Category: Nonfiction

The Vengeful One

Nonfiction by | June 1, 2008

A baboon stole my ice cream just as I was crossing a street.

No, this is not some region in Africa I’m talking about here. I’m talking Davao here, and the incident happened on an avenue just a few meters from Gaisano Mall.

So there it was, a baboon on the road, and it was looking to have food the easiest way possible. I was about to step out of the way of a jeepney when, from behind me, I heard someone say, “Ako na lang ni ‘te.” Before the beast could even finish its sentence, and before I could gather that I was the recipient of the message, he pried the ice cream cone violently from my hand.

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The Break-Up Speech

Nonfiction by | June 1, 2008

Tonight I was yet again presented with the opportunity to take a romantic stroll around the city. In short, it was too ma-traffic (and humid), so I figured I’d get to my destination faster if I just walked along the bridge.

While walking, I thought, I’m going to miss this city.

Haven’t really made plans for where I’ll get a job yet; all I know is that it won’t be here. Some well-meaning people ask me if I’m crazy for choosing to leave. Yes, I know; it’s a tough choice. I’m thinking: once I leave, I can never drink water straight from the tap again. I don’t think I’ll be able to have a good, filling meal with P20–even P30– any place else. And the No-Smoking ordinance–I don’t think I’ll have the benefit of that where I’m heading. I think I’ll have to forget all about getting exact change from the taxi driver and having access to wi-fi virtually anywhere.

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Guillermo Dagohoy: A Biographical Sketch

Nonfiction by | May 4, 2008

Guillermo J. Dagohoy was born on October 23, 1919 in Sogod, Southern Leyte. His parents were Agustin Dagohoy and Macaria Jacobe. He had one brother, Hospicio, and three sisters, Celestina, Rufina, and Dulcesima.

Guillermo grew up in Sogod where he finished his elementary grades at Sogod Elementary School. In 1938, the family settled in Davao, and Guillermo continued his high school studies at Davao City High School. He attended college at the Visayas Institute, now the University of the Visayas where he finished with an Associate in Arts. He eventually became a high school teacher in the Assumption Academy of Peñaplata in Samal Island.

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On Wars

Nonfiction by | April 20, 2008

“War is a matter of vital importance to the state, the province of life and death; the road to survival or ruin. It is mandatory that it be thoroughly studied.” – Sun Tzu

The opening statement of Sun Tzu’s book, The Art of War is well known among military officers, warriors and to those who study the history and conduct of war. The teachings in this book have been used by Mao Zedong and Ho Chi Minh in their successful campaigns of national liberation. The sixteen character formula of the New people’s Army is derived from this book: “When the enemy attacks, we retreat; when the enemy camps, we harass; when he tires, we attack; when he retreats, we pursue.” The NPA is still around after 35 years of fighting with the AFP and the PNP besides; proof of the continuing relevance and effectiveness of Sun Tzu’s teachings.

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Allamandas in the Morning

Nonfiction by | March 30, 2008

The terse ringing of the phone, followed by the apologetic voice of the nurse at the other end, nudged me to a befuddled wakefulness. I found myself grousing under my breath to some muted annoyance, knowing that the plans of the day have been brusquely thwarted by an all-too familiar event.

What I had mapped out as an easy, sunshiny, warm-as-a-pillow day turned into a mad rush to the hospital to join a grieving family at a matriarch’s deathbed. In a few minutes I was navigating through the swelling crowd of the hospital lobby. At the female ward, I stood witness to the tableau of a grief-stricken spouse feigning a valiant façade in the presence of the similarly devastated family members.

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The Heart of Davao City

Nonfiction by | March 23, 2008

For someone who has never been inside Bankerohan, the place is the worst idea of a tourist spot. People who do not visit the far dark corners of it would even wonder why it had been made a destination. Others question why a wet market is constructed beside a dental clinic and other establishments that offer a comfortable place and clean services. The stink which makes passers-by cover their noses when the jeepney drives through; the dirt which can be seen in every vendor’s clothes, stall, sack, cart, and anywhere along the sidewalk; the chatter of the people which is nearly unbearable – are the main reasons that some people prefer to go to air-conditioned supermarkets. Furthermore, the rows of stalls are not organized. Some vendors simply pile their fruits and vegetables on a dirty sack along the sidewalk, and some even go beyond the boundary line, making traffic worse.

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Maturity

Nonfiction by | March 16, 2008

We all mature: one way or another. It is one of those simple facts of life we can never escape from. There will come a day when we realize that we have changed the way we view things — for the better, we hope. Just recently, that day made itself known to me.

Like Dorian Gray and Lord Henry Wotton, I used to value physical beauty above others. This was to me a tendency unconsciously observed. Do we not, as children, often choose playmates that look as pleasant as their genes or their parents’ money can make them? I was guilty of this. Aren’t we all?

When I was in grade school, there was this girl whom no one liked too well. I was not exactly the popular kid, either, but I thought I was better off than she was. At least I had some friends. She, on the other hand, was the sort others would run away from, as if she had a deadly and contagious disease. She was the perpetual ”it” of the oh-so-many playground games we played when we were kids.

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Sunday Class

Nonfiction by | March 16, 2008

That January Sunday promised to the most charmless, cheerless day in years. The weather seemed hesitant, and the time passed by slowly and clinically as though the world was flat and on lithium.

I had set an afternoon appointment with a classmate from high school — a huge crush of mine back in the day — who, for some reason or other, deemed me geeky yet accessible enough consult for her thesis.

She gave me a call late in the week, quickly explaining the requirements for her Bachelor’s degree in Communication Arts.

How could I have said no? Or do you see why I couldn’t say no? Full to the brim though my calendar appeared, if this was the same hazel-haired, hazel-eyed young woman who, if my recollection serves, had the habit of biting her lower lip whenever she talked….

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