day would be done.

To think that only three mornings ago, she fired me an angry, deeply hurt text message: "Magtatagapaaram ka man daw maski agom mo lang ko ngarig gwa man lamang ako maisimbag sa mga aki mo! Kun mayo ka pakiaram, mgsuway ka na samu!"

"Sori," I texted back, explaining I was having a quick breakfast with guests of the city government. Last night, I whispered the remainder of that message on her ear before I went to sleep. "Ta masaen pa man baya ako kun mayo na kamo?"

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'Pusong mamon' takes her first periodicals

PEP, MY "pusong mamon" of a daughter, took her first periodical test this morning at Grandview Elementary.

She is one of the millions of new Grade I students that trooped to the public school system when the school year opened last June. I was hoping theirs will be the first batch that would take a standard quarterly exam among all public elementary schools in the city.

That was the plan when we crafted the School Board budget for 2007 last December, justifying a 600% increase in funding for testing -- from a little over P140,000 in 2006 to around a million, including the acquisition of a high-speed top-of-the-line Risograph for faster reproduction. The equipment was procured and turned over; but the citywide quarterly test did not materialize, at least for the first quarter.

So we had to cough up a little contribution for her testing fee -- all public school parents had to in the absence of that standardized test that would allow us to compare which school did better and which ones did not every quarter.

Pep, unlike her older sister Pia who is growing up to be as tough as nail, is one who easily gets cold feet. So her mother, whose patient hands-on in-your-face tutoring last summer has yielded handsome payback as Pep is now able to read -- earlier in fact than Pia -- came home before noontime and brought them some food. But her unexpected presence, and constant reassurance that giving her best is enough for us, was more than enough to perk Pep up.

After securing her baon after lunch, her mother told me on the way home this afternoon, Pep quickly disappeared. When we arrived home just before sunset, she was already playing with friends at the still roofless Grandview multipurpose center. "How did your exams go?"I asked. Her thumbs-up sign I think said it all.

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Getting a dose of her own medicine

NOBODY'S perfect, and that includes my daughter Sofia. In spite of her wonderful traits and extraordinary diligence, she has this tendency to embellish stories and in the process put words in some other people's mouth.

But yesterday, my future little teacher got her unintended comeuppance, courtesy of younger sister and my pusong mamon-of-a-daughter Pep.

For two days now, Sofie failed to report to school because of an ear problem. Ever deferential -- to the point of being fearful -- to her teacher, absenting from school is the last thing that would cross her mind. But what we thought was another bad tooth-related pain that would soon pass away persisted; so yesterday, I motored back to Grandview just before lunch to fetch Sofie so that Lynn and I can have her seen by an EENT.

To make the story short, she was given the necessary treatment that somehow eased the pain. But when Pep reported back from school in the afternoon, the relief quickly turned to blazing anger towards her younger sister.

It appears that Pep, instead of telling her ate's teacher about the real score, offered a lame, damaging and ego-busting excuse when asked why Sofie has not been reporting to school: "Tinatamad po ma'm."

According to Budi who saw everything, Sofie went ballistic right after, and was only pacified when Pep got a stern warning from their mother and a quick rap in the butt. This morning, Pep dutifully brought Lynn's letter to Sofie's teacher explaining her absence, with Dr. Delfin Rosales's prescription attached.

While my son was explaining to me last night what happened, I can't help but smile: probably without realizing it, my eldest daughter just got a dose of her own medicine.

Pep and Pia during their Ateneo dance recital.

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Naga's not-so-secret hideway

YESTERDAY'S holiday break had the family joining the Sagrada, Pili Congregation's outing at the Mainit Hotspring in barangay Panicuason.

My mother and brother Macky brought their owner-type jeep and dropped by Grandview, picked up my kids and mother-in-law and proceeded to the resort; Lynn and I followed half-an-hour later.

The two pictures here show the improvements at the resort, which is owned by the Tan family, who also runs Regent Hotels 1 and 2 and Oyster Plaza, among other local business concerns.

The first time I been to the then secluded place was sometime in 2000, accompanying consultants of the Associates in Rural Development for the USAID-funded Governance and Local Democracy (GOLD) project. There was practically nothing at the time, save two earthen pools of hot spring.

But over the years, development was slowly introduced to the place, starting with concreting key portions of the winding road that made it more accessible (cementing the whole stretch would be wonderful, but a more even gravel road would do just fine for the short term), paving the poolsides and walkways, and putting up cottages in the area.

And there are now four 3 or 4 meter-deep hotspring pools, with temperature ranging between 29 to 34 degrees centigrade. A bridge connects them to the other side of the Inarihan River, where four other variously-sized pools contain really cold waters that I find quite inhospitable but most other people enjoy.

The trip also gave me some more idea on that little novel that really needs a kick on the butt, especially with work demands and family obligations successfully holding me up and constantly keeping me at bay. I still hope something good will come out of it.

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Naga's NEED program, Part 2

THE NEED program combines traditional day care services of the Department of Social Welfare and Development (DSWD) with modern Montessori-type pre-school education. It also has a component for children with disabilities, of which the HELP Learning Center is one.

The 2nd part of this Galing Pook-produced video starts with Dr. Fe de los Reyes, the Center's founder and executive director, explaining the thrusts and services of their institution, how it came about, and how it tries to make a difference in the lives of many Nagueño children.

Starting next week, my special kid Nokie will be one of them and our family will always be by her side. The concluding part of this video, which never fails to move me to tears towards the end, follows after the jump.

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Nokie is going to school

MY SPECIAL kid Nokie is finally going to a special school.

Last Saturday, we brought her to Dr. Fe de los Reyes, a local pediatrician-neurologist who is one of the moving forces behind the HELP Learning Center. Her head is smaller than usual, Dr. De los Reyes said after measuring its circumference; it might indicate mental retardation, she added.

But I was not as worried as my wife; I know my daughter quite well and her frail frame notwithstanding, Nokie is as bubbly, vibrant and mischievous as her older sisters. In cahoots with her burly younger sister Ophelia, her capacity for mischief is practically boundless -- the trail of toys both large and small they have disassembled at home bears witness to their (mis)deeds; that to me is certainly not the sign of a retard.

After running some more simple tests, including that of hearing, which Nokie I think handled well, Dr. Fe reached the same conclusion as I did years back: my daughter's problem is essentially a speech impairment that currently prevents her from fully developing our gift of language.

What are your plans for Nokie? the doctor asked. We are planning to send her to preschool because she's raring to, we said; her school-age siblings have already started reporting for school, including Pep who's now in Grade I at Grandview Elementary.

Any school you have in mind? she asked. We're thinking of the HELP Learning Center, we answered, eliciting a smile from her. Dr. Fe then wrote a note and told us the school staff will have to subject Nokie to a more detailed evaluation.

Last Monday afternoon, with Lynn busy with their general faculty meeting at Cam High, I and her two brothers brought Nokie to the Center, which is located along Magnolia Street just beside the Educare's flagship School for Early Education and Development (SEED). Teacher Ingrid and another colleague then subjected my little girl to a variety of tests that took more than an hour.

It included stringing through oversized wooden beads using her bare hands; manually tracing straight, curved, zigzag and gear-shaped lines carved out of wood; picking red, yellow and blue paper clips and putting them in the correct plastic container; matching 3D shapes (animal, fruit and personal effects) with their drawn 2D counterparts; matching a given letter of the alphabet from an array of letters laid out before her; and matching a printed 2D number with its 3D counterpart.

It is only in that last one where Nokie -- by this time aching to play with the toys lying abundantly around her -- did not do well, failing to match the objects correctly, choosing instead to trace the contour of every wooden number set in relief over a flat panel. The rest, she again handled with ease.

Yesterday afternoon, it was Lynn's turn to pay the Center a visit, to inquire about the fees and fix Nokie's schedule. On the whole, the cost will hurt our pocket, but I'm sure we will be able to find a way. Teacher Ingrid said the evaluation results will still be discussed with Dr. De los Reyes, but I figure that next week, Nokie will finally show up for her first day in school.

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This is going to be a long day

SINCE 1998, when we were still residing in Bagumbayan Norte -- a barangay near the city center -- my wife Lynn has been serving as member of the Board of Election Inspectors (BEI), the three-person team managing voting at the precinct level.

As a teacher, it goes with the territory; blame it on the Comelec's bungling, poll automation remains another one of those essential Philippine dreams -- so near and yet so far -- making manual count a necessity. She started out in 1998 as the third member responsible for the tally sheet when votes start to be counted; since 2004, she has been chairing the BEI, and is largely responsible for what happens at the precinct.

Whenever around (three years ago, I was away for schooling), I am the dutiful husband who brings her meals (lunch and dinner) and snacks in between, and other provision that will make life more bearable within the classroom-precinct. While she is away, my mother-in-law and I are left at home to look after the kids.

This is another of those triennial long days. The first time we did it, the whole process in Sabang High School (where she was teaching at the time) ended up at 3 am the following day -- when their BEI finally returned the ballot box, election returns and other completed documents to the City Treasury where they secured it earlier.

This morning, we woke up at past 3 am; I had to wake up as well to drive her to City Hall. She had to be there by 4 am to secure the forms again so that their team will beat the lines usually made long by latecomers. The City Treasurer's Office announced they will open at 2 am, and when we arrived this morning, it was already buzzing with activity.

While they were lining up, I went up the office to check on my email and upload the previous entry that I failed to put up last night when my Blast dial-up internet credit ran out; it took them about 30 minutes to secure everything they needed. Before going to Pacol Elementary School, where our eldest Ezekiel graduated and where her precinct is now located, we dropped by Atlantic Bakery for a bagful of hot pan de sal and at Biggs Diner for her breakfast of goto and black coffee.

Between 6-7 pm, I will go back to Pacol Elementary, about 2 kms from our Grandview community, to bring her dinner again; I figure they should be able to finish everything well past midnight, given two inexperienced greenhorns completing their BEI, which the Alliance of Concerned Teachers complained about here.

But I am confident Lynn will manage, as she always does. This civic duty is part of these necessary distractions; in other more advanced societies where elections are automated, teachers are spared these unnecessary troubles, allowing them to focus on what they do best: teach our young.

That is why I puke when losing politicians complain they are cheated, and accuse teachers of doing them in. I think they are barking up the wrong tree; it's the bumbling gang of Abalos, Luzviminda Tangcangco and their cohorts they should actually be running after, not our hapless public school teachers.

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'Pamalaye'

I TOOK time off yesterday afternoon to visit my Sagrada, Pili hometown for the "pamalaye" ("pamanhikan" in Tagalog) of our youngest brother Dennis aka Patty. It is the traditional Filipino custom where the date and arrangements for an upcoming wedding are negotiated.

It is preceded by "pamalagta" among Rinconada-speaking peoples, where the date for the "pamalaye" is set between the involved parties.

Yesterday's affair was a joyous occasion, bringing together friends and kins who comprise the strong social network of the clannish inhabitants of southern Camarines Sur. It is where you renew bonds and reciprocate favors earned, mostly in the form of preparing food for the little feast that followed.

A week ago, this was the topic of my conversation with Johann de la Rosa of the Naga City People's Council, a native of Baao which -- together with Iriga City, Nabua, Bula, Bato and Buhi -- comprise the 4th congressional district, otherwise known as Rinconada.

If the event were the wedding itself, it is a cardinal sin to miss a relative among the invitees; an unintended error of omission can easily be interpreted as a slight that can drive a wedge between kins and trigger the so-called "urulian nin kandila" (literally, returning candles).

But yesterday's event was merely a prelude to the big thing, and so inviting only the closest relatives is acceptable. Yet, in a way, it was already our family's "paaso-aso" -- ostensibly derived from the smoke emanating from homemade cooking -- which is how home-based receptions are usually called in our part of the region.

Because during the "pamalaye" it was agreed that the reception following my brother's wedding will be held in a restaurant. On the one hand, it will be a lot more convenient to take this route, considering that the time, effort and energies expended in a home-based reception will all conveniently go away.

But on the other, it is clearly a case of convenience trumping tradition and the opportunities for social capital building and nurturing that go along with it. For instance, it is only in home-based receptions that I get to partake of the unique flavor of "kaldereta," pork steak, "igado," and pata tim that secret recipes from experienced cooks in the clan are able to conjure.

I have a fond attachment to the more traditional arrangement, because that was how we celebrated our wedding 15 years ago. It appears that modernity has caught up even with our family; in yesterday's "pamalaye" I felt we lost something but I did not have a clear idea what it was. Reflecting on it this morning, now I know what it is.

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The 'bubwits' and Peñafrancia Resort

THE daughter, who lately began sounding like the feisty widow badgering the threatened judge, won out in the end. So yesterday morning, we motored to Peñafrancia Resort some four kilometers towards Mt. Isarog for a much-needed dip in the pool.

"We" did not include the two boys who not only had the advantage of an overnight swim at Nato beach during the Holy Week but are also preparing for the opening ceremonies of the summer basketball tournament in Grandview later in the day.

The resort, which had long been a fixture in Naga since my childhood, has two new big pools, both designed for kids and teenagers -- and of course, adults who can't swim:) They were tiled differently so that one had a continuously flowing blue Pacific waters, the other green Mediterranean.

They are surrounded by strategically located cottages accessible by car (particularly the ones overlooking the pools), so that one can park it just beside your chosen cottage. Entrance is P80 for adults, P50 for children above 3 years old; cottage rental is P200 (negotiable).

The hands-down scene-stealer yesterday were my two "bubwits," which is how we call Patricia Anne aka Nokie and Ophelia Bianca aka Buddy. The two pictures here give you an idea why, and how refreshing cool waters of a mountain resort can be in the hottest of recent summers.

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Asuncion's bleeding hearts

SAVE for a much earlier post which attracted 17 comments, 14 of which were spam, my most commented entry here already had 13, thanks to two persistent, anonymous commenters whose hearts, it seems, bleed for the fate that befell sacked Court of Appeals justice John Elvi Asuncion.

"Friend of a concerned court employee" picks bones with the legal aspect of the Supreme Court decision dismissing Asuncion for delayed action on pending cases, gross ignorance of the law, and manifesting undue interest in the PNB case.

"Anonymous," on the other hand, finds Asuncion's dismissal totally unfair, claiming half of the judges and magistrates in our courts are as guilty as he is, and opines that politics is behind it.

Both found my basic argument -- that if Asuncion truly feels he has been wronged, he should come clean and help in cleansing our courts by fingering his other equally guilty colleagues in the judiciary -- wanting, accusing me of being prejudiced on this case.

In the Planet Naga aggregator of the city government, a related news item on Asuncion earned another anonymous comment, asking whether it "means the city of Naga holds grudges."

This compelled me to read the SC court decision again, and visualize the events it described, hoping to find arguments or grounds that will support the position of my two persistent commenters. I am not a lawyer, but I think I can understand English well enough to make an informed, less biased assessment. (I remember Dean Bocobo writing something about this point on language and the law when the Panganiban Court was about to release its decision on E0 464.)

Unfortunately for them, the more I reread that decision, the more I am convinced that the High Court did the right thing. I may be prejudiced as a Naga resident and someone who works for the city government, but I already factored that in. And I still came to the same conclusion. Maybe it will help if "Friend" and "Anonymous" will also reread that decision with a more open mind and lesser bias for Asuncion.

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Beating the summer heat on a shoestring budget

WITH MY mother-in-law cooling her heels in Oas, with six boisterous kids constantly complaining how hot it is in Pacol, and a daughter looking for excuse to go swimming again -- with her Grandview friends across the street -- what's a harassed father to do?

Improvise, aside from maintaining a Jobian patience and a cheerful disposition in the toughest of situations. Just today, I tried the following with great success:

1. Cool melon-flavored milk. I hated milk when I was a kid. I think it was because my mother put in a little too much water during those difficult days of my childhood, diluting the milky flavor in the process. My kids too don't like it plain, except of course my last three who consume about a liter between them every night.

But put in ripe orange melon -- known as cantaloupe elsewhere -- and the situation changes. My standard mix, which I did again for breakfast, consists of one-half can of 370 ml evap, a quarter of diced melon, and enough water to fill to the brim the one-liter Nestea shaker. Add sugar and sweeten to taste, and voila! -- a milk drink everybody loves!

Always make sure there's a bowl of cracked ice on standby; they can push up the resulting glasses above six, just like how it is done in Jollibee or McDo, allowing older, bigger kids another serving.

2. Good old iced tea. For our lunch, I used that shaker this time to prepare iced tea, using a third of the 200-gram Lipton Honeymansi instead of Nestea. The trick is to add calamansi juice to the mix (squeezed from between 5-7 fruits), and enough sugar sweetener.

Together with the bowl of cracked ice (a must! to give justice to the name), I figure this concoction costed me less than P20, half of what I would have spent on a 1.5-liter Pepsi.

3. Mango-flavored milk. When I was preparing dinner, I was hoping to do another serving of what we had for breakfast, remembering quite clearly that there was still a quarter of the fruit left in the fridge. Unfortunately, Pep -- my melon-loving daughter -- already finished it for snack during the day. What I had was a kilo of ripe mangoes I bought at the corner of Penafrancia and Magsaysay on the way home, six pieces for P38.50.

So what the heck! Why don't I try a mango-flavored milk this time around? And you know what? I'm happy I did because the result was quite beyond expectation: a delicious mangoes-and-cream milk drink. The procedure was same as No. 1, except you use one-and-a-half of diced mangoes instead of one-quarter melon.

Together with bathing twice, one in the morning and another before bedtime, these affordable quenchers make the super-hot summer in Pacol much more tolerable.

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On names and nicknames

YESTERDAY afternoon, as has been our custom whenever the situation allows, we sent off my mother-in-law Corazon to her younger sister Pura and husband Miguel in their hometown in Tobog, Oas, Albay. We can afford to as the long holiday allows us to look after our kids ourselves for the whole day, freeing Mama from the formidable job of (grand)parenting them when we are at work.

The trip to Oas, our first after Reming, also marked the first time we brought Emilia Mikaela -- now more than three months old -- to our relatives, who I fondly call "the Tobognons." Only the five girls joined us, as their two elder brothers opted to stay in "Salaglada," which is how Budi called my hometown, Sagrada, Pili, when he was just learning to speak. The name stuck ever since.

Which highlights our family's penchant -- me, in particular -- to append unusual names to everyone in the family, some out of affection and the others for teasing, that would in time stick.

Mikaela, for instance, is variously called "Uling" (courtesy of her Lola Oas, who thought she was a tad darker than her siblings), "Buding" (mine, owing to her chubbiness and the round face that reminded me of Nanette Inventor's Doña Buding), and "Budina" (her mom's, who thinks she is our "babaeng Budi".)

Budi, of course, is Jack Ryan, called as such -- by me, I think -- after Lynn began calling Ezekiel "EK," which I quickly converted into Boke. If his older brother had a nickname, Jack too must have his own, and thus Budi was born.

I think Jack has grown to like his Indonesian-sounding nickname, so much so his Grandview friends and classmates call him as such. And it has brought forth a number of variants, depending on one's mood: Jack responds to such names as Budz when I am playful; Budino when I am angry; Budjack when his younger sisters are mad; or Adobo when he gets his mom's goat.

And it's not only our children. My brother Nelson, for instance, is more popularly known as Macky in Sagrada; our youngest Dennis is Patty. I can go on and on, but I won't; suffice it to say that behind every unusual or amusing nickname is a story worth telling to one's children and grandchildren when the time comes.

Our "Buding," three months and a week later.

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A ritual of summer

THE annual recognition ceremony for our community elementary school took place yesterday, in the heat of the morning sun; thankfully, it was over a little past 10:30 am, thanks to the tight program prepared by the Grandview Elementary School management headed by Luis Marasigan, its officer-in-charge.

So how did my worried Grade V son fare this time? Well, Budi wound up a fighting fourth; on the basis of academic grades alone (which I think account for 70% of the total grade), his performance this year would have been good for 2nd, which is what he did last year. But then again, Budi will have his final chance next school year when he moves on to Grade VI.

Nonetheless, he ended up with the most number of special academic and non-academic awards, including being the best performer in Filipino -- a subject all my three children in public school, starting from Ezekiel down to Sofia, are having trouble with, but seems to have conquered this year! Maybe this thing helped after all, Irvin?:)

My future little teacher Sofie, in addition to the "Best in Filipino" award, also got fourth. But she, I think -- and this is not because I'm playing favorite -- has more upside than Budi if performance trends are considered.

At the tender age of six after finishing Grade I two years ago (Sofie was only 5 years old when we enrolled her), she was scratched from the honor rolls; that was the year then Education Secretary Butch Abad decreed -- correctly, I think -- that there should only be one set of awardees per grade level regardless of the number of sections there are in a school. That year, Section B contributed most of the honor students, simply because their teacher was more liberal in grade-giving.

Last year, Sofie cracked the Top 10, good for 8th place; this time around, she leapfrogged over older classmates to take fourth, within striking distance of the perennial top performers. Competitive like Budi, and blessed with extraordinary diligence that she got from her mother, my Patsy Bulatse is aiming higher in these next three years.

How about Ezekiel? Lynn texted me last Friday that our eldest dropped out of the Top 10 again, but still within the Top 20, more than enough to stay in the Engineering Science Education Project (ESEP) class of Cam High next year if he chooses to. But to his credit, he did very well in the recent national and division achievement tests, topping Mathematics and Filipino.

So on the whole, in this annual ritual of summer, our family remains to have a lot to be thankful, and our kids a lot more to do, and far more grounds to cover. Whether they will commit themselves to higher personal goals and make the requisite sacrifice these entail, or enjoy the view and smell the flowers along the way, is largely up to them: their father, mother and lola will always be around as guide until they become ready to take on life on their own.

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Dangerous to your health

...ESPECIALLY if you are a lowly motorbiker.

Last night, on my way home after a quick trip to the city center at around 6pm, an eager beaver white Mitsubishi L-300 van ran me off the road near the Caceres Sports Arena along San Felipe.

For about a kilometer, a convoy of solidly built vehicles coming from the city's uplands -- with passenger jeepneys interspersed -- passed me by, beginning at the Peñafrancia Church; but they were at least cruising patiently at less than normal speed. Then came that L-300 van charging, overtaking another vehicle at the convoy's tail, apparently wanting to rejoin the head of the pack.

But when he made that maneuver, I was clearly on the right lane, with my headlights on, and there is no way he could not have seen me. Fortunately, I instinctively braked hard, slowing my Honda Wave down almost to a stand still and quickly swerved into the shoulder. Had I not done so, I would either be dead already or lying in a hospital, and this rant would not have seen the light of day: either dying with me, or in a state of suspended animation.

I have a feeling that convoy was assembled at the behest of one of the many politicians now seeking public office. From that experience -- no thanks to their undisciplined, boorish, and irresponsible drivers so very like the power-tripping fly sitting on top of their beast master -- these politicians can literally be dangerous to our health. Especially if you are a lowly motorbiker.

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A worried son as school year winds down

LAST NIGHT, Lynn and I were intently watching The Holiday, one of those feel-good romantic comedies that we always have a soft spot for. Technical troubles notwithstanding, arising mainly from its DivX format that my player has trouble rendering -- like dialogs being left behind by the visuals -- we managed to finish it around 30 minutes longer than usual.

My son Jack Ryan aka Budi was another source of distraction. When the movie started getting interesting -- especially when Amanda (Cameron Diaz) suddenly discovered that the man-about-town Graham (Jude Law) she is falling for is actually a single parent of two wonderful girls -- Budi was assiduously engaging her mother in a serious conversation about his probable end-of-term ranking. There were instances that their chatter was actually getting under my skin.

But looking back at it now, I started to feel sorry that I acted that way, and sorrier that I did not do more to assuage Budi's worries. My son -- a Grade V student at Grandview Elementary who is vigorously competitive in most everything unlike his elder brother Ezekiel who has taken an increasingly lackadaisical attitude towards his 2nd year studies -- fears his efforts to do better will probably come to naught. His main concern is losing ground in extracurricular points, owing to faith-imposed limitations, to his classmates who are freer to pretty much do what needs to be done.

On the way home yesterday, I passed by parents and children proudly marching at the Pacol Elementary grounds, where EK graduated on top his class two years back. And that is the benchmark that Budi also wants to equal. How time really flies! Recognition events are starting to take place left and right in the city. I became so immersed into my own professional challenges that I failed to realize that the current school year -- insofar as the public schools in Naga are concerned -- is ending pretty soon.

Over breakfast this morning, I made up to Budi by assuring him that we are happy with the efforts he exerted towards his goal this year; whatever the final outcomes will be, we will always be on his side. The challenge, as always, is to do better the next time around: he will have to redouble his efforts more consistently, reduce the time he spends on the Playstation 2 machine and gallivanting with his friends from Pacol Urban, and commit to creating a wide enough margin in academics that extracurricular points will not easily overcome.

Sometimes I wish that Ezekiel will regain the fierce competitive spirit that Budi has, because I know he can be among the best if he wants to. But everytime I wake up very early in the morning to get him ready for school, and then wake him up from sleep so that we can be at Cam High before 6am, I can sense that he -- and that lanky frame of his -- finds no joy out of this punishing routine. So I always end up wishing differently: maybe this is all for the better.

So that my children will enjoy school and the unique experience it brings, which I mostly did not had: because I chose to join the exhausting, feverish rat race instead of enjoying the view and smelling the flowers on my journey through youth.

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Now for the serious stuff?

THERE WAS a power outage in Grandview at around lunchtime when I went home. With my mother-in-law off to Pili, Lynn was all alone looking after the four kids who are not of school-age yet. So I had no other choice but to take out "turo-turo" viands and join them for lunch.

Unable to check my email via the home PC, I relied on my trusty Nokia handset to check my Gmail via WAP. There was only one new message in the inbox, short but very important. It said:

"Congratulations! We are pleased to inform you that you have qualified to continue the NPM discussions offline in Germany."

It seems that after the fun stuff that will end today, my immersion into New Public Management principles and techniques -- barring any hitches -- will continue in Deutschland, which gave the world Charlemagne and the Holy Roman Empire, Otto von Bismarck and the German Reich, Adolf Hitler and Nazism, and the rise and fall of the Berlin Wall.

Not to mention Oktoberfest, which is slowly becoming synomous with San Miguel Beer, a Filipino icon like no other but whose flagship Pale Pilsen is in dire straits.

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