tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47819236871945174652024-03-14T12:05:40.914+08:00that short guymusings of dude who just happens to be ever so slightly strangeLudwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comBlogger244125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-62371489209981068632023-10-15T20:00:00.004+08:002023-10-15T20:53:35.809+08:00The Bohol Earthquake: A Test of Leadership<p><span style="text-align: justify;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKfBAZYhvyJwdpDB-Klt38LU_M04pAbj-3sURAvSLY-Mzz4WPiy16iDIMfIXYPIxpAAlxz4354yw7h9hjFwdTH3h5RqEbbbjCXM43Y8aljgufR5X4e4TIc-imBjt-Om9o3eXvqKztM10-gWgkHUuZrTgcKn-OqI0zyRx5sQ8xHaUHq_McgGOnW7HntYFQ/s610/387455305_1225151561794802_1450078967603720831_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="610" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKfBAZYhvyJwdpDB-Klt38LU_M04pAbj-3sURAvSLY-Mzz4WPiy16iDIMfIXYPIxpAAlxz4354yw7h9hjFwdTH3h5RqEbbbjCXM43Y8aljgufR5X4e4TIc-imBjt-Om9o3eXvqKztM10-gWgkHUuZrTgcKn-OqI0zyRx5sQ8xHaUHq_McgGOnW7HntYFQ/s320/387455305_1225151561794802_1450078967603720831_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibTNHvwonoAeL-t9RAqK6UU30UzdQ-Qzxvj8jszZqigI4x_QX7FsVsIWtlKXmbmqyOu5vjt_nQ0M-iLcE3BlD6YJ-llwlVEPfDaGgY06ErxsPQ6S1fjYESAtOovmyYe8G6Hq6RWw0sq8BMwLwqpOCPd2Db3CLpv5FA0-T0wTPVnSezWS0UMQU8VAp864/s537/387481892_2211088449081819_4892097534784849541_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="537" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiibTNHvwonoAeL-t9RAqK6UU30UzdQ-Qzxvj8jszZqigI4x_QX7FsVsIWtlKXmbmqyOu5vjt_nQ0M-iLcE3BlD6YJ-llwlVEPfDaGgY06ErxsPQ6S1fjYESAtOovmyYe8G6Hq6RWw0sq8BMwLwqpOCPd2Db3CLpv5FA0-T0wTPVnSezWS0UMQU8VAp864/s320/387481892_2211088449081819_4892097534784849541_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">One could not be blamed for
imagining that, amid all the world’s advancements in science, volcanology would
have figured out a way to foresee when earthquakes happen with as ample an
amount of time as we now have before hurricanes and typhoons come to us, given
how ubiquitous these tremors are in the ring of fire that is home to Japan, one
of the world’s forerunners in scientific innovation and research. Alas, it has
not. And, unfortunately for Boholanos, nobody could have seen the quake
coming ten years ago.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The 13<sup>th</sup> of October
2013 should have been an uneventful day for most people living in Bohol. Plotted
on the national calendar as a legal holiday, it was one that was meant to be
celebrated by different groups of people for different reasons. Foremost, for
the Muslim community, it was to be the year’s largest and most important holiday
– the <i>Eid al-Adha</i>, the Feast of the Sacrifice, a day of celebration in
remembrance of the obedient devotion of Abraham to God. For the rest of us, it
meant either no school for students, no work for government staff, or a nice
day at the workplace for private sector employees knowing they were getting
double the amount of a day’s standard wages. Whatever you believed in, it was a
day to look forward to. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">As fate had it, however, what was
supposed to be a welcome day for all was flipped into utter chaos. Just a few dreadful
seconds and it all came crashing down – literally – into what would forever be
etched into the collective memory of Boholanos as one of the island province’s most
harrowing days. For nearly half a minute, it felt as though a primordial entity
living underground was clamoring for a way out. To say the Earth shook would be
a dire understatement. It was felt for miles all over the archipelago, but here
where it happened, it was a horror film come to life. Buildings crumbled to
pieces, bridges fell into rivers, the ground cracked open, and centuries-old edifices
that have come to define Boholano cultural heritage were reduced to nothing but
sad agglomerations of cubed limestone and coral dust within a few blinks of an
eye.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdCsdPkwLJDXLeCnjmcg1ZkS9u7kJanI_Ooj_7-AXEJGkaUtYBpMoNG1E06N-f0Fp4hclButKGolzPP_oGWeC_90nz1Ubwkpa11wAKctkdQo6xK_SxocQXXDlNOg8jPrhELILdhwKgYFHaHn1VhNyxbIzCP_CWdlXzFH_bP-mor1me28nllJcuYW1UuU/s960/1441237_10151772891333963_1178328542_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="546" data-original-width="960" height="182" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDdCsdPkwLJDXLeCnjmcg1ZkS9u7kJanI_Ooj_7-AXEJGkaUtYBpMoNG1E06N-f0Fp4hclButKGolzPP_oGWeC_90nz1Ubwkpa11wAKctkdQo6xK_SxocQXXDlNOg8jPrhELILdhwKgYFHaHn1VhNyxbIzCP_CWdlXzFH_bP-mor1me28nllJcuYW1UuU/s320/1441237_10151772891333963_1178328542_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrDz_YvVqGhwVzmhv-WGnko73qmaSS40kjp5ydwGe-Q1-dQUsY68QWxfI6wrvrlSe_hYks3k2sQom6WESwBnGhmmqEX4ndEEPh-UCunNaxwdBYy184-xN36qvRgab2pSh7PKH6M1lNMSeZqQ3fBCJwQ0fO-tvvSJZ7Ia5I2QlL3iCOPPGMcf0MAmL86NE/s607/370238062_1276008719745722_7806054380336696612_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="607" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrDz_YvVqGhwVzmhv-WGnko73qmaSS40kjp5ydwGe-Q1-dQUsY68QWxfI6wrvrlSe_hYks3k2sQom6WESwBnGhmmqEX4ndEEPh-UCunNaxwdBYy184-xN36qvRgab2pSh7PKH6M1lNMSeZqQ3fBCJwQ0fO-tvvSJZ7Ia5I2QlL3iCOPPGMcf0MAmL86NE/s320/370238062_1276008719745722_7806054380336696612_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZDnGoUF1MPsxODaJ8maGjVCrFzi9UcYVLWAfdq19SWJyfpcJAHYe_U8MZqauxSWjaoomioIWuRzFDk_9usHV6UrRxP_nQ0ndMwsbxB1Pz0ZbhtoRbvuOQRoZ75gqPJ6oeKXCVpjBmiIIN1WGFNgKQgoOHdXrpYd64radcLf0aKlqZSPxSsVpdifxm2k/s537/387483124_1023486402233161_5267096582764809126_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="537" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOZDnGoUF1MPsxODaJ8maGjVCrFzi9UcYVLWAfdq19SWJyfpcJAHYe_U8MZqauxSWjaoomioIWuRzFDk_9usHV6UrRxP_nQ0ndMwsbxB1Pz0ZbhtoRbvuOQRoZ75gqPJ6oeKXCVpjBmiIIN1WGFNgKQgoOHdXrpYd64radcLf0aKlqZSPxSsVpdifxm2k/s320/387483124_1023486402233161_5267096582764809126_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">It was a strange and unfamiliar catastrophe
– one that no living Boholano had ever experienced on the island, especially
not its then chief executive, Edgar Chatto. First-hand sources claim that without
wasting a second, at the end of the main tremor, the governor rushed to kickstart
emergency response and damage assessment at the command center of TaRSIER 117. The
latter unit, named after Bohol’s most prominent primates, was barely in its
infancy stage at this point, but along with everything that the provincial
government could muster, it had to be put to work in what was described by staff
members as nothing short of a baptism by fire.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">That very same morning, the
governor gave no second thought to pulling key people out of their lawful day
off to form a team that created and consequently activated a comprehensive
response plan, mobilizing every available resource to ensure people’s basic
needs were met. By nightfall, the team had been able to pool volunteers for
needs relief operations. The Bohol Cultural Centre, with its wall cracks and
fallen ceiling boards, was transformed into a hub where food was packed before
being darted off into the homes of those that needed them, especially in the
areas that were now made inaccessible by the destruction of infrastructure.
Such was the scene that prevailed for days and days, while the nitty-gritty of rehabilitation
work proceeded backstage, so to speak.<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWAlNKAsq-khc7cnKABKkrhjMUL-Ocb_Ky7kuGNq07bA3jYBRc5e7X8EWD06-lP9SOjJuRVxvU_TN-GKSp7OZG8TUcGXuUJs3EOIM0zkAEJlrVWzbZ7-oZb33vxlTaXdrBGhxrJ581LiyriohSVkkzj0-FtTkFQDSq0yxQMLd2jLixYmIk53Nc_yG98U/s2048/10708760_286880411505158_7730607107818471516_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="2048" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvWAlNKAsq-khc7cnKABKkrhjMUL-Ocb_Ky7kuGNq07bA3jYBRc5e7X8EWD06-lP9SOjJuRVxvU_TN-GKSp7OZG8TUcGXuUJs3EOIM0zkAEJlrVWzbZ7-oZb33vxlTaXdrBGhxrJ581LiyriohSVkkzj0-FtTkFQDSq0yxQMLd2jLixYmIk53Nc_yG98U/s320/10708760_286880411505158_7730607107818471516_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Edgar Chatto, at this point, had
just begun his second term as governor after emerging victorious from what
could be described as one of Bohol’s most vicious gubernatorial races. He was
no stranger to hard work. In fact, his personal slogan leading up to his very
first term a few years prior was “to hit the ground running.” However, it was ultimately
his choice to toil tirelessly. In the latter case, he did not have a choice.
Nobody did. This was a true test to his capabilities and he made sure that all options
were explored, all helping hands tapped, and all friends given a ring. Not
least of which was the president himself, Benigno Aquino III, who discreetly
flew into the province bringing help and much-needed supplies, and it was
perhaps the first time in our republic’s rich history that the head of state
was billeted to spend the night in a lowly tent despite being in one of the
country’s most prominent tourist destinations. But neither the president nor
the governor cared about quality of accommodation nearly as much as they did
about the well-being of the Boholano people. This was a challenge to the
leadership of the president as much as it was to the governor and any other
leader who cared.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Leaders – the true ones – are a
special kind of people, in my view. Always ready, never tired. Facing
challenges head-on and <s>dragging</s> inspiring others around them to step up.
It is a special kind of talent – a kind of superpower, if you will – that not
everyone possesses and to this day I am not convinced that it is something that
can be learned from scratch. I’m not sure if true leaders are born or made or
either or both. Because while many of them put themselves out there to be
called upon by those they serve, there are others who emerge only when they are
truly needed. As if summoned by a divine force, several such leaders manifested
themselves during the earthquake’s aftermath in the fashion of a collective
of comic book superbeings who had come in a moment of dire need to face a very
powerful common adversary. Everyone was there for us and with us – local and
national government agencies, international organizations, foreign governmental
cooperation agencies, non-government groups, the military, law enforcement, the
scouts, the private sector, civil society, as well as faith communities
including but not limited to the leadership of the Catholic Church.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">For the most part, people crossed
party lines, put aside their personal and political differences, and momentarily
suspended their hostilities as they worked toward their common goals – first
survival then sustainable rehabilitation. In school, <i>Filipiniana</i> and
values education teaches us about the spirit of <i>Bayanihan</i>, illustrated
by a village lifting a hut presumably belonging to people who wish to move
somewhere. I had seen this at work many times, but only ever on small scales, like
how the concept was introduced in school. So, for a long time I wondered if
this could happen on a large scale. The earthquake of 2013 answered this
question in one of the most inspiring ways possible. No act of service was too
small for a person with a sincere heart and no challenge was too big a leader.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Ten years on and this is where we
are today, thanks to the team effort of the people of Bohol and our leaders, big-time
or small-time, known or unknown, who played a role in the long and grueling process
of healing and rebuilding, starting with the spirits that had been broken. Now,
our roads have been repaved; our bridges have been rebuilt; and our
centuries-old heritage churches and cultural treasures have risen again as
though they never fell. Tourism has bounced back time and time again following
a multitude of challenges and our local economy is doing fairly well considering
the kind of battery it has been subjected to over the years since then.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Quite a few more harrowing
episodes have followed since the 2013 earthquake and we as a people have proven
over and over that not only are we resilient, we are also a very strong and capable
lot, full of leaders who are ready to step up to the challenges hurled at us.
The tremor might not have been the worst thing to happen thus far but it was
certainly a strong wake-up call and it allowed us to learn to gird our loins,
armor up and hone our skills to be able to face every single one that comes our
way, supporting and learning from one another and emerging as better people and
better leaders each time. As Edgar Chatto always says, “Leadership is a gift
from God for man to develop and share with others.”<o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8yif0g8Oay4R3sZuAOC9XSBP_P91zi8FKGy70jHBvkpCEuP9Lb3uMObZO0h_ujZAToyvXUIF7T8LL1SrBnuZ1Mc_fR4BvzHtTKY7tYAeX7KNF6HVeiOthVBhH3lvikJWtf8pz_JVLa8hVsWNTsSGpMaBS3JxHQxOUMSaGF8dVfcCGMcySsVowbm2-esY/s1080/257631147_1521480638186154_2087376855225088785_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="810" data-original-width="1080" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8yif0g8Oay4R3sZuAOC9XSBP_P91zi8FKGy70jHBvkpCEuP9Lb3uMObZO0h_ujZAToyvXUIF7T8LL1SrBnuZ1Mc_fR4BvzHtTKY7tYAeX7KNF6HVeiOthVBhH3lvikJWtf8pz_JVLa8hVsWNTsSGpMaBS3JxHQxOUMSaGF8dVfcCGMcySsVowbm2-esY/s320/257631147_1521480638186154_2087376855225088785_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhepDeITUk-e3X5DkhIVjV1i3t0MvDj6ZpLZ40VWQegz-bWTlhGlka1q3_vbTLdE8dw7UJn0dGURqVEBhxEwZ_qth3sX4Wtp17zSVx6toTQXMvHcQE7_GP07dQB-doc6n95DP-F868C-9m28ANWI2Kj7Emo-MlvOAcM_W6jvhVkFjd4Yz0lPuPRsqUz4/s537/318273646_714266053758190_6921630884570246708_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="537" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIhepDeITUk-e3X5DkhIVjV1i3t0MvDj6ZpLZ40VWQegz-bWTlhGlka1q3_vbTLdE8dw7UJn0dGURqVEBhxEwZ_qth3sX4Wtp17zSVx6toTQXMvHcQE7_GP07dQB-doc6n95DP-F868C-9m28ANWI2Kj7Emo-MlvOAcM_W6jvhVkFjd4Yz0lPuPRsqUz4/s320/318273646_714266053758190_6921630884570246708_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OLd72MMog2jOL5JKdiHgiaLsj3-LLdWbgmtv9qkacyx6sFBtd1vHAJrCGsXQ5JTlJm5FihyphenhyphenCSON_lSsd_k4QYMwHgO8GKHHzHGUgLY-H2awcUJM-VQgJffivwyhKyJW0QkyP-HO3XqYQ0OZeO_urXQOQb0sgTTQQb1XRuUF_f4-bd7j6JW5d1oKgO4s/s600/387328872_1103612203875382_2525591751670866840_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="337" data-original-width="600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1OLd72MMog2jOL5JKdiHgiaLsj3-LLdWbgmtv9qkacyx6sFBtd1vHAJrCGsXQ5JTlJm5FihyphenhyphenCSON_lSsd_k4QYMwHgO8GKHHzHGUgLY-H2awcUJM-VQgJffivwyhKyJW0QkyP-HO3XqYQ0OZeO_urXQOQb0sgTTQQb1XRuUF_f4-bd7j6JW5d1oKgO4s/s320/387328872_1103612203875382_2525591751670866840_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUHVy-_vEg5IqTY5HJIauvrwOpt0dOmH7aAZcvX7gtBr8EQwm7oU-Ny0l9LZoqyRF87JisuUIwvcXFuSbi9WDI8qutClsx5MjZ_VVSbZ1vf2UYZUSCvZArgimIGrGMgmspLAw233upYhnd9xiAN3S3xJRBxtO9GKmqVuksaqJZDsW7bLV1jbnBfwJt3MQ/s716/314458154_903653550571055_4013346313875630197_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="403" data-original-width="716" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUHVy-_vEg5IqTY5HJIauvrwOpt0dOmH7aAZcvX7gtBr8EQwm7oU-Ny0l9LZoqyRF87JisuUIwvcXFuSbi9WDI8qutClsx5MjZ_VVSbZ1vf2UYZUSCvZArgimIGrGMgmspLAw233upYhnd9xiAN3S3xJRBxtO9GKmqVuksaqJZDsW7bLV1jbnBfwJt3MQ/s320/314458154_903653550571055_4013346313875630197_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p>Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-7118541291928247312021-01-26T08:40:00.001+08:002021-01-26T08:40:43.439+08:00On FullyRaw KristinaFullyRaw Kristina can be annoying and overly positive at times. Her brand of veganism can indeed sometimes lack inclusivity towards those with lesser financial capabilities. And I must admit that, to this day, I am bothered by her erstwhile association with John Rose and her Iridology bullshit in addition to her refusal to use her platform to support the #blacklivesmatter movement or in vocal opposition to Donald Trump. HOWEVER, I firmly refuse to believe she is a White supremacist anti-Semite.<div><br></div><div>For starters, Kristina Carrillo-Bucaram isn't White. Her heritage is indigenous South American and Middle-Eastern. She is half-Ecuadorian and half-Lebanese, making her partly Semitic. She has even referenced her Arab heritage time and time again on her channel. She has also addressed, over a year ago, her initial association with John Rose and has apologised for it, in addition to some of her other misgivings. Yes, Kristina is not perfect. She is far from it. She panders to the moneyed and her brand of veganism is not the most widely accessible. At best, she is a rich snob with a proclivity for toxic positivity but she is NOT a racist, anti-Semitic, White supremacist Holocaust denier as she has been painted to be by many other vegan influencers. She is absolutely not my favourite but I strongly refuse to believe that she is an evil person.</div>Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-76331026523416061502019-11-21T15:32:00.000+08:002019-11-21T15:32:00.910+08:00On Being a Privileged Left-Leaner<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X6J3xiOdszI/XdY9SwVWJ2I/AAAAAAAAesU/Ps5Zf9eof74hlpm8Ysg4XD9eWLWlvAc6wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/demsoc%2Bsymbol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="754" data-original-width="755" height="398" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-X6J3xiOdszI/XdY9SwVWJ2I/AAAAAAAAesU/Ps5Zf9eof74hlpm8Ysg4XD9eWLWlvAc6wCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/demsoc%2Bsymbol.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></h3>
<h3>
<b>This is a response to someone who told me I didn't have any credibility to talk critically about big-corp capitalism and supply-side economics because I went to private school and drive a car. Yes, it's a rant.</b></h3>
<br />
Of course I'm aware of my privilege. I'm aware that it has given me so much leverage in life that others who do not have it would otherwise have starved to death eleven years ago. I am angry. Not because I didn't suffer. Who the f* wants to suffer? I'm angry that there are countless people who work sixteen times harder than I do and yet don't even have one-sixteenth of the comforts I enjoy or were ever afforded any of the opportunities I've received and subsequently flushed down the drain.<br />
<br />
Yes, I admit I am privileged but should I really be treated dismissively in a conversation about social justice simply because you saw me driving a car? Do I not have the right to be angry about social inequity just because I went to private school?<br />
<br />
You may be tan but check your bum in the mirror! It's probably so white you couldn't even tell the difference if someone shone a torch on it. Your genetic lottery draw is privilege in itself. And, oh, the fact that you, a foreigner, are even here, on an Island in Southeast Asia, 6,000 nautical miles from home: Privilege. Unless you can prove you rowed yourself through the Pacific Ocean all the way from California on a dingy you built yourself using timber you felled from from a hostile jungle, you are definitely privileged. So don't be dissy telling me I can't be genuinely on-board with the green cause just because of my ride and my level of education.<br />
<br />
And, by the way, not to denigrate him in any way, but your hero Karl Marx was born to wealthy wine producers and went to private school. Smoke on your pipe and put that in!Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-13118694996045350812019-10-16T20:18:00.000+08:002019-10-16T20:18:29.119+08:00No Joke: A few thoughts on 'Joker'<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://cdn3.movieweb.com/i/article/v4Twp8VHKNdRjDoSqXWDRODfAWlCfe/738:50/Joker-Movie-Set-Video-Joaquin-Phoenix-Crying.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="388" data-original-width="738" height="336" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XGnuRw5jQMs/XaBKack5PjI/AAAAAAAAcNU/UkwWKJ7k6ocvOIVSfAxZbCPGVvtXdmiBgCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/Joker-Movie-Set-Video-Joaquin-Phoenix-Crying.jpg" title="movieweb.com" width="640"></a></div>
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After seeing Heath Ledger's Joker in Christopher Nolan's <i>The Dark Knight</i>, I still had to take time to re-watch 1989's <i>Batman </i>directed by Tim Burton where Jack Nicholson played DC's iconic evil clown. While Heath was certainly much better than Jack, the question took a review and a mental list of pros and cons to gain an answer. Joaquin's performance, however, did not even warrant a question. The 44-year-old vegan Puertorriqueño definitely takes the clown crown. This set of thoughts, however, doesn’t center on his performance. We already know he is going to bag that Academy Award, anyway. This set of musings is a verbal representation of the film itself and the things it has done to my head.<br>
<br>
Initially, it almost felt like another revisionist re-imagining of a villain but it was not. In a myriad of distorting spectacles and lenses, <b>Joker </b>offers a microscope, an x-ray and a sonogram all at the same time, giving us a deep view into the abysmal psyche of the DC Multiverse’s most complex, twisted and violent characters. It made the monkey-mutilating, bird-ripping, old-lady-murdering green-skinned witch Elphaba from Gregory Maguire’s <i>Wicked </i>suddenly seem even amiable.<br>
<br>
Joker did not play around with positivity. It did not pander to the “other side” perspective presented in revisionist trends that try to put the good spotlight on characters that were otherwise villains in their original incarnations (e.g. <i>Maleficent</i>, <i>Wicked</i>, <i>Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister</i>). Joker does not provide a romantic explanation for the character’s behaviour and neither does it attempt to exonerate him. It shows us exactly why he is the way he is. It shows how our vicious socio-economic environment is the perfect breeding ground for a violent cycle of oppression and retaliation. It also shows how utterly important it is to address mental health issues at their budding stages because, as many may refuse to accept in today’s age of medical advancement, there really does exist a point of no f'ng return that not even the teachings and prescribed methods of history’s most influential scientists, sages and prophets could reverse — at least not in one lifetime.<br>
<br>
Joker is a masterpiece in cinematography, screenplay, acting and direction. Yes, it’s a masterpiece of a film, but I have beef with it. It hits very sensitive visceral spots and yet does not attempt to draw out a specific response from its wanting audience. It rather encourages ambivalence which can be deeply unsettling for those of us who have known the character for quite a while and had made the decision to despise him long ago. It would have been easier, too, to decide to love the Joker if that were the film's intention. But, no. Unlike revisionist films and literature where there is a clear courting of audience sympathy, and unlike plain origin story prequels like <i>Hannibal Rising </i>where the tone employed is matter-of-fact, Joker is a hybrid where the viewer is left to vacillate whether they would sympathise, empathise or subdue their emotional responses in favour of a logical and rational conclusion — a decision to say something along the lines “the film shows us how terrorists are made; the Joker is a terrorist; and while there is a backstory to the violent proclivities of every terrorist, it is not an excuse.”<br>
<br>
And yet even with the response choices the film presents to us, there is no clear line that separates them. It’s like blots of ink on a plate. They begin as distinct colours and gradually mix on the fringes. Move the plate too much and you end up with a single hue. A combination of sympathy, empathy and the logical rejection of any excuse for violence, maybe? Perhaps this is the kind of response it has drawn from me — a person suffering from clinical mental issues — but I’m not entirely certain yet. The colours have not fully decided what they are and what single hue they ultimately want to reveal themselves as.<br>
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Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-1799171333530160472019-03-25T20:31:00.000+08:002019-03-25T20:31:06.525+08:00Murder<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OMeyQXPvJjc/XJjJwW_DZFI/AAAAAAAATmc/f07HWbbJmeAMEcgCN9X0mnHq3KPjsHpLACLcBGAs/s1600/picking_danao.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="223" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OMeyQXPvJjc/XJjJwW_DZFI/AAAAAAAATmc/f07HWbbJmeAMEcgCN9X0mnHq3KPjsHpLACLcBGAs/s400/picking_danao.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plastic rubbish picked from the coast of Danao, Panglao, Bohol, Philippines</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
Here's a thought. Killing humans is against the law, right? We're the most heavily protected species on this planet. The reason why international civil aviation law has made it a criminal offence to remove life vests from aircrafts is because in doing so one is potentially depriving a human being of the possibility of survival. Basically, stealing a life vest is an indirect act of murder. It's a criminal offence as a preventive measure and it makes perfect sense that violators get heavily fined or jailed.<br />
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In the same line of thinking, littering non-biodegradable rubbish is also an act of murder towards protected species -- especially marine animals. This has been proven time and time again. Many beached dead rays, sharks, cetaceans and turtles have been found to have died from plastic ingestion. So the indiscriminate disposal of plastic waste is essentially as much an act of murder towards these protected creatures as taking that yellow packet from under your seat is towards H.sapiens. Why don't we then make littering a serious criminal offence?<br />
<br />
Legislative efforts to ban single-use disposable plastic bags, straws, stirrers and cutlery could be coupled with laws increasing the criminal weight of the indiscriminate littering of plastics, no matter how big or small -- whether it's a restaurant allowing a fallen dumpster to lay unattended, a hospital dumping used syringes onto a parking lot near the coast, a factory using a nearby ravine as an open bin for disposable hair nets or an individual chucking a cigarette onto a sewer vent. We could even go punitive on corporations, too. Fine Coca Cola for every Dasani bottle on the street. Fine Nestle for every Nescafe sachet retrieved from the ocean.<br />
<br />
We can't just wait for corporations (and consumers) to make changes to their game. We have to make the field very, very difficult to play on.Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-9130425355487618622019-03-09T20:56:00.001+08:002019-03-09T20:56:33.746+08:00On Proliferating the Plant-Based Lifestyle as a Way to Taper the Climate Crisis<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/90/Vegetarian-movement_symbol.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="367" height="320" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/9/90/Vegetarian-movement_symbol.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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In a vegan forum on Facebook that I am part of, a question was recently raised on the best way to proliferate the fact that veganism is a very effective way to mitigate the effects climate change and potentially halt the ongoing severe environmental degradation. My response is that one should strive to be a vocal and visible advocate and example without resorting to violence of any kind (including verbal). In my experience, a sanctimonious evangelical behaviour really pushes people away and causes them to become defensive rather than give them a space to ponder on their choices. This, I've found to be true in advocating for veganism as a viable solution to global quandaries as much as in organised religion. My alternative is to hold conversations with people and present scientific facts from reputable and reliable research sources. As a rule of thumb, I cite real academic publications over health buff and holistic wellness blogs and sites like IFLScience.<br />
<br />
When I am asked to speak publicly, I dedicate a large chunk of it to present the vegan lifestyle as one of the best options people can take if they really want to be serious about tapering climate change and I talk about it with joy. I don't want people to think "Oh, here's another vegan a**hole." I do it with kindness because I aim to illicit a warm response. I even share photos of food and easy recipes. Heck, sometimes I even bring food. I lay on the table ideas of consumption reduction with the foresight of paving the way to an eventual transition to a vegan life. I also do not open the discussion with the word "vegan" as I know that it is taboo for a lot of people. I've done lectures where people walked out upon hearing it and I don't like that. I usually use that word towards the end of my talks.<br />
<br />
I know that the reason many people find it difficult to make a change is because it's a gargantuan challenge to detach one's self from the familiar. Food is associated with identity, culture and the comfort of family. That's why I don't attack these things. Veganism at present is, unfortunately, associated with an upper middle class lifestyle and social deviance, so I also try to debunk this. For me, everything is about kindly presenting facts and offering solutions to the current deplorable state of things. If I insult people, then I'm almost sure that I've lost the chance to convince them. I think of foul-mouthed evangelical religious people that tell me I am going to hell because of this and that. I don't see a huge difference between them and someone who is pointing a finger at me and telling me that I am responsible for destroying the Earth because of my choices. I know my process is slow but there just is no shortcut.Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-6021407817896359022019-03-08T05:39:00.000+08:002019-03-08T05:43:40.111+08:00Maldita, Estricta<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Womanpower_logo.svg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="See page for author [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons"><img alt="Womanpower logo" height="400" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/b/b7/Womanpower_logo.svg/256px-Womanpower_logo.svg.png" width="285" /></a></div>
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.27cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><br />Heav'n
has no rage, like love to hatred turned,</i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.27cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i>Nor
hell a fury, like a woman scorned.</i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.27cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><br /></i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm; margin-left: 1.27cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><br /></i></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">For
millennia, the most feared beings in traditionally patriarchal
societies all over the world have been strong angry women. I take as
an example the character of Zara, the Moorish queen in </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">the
Mourning Bride</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">,
a tragedy play written by William Congreve in 1697, about whom the
lines of poetry above were written. We might be more familiar with
the shortened version, “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned,”
a usual quip when talking about wives taking vengeful measures
against cheating husbands. Perhaps these famous lines were written at
the time as an homage to vengeful female characters in a plethora of
pieces of literature that preceded it -- mostly written by the
conventionally dominant half of the human population: men.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="docs-internal-guid-f95c12a4-7fff-4737-a5ce-24b1b1f17933"></a>
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<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">In
the mythology of the ancient Greeks, there was the vengeful consort
of Zeus, Hera, whom historians painted as a character whose life’s
sole mission was to exterminate the humans her husband hobnobbed
with. In the Hebrew Bible (Old Testament), there was Queen Jezebel,
who made it her life’s mission to propagate her religion among the
people of Israel. In the Christian Bible (New Testament), there was
Herodias, who conspired to behead John the Baptist for repeatedly
questioning the morality of her marriage to King Herod. In medieval
literature, there are those that fall under the wicked stepmother
archetype. Many of which are portrayed in classic Disney princess
films. For example: the Queen in Snow White who was consumed by her
aspirations to become the world’s most beautiful and Cinderella’s
stepmother who would stop at nothing to give her daughters an
opportunity at social advancement. Then, beginning in April 2019, we
will be seeing more of Game of Thrones’ Queen Cersei who only wants
the absolute best for her family.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Are
their actions justifiable? The way they were written, it certainly
doesn’t seem so. However, it is important to understand that,
perhaps with the exception of an illuminated few like George R.R.
Martin and the revisionist Gregory Maguire, most authors write with
absolute biases, including those who chronicled the texts upon which
the world’s most dominant religions are based. It is just sad to
note that when it comes to strong female characters, their vitriol is
more forceful than usual and the romanticism of evil is of a loftier
level than what is normally painted of a male antagonist. Either that
or the consequent social perception of female villains is just extra
hostile. Perhaps both? I suggest when you are introduced to a
relatively well-written antagonist character to look at their motives
and ask yourself whether or not you have the proclivity to take
similar measures if you were put in their position. If I weren’t a
pacifist Quaker and someone who purports to be the messenger of God
repeatedly came to my house to admonish me about the moral legitimacy
of my marriage -- to a King nonetheless -- I don’t know if I would
be adverse to the idea of decapitation.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
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</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Let
us now take a look at present realities and the heavily patriarchal
social construct that sadly still exists. Let us take some examples
of how, in the 21st century, the world still bears strong disdain for
women. The United States of America elected a foul-mouthed racist
with a track record of sexual misconduct over a person who sent a few
shady emails. Saudi Arabia jailed an advocate for the abolition of
the Kingdom’s law on male guardianship. Israel detained a child for
slapping a soldier who barged into her home unwelcome. The
Philippines jailed the most vocal critic of its president’s deadly
war on the poor. The views on the veracity of their claim to
righteousness are vastly divided, but one thing they share in common
is a vagina. And this world, as it is, seems to be deathly afraid of
that.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">In
this article’s title are two Spanish loanwords very commonly used
in the colloquial form of the Cebuano language to refer to strong
women who refuse to be steered around by the whims of the
male-dominated society they live in. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Maldita,
estricta.</span></i></span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Whether
they are homemakers, teachers, corporate workers, civil servants,
entrepreneurs, politicians, single, married or what-have-you, one
will more often than not hear a woman described as such if she
doesn’t fit the mold of demureness and subservience that society’s
box has set for her. It has been used countless times to refer to
women in my maternal family, which is dominated by strong women. Case
in point: my mother, Liza Migriño Quirog, a brilliant civil servant,
has been nicknamed “the Dragon” for her resolute firmness in
ensuring that things are done correctly under her watch. She is
unwavering and determined -- qualities that are normally seen as
admirable in men, even if they do not have amiable personalities. And
yet because my mother is of the opposite gender, she is called
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">maldita,
estricta</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;">Of
late, mama has come to embrace the dragon title, perhaps reinforced
by her admiration for Game of Thrones’ Daenerys Targaryen, and she
is no longer bothered by the idea that, behind her back, she is not
always positively spoken about. She puts a premium on doing things
right rather than people’s opinion of her, with the acknowledgement
that she has built a credible name for herself in her line of work.
She is a titanium wall to be reckoned with and she does not operate
at the mercy of those who do not know any better. She is lucky in
that sense, I suppose.</span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Others
are not as fortunate. While many women in public service have taken
it upon themselves to adjust to social expectations of agreeability
even if it pains them, I know a lot who, like my mother, simply
refuse to be fake. They have a strong passion to serve but they
refuse to develop a false facade of geniality and it has very sadly
proven to be a threat to their work. Pureza Veloso Chatto, a talented
public official, the mayor of the Municipality of Balilihan who has,
for the last three and a half years, served the town faithfully and
ably, has recently become the recipient of a myriad of attacks. Most
of them are false accusations on her abilities as a leader, but a
large chunk is an assault on her refusal to conform to the norm of
being perpetually smiley and nice. Again, a litany which can be
summarised as </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">maldita,
estricta</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">.
While the president of the country enjoys an enduringly forgiving
cult-like posse of people who laugh at his foul jokes, ignore his
tyranny, and turn a blind eye on his absolutely despicable public
behaviour and proven inability to keep his campaign promises, even as
the nation’s head of state, this simple and very able town mayor
draws flak simply for refusing to smile on a hot day. And yet people
say they admire Duterte for being real. What a tragic irony.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">My
two cents’ worth: Being </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">maldita,
estricta</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">,
as long as it does not constitute violence, should be embraced if
they serve as effective step-ladders for women on their way to
carving names for themselves in a heavily patriarchal society. Forget
the critics. Kindness is important, but being nice against one’s
own will is self-destructive. As long as one operates with decency,
dignity and honesty, forced niceties are nothing but frills. You do
you, girls!</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br />
</div>
<div class="western" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Happy
International Women’s Day to all the </span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">maldita</span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">,
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><i><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">estricta</span></i></span></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">
</span><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style="font-size: 11pt;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">women
all over the world who are doing the best to succeed in this unkind
and unforgiving world unfairly run by men. I salute you.</span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-71177394816362676482019-03-07T05:38:00.001+08:002019-03-07T21:06:25.424+08:00The Missing Ingredient<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1hu9t72zwflj44abyp2h0pfe-wpengine.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Changu-Narayan-temple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="550" data-original-width="800" height="275" src="https://1hu9t72zwflj44abyp2h0pfe-wpengine.netdna-ssl.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/Changu-Narayan-temple.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
A well-respected family friend shared on her Facebook timeline <a href="https://thehimalayantimes.com/news-archives/latest/missing-ingredient-in-healing-cities-after-disaster-culture/" target="_blank">an article in the Himalayan Times</a> that posits how culture is the missing ingredient in healing cities after disasters. It cites, as an example, how the deadly earthquake in 2015 in Nepal became a sort of unifying force that brought people together to work towards rebuilding what was near and dear. Because what had been damaged were of value not only as structures but as cultural heritage, as marks of identity and as things that were alive.<br />
<br />
As a resident of Kathmandu, I can fully attest to this. The city's temples and public squares are true communal social spaces as much as they are places of worship and subjects of awe for wide-eyed foreigners. They don't preserve a temple for the sake of preservation just because it's thousands of years old; they actually use their temples. That's how their sacred edifices remain alive to this day and that's why they rose up fast after they crumbled in the earthquake four years ago. If someone wants to touch an idol, people won't object just because it's over 2,500 years old. If someone wants to wash clothes in the water temple, they're free to do so. If a young couple wants to have an intimate time on the covered steps of the temple of Shiva and Parvati, away from parental scrutiny, the priests might even give their blessing.<br />
<br />
A common problem I've noticed in a lot of European, South American, Middle-Eastern and (of course) Filipino "sacred" and "heritage" places is that they like to put what they consider holy inside glass boxes, accessible only to a privileged few. This way, the culture that might once have been built around an icon dies a slow death because people feel removed from it. And it isn't their fault. If it were me, I wouldn't repeatedly impose on myself to be in a place where I couldn't fully express my reverence because I'm not clean enough to touch something.<br />
<br />
In Nepal, the story is different. A temple is a place for community even if religion is not strictly organised here as it is in a place like the Philippines. Take the Monkey Temple (Swayambhunath) as an example. Listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is a Tibetan Buddhist temple where monks and practising lay adherents to the faith revolve around a large stupa in meditation. However, it isn't limited to that. Religious Hindus also go there to maintain the structures, sell food and souvenirs, and feed monkeys. Couples go on dates there. Fitness enthusiasts climb its 400+ steep steps in the morning (just like my 80-year-old grandmother did when she came to visit). Astronomy/astrology fans go up there to stargaze on clear sky mid-nights. That's why when part of it was downed during the 2015 earthquake and there was a looming threat that UNESCO, who offered to fix it, would pry it open, the ordinary people of Kathmandu gave a big firm 'no' and decided to pool resources to fix it themselves. It was among the first places of worship in Nepal to recover after falling because the community came together. Because it's something part of them. Because it's an extension of what they know to be home, even if it does not directly represent the faith that they subscribe to.Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-67452040105087847792018-12-10T19:09:00.001+08:002018-12-10T19:16:05.401+08:00The Ambiguous but Genuine Spirituality of Liza Migriño Quirog<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2PiNc-iPZcY/XA5Ic-WS8zI/AAAAAAAAQJs/K_UZQr3wMy8tVhralE8lOlTU5deG2bh1gCLcBGAs/s1600/overturned%2Bcar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2PiNc-iPZcY/XA5Ic-WS8zI/AAAAAAAAQJs/K_UZQr3wMy8tVhralE8lOlTU5deG2bh1gCLcBGAs/s400/overturned%2Bcar.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"...an overturned black car resting on a vaguely familiar grassland."</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Saturday mornings are usually extremely lazy days for me. I sleep in and have a late brunch if nobody cares to yank me out of bed. When I do wake up, the routine begins with a runthrough of all the messages and emails I received while I was away in dreamland. December 1, 2018 was to be no different, I thought, but I was direly mistaken. At three minutes before noon (Nepal Standard Time), I awoke to successive vibrations from my smartphone and was jolted out of bed by my own barrage of expletives over the messages and photos I received from my mother -- news of the accident she had met earlier that day, accompanied by five (5) shots of an overturned black car resting on a vaguely familiar grassland.<br />
<br />
In one of her messages, mama mentioned that she and everyone with her were ‘still alive,’ which, to a child living abroad and away from his mother, would be the most alarming reason for a phone call. ‘Still alive’ just didn’t cut it for me; I had to know she was completely fine and it didn’t help that my room’s weak WiFi signal prevented me from making a successful call on my first attempt. I’ve always seen something like this coming. With the kind of schedule she has and the speeds at which her service vehicles are compelled to run so she can make it to her appointments on time, I knew this was bound to happen at some point and I have always dreaded it.<br />
<br />
I breathed a great sigh of relief when she picked up sounding absolutely calm. No hint of pain whatsoever. She proceeded to tell me that she and the three other people in the car with her escaped with not a single scratch. She was already home after a work meeting which she attended following a physical examination by TaRSIER 117’s first responders. I was baffled by the idea that she could nonchalantly just get back to work a few hours after an experience like that. I would need two dramatic days to recuperate if it happened to me. But then an inner reminder said something along the line of ‘This is your mother. She will always be alright.’ Then I understood. Then I accepted and let go of doubt.<br />
<br />
A couple of days later when I felt that any remaining undetected twisted nerves would have rested back in place, I asked mama what went through her mind while the car turned over with her inside it. I was half expecting an answer detailing the life-saving procedures she may have learned from military combat training, but instead got a very clear expression of faith. “It was like I was not myself at all. It felt like I was there just to go through it because it was happening to me. It was like a total giving up of myself to something that I didn’t have the time to reason what or who,” she said. “One doesn’t reason at all. One just goes through it with complete trust of what may become. There was nothing except total submission to a being that I didn’t think what or who. It’s never human or materially comprehensible. It’s Divine -- a super being beyond what I am capable of intellectually comprehending. I just gave myself up with complete trust. I didn’t think of being saved. I just trusted and nothing else.”<br />
<br />
Her words conjured images from a film I saw several weeks ago called ‘Mister Lonely,’ which involves a scene where a nun who accidentally fell from an aircraft in flight professes complete trust in God and hits the ground alive and unscathed. To many, these words from my mother may be quite confounding. Very few people know Liza Quirog deeply as she is a very private person who is picky when it comes to the subject of faith and Spirit. But I know my mother and these words did not surprise me at all. You see, one of her most ubiquitous pieces of advice, always prominently featured when she makes an ‘aunty’ speech at a debut party of one cousin or another, is to pray. She does not name drop any deity, she just emphasises prayer as an effective daily tool in life. This, dear friends, I must say, is not lip service to please religious majority crowds or for lack of anything else to say. I know mama and she is a very prayerful person. Perhaps she does not hear mass regularly, spew out memorised Bible passages, recite the Rosary or even mutter the Lord’s Prayer, but in her own private space and time, she does pray.<br />
<br />
I’ve always been wary of people who claim to be ‘spiritual but not religious,’ subtly turning my head ever so slightly to my right to secretly roll my eyeballs each time I hear it. It’s a very common phrase for disillusioned individuals and apostates who have left the organised religion they were raised in. It took a long time for me to realise that I was raised by one ‘spiritual but not religious’ woman who didn’t even make a verbal claim to the description. When I asked my mother how she called herself religion-wise, she said something to this effect: ‘Baptised Catholic, trying to practise the teachings of Christ and the Buddha while constantly seeking as a Theosophist.’ Even if she is not the typical church-going Filipino, she approaches all matters of Spirit with utmost reverence and it was perhaps not until this most recent brush with fate that she has proven to herself the strength of her own faith even if it does not come with a strict label.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9qlQmfWu7kg/XA5I7yMicFI/AAAAAAAAQJ0/0CfjUASQQsQelJhEcki0L0eqL5BxMOSuACLcBGAs/s1600/tribune.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1024" data-original-width="471" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9qlQmfWu7kg/XA5I7yMicFI/AAAAAAAAQJ0/0CfjUASQQsQelJhEcki0L0eqL5BxMOSuACLcBGAs/s400/tribune.jpg" width="183" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">as seen on the Bohol Tribune<br />
09 December 2018</td></tr>
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Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-88260013735138143452018-01-18T07:12:00.003+08:002018-01-18T07:53:04.577+08:00A Literal Waking Nightmare<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><a href="https://www.myhauntedlifetoo.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/gjs3.jpg" target="_blank"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="450" data-original-width="800" height="225" src="https://www.myhauntedlifetoo.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/gjs3.jpg" title="https://www.myhauntedlifetoo.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/gjs3.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Photo borrowed from My Haunted Life Too: <a href="https://www.myhauntedlifetoo.com/wp-content/uploads/2016/07/gjs3.jpg" target="_blank">Image Link</a></span></td></tr>
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<br />
When you dream, you usually forget about it. You may recall it for a moment, but then it quickly fades. I, for one, have experienced recalling dreams just a few minutes into my waking state and then completely forgetting about them barely another minute afterwards. But not this one.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: x-small;"><i><b>13 January 2018</b></i></span><br />
<span style="color: purple; font-size: x-small;"><i>The following narrative is deliberately written in the present tense. It's an account a dream, so duh!</i></span><br />
<br />
I'm in a very dim room. A pair of distinctly rough hands grab my shoulders from behind. I turn to see who it is and notice a tall, skinny man with hairy arms. I look up, but the faint light only permits a view up to his chest. I see no face. It does not occur to me to try harder to see one. Instead, I turn away.<br />
<br />
I regain consciousness and suddenly my surroundings change from the vague scene of a dream into my own room. I am awake, but the hand is still on my shoulder. I could feel it fully on my bare skin -- rough, warm and worn out, like a fisherman's or carpenter's.<br />
<br />
My heartbeat begins to race. It's a horrible feeling. Normally, sleep paralysis accompanies something like this, but I am fully mobile. Now taking notice of the light piercing from the lamp post outside my window through the makeshift curtains made from a microfibre towel and a blanket I once took from an Etihad flight, I am fully conscious.<br />
<br />
I move my shoulder and the hand is still there. I come to terms with the idea that there is another person in the room with me. I lay frozen, feeling almost helpless. Then I realise I could tell it to go, so I do just that. It obeys. I feel the skin on his palm part from mine as he lifts it off my shoulder. And now, silence. I hear no footsteps, no doorknob turning, no door hinges creaking -- nothing. It takes a minute before I turn my head to the blindside of the room, to what the subdued light piercing through my drapes shine on. And nothing, thank goodness. It was only a nightmare. Or was it, though?<br />
<br />
Who was that ? Was it a malevolent being ? Was it benevolent? Was it neutral? It did not harm me in any way. It just left me a little shaken. I was afraid, sure. But not all that we fear are bad, and not all that we trust are good.<br />
<br />Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-69822570544337982132017-09-05T16:18:00.000+08:002017-09-05T16:18:00.749+08:00A Fake Name, a Bean Stew and a Self-Inflicted Heartache<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jaUSMlM66ms/Wa5dCiw_k2I/AAAAAAAAD3Y/KcCXr2ELC0weSN16XP4niqMAVgsXXHrowCLcBGAs/s1600/bean%2Bstew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="chili" border="0" data-original-height="1393" data-original-width="1600" height="347" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jaUSMlM66ms/Wa5dCiw_k2I/AAAAAAAAD3Y/KcCXr2ELC0weSN16XP4niqMAVgsXXHrowCLcBGAs/s400/bean%2Bstew.jpg" title="bean stew" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
I remember a romantic encounter over a year ago when I was in La Paz, Bolivia. He was an Argentinian artist who co-owned a bar and painted murals on commission. He had spent the past week juggling broken old mobile phones and walkie-talkies on the streets of Sopocachi and Calacoto, hoping for people to be amused enough to spare a few coins and notes so he wouldn't have to rely on his bank account for food while travelling. Prominent among the plethora of bracelets on his left wrist was a band with blue and white stripes, and a stoic-looking golden sun. The dialect of Castilian he spoke was like gentle rain on a dry wheat field.<br />
<br />
We met at Plaza Murillo one cold Friday afternoon in the Southern Hemisphere summer of 2015-2016. It could easily have been 8°C, so I wore the new alpaca wool hoodie I'd bought the previous day. He spotted me petting a bystander's puppy and stopped to ask if I had any dogs myself. I was a little weirded out but I responded, anyway. I told him I had four back in the Philippines. He said he had one back in Buenos Aires before quipping about how I might not need such a warm sweater in my country. "Sho me shamo Miguel," he went on. "Y vos?"<br />
<br />
My response would become one of my biggest regrets that year. It was the destruction of possibilities. It was the beginning of something that could never last more than a night. After honouring his accent with a friendly mock -- "Jefe, BOSS, por qué hablas como la shuvia?" -- and telling him he wasn't getting my sweater, I said my name was David because I liked the sound of it and I also didn't think I wanted to see him again after that day. He was handsome, sure, but I stereotyped him as an Argentinian. After all, they do have a global reputation for being cocky. And it didn't help that he was clearly fully European-blooded. I don't think one could get any blonder than him. Think of Draco Malfoy's hair, but up to the waist.<br />
<br />
The puppy's owner had to leave, so we took over his bench and chatted a bit more before going for an aimless stroll all over the district. The chemistry was undeniable and the sexual tension was intense. We covered topics ranging from fire-juggling to Eastern Spirituality to progressive Christianity to Ayahuasca, while exchanging innuendos and stealing glances at each other. Before we knew it, the clock had passed 19:00 and the sun was about to set. He stopped walking just in front of a place called Casa del Sol and asked, "Cena?" I was hungry and all there was to do was walk in, so I said yes.<br />
<br />
I was so pleasantly surprised that it was a vegetarian restaurant that I grinned from ear to ear, browsing through the menu like a little boy at Disneyland deciding which ride to go on first. I was 100% sure I didn't tell him about my eating habits so I asked him how he knew. He responded with something along the lines of "I wouldn't like you that much if you had struck me as the meat-eating type. And I like you that much." My heart melted. I regretted so much giving him a fake name.<br />
<br />
I sat there, ate and chatted all while trying to figure out how I could possibly take my lie back. I went to a bar with him and had around four beers, pretending to have a conversation but really thinking "Will he still like me that much if he finds out I lied about something as basic as my goddamn name?" I went home with him to his Couchsurfing host's flat, stayed the night with my head spinning over how stupid I was to have lied to this incredibly beautiful human being beside me. When the sun returned for another day and we needed to part ways before his host woke up, he wrote his email and number on the back of a faded receipt. I dropped it in my day pack's main compartment and gave him one final kiss before disappearing, never to be seen by him again.<br />
<br />
I'd like to romanticise this tale by saying I let the paper float away on a river somewhere, but that would be like saying my name was David -- another lie. I actually just lost it. I tried to dig for it in my day pack and my huge rucksack as I was leaving Bolivia, during my stay in Lima, in Amsterdam and Kuala Lumpur, and after I had landed in the Philippines. Nada. It's been over a year and I've given up already, but I will always remember that day. A day of could-haves. A day of what-ifs. A day that gave me a glimpse -- a taste, if you will -- of something beautiful but impossible.<br />
<br />
So what does this story have to do with my bean stew in the photo? I ordered one off Casa del Sol's specials menu when Miguel and I were there, and I was absolutely bowled over by how delicious it tasted. It was just sensational! No bean stew has since surpassed its quality.<br />
<br />
After I complimented the chef, I was blessed with a piece of culinary treasure when he told me the secret to great chilli is to grill the tomatoes whole until the skin burns and ruptures. Cut them in half, sprinkle a pinch of salt on the inside of each piece and let them sit for at least 15 minutes before throwing them in your pan to sauté in olive oil with onion and garlic. Absolutely lovely, but I can't help but think the chef spoke of more than a recipe that night. For during the days that followed, it was as if my heart had been ripped off my chest, grilled whole, cut in half, salted and thrown in the fire.<br />
<br />
<br />Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-64914517855487737712017-09-01T01:08:00.001+08:002017-09-01T01:18:12.066+08:00In other news...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.aljazeera.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="Al Jazeera English" border="0" data-original-height="1305" data-original-width="736" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HEXYzJeTMDE/WahCGlPHSPI/AAAAAAAAD24/jpQ3zN72eiIrc97YCDR9mzLNIEL6KHZ4wCLcBGAs/s1600/other%2Bnews.png" title="Al Jazeera" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
How does one weigh one injustice against another and how does one decide which one to talk loudly about or take action against? It's easy for those of us who are not directly affected to say that the more people suffer, the more grave it is and, therefore, the more attention it requires. But what about those of us who need only cross a border or open a gate? What about those of us whose neighbours -- in a sense a little more literal than the word's Biblical meaning -- actually suffer injustice? Do we continue to take the general perspective of many outsiders who base gravity on numbers and statistics? Perhaps we don't. Perhaps what we can sense most clearly is what we think of as the worst.<br />
<br />
The media is a whole different story. Outside the miracle that is Al Jazeera, relevance is based primarily on economic considerations. It seems as though the basic question they ask themselves when they feature disasters or reports on injustice is "Is it in North America or Western Europe?" if not "Is it something directly consequential to North America and Western Europe?" It seems like there is a wealth bias. If you're not rich enough or if what's happening to you doesn't affect the rich, you only get half a drop of attention, if any--no matter how dire your situation may be.<br />
<br />
How many times have citizens of Iraq, Yemen, Lebanon and Syria been victims of extremist attacks since the beginning of the year? How many times have South Asia and Southeast Asia experienced cataclysmic events? How many Rohingya men, women and children have fled Myanmar's government-sanctioned violence to seek refuge in Bangladesh in the last couple of weeks? <a href="http://www.aljazeera.com/news/2017/08/dozens-fleeing-rohingya-die-boats-capsize-170831151054201.html" target="_blank">How many died on the way</a>? Why does it seem like the world is blinkered like racetrack horses to be fixated almost solely on the movement of refugees fleeing West Asia into Europe? Why are there digital blinders training us to see only the flood in Texas when <a href="http://www.aljazeera.com/news/2017/08/toddlers-latest-victims-mumbai-monsoon-floods-170831034208888.html" target="_blank">more than 1,200 people have died across India, Bangladesh and Nepal in the worst flooding brought on by monsoon rainfall to strike South Asia in years</a>?<br />
<br />
I understand that social commentators and journalists in mainstream media outlets have niches. I suppose each of them has a personal choice. However, I think the blatant bias for global economic relevance is wrong. It breaks my heart every single time I hear my region's issues relegated to words after "In other news" after hours and hours of talking about North America and Western Europe. This should change across the board and I thank Al Jazeera for standing firm amidst the senseless bullying it has had to suffer from its stupid neighbours.<br />
<br />
<br />Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-63308658433385555332017-08-25T20:35:00.001+08:002017-08-25T20:54:50.581+08:00H5N6 - Humans Just Never Learn<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="f80bp" data-offset-key="ednu2-0-0" style="background-color: white;">
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K7LBna85xus/WaAYitVLdcI/AAAAAAAAD2Q/2cbAxrNnpBk0jHMuJtyEBIYCAC0TfG8BQCLcBGAs/s1600/humans%2Bnever%2Blearn%2B-%2BCopy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="avian flu" border="0" data-original-height="1460" data-original-width="482" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-K7LBna85xus/WaAYitVLdcI/AAAAAAAAD2Q/2cbAxrNnpBk0jHMuJtyEBIYCAC0TfG8BQCLcBGAs/s1600/humans%2Bnever%2Blearn%2B-%2BCopy.png" title="bird flu" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sure, perhaps as long as it's cooked well enough and it's not at all bloody or pink on the inside, you're good to go, but you should know that humans in the earlier stops of your precious fried chicken's journey from farm to plate may be at risk. And you're totally OK with that as long as you're not?
For now, the health department says it's totally fine for us Homo sapiens. There are zero cases of fowl-to-human transmission. For now. But if you care to take a brief glance at the history of avian flu in Asia, you'll know it's bound to happen at some point. And WHEN it does happen, will you really be OK with taking a bite at your juicy piece of Jollibee Chickenjoy knowing that perhaps the man who handled that bird when it was alive may be in a hospital ward struggling to breathe because the H5N6 influenza strain is causing his immune system to make his lungs produce an insane amount of mucus?
Think about that for a second. I won't guilt trip you about dead birds because you probably don't care. But these are humans. Oh, wait. No. You probably don't care either because you probably comfort yourself with the idea that maybe--just maybe--that ill chicken handler was involved in drugs, so it's totally OK for him to die. Right? RIGHT??????</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">One might argue that a collective refusal to buy and eat fowl meat in the Philippines would kill small-time poultry farmers and farm workers, anyway, because then that would cause a significant dent in their income. Gosh, I don't even know how to finish this rant. </span></span><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I guess all there is to do is to see how this all plays out.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">May all beings be happy.</span></div>
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Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-76312154772487540182017-05-24T17:11:00.000+08:002017-05-24T17:11:20.501+08:00Let it be me<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let me not be a survivor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let me not live with wounds.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Let me not wake up in tears,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Yearning for hugs I once felt,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">For sounds I could never hear,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">From a voice forever silenced,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Consigned to essays & books,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Memoirs, poetry & whispers</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Living in a mind that lies</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">About what words were said,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">What songs were sung,</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">What's alive, what's dead.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace;">Ludwig </span></div>
Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-38616739844635350022017-02-18T00:55:00.000+08:002017-02-18T00:55:06.065+08:00A Culture of Violence and ImpunitySometimes I induce laughter whenever a new friend adds me on Facebook and I say, "I'm the black guy. As in, my profile photo is plain black." When asked why, I say because I've found that there's always something to mourn about these days--my country, the world, idiots running and ruining the government, greed, etc. But last week, after a good break from my ongoing bout with a certain black dog that refused to stop following me around for weeks on end, I finally considered posting a real photo of myself.<br />
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Why not, right? Celebrate life one awesome Facebook profile photo at a time.<br />
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Alas, it's not going to happen anytime soon. While the murder of more than 7,000 other people (for various reasons) over the last 7 months does anger me, nothing quite fuels the fire like something not just close to home but is, in fact, home.<br />
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Two days ago, one of Bohol's most able and prolific human rights and women's rights defenders was shot. A close family friend. A lawyer. A mother. She was in her car with her children after picking them up from school when two men on a motorbike gunned her down. Her eldest daughter was hugging her while her body took several bullets. She was taken to hospital but she did not survive. My whole family is shaken. My friends who also knew her are shaken. One of my aunts who is a judge, one of her best friends and her contemporary in law school, rushed to the hospital to see her but she was too late. Her wounds were too severe. She succumbed to death quickly. With very little suffering, we hope.<br />
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This makes us feel so goddamn defeated and devastated not just because of the fact that we lost a good human being but because this has become the new norm for my country. This is the new Philippines. A place where a blatant culture of retribution has grown stronger and stronger over the last half a year.<br />
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This culture of violence--this reliance on the perceived gifts of impunity--must end. We, as a nation, have revelled in it--basked in it--for too long and we seriously need to stop. And SHAME on those who suggest that the same fate must befall the perpetrators of this heinous crime. Have you not learned that an eye for an eye would only make the whole world blind?Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-37365574407660032052017-01-04T19:22:00.000+08:002019-09-12T01:40:17.206+08:00So, what else is in Bohol?<div dir="ltr" id="docs-internal-guid-de3caafc-7fff-aaa5-ebe7-8a60f325d28a" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some tips on places to see...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Chocolate Hills Adventure Park</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (nicknamed </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">CHAP</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">) in the town of Carmen. There, you will have a good view of more than 1000 hills and you can do sporty things like ride a sky bicycle from one hill to another, walk on hanging bridges and ride a zipwire. There are two Chocolate Hills viewing areas in the town. If you take a bus from the "Dao bus terminal" at Dao District near Dao Public Market and Island City Mall (ICM), ask the driver to drop you off at CHAP and not to the old resort.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Abatan River </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">in the town of Cortes. There you will be able to do kayaking or do a river tour on a boat with a bigger group. If you come in the daytime, you can kayak the river and enjoy the view of palms, plants, houses and everyday life. If you come in the evening, you can kayak and watch FIREFLIES peacefully resting or dancing on some trees. It's a very surreal and magical experience for some. Ask for Sherwin or Beryl. They are the best guides there. If they are not there, all the other guides are also good. You may take a jeepney from Dao Bus Terminal near Dao Public Market and Island City Mall (ICM).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Pahangog Falls</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> (alternatively called </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Twin Falls</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">) in the town of Dimiao. A hidden gem in the mountainous parts of a coastal town in the eastern part of Bohol. Take a dip at the fall-drop lake or climb the mossy rocks up the waterfall and get a massage from all the water rushing towards you. It's nice and serene and there are not many people since it is not yet well-developed and the accessibility is quite limited. It's quite an experience, really. To get there, go to the Dao Bus Terminal and take a bus or jeepney to the town of Dimiao. Ask to be dropped off at the main market near the old church. From there, take a hired motorbike and tell your driver that you want to go to Pahangog Falls. The fee is 80-100 pesos for a return trip for one person. You will be dropped off at a small single-ring make-shift basketball court. From there, you will need to hike the rest of the way. A little less than 2km. You can ask for directions from the people living in nearby houses. If they can't communicate well in English or you are concerned about a potential accent issue, just say "falls" and make the raindrops sign with your hands.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Kawasan Falls</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in the town of Balilihan. When you are in Abatan River either kayaking or on a motorised boat, you may tell your guide that you want to visit Kawasan Falls if it's possible. On high tide, you can definitely go but it will be a bit difficult especially for a motorised boat to go if the tide is too low. Just try to ask. Water coming out of it will depend on the rainfall of the season. Sometimes it is strong when there has been a lot of rain, but sometimes it's also not so strong if the season has been dry. Also, it used to have very nice rock formation but it has been changed by the 7.2-magnitude earthquake that struck Bohol in 2013. It's still nice, though, so you may still want to try to visit. You can go swimming there in the pool near the fall.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Camugao Falls</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in the town of Balilihan. Relatively near its sister, Kawasan Falls, this larger fall with a higher drop is a little more difficult to access, but totally worth it. It has a larger lake and fewer people. Though recently they built an ugly hut there, you can still try to ignore it and enjoy its beauty. You can get there with a hired motorbike from town centre or on your own. Look it up on Google Maps.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mag-aso Falls </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">in the town of Antequera (pronounced: an-ti-ke-ra). It's a beautiful waterfall where you can go swimming, too. Take a tricycle from anywhere in the city and go to the main terminal in Dao (pronounced: da-o). Ask for a bus or a shared van (called V-hire) to take you to Antequera market or say "Antequera proper" to take you to the town centre. The ride is approximately 30 minutes. Once you are there, look for a motorbike for hire called "habal-habal" and ask the driver to take you to Mag-aso falls. It's about 2km away from the centre of town on a rocky dirt road. Bargain the price with him but do not pay more than PHP 200 for a one-way ride on one motorbike. That is already very high. Try bargaining to pay for just PHP 100 for a one-way trip. You can ask the driver (or drivers, if you take 2 motorbikes) to wait for you until you finish swimming and enjoying yourselves or you can ask for his mobile phone number so you can contact him when you are ready to go back to the town centre. Make sure you are back to the centre before 4:30pm because it will be hard to find a bus or van back to the city after 5pm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The powdery white sand beaches in the town of Anda</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. If you enjoy a provincial setting where people from rural areas of Bohol usually go, you will enjoy Anda because not much is happening there except occasional family beach parties and some karaoke singing in the background. You can take a bus or a shared van from the main terminal in Dao and it will take you to Anda on a 3-4-hour trip. Ask to be taken to Quinale Beach (pronounced: ki-na-le). It is near the public market and free for the public. There are shops nearby where you can eat and order beer and there are also lots of cheap places to stay by the beach if you decide that you don't want to go back to the city on the same day. Aside from Quinale, there are other beaches in Anda which are more quiet and peaceful but they are privately-owned and they will be more expensive in terms of food and accommodation.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The white sand beaches of Panglao Island</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. If you like beach-side parties, having lunch beside the ocean or having dinner while watching people dance with fire, you will enjoy Panglao. It is the more touristy beach in Bohol where you will meet lots of expats, backpackers and probably Couchsurfers. You can take a tricycle or a motorbike for hire (habal-habal) and ask to go to Alona Beach in Panglao. 250 pesos is the maximum pay. Do not pay more than this. You can also take a jeepney near the President García House (Old Bohol Museum) that goes to Alona. Just go to the plaza and ask where you can find a jeepney that will take you directly to Alona. The fare is 25 pesos for each person. Alona Beach is the party scene in the island where there are many bars, pubs and restaurants, both local and international. There are also many places to stay there and nearby that range from cheap (PHP 300 in a backpacker hostel with hammocks and tents and complementary breakfast) to very expensive (PHP 15,000 in a 5-star hotel with everything you can imagine). I recommend NOT to stay in the expensive places because they don't feel like real life. I have stayed in a lot of them (just to try it) and they felt like a fantasy but they were not really good for my young spirit. They are good for people in their 60's who only want comfort in life but not for true adventure-seekers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Alona Beach</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">, there are also lots of SCUBA diving shops where you can just try diving OR get your diver's certification license if you want (but it takes 1 week of training so maybe you will just want to try it without getting licenses). All of the dive shops there are legitimate and registered with international diving organisation. The most common and most trusted is PADI (the Professional Association of Diving Instructors), the biggest diving association in the world. I got my license from them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Balicasag Island</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> off the coast of Panglao Island. Balicasag is a smaller island famous for its coral reefs and underwater cliffs. You may go there for SNORKELLING or for SCUBA DIVING. If you just want to snorkel, you can ask any of the tourist touts walking around and asking people "Island hopping, ma'am? Island hopping, sir?" They can take you to the island on a boat and you can go snorkelling there. But this is quite unnecessarily expensive because if you want to snorkel there, you will have to pay an additional fee for the boatman for small boats that will take you around the reef and another fee to rent your snorkels and masks. However, if you want to dive there, you may just go to any of the dive shops in Alona and ask if you could dive in Balicasag Island. Most likely, they will ask for a fixed fee per person and they will put you with a group of other divers or first-timers who will go there and you will dive together--with instructors and guides, of course. You will not regret it. Diving is one of the most magical experiences on Earth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- There is another famous touristy river called the </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Loboc River</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. It's more famous to tourists than Abatan River but there is a clash of monopolies and political entities operating the boat and catering companies there. Also, they run a night cruise and they have installed lights on the riverbanks. Over the years, these incandescent lights have caused great stress to the riverbank ecosystem. The animals cannot sleep in the night and most of the fireflies have gone away already. It's not a healthy business. But perhaps you can visit Loboc River in the daytime when you are on your way to the Chocolate Hills.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">- </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The tarsiers</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. Small primates. There are two organisations who are running a business to show tarsiers to the public. One in the town of </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Corella</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and one in the town of </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Bilar</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. They are supposed to be non-profit foundations and conservation organisations but they are really businesses. These two companies are not treating the tarsiers very ethically. It's not too horrible, though. I will not go into too much detail. It's basically about noise management, disturbances, proper handling and caring for their living environment... And a few other issues. Anyway, I think you should still go see the tarsiers because this opportunity to see them is rare. I recommend the Tarsier "Sanctuary" in Bilar. If you go to the Chocolate Hills Adventure Park, you will pass by it since it's just beside the highway. It is a few kilometres after passing by Loboc River and central town Loboc. It is more accessible to the public and the enclosure is bigger. The entrance fee is about 50-70 PHP. Like 1 to 1.5 EUR.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These are not the only things you can do in the province of Bohol. There are many others. But for first-timers who will only stay for a few days, this is a good list to choose from.</span></div>
Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-32221008198181209732016-11-26T02:32:00.002+08:002017-08-25T21:04:41.642+08:00Sense of EntitlementIs it possible for one's sense of entitlement to become a positive thing? Or are there some things that are okay to feel entitled to?<br />
<br />
We often babble endlessly about certain people's sense of entitlement and how it bothers us. I'm reminded of an interview with one prominent Filipino artist who remarked that Filipinos were so much more pleasant to critique during auditions for the country's version of the "Got Talent" franchise in comparison to U.S. Americans who often oozed with a sense of entitlement. That, for me, triggered an eyeball roll since I thought Filipinos had just as much of this. The main difference is that we are generally raised to defer to figures of authority and put on a facade of utter submission and respect as much as we can. However, in a situation where Filipinos address people whom they perceive as socio-economic or intellectual equals, this deference would usually be absent.<br />
<br />
I digress. This is not about what nationalities have this sense of entitlement. This is whether this is necessarily a negative thing. It certainly is perceived as such. I, for one, have never encountered anyone use this term in a positive way. It usually points to someone's expectation that they are "supposed" to receive something no matter how undeserved. But what of things like justice and peace and freedom?<br />
<br />
If people fleeing their lands in search of better places to build their lives and raise their children were to demand peace... If indigenous peoples assert their rights over their ancestral domains and demand justice for the damages that settlers and greedy institutions have brought upon their lands... Or if a Saudi woman were to reclaim her right to drive her own car or show her neck in public... Are these not examples of a sense of entitlement for something? Yes, these are very specific demands that the sensible ones among us would deem no-brainer things to affirm and support, but they are still entitlements and those who raise their voices to claim it have a sense for it. So does this then make a sense of entitlement less negative or neutral?<br />
<br />
Maybe I'm just being nit-picky about an age-old expression.Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-32675697773446830752016-10-30T00:41:00.001+08:002016-10-30T16:38:47.013+08:00Cinema DON'TsOne of the ways you measure how civilised people are is by observing their behaviour in places of solemnity. You might think churches and temples. Sure. But for a country like the Philippines where, for many, piety and reverence are fruits of fear of the unknown rather than love and genuine reverence, you look elsewhere for answers. The theatre (plays, musicals, ballets, etc.)? Maybe but hardly. They are places for people with a certain taste. Those who are generally not lovers of the dramatic performance arts will not make an effort to visit the limited number of theatres in the Philippines. Besides, prices for seats are loftier than most can afford, so it is likely that a person who goes to a theatre walks through its doors with love in the heart. It can, therefore, easily mean that only the truly indecorous have the audacity to violate the rules, and they are rare.<br />
<br />
If you wish to observe how Pinoys behave in a solemn place, the cinema is where you go. There you will see people of every shape, size and place in the hierarchy of financial capability. Sad to say, we fail miserably. Even the privileged ones and those you would perceive as well-educated. I once (anonymously) hissed at the husband of a former teacher of mine who simply refused to shut up during a screening of a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/David_Yates" target="_blank">David Yates</a> film. I don't know if I'm under some sort of horrible curse, but never have I ever entered a cinema in this country where everyone acted how they were supposed to. There's always someone loud and obnoxious.<br />
<br />
Over the years that I've been watching films in cinemas, I've developed a number of peeves. So in the interest of speaking my mind, here are my top cinema "don'ts".<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">DON'T...</span></b><br />
<br />
- <b>talk.</b> It's not a coffee shop. You can tell your friend about how lovely your orchids are after you exit the cinema's doors. And don't worry, you don't have to wait for the film to finish for you to leave.<br />
<br />
- <b>giggle at inappropriate instances.</b> Some of us like to bathe in feels during touchy scenes. We don't want to hear your laughter while <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Me_Before_You_(film)" target="_blank">Sam Claflin and Emilia Clarke are having a heartbreaking conversation</a>. Cover your mouth with a thick piece of fabric or leave.<br />
<br />
- <b>bring a baby and not take it out no matter how loud its cries get.</b> Babies should not even be in the cinema in the first place. What are they gonna get out of it? Poor eyesight and ruined eardrums? Oh, what's that? You can't get anyone to take care of your baby? Well, if you can't get someone to take care of your infant while you watch a movie, you shouldn't be in the cinema.<br />
<br />
- <b>give commentary.</b> Yes, I'm looking at you. I came to watch a film, not to listen to your wise words about how an object in it is a conduit for God's protective powers. Also, we can all see that mister-sexy-dude-raised-by-an-awesome-gorilla-troop's enemy has super strong rosary beads and we don't need to hear it from you. If you can't contain your body's reactions to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Legend_of_Tarzan_(film)" target="_blank">Alexander Skarsgård's sheer hotness</a>, leave. Don't let steam out of your pie hole by blabbering endlessly.<br />
<br />
- <b>answer phone calls.</b> So your sister forgot to turn the gas tank off and your house is probably on fire now. OK. Sure. Guess what? We don't need to know about it. You want us all to panic with you? We don't. Take that conversation where we couldn't hear it and do something about it. Call your neighbour or the fire department or something. Don't get us involved because we obviously can't do anything. Also, the only disasters we're willing to know about are those that happen in the movie.<br />
<br />
- <b>make unremorsefully loud sounds with the stuff you brought in.</b> You and your food need to pipe the fudge down! We want to listen to <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doctor_Strange_(film)" target="_blank">Tilda Swinton lecturing Benedict Cumberbatch</a> about his arrogance and refusal to believe in anything other than what the scope of his ego can come to terms with. We do not want to hear the sound of your Piatos packet; we do not want to hear the ruffle of the plastic bag containing the plethora of snacks you brought into the cinema; and we certainly do not want to hear your horrendous eating sounds.<br />
<br />
- <b>kick my chair.</b> Unless you can prove that you are genuinely at risk of hampered blood circulation or deep vein thrombosis and you really could not avoid hitting the back of my chair when you stretch your legs every 5 minutes, you will not be forgiven. And, please, if you have ADD or Tourette Syndrome, ask the mysterious people with the torches to transfer you to a vacant seat in the front row or tell me in advance so I don't think you're just doing it <i>for the kicks</i>.<br />
<br />
- <b>enter and/or leave in the middle of a film. </b>So the people at the entrance doors let people in even if screening has already started. Do you really have to? Are you just alright with starting from middle through end and then piecing the story together after you get to see the first half? OK. That's a neat skill. Good for you! But what's not OK is large groups entering and leaving in the middle of the damn film. It means my view of the screen will be blocked for a time and that is NOT OK. I exercise patience and tolerance enough in the real world. Don't make me have to do it in the cinema, too. This is a thing that Filipino cinemas are notorious for. I don't know if this happens in other backward countries, but this is definitely very Filipino.<br />
<br />
- <b>use your phone</b> (unless you absolutely have to)<b>.</b> If you want to check your Instagram or Facebook feed, go ahead. Outside. Not in the cinema! You're not in your private space. The cinema is dark <i>(and full of terrors)</i> and we can see the glare of light emanating from your phone's display screen. If you absolutely have to read or respond to something, limit it to short messages. Don't read or type an effing email! Also, make sure your phone's brightness is set to the absolute minimum. We want to see the cinema screen. We want to see <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Max_Steel_(film)" target="_blank">shirtless Ben Winchell try to hit a levitating robot with a baseball bat</a>, not that <a href="http://www.cracked.com/" target="_blank">Cracked-dot-com</a> link on your Cherry Mobile. The <a href="http://www.cracked.com/article_24420_nazi-jaws-7-dumb-ass-sequels-to-famous-horror-movies.html" target="_blank">7 Famous Horror Movies You Didn’t Know Got Hilarious Sequels</a> can wait. It's not going anywhere, but my patience sure is.Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-8828267166619143642016-08-26T03:00:00.000+08:002016-08-26T03:01:10.140+08:00Collateral Damage<span style="font-size: large;">A cousin posted this on Facebook...</span><br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>Just a passing thought: I wonder if I die as collateral casualty, will my family and friends say that it was inevitable because some people are really bound to have it for the greater good of the country? "Anyway, the number of criminals killed are way more compared to the innocent that got caught up in the fire. Their statistics is insignificant compared to the progress this war is leading." Or is it really? Will my death be worth the sacrifice?</b></i></blockquote>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My response, roughly:</span><br />
<br />
This is really not something I want to think about at an ungodly hour in the morning, but I know people contend with this as part of their reality. Heck, I've asked this question myself, just like others do. And I know, for some, it can only remain a hypothetical question for too long. It actually happens.<br />
<br />
Here's the thing, though: Criminals shouldn't even be murdered in the first place. What don't people understand about the fact that each person has the right to live? There is no clarification clause in that statement that says "except criminals" or "except drug-abusers" or "except people I don't agree with" or "except poor people." People who believe solely in retributive "justice" (as opposed to real rehabilitative justice) and in the idea of a culling as a means to an end shouldn't be allowed to hold power or have a say in anything at all. And the obscene thing is that they consider themselves men of God. They invoke God so much, it's sickening. What God??? Christians, my ass! People of God, my ass! Hypocrites, this country is full of!<br />
<br />
Truthfully speaking, if anything at all happens to anyone I love, I will probably lose it completely. I may even become the very kind of murderous monster I so strongly speak out against. Or perhaps not. Let's just hope for the best. Let's hope nothing happens to anyone we love and let's hope this all stops. If we have anything at all right now, it is hope. Mine is incredibly slim and fading fast, but it is still there. I cannot lose it. While it may be easy for me to remove myself from this country to try to find a more ideal situation, I am in no position to whisk away everyone I love and care about, so I must have hope. We all must. Let's be steadfast in being advocates for good. Let's be faithful that the people of this (almost) goodnessforsaken country will take another glimpse at their moral compass.Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-25996601468535899992016-08-17T16:26:00.000+08:002016-08-17T16:26:55.992+08:00Give Us This Day Our Daily RiceTime for some BIBLE STUFF!<br />
<br />
It amazes me how when the Lord's Prayer is translated into Visayan/Cebuano and Filipino/Tagalog, bread becomes rice.<br />
<br />
"Give us this day our daily bread" translates as <i>"Ang kalan-on namô sa matag-adlaw, ihatag kanamô karo'ng adlawa"</i> and <i>"Bigyan mo kami ngayon ng aming kakanin sa araw-araw,"</i> respectively.<br />
<br />
While some would argue that the words "kalan-on" and "kakanin" may directly translate as "food," in the context of the original prayer where a specific staple is mentioned (i.e. bread), it should then follow that an equivalent local staple be used in the context of what is common for the people who use the languages that the prayer is translated into. In this case, rice. And as "kalan-on" (or "kan-on" in modern standard Cebuano) and "kakanin" (or "kanin" in modern standard Filipino) are actually the words for cooked rice, I believe it actually means rice in the prayer.<br />
<br />
Nevertheless, I am well aware of how deep dissection by a lot of biblical scholars has led to the inference that the Epiousios Bread referred to in the prayer is actually the Bread of Life, the Christ Jesus. Interestingly, however, if Jesus were not Middle-Eastern (West Asian) and if the events of the New Testament had not taken place in Israel and Palestine, but in East or Southeast Asia, he would be called the "Rice of Life," which I personally have no qualms with.Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-50094521355163966972016-05-28T06:38:00.002+08:002016-05-28T06:38:58.198+08:00Education, Education, Education<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z1OxJmcnIIU/V0jMAG-qvcI/AAAAAAAADgU/2YLvFN91zvUHpazu2wkUTxjmKe_Uvj2nwCLcB/s1600/sharks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Z1OxJmcnIIU/V0jMAG-qvcI/AAAAAAAADgU/2YLvFN91zvUHpazu2wkUTxjmKe_Uvj2nwCLcB/s400/sharks.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sharks </b>in a basin at a food market in Xiamen, Fujian, China</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
A lot of Filipino householders burn plastic along with the dried leaves and twigs on their 4 o' clock habit pile.<br />
<br />
A lot of fisherfolk unapologetically yank sharks, rays and whales out of the water. Many even use dynamites and cyanide.<br />
<br />
They persist even though they are perfectly aware that it's illegal. They end up being fined or thrown in jail if they are caught. If you ask them why they did it, the answer always has something to do with either lack of awareness or necessity.<br />
<br />
"Why did you incinerate those plastic bags?"<br />
"Well, why not?"<br />
"It causes harm to the environment."<br />
"Why should I care? (<i>Sus, tuo man ka!</i>)"<br />
<br />
"Why did you yank up that shark/stingray/dolphin?"<br />
"There's not much <i>tamarong</i> this season. Also, these things cost more than the average fish and I have eight children to feed."<br />
<br />
It's not that people are innately evil, it's that a lot of people lack education. And I'm not talking about elementary and high school rudiments on environmental concerns; I'm talking about real education--making people aware of how each small action is consequential to every other thing that happens on Earth. Bringing to their attention that the reasons behind the hardships they are going through is because people started doing what they are doing in the first place. We need to make people come to terms with the fact that everything has consequences that extend beyond the walls of their homes. And we need to find a way to really make them feel it.<br />
<br />
AND WE NEED TO STOP LAYING BLAME SOLELY ON THE THINGS THAT ARE IMMEDIATELY VISIBLE TO US.<br />
<br />
Educate the rich as much as the poor. They need it, too. If they are smug enough to say they don't need to be told again, then that just means they don't know shit. We are only able to take photos of violators who emerge from fishing trips directly onto beach shores. These are small-time fishermen. The bigger moguls commit much larger atrocities but we can't take photos of the wrong things they do because they have developed ways to shield themselves from us. They have dedicated ports, freezers in their boats and such.<br />
<br />
We need to stop laying all the blame on the poor and start scrutinising higher up the echelons if we are to change things. And we need to stop relying on punitive measures to get things done. "Make a law. Pass an ordinance. Ban this. Make that illegal." It seems preventive on the surface but it always ends up being punitive. For most people, the implementation of a law entails policing and arresting violators rather than to allow people to understand why laws are in place in the first goddamn place.<br />
<br />
We need to stop the notion that we have to cause people more suffering to effect change. It doesn't work. It never works. We need, instead, to start finding ways to effect change by making people realise that they are already suffering by their own deeds. We need to instill values in people rather than create more prison cells or instigate a culling.<br />
<br />
When has a society run by fear and anger ever been considered effective?<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://scontent.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/13260297_1228239773861504_3741629952514545473_n.jpg?oh=c0fc92054f97aa1f10728b2a9de7902d&oe=57C325AB" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://scontent.xx.fbcdn.net/v/t1.0-9/13260297_1228239773861504_3741629952514545473_n.jpg?oh=c0fc92054f97aa1f10728b2a9de7902d&oe=57C325AB" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>Sharks </b>fished off the coast of Panglao, Bohol, Philippines<br />Photo: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1228239773861504" target="_blank">Holger W. Horn</a> (Facebook)</td></tr>
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</div>
Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-53250302095757142152016-05-16T23:15:00.000+08:002016-05-17T18:08:07.376+08:00Marine BDSM<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0fjH1EPGfSc/VznijDFsJwI/AAAAAAAADbE/MvX6r5sKpDAxa1bf9sbAydIWqb6-gfdlwCLcB/s1600/IMG_1724.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0fjH1EPGfSc/VznijDFsJwI/AAAAAAAADbE/MvX6r5sKpDAxa1bf9sbAydIWqb6-gfdlwCLcB/s640/IMG_1724.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Here you see me awkwardly resisting the strong current<br />
and doing my best not to die right before going 27 metres down the reef drop-off</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
You visit one whom you love so much and spend nearly a full day in that familiar embrace. Sometimes you are hugged too tight that you struggle to breathe. Sometimes you accidentally ingest something that human beings are not supposed to have too much of. Sometimes you end up violently flailing your arms and legs to resist the things done to you. Being there entails the use of various instruments--apparatus that help you spend time together, but at the same time, risk weighing you down and causing you to become completely consumed if you're not careful. Either way, you feel ecstatic even though there are moments when you feel like you're barely an inch away from death.<br />
<br />
You are not alone. There are others there, too. Some just visit to enjoy the company; some people visit to experience the same embrace you get; while some are there as devoted worshippers of this awesome deity.<br />
<br />
When you part ways, you head home happy. In the evening, nearly every single muscle in your body hurts like hell. One consolation is that at least your sleep is absolutely wonderful. Then you wake up in the morning to find everything three times more painful.<br />
<br />
But, dear ocean, you are still my #1 and I love you infinitely.Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-85759614416111493532016-05-14T00:10:00.000+08:002016-05-14T00:21:31.755+08:00Fei Lu Bin<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02214/cctv_2214495b.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02214/cctv_2214495b.jpg" height="247" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Linked image: telegraph.co.uk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Less than a year ago, at a market in Ramallah, the West Bank, Palestine, a man came up to me and greeted me in Mandarin. "Nǐ hǎo," he said. That was the fourth time it happened since I arrived in the Abrahamic Holy Land. The first two instances were in Jerusalem where I actually took time to explain that I was from the Philippines. While having tea at a cafe in the Old City near the Damascus Gate, having just dealt with an old man trying very hard to convert me to Islam, a little Arab boy approached me saying "China? China?" followed by a few short sentences in Arabic. He didn't seem to speak English at all. I tried saying "Laa, laa (no, no)," but he just went on and on in Arabic. I grew impatient so I just responded with a nod, saying "Na'am. China. (Yes. China.)" That got rid of him.<br />
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Now, back to the Palestine incident. Having had a long day, recently coming back from Jericho and having no patience to explain that I was not Chinese, I just responded with the same greeting."Nǐ hǎo," adding "Wǎnshàng hǎo. (Good evening.)" I thought it would make him go away. Big mistake! He then grabbed my wrist, called people over and started taking selfies with me. I was an instant celebrity! The commotion caught the attention of my Spanish and German companions, who then explained to the locals that I was actually not Chinese. Disappointed, they let me go. Kind of like if people looking to catch a cheetah caught a leopard instead. Close enough, but not quite what they were searching for.<br />
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Little did I know that an anchorwoman from China Central Television (CCTV) claimed, four years ago, that that Palestinian man was actually right. If Ms. He Jia were to be believed when she stated the "indisputable fact" that "the Philippines is China's inherent territory," I actually am Chinese. Not even Filipino-Chinese, but actual Chinese from China, being that the Philippines is supposedly part of China.<br />
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So how is this supposed to work? Kind of like how Puerto Rico's relationship is with the United States of America? Does this mean I get statutory Chinese citizenship? Does this mean I don't need to apply for a visa the next time I wish to visit the "motherland," unlike the last two times I did. I guess that's one perk, because sitting in a queue at a Chinese embassy isn't exactly pleasant. And speaking of queues, does this mean it's now socially acceptable for me to jump queues* wherever I go? Tell me, He Jia, what does this mean for me? What does this mean for my country? Do we still get to call our land "the Philippines" or is there a mandate from Beijing that we now have to start calling it "Fēi Lǜ Bīn"? What if we don't comply? Do we get thrown in a labour camp?<br />
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<b>BY THE WAY, THIS IS THE TELEGRAPH ARTICLE I'M TALKING ABOUT:</b><br />
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<a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/china/9253826/Chinese-media-accidentally-declares-Philippines-as-part-of-China.html"><b>http://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/worldnews/asia/china/9253826/Chinese-media-accidentally-declares-Philippines-as-part-of-China.html</b></a>Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-22768114287438343182016-05-12T23:08:00.000+08:002016-05-12T23:08:45.264+08:00They HurtThey hurt--my eyes.<br />
Seeing you just lying there,<br />
Drifting away to sleep,<br />
Not a care in the world.<br />
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Watching you ignore me.<br />
With not an idea that here,<br />
Lies a heart that beats,<br />
Spelling out your name.<br />
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They hurt--my ears.<br />
Listening to your sleeping sounds,<br />
Wondering if between a snore or two,<br />
The deafening silence hides "Ludwig,"<br />
Or acknowledges that I am here.<br />
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Sometimes you say things.<br />
You sigh and whisper soft words.<br />
And I wonder if they are for me,<br />
Or another man you dream of.<br />
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It hurts--my heart.<br />
That I cannot tell you how I feel,<br />
Because I am too scared to mean it,<br />
And give myself away again.<br />
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Feeling strongly like this,<br />
Seems as though I am building myself,<br />
A trap without killswitch or way out.<br />
And I jump in with a smile.<br />
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And then I die.<br />
Damn it!Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4781923687194517465.post-26959866788955384532016-05-12T11:13:00.003+08:002016-05-12T13:38:36.469+08:00Is the Filipino truly worth dying for?One of the things that bother me about Miriam Defensor-Santiago is her proclivity to pander to ideas of intellectual elitism and the innate superiority of the intelligentsia over the rest of the population. According to her, a vote by an uneducated person must not be regarded as equal to the vote of a university graduate.<br />
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In a democratic country such as ours that is trying (at least on paper) to gear itself towards becoming a fully egalitarian society, this idea does not sit well. Supposedly, each citizen's voice is equal to every other's. However, with the results of our most recent national elections where we elected Manny Pacquiao, an athlete (and current congressman who knows close to zero about legislation or constituency representation), into the senate and we almost elected the son of a brutal dictator as vice-president, one almost gets pushed to reconsider one's stance on the whole "every vote is equal" rhetoric.<br />
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I'm aware that the solution is not to reduce anybody's right to choose leaders but instead to fulfill each person's right to an education. But are we actually capable, as a nation, of doing it properly? A lot of defenders of the Marcos regime are actually educated. A lot of them have bachelor's degrees, while a number have master's degrees and doctorates. Heck, my own grandmother, a retired judge, even voted for Bongbong because, allegedly, his father did the country a lot of good. I had an argument with her over breakfast yesterday, from which I had to restrain myself before I got too passionate. Was she genuinely blind to the plight of the underprivileged during his hegemony? Was she willing to dismiss every evidence of his evil doings as fabrications in favour of the pretty picture she has in her head just because she and her husband benefited from his rule?<br />
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In an age when Holocaust denialists among extremist groups in Germany are a pathetic minority ridiculed for their refusal to acknowledge overwhelming evidence debunking their cause, the Philippines has over 34% of its voting population either saying the Marcos regime was A-OK or that the atrocities that the brutal dictator committed, for which there is overwhelming evidence, didn't happen at all. And how can you blame people? What did the government do when the Marcoses returned from their time in exile? Did it put them behind bars? Did it hold them accountable for the billions of dollars they stole from the country's treasury? No! The government allowed them to continue living luxurious lives.<br />
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What's worse: The government allowed the Marcoses to get back in power and slowly make their way to the top again. What the hell? I've asked this countless times before and I'm asking this again: Why is Imelda Marcos not in prison? Why is she in the Philippine Congress?<br />
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Seeing this, a lot of people today who never lived through Martial Law might be led to believe that because there have been zero repercussions against the Marcoses for what a lot of people--scholars, historians and ordinary citizens alike--vehemently insist were two decades of sheer brutality, they must be alright. Everyone else must be misinformed and the Marcoses are just misunderstood well-meaning, good-natured people. This notion is so strong and so prevalent that what used to be two words that meant complete terror is now simply worth describing as nothing more than some sort of "thingy" that a lot of people just have a fixation for. "That Martial Law thingy," as one Twitter user put.<br />
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Ugh! I don't know, Philippines. Fuck this! Fuck everything!<br />
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Anyway, while all these weighty disappointments about the Philippine citizenry won't cause me to let go of the principles of social egalitarianism that I hold very dear, I am instead led to ask the question: IS THE FILIPINO TRULY WORTH DYING FOR?Ludwig Bon Quirog y Migriñohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02023790488154955946noreply@blogger.com