Where does one stop to catch the train to a dream? Who determines the end of infinity? Where do the waters gather? Who can tell me what the rivers whisper to the grey stones? What do the stars sing to the moon on a clear night?
How many steps must be taken to find love? What makes angels hide beneath their wings when two lovers dance?
How long does it take for a smile to become a kiss?
The events that transpired over the past two weeks have very possibly deeply impacted the lives of both myself and my friends. In a whirlwind of interpersonal tangoes and intellectual waltzes, I found myself spun around the spectrum of emotions. Sometimes unbearably alone, other times in unbearable company, sometimes at the height of being in love with life, only to wake up the next morning with curses on my mind. There were moments that I’m stretching so as to give myself something to do later on, and there were moments that will probably end up in my personal trashbin, to be taken for burning later on.
When at the end of the week I find myself unable to point out any single concrete result, I know its been well-spent. When at the end of the week, I find that I can only think about my friends, that’s the sweet spot.
Bruno, keep looking forward to the future and rise above the pain and loss that tries to pull you down. This is the time for you to grow stronger, and we, your friends, will help you.
Fellowship of Current Events Geeks, kudos to the trophies we’ve won, and the trophies we’ve missed. Whatever happens, we have respect for ourselves and respect for each other. We keep fighting, and we keep winning.
The Weekend Warriors, we’ve faced a challenge greater then dragons or vampires. A few months ago, I came up with the idea for us to battle with a demon, Baphomet, who would become the ultimate test of our characters. But Baphomet turned out to be more then just a monster sheet with 1612 HP and an AC of 72, dealing 28d10 damage. The demon was real, and it tore through our ranks, threatening to rip our friendship apart. Some of us fell, but we stood strong, and we’re still together. And for those that fell? It’ll take some time, but that’s how Scrolls of Resurrection work. It’s too bad we don’t have a Level 30 Cleric.
Young Lady between the Mountain and the Lake, your friendship has never wavered, you’ve always been around for me. I can point to the past five years we’ve been emailing, texting, visiting, calling… I can only look back in gratitude. I know you’ll always care for me, and so will I.
Self-Proclaimed Cynic and Defective Mammal, you’re awesome. I wish I’d met you a lot earlier, but even though its been a short bunch of months since AUDC, your company has made every moment so much better. I can only look forward to this.
Sorry if this entry is a little phoo-phoo, but I really needed to get this all off my back so I can stop dreaming about life and actually start living it.
Thanks guys.
when the eyes percieve nothing but
dark waters and brief lanterns
the soul itself must stretch
take flight into the phantom night
beyond the wild skies
beyond the endless waves
beyond the promise of the never-ending horizon
And as I stand
Upon the edge of a mighty dream
An arc; a jagged wound; a savage vein
erupts and splits the night
a blink of light
and my eye will see
all
the waves, the water, the clouds
a kiss
a surprising kiss
a wet kiss
and another, and another
falling from the shadowed sky
And I am caught
between the rain of a thousand kisses
and the spray of a raging sea
I dare you to tell me, at this moment most sublime
that I do not know what it
means
to be in love.
Sometimes, and these days it is a very seldom sometimes, I find myself in moments of awe, enraptured, caught in a net of beauty so romantic, i have little choice but to grasp her heel, this winged goddess, for her to carry me away, above my mortal strivings. And beneath her wings, I watch as the world I know falls away behind me to meaninglessness, and I rise up into a palce beyond my comprehension, a place where wild emotions are raging colours, and the sweet scents of desire mix and swirl. I drink this liquor, this wine and romance, and the moment my lips touch sweet nectar, my heart screams. My thoughts explode. And I fall, gently, warmly, back to the chains of my existence–but now a free soul.
In some ways, the rally last friday held by the Silliman community was successful. We saw the students holding up their banners and loudly protesting the rise in crime in Dumaguete City. We saw the representatives of different sectors state their support for these voices, and we saw a catharsis of the pain and fear that has struck the students that call Dumaguete their home away from home. When we watched the faces of those who had fallen victim to the crimes in Dumaguete– the young men and women whose lives were destroyed in acts of brutality and inhumanity at the hands of other human beings– we somehow felt that there was meaning in thier deaths, that at last, the community was rallying around those who had suffered so much. The rally was a success– in some ways.
Crime is a double-ended problem; it has both effects that follow from it, and causes that lead towards it. During the rally, several people mentioned the need to "crack down on crime" and call in the best the PNP has to offer. These statements were met with approval by the crowd gathered in the rainy darkness. But I couldn’t clap, and I couldn’t agree. Because in my mind, it missed the point: that crime is merely an indicator of much deeper social problems. In my mind, the statements made by the officials was only half of the solution. In my mind, the other side of the coin was much more complicated then simply bringing in more police officers and beefing up law enforcement; the solution was only addressing one end of the problem called crime.
Let’s look past the faces and the individual tragedies. Let’s be a little bit more scientific in our analysis of the problem. Let’s examine and ask the fundamental questions.
Why is crime occuring in Dumaguete City?
In our effort to find a solution to the problem of crime, we must first understand why crime occurs. When we know why crime occurs, we can then neutralize its cause. If this action is combined with the better enforcement of law, then I am sure that we could very well see a dramatic drop in the incidence of crime in Dumaguete.
Crime is not normal human behaviour. Our cultural norm is not one of thievery and murder; all across the city of Dumaguete we have churches and cathedrals, all preaching and teaching moral behaviour. A Filipino is brought up to believe in family, friends and God. What would cause a deviation from the norm? Most of the crimes committed in Dumaguete are premeditated. Most of the crimes fall along the lines of robbery and theft. Other crimes follow from these. Criminals often start with small crimes, such as pick-pocketing and snatching, later on progressing to break-ins, rape and murder. Let’s look at the root crime, the most common one: theft.
Theft is the taking of something that isn’t yours. It is the act of gaining material assets through illegal means: a purse, a wallet, a laptop, a cellular phone. Why would someone do this? Because they want something they can’t have. The pattern is clear when we see that the crimes were being committed by people caught in the lower end of our economic scale. In other words, poor people. People whose economic circumstances kept them from access to things that they could see other people having. This problem is only heightened in a setting like Dumaguete City, were a student with a laptop, walking around with her cellphone, her education being paid for by parents, driving a shiny new motorcycle– has to share the same street as children who have to work at night to augment the family income. The economic gap is so big, and it is creating individuals who consider taking desperate measures in order to close the gap, measures like theft.
The economic root of crime also has another fundamental psychological effect: it robs people of dignity. A man who no one sees, a woman who no one hears, is dehumanized by society. We see them for a brief moment, and our eyes pass by to look at prettier and shinier things then the pile of rags at our feet. We see the children begging, feel a pang of regret, and then a few blocks down, our minds are already thinking about what to cook for supper. People who are treated this way have no dignity. People treated this way are no longer human. Why are we so surprised when the people we never treated as people all of a sudden act more like animals then human beings?
The solution to crime that deals with the causes must then provide two things: it must help people improve their economic status, and it must give these people dignity. How? I can think of two programs that the local government can execute to destroy the root of criminal behaviour, and one simple thing everyone can do:
1) Employment programs and subsidized vocational training
2) Education
3) Equal respect for everyone
The first two are easy enough to understand; I think the city officials can think of ideas along the lines of those. The last one is for everyone, a reminder of how far courtesy can go. Simpy saying "po" gives another person your acknowledgement of that person’s dignity. A "please", a "thank you", and smile or a nod… if we really want Dumaguete to go back to being a city of gentle people, it has to start with ourselves.
Before you start to think I’m a bleeding heart for criminals, I want to let you know that I’m not; anyone who commits a crime is accountable to the law, and must be dealt with swiftly and severely. Too bad there isn’t any death penalty. However, the point is this: to deal with crime itself, we must not only deal with the criminals, but we must deal with the reasons for why there are criminals among us in the first place.
Let’s make sure that the vicitims of crime in Dumaguete are given the justice they deserve, a justice that addresses not only the effects of crime, but its causes as well. Let’s make sure that the brand of justice we speak of is justice for everyone, and remains a justice of compassion, understanding and tolerance, and not a justice of hate and retribution.
Twirl around beneath the rain drop drops
Splash a splishy-splash rhythm
in a puddle
Dance in soggy shoes and wet hair
and after a hot shower and warm towels…
Whisper a soft sweetened song to a mug of hot chocolate
Life. Live it.
I’m listening to You’re All I Have by Snow Patrol. It’s raining hard outside, and the soft yellow glow of the lamp behind me makes me think warm thoughts. There are some things that are gnawing at my brain, telling me that they need to be done. And then there’s the content smile of knowing that I’ve done everything that I set out to do today. My friend’s lives are spinning around me, as I whirl around them. On a rainy day with good music, I appreciate just being human, with the aches and anxieties, the smiles and the laughter, the darkness, the magic, the hope, the fear and the dreams… it means I’m alive and living life, in the little marble reflection of the raindrop that is my life, among the millions of raindrops around me.
I stumbled across a tattered volume as I searched the Great Library, by the light of a single lantern and the moonlight pouring in through the towering panes. Outside, it was a clear night sky, spotted by a few clouds, and the forest beyond the city walls a blue shadow beneath the moon. The tome of which I speak lay among a pile of discarded books, each one depicting the magic of a childhood long past. I blew the dust off the cover of this particular book, and wiped my sleeve across it.
The unicorn lived in a lilac wood, and she lived all alone. She was very old,
though she did not know it, and she was no longer the careless color of sea
foam, but rather the color of snow falling on a moonlit night. But her eyes
were still clear and underwearied, and she still moved like a shadow on the sea.
She did not look anything like a horned horse, as unicorns are often pictured,
being smaller and cloven-hoofed, and posessing that oldest, wildest grace that
horses have never had, that deer have only in a shy, thin imitation and goats
in dancing mockery. Her neck was long and slender, making her head seem smaller
than it was, and the mane that fell almost to the middle of her back was
as soft as dandelion fluff and as fine as cirrus. She had pointed ears and thin
legs, with feathers of white hair at the ankles; and the long horn above her
eyes shone and shivered with its own seashell light even in the deepest
midnight. She had killed dragons with it, and healed a king whose poisoned
wound would not close, and knocked down ripe chestnuts for bear cubs.
When the last eagle flies,over the last crumbling mountain
And the last lion roars, at the last dusty fountain
In the shadow of the forest, though she may be old and worn
They will stare unbelieving
At the last unicorn
When the first breath of winter, throught the flowers is icing
And you look to the north, and a pale moon is rising
And it seems like all is dying, and would leave the world to mourn
In the distance hear her laughter
Its the last unicorn
When the last moon is cast, over the last star of morning
And the future is past, without even a last desparate warning
Then look into the sky where through, the cloudes a path is formed
Look and see her how she shimmers, its the last unicorn
*** The opening passage in italics is from Peter S. Beagle’s book The Last Unicorn. The verses following are from Kenny Loggin’s song of the same name, written for the animated movie.
I’ve had the opportunity to live in
different places, both around the Philippines and in America. It may
not be as much as some people, but its enough for me to compare how
life differs from one locale to another. I’ve lived in Manila, which
was as much of a hive city as any other. I’ve lived in Stafford, an
American suburbian niche filled with manicured lawns and cookie-cutter
houses. I’ve lived in Los Baños, a university town caught between a
mountain and a big lake.
Before I came to Dumaguete, I’d never
experienced a break-in. I’d never seen a fatal motorcycle accident.
I’ve never heard of someone being stabbed in the face with an icepick.
Why
is it that in such a small place, that claims to be a "City of Gentle
People" and a "University Town", i’ve been faced with violence and
brutality that rivals the tabloid news of the streets of Metro Manila?
I’m
not saying that the other places I’ve stayed in were devoid of crime;
far from it. Everywhere I’ve been, I’ve heard of things happening
around me. But it was always beyond the border, somewhere beyond the
neighborhood. What makes Dumaguete stand out? The answer is this: in
Dumaguete, the frequency and brutality of the crimes are
disproportionate with the demographics and population. Now, i’ll admit
in my blog that this proposition has yet to be proven with hard
statistics, but after having read the newspapers over the past years,
and having lived here and heard and seen these things happening, i
believe that this thesis may be correct. As a volunteer for the Dr.
Jovito Salonga Center for Law and Development, I intend to use the
Center’s resources to find out.
If I’m right, and there has been
a rise in violent crimes committed within the city and neighboring
areas (including Bacong, Dauin, Sibulan, Tanjay, Talay and Valencia),
then I’m spotting something very wrong with our local government.
What
have they done? How visible is the anti-crime campaign? One rape, one
murder, one forced break-in should be enough to spur our city officials
to action. It should be enough to start an organized and systematic
approach to eradicating criminal elements. One dead student should have
been enough. But apparently, it wasn’t. More people have to die. More
people have to have their lives violated. More tragedies have to strike
before the local government decides its time to take some action. It
almost borders on negligence.
I’m not going to condmemn the men
in uniform who patrol our streets and come to our houses at three in
the morning when we make our 117 calls. What I will say is that they’re
not getting enough support. There aren’t enough of them. They aren’t
being trained sufficiently. They don’t have access to good equipment.
They have to beg Cebu for the fingerprinting files. They don’t have a
criminal database.
This problem is also not just on the
law-enforcement end, because crime is also a symptom for two deeper
social diseases: poverty and lacking education. What has the city been
pouring money into? Tourism? Business investment? Infrastructural
development? All the while, people are still hungry on the streets,
begging. Shame on the city council, and shame on the office of the
mayor, because everytime a Dumagueteño goes for a walk downtown, they
have to put up with people begging for money. Shame because there are
so many young men just "standing by" waiting for one odd job or the
other. Shame because kids have to work in the evening just to support
themselves for school. Shame because our educational system doesn’t
provide affordable vocational training for those without livelihoods.
Shame because when it comes to providing for the people who need help
the most, the city has no visibility.
This is our wonderful little town.
