Ang Filipiniana

Ang kasuotang Filipiniana na makikitang suot ko dito.ay isang modernong kasuotan na sinusuot sa henerasyong ito. Ito ay kasuotang gawa ng ating mga ninuno at dating kilala sa tawag na Maria Clara dress. Hango ito sa kilalang karakter na si Maria Clara na Noli Me Tangere na akda ni bayaning Jose Rizal. Kaya ito tinawag na Maria Clara dahil maihahalintulad ito sa karakter ni Maria Clara sa libro na sumisimbolo sa kababaihang Filipina, kahinhinan, katatagan at may tiwala sa sariling kakayahan. Ito ay kasuotang baro at saya na may maluwag at mahabang manggas na ipinapares sa isang malapad at mahabang saya. Kadalasan ito ay may habang hanggang talampakan.

Ang mga kababaihang Filipino na makikita nating nagsusuot ng Filipiniana ay.madalas na makikita sa mga okasyong nagpapahalaga ng kultura nating mga Filipino. Isa na rito ang  SONA o State Of The Nations Address na ginagawa ng bawat Pangulo. Nagsusuot ang.mga kababaihan ng Filipiniana upang maipaabot ang mensahe na tulad ng gustong ipaabot din ng SONA. Ito ay ang kakayahan nating mga Filipino na makipagsabayan sa anumang larangan saan man sa mundo. Sumisimbolo din ito sa kakayahan ng bansa na tumayo at mabuhay, mangalaga ng kapaligiran, tumulong sa mga. nararapat abutan ng tulong, at pagpapakita na ang ating bans ay may kakayahang mababilang sa "first world status".

Isang mahalagang simbolo ng kulturang Filipino ang kasuotang Filipiniana. Sa kabila ng mga nagsusulputang modernong kasuotan, napakaganda pa ring tingnan lalong-lalo na sa mga espesyal na okasyon. Tumatawag ng pansin ang kulay at simpleng disenyo na animo ngsasabing ang nagsusuot din nito ay isang babaeng may tapat at tunay na pagmamahal sa bayan at sa buhay. Animo, may itinatago sa kasuotang ito na kahit balot man ang katawan ng nagsusuot, may tapang at tatag sa likod nito. Mahinhin at mayuming tingnan ang sumusuot ng Filipiniana pero kung kinakailangan ang Filipinang nagsusuot nito ay lumalaban sa lahat ng hamon ng buhay. Kahit anong pagsubok ang pinagdadaanan nating mga Filipino tayo ay hindi sumusuko at nakangiti pa ring lumalaban. Tulad ng Filipiniana, sa pagtuloy na pagdaan ng mga taon napapanatili nito ang kanyang kahalagahan at simbolismo. Di man sya naisusuot sa pang araw-araw nating pamumuhay, pero ang kasuotang ito ay namumukod tangi pa rin at napakagandang tingnan. Hindi pa rin matawaran ang ganda ng kababaihang Filipino.

Patricia (a parody of Patricia of The Green Hills)

            My name is Maximo D. Ramos, the author slash narrator of this story I’m about to tell you: Patricia. In all honesty, I would describe Patricia as a girl who wishes for adventures, and wishes to go back to the Green Hills, to the point of low-key rebelling and going against her foster parents, who happened to be me and my wife  (Warning: Few Disney references here and there).

            

          When my friend Jose Lactaotao lost his Muslim wife and his two sons and became a single father, he quit his teaching job and returned to Luzon as a gay, at the same time passing on to my wife a Tirurai orphan girl. Quite frankly, I believe, that he didn’t want to be burdened with the responsibility of of raising a random child his father-in-law presented to him on his wedding day back then.

         

        My wife, the self-proclaimed lady who called herself a “genius”, named the girl with a simple name; because of all the various unique names to pick from, she had to choose Patricia. The flamboyant Lactaotao had named her Marcosa, though when she was first baptized in the tribal cult, she was given the name Mary Cruz. Much fairer than the average daughter of our town, Patricia was slender, graceful, and sensitive of face.

       
       She was in the rebellious prepubescent stage back then, with the young age of fourteen, and it had been five years since she ditched her native green hills to the east of our town. Her ancestors had been tillers of a small clearing at the edge of the jungle, they claimed that they hunted wild boars and deers for centuries (I mean, who wouldn’t wonder? They had no proof whatsoever to make us believe it went on for centuries), because they were vegetarians and such.

      

       Locking up the doors for sure security doesn’t seem like a thing to do in the green hills, because Patricia’s parents had been murdered by bandits one evening. And not fixing the holes in the floor was for once, considered a good thing, because if it weren’t for the hole, Patricia couldn’t have escaped the attack. As how straight out of Disney movies this may sound, she was left alone in the world by a young age of nine. And instead of some animals taking her in, Jose Lactaotao’s father-in-law brought the little orphan to town.

     

       Due to laziness, Lactaotao’s wife taught nothing about cooking to Patricia, especially dishes with pork in it. Now that Patricia was with us, however, she was taught home economics in the house as well as school. And she learned so fast that before school was out that year, she was cooking aromatic dishes, to the point where my wife told her she should take part in Juniors Master Chef. And I too, loved the simple dried meat Patricia knew so well.

      

       Every two weeks or so during the year, it was the practice of a Tirurai youth to come into town peddling salted wild boar meat and venison. As stereotypical as I may sound, he was a typical Indonesian, tall and hairy of womb and chest. He was sunburned to a dark-brown, and he had muscles that rivaled John Cena’s, as he walked peddling the meat in baskets he had woven out of rattan and bamboo strips. Sadly, all his good looks went to waste, and no people in our town wanted to make contact with him, for he looked like he had something against the world itself.

        

      It was the meat peddled by this Tirurai youth which, broiled by Patricia as I said, found extremely delicious.

        

     In the meantime, Patricia also learned how to operate the sewing machine my wife bought enthusiastically for her (even if Patricia never asked for it). And although she insisted buying the sewing machine herself, my wife does not know the difference between a baste and a hem; which lead to Patricia taking instruction from a neighbor was by way of being a modiste. And before long, Patricia was making shirts and underwear.

     

     She graduated as a salutatorian in her elementary school where her class consisted of fifteen students. In June, Patricia was going to high school, where the students’ logics were: Due tomorrow, do tomorrow. Her new dresses were made, we borrowed Elena’s old first year books, and the three of us were ready to make a long trip by river launch to the provincial capital, where the high school was located.

       

       But on the morning we were to start, Patricia leaned her back against the wall, and started to have some dramatic breakdown about how she was through with schooling. After I managed to calm her down from her tantrum, she sobbed, “I hate books!”

       

       “But why, Patricia?” my wife wished to know. “And with everything ready! To books, clothes, and the bills paid.”

      

       “I am through with school.” she repeated.

        

        This development did not come as a surprise to me. For Patricia had a pretty annoying habit she couldn’t break – and no, it’s not drugs or cigarettes or whatnot. It was about how she occasionally played truant with some of the Muslim girls. On unexpected afternoons after school , Patricia would sneak out and slip away and climb the hill paths with three or four of the native girls (Fantastic Four) . And like I said, she was at the rebellious stage, and she would have some girls’ night-out, slumber parties, and then spend the night at one of her companions. Thank God, it’s Friday for her indeed, only that this time it was “Thank God , it’s any-day” in her case. After she returns the next day with the other girls, she usually gets a lecture from my wife as soon as the F4ntastic were gone. She would cry to us and and apologize about her wrong doings, and write some notes saying how she promised never to do it again. Because after a promise is broken, it is always followed with a sorry. Anywho, the new promissory slip would be laid away with the previous ones. Unfortunately, there’s no such thing as forever, and this would only last for two months. And as soon as we sigh and thank the heavens about how Patricia has learned her lesson, she would slip away to the hills over again.

      

         “Please give me back the promises I have made, I cannot keep them.” Sounds like an excerpt from a romance book, but she weeped as she came to my wife one night.

     

         After that we just hoped she would go to the hills with some more trustworthy girls. Being considerate about her wants, we would take her along to the outskirts of town whenever we went there. She would have a great time then, chasing moths, picking flowers and ending up getting a poison ivy. She would climb to the top branch of a tree, and sounding like a Tarzan-wannabe, she would yodel. “Patricia!” my outraged wife would say, “You are a young lady now!”

       

        My wife and I often wished we had more time to the our dog – I mean, Patricia out, for the passing months she grew more and more restive. In the evenings, after she would read some Candy magazine and do a little of her sewing, she would turn off the lights and gaze at the hills from her window, like some person in a dramatic music video.

      

       She was on the back porch again one night, when I spoke to her. “Patricia,” I said.

    

       She gave me a total silence, ignoring me.

  

      “What seems to be troubling you?” I said. “This is your home.”

      Patricia turned to me with a sigh. “That’s true,” she said. “This is like home to me. But in the hills far out there – there, where the moon rose not long ago tonight and where deep woods and wide grasslands are – that, is my home. There,” she went on, warming up to the subject that I knew had been on her thoughts, “Home is where the Wi-Fi connects automatically.”

     “But Patricia, you must know that your internet connection doesn’t even reach one bar, it is too weak! Besides,” said my wife, perhaps joining too abruptly. “There are bandits roaming wildly around there. You lost your parents there. You will find no streets there, no books, no town lights, no internet. Slow Wi-Fi is even worse than no Wi-Fi at all, for it is such a tease!”

      “That’s the most important thing of all,” Patricia replied, still gazing at the hills far away. “No town lights there to drive away the moon. And the paths winding up the hills are narrow and little walked upon. And the Chupacabras and Big Foot whose calls one never hears in the town are not afraid to call there. There may be no Wi-Fi in the forest, but I promise you will find a better connection.”

       In the face of such persuasive speaking, I gave a little side glance at my wife and, understanding my look, she came away with me.

       Our home was not far from the river, this is why when the rain pours down too hard, we tend to experience flood so quick. And like Ariel or Snow White, she would either lie down in the graveled bank, or poke about in the reeds and flush the wading birds.

       The meat the Tirurai hunter peddled was so good that I asked Patricia to watch for him and buy a several kilos when he comes into town again. She usually got the best portions at a slightly affordable price, and no wonder, for Patricia could communicate to him with their native Tirurai language, and that naturally made a big difference.

     Then something happened. One day when we came home from lunch, the maid followed us into our room  in a nervous flurry. “The wild man,” she started. “I saw him talking to Patricia on the porch. They were so focused on their conversation that they didn’t notice my presence at all.” She cleared her throat and went on. “When the man saw me, his expression changed to one of bitter look, then he left without a word.” This made me nervous, because who knows? Some Sleeping Beauty romance might have blossomed between the two, and she would have to return to their castle on her sixteenth birthday, for she was the secret princess that went missing for years.

        After supper, my wife called Patricia aside and tried to reason with her (which ended as a debate). Was her friendship with the hunter a serious matter? If she returned to those barbaric hills, what would become of her talents and her look? What was the use of having her education in the town school? And her dramatic monologue on her first day of high school? What was the use it of all, if she would only return to her hills after all? 

        Patricia seemed to take an interest on the floor and kept her eyes down and sat down weeping silently. He eyes were still swollen when she came out of her room next morning. I, on the other hand, was slightly happy to see her like that, because for once, she looked like an ugly mess instead of her usual stunning look.

        The man did not return to the town for some months after that, my wife hoped, that he had realized his mistake in trying to win a fine girl like Patricia. I feared, because it was the rainy time of the year again and the seed had to be sown in his clearing.

        When the August rains were over and the new crops had to be harvested, the Tirurai hunter came back. He had grown more mature, especially with his physical appearance that consisted some change on his outfit. He made two trips to town that week.

        You know how they say there are only two types of story endings: comedy and tragedy. I’m not so sure myself if you found some parts of my story funny, but I hope you liked it so far. But the ending can be quite the little twist, for the following Saturday morning, we found out Patricia was gone. We waited for her all the next week.

         But the green hills were far away.

       

      

How To Win A Jingle Competition

         We all have tried competing in some games, and not only does this involve some sports, but education-related performance as well. Here is where we should insert the words “Jingle Competition”. Jingle competitions usually happen where there are big events in a certain month. Here we change the lyrics of certain songs to phrases that talks about the importance of health and nutrition, and perform them in front by singing and dancing. Sometimes, we need to plan things ahead in order to win:

1.) Be cooperative during practices – it’s natural to do some practices before performing finally on stage. But we have to consider that we are all performing as one, which means we should do everything together at the same time in order to avoid being a burden. We have to familiarize the lyrics of our songs, and of course our choreography. We wouldn’t want to be lip-synching the lyrics or doing the the wrong dance moves. We shouldn’t rely on someone in order to perform properly, so we have to memorize everything for our own good.

2.) Execute everything properly – now, every performance has judges and criteria. I’m not so sure about the specific criteria, but I’m certain that the choreography, clarity of voice, and the delivery of message is there. How do you expect to be graded with a high score if we don’t execute them properly? We have to shout at the top of our lungs if we have to, and then dance properly (regardless of how ridiculous your choreography may be for you). Not only with the whole performance, but our backdrops and costumes as well. We have to paint our backdrops properly and provide our costumes in time.

3.) Acceptance – this may be not-so-related to the whole performance, but these values are important. Win or lose, we should consider the effort we gave to our performance; as long as we did our best, all is worth it. The titles we receive shouldn’t matter much. If we win, then congratulations! We should keep up with the strategies we used. If we lose, then that does not mean there’s no next time; we learn from our mistakes and avoid doing the same thing again.

            

        People may think that jingle competitions are no big deal, but we actually give our all to win the competition in the end. As I’ve said before, win or lose, the outcome doesn’t matter. As long as we enjoyed the whole thing, then our effort is worthwhile. Because what’s important is the teamwork and effort we put together to make it happen, and that is what actually wants.