To Kill a Frog

This piece is dedicated to all the frogs and toads I've had the pleasure of killing, Blanche in particular, the first anuran I've ever named.

You listen in apprehension and suppressed excitement as you professor tells you the particulars of pithing. Hold the head down, find the depression, pierce it with the needle at a right angle, destroy the brain, destroy the spinal cord. Sounds easy enough. In a corner of the malodorous sink you hear the shuffling of frogs and toads inside a sack. Your gloved hands, itching with impatience and smelling of acrid latex, lay out your tools for the gory task ahead.
As you retrieve your toad from the depths of the sack, it begins flailing its limbs like a newborn baby. As you cup the toad's side in your palm along with a pair of its limbs, it struggles to escape, twitching its free leg, gulping nervously for breath, its throat bulging under your thumb.

The anxious toad blinks up at you, well aware of its fate. All of a sudden it spatters urine all over the dissecting table, which seeps into the grimy grout and floods the dissecting pan. You are grateful that you are wearing a lab gown, or else you would be wearing eau de crapaud for the rest of the day.

At long last, your professor begins to demonstrate the pithing process with her tiny toad. Your toad frantically tries to avoid the probe and flinches as you hold down its warty head; as the needle enters the skull through the spine, it writhes in agony, contracting inward, and releases frothy white poison from glands in its head. Blood, thick, dark, viscous, drips out of the cavity in the head. When the brain and spinal cord are destroyed,the toad's legs go limp, but its eyes remain open, watchful in the toad's uneasy coma. The toad, vulnerable and defenseless, lies prone on the dissecting pan, yielding to your scalpel and ready for sacrifice.

You begin skinning the toad by slitting the skin on its belly, which hangs open in two flaps, the insides of which are expanses of ghostly white membrane interspersed with branching capillaries. The pale skin of the belly is vastly different from the rest of the skin on the toad's body: it hangs loosely from the body, hatched all over with fine creases and lightly striped with green, unlike the warty skin on the head, back, and limbs reminiscent of murky marshes. Next, you cut around the legs and arms and pull the raw limbs out of their "gloves" and "stockings", an oddly satisfying thing to do. As you peel the toad, it exudes a slimy stench that belongs neither to fish nor fowl, imbued with the sweetish smell of blood. The more you expose the toad's body, the more you realize how much it resembles a man as you view its muscles through the iridescence of membrane, from the powerful leg muscles to the muscles of the abdomen.

There will be more occasions in which you will kill a frog. You will see its lungs balloon out of its chest, moist and pink and incredibly filmy and delicate; you will cut off its head above the eyes while it is still alive; you will sever its heart from it, still beating and suffused with blood. You will peel, preserve, and dissect more frogs until you are sick of them, the astringent vapor of formalin assailing your nose and eyes all the while. But at the moment there is something else that holds your attention, something you will always remember even in the killing of other frogs. You contemplate the toad's dead eyes, eyes that retain so much life in them. It is this you will remember as you stare into the unblinking eyes, now no longer obscured by the translucent eyelid, now rendered perfectly lucid: fathomless pools of obsidian ringed with gold, mute in life yet so eloquent in death.

Para sa Buwan ng Wika

Noong panahon ko sa high school bilang punong patnugot sa aming school paper, hindi pinahintulot ng pamunuan ng aming paaralan ang paglathala ng aking kauna-unahang editorial. Ito'y dahil sa ipinataw na English speaking policy ng eskwelahan sa aming mga estudyante. Ayon sa tagapamahala mula sa administrasyon, labag daw ang aking editorial sa mga adhikain at patakaran ng paaralan, na siyang salungat sa tunay na pakay ng isang editorial. Ang katuwiran ko naman, hindi nakasalalay sa akin ang tungkuling iyon bilang isang malayang mamahayag, sapagkat ang aking mga pananaw ay hindi sumasalamin sa mga pananaw ng administrasyon. Ni hindi man lamang nila ako binigyan ng abiso tungkol sa editorial na nais nilang mabasa. Sa katunayan, ako mismo ay lumabag sa mga pinahahayag ng aking editorial sapagkat isinulat ko ito sa wikang Ingles, hindi sa wikang Pilipino. Ito'y dahil wikang Ingles ang opisyal na ginagamit ng paaralan, at dahil na rin kulang ang aking kakayahan sa wikang Pilipino upang maisulat ang nasasabing akda. Marami pang mga bagay kung saan maraming mga diprensya sa pagitan ko at sa mga kinauukulan, at maging sa kapwa kong mga estudyante sa staff, ngunit ang pagtutuunan ko ng pansin ngayon ay ang naumsiyaming paglathala ng kauna-unahan kong editorial. Ito'y isang pangyayari na hindi katanggap-tanggap sa akin, at sa aking palagay ang editorial na iyon ay propesiya na nagkatotoo ngunit hindi napakinabangan dahil hindi ito pinansin. (Hanggang ngayo'y isinisisi ko ang kakulangan ko ng kaalaman, katahasan, kabihasaan sa pagsusulat, pagintindi, at pagbigkas sa lengguwaheng Pilipino sa aking paaralan, dala ng pagmamaliit nila dito bilang isang lengguwahe. Tinatanaw ko na rin ang insidenteng iyon bilang napakahalaga para sa akin bilang manunulat, dahil higit sa kahit ano pa mang pagpuri, ang pagtanggi na iyon sa aking editorial ay ang nagmulat sa akin sa hindi-matatakasang katotohanan na nakapalibot sa kahit anong uri ng akda. Marami ang hindi sasangayon sa akda mo at marami ang babalewalain ito, bagamat tama at makatotohanan ang nilalaman nito, at maaring dulot iyon ng takot mawalan ng kapangyarihan, mariin na pagsunod sa dogma, o maging ang mismong kakiputan ng kanilang pag-iisip. Natuto rin akong ipaglaban ang mga akda ko, at marahil iyon na rin ay dahilan kung kaya't mas higit kong kinikilatis at pinaninindigan ang mga sinusulat ko, dahil labag sa kalooban ko na basta-bastahin na lamang ito ng ibang tao. At ngayon, mahigit-kumulang tatlong taon mula noong una ko itong sinulat, mailalathala na ngayon ang aking kauna-unahang (ipinagbawal) na editorial.

I Love My Own(?), My Native Land

English has had a large following and a lasting prevalence in the country over the past few decades. However, the recent deterioration of English proficiency raises a question as to its continuance in the Philippines. National statistics show that students who failed annual screening tests in English averaged 20 percent below the passing mark.

This is ominous news, considering the wealth of acclaimed authors in the country who write in English. The proliferation of signs written with poor grammar, alongside essays by high school students using stilted, elementary language cannot be ignored. The blame lies in different directions: the educational system, the government, and our society as a whole.

Out of 53,000 public school teachers who took the 2004 Dep-Ed English assessment exam, only 10,070 passed. The incompetence of teachers is detrimental not only to the students' understanding of English, but also to their comprehension of lessons in other subjects. This problem can only be expected to worsen in the long run. The government has not done its share either by relegating the Filipino subject to the backseat of the educational system. Whatever happened to having a national language? Without a steady foundation in the mother tongue, students will either find English difficult to learn or will altogether forsake Filipino, as they will have nothing with which to familiarize their knowledge of English. Indeed, there are but a few who can still read, write, and translate Tagalog, not to mention other dialects, with the necessary fluency and delicacy for linguistic nuances.

English has been full instituted into our way of life: we are required to speak it in school, we read it on billboards, and we hear it on the radio. English is also now widely employed by the church, and since the American occupation has been the language in which our laws are written. In the present social hierarchy, moreover, people are judged and assigned to their respective positions based on their aptitude in English. Filipino has now been cast aside as commonplace and is treated as nothing more than an accidental language. By embracing the foreign, we have failed to appreciate the good that remains in having our own language, our own identity.

Proficiency in English, along with the knowledge that it gives, is profitable and opens a wide range of opportunities for those who learn it. The real mistake lies in assuming that English, along with foreign customs and ideas, is far better than language and tradition inherently Filipino.

English cannot substitute for our national language; it is merely a tool we use in communicating with the rest of the world. It is high time we stop toadying to what is not ours; let us instead reconcile our hearts and minds to what is rightfully our own, while respecting the value of that which others have imparted to us.

Author's note: This editorial is in essence the same as the original. I took pains to edit only when necessary, and refrained from altering the tone of the original. The statistics shown are old, but I believe that they reflect the current situation.

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Lexical Vexations

1. To newscasters and pedagogues: Please take the time to research the pronunciation and articulation of foreign words. Say "Chang-tze-i" instead of "Zaang-zee-yee", and substitute "Wun-chia-pao" for "Wen-ja-baw"( When you say it like that, you sound as though you're about to say "jabar"). My ears are bleeding in indignation.
2. For crying out loud, say "try to" instead of "try and".
3. Repeat the phrase "at the end of the day" one more time, and I will do my damnedest to make sure your day ends badly.
4.I wonder why Canadians say "ewt", as in, "check this ewt". Really.
5. Come to think of it, the Brits, Aussies, and Kiwis are even stranger for saying "Aurstralee-yer" and "Drarwring board".
6. DJs. Don't think that you're superior to us just because you're conyitos and conyitas who can put on those phony American accents. Do not be fatuous. Your grammar is execrable.
7. Humanities classmate whose name I don't know: Stop saying "fil-lings" when you mean to say "FEElings".
8. Humanities prof whose classes I can't stand: Stop substituting "z" for "s" and punctuating your sentences with your favorite phrase, "I don't know". You sound more like a drone than ever, and in case you haven't noticed, we're quite aware that you're incompetent. And by the way, "talked about" is for children. "Discussed" would be less childish.
9. Grocery checkout signs should read, "12 items or fewer", not "12 items or less". Similarly, Starbucks napkins should read "Fewer napkins, more planet". (BUT THEN AGAIN (hahaha), Stabucks is in cahoots with the conyos. No surprises there.)
10.Inserting the word "why" after the word "reason" is superfluous. The reason is enough in itself, and saying "the reason why I" makes you sound more inane than you already are.

Why I Write

I disapproved of blogs at the time when blogs were a fad, not a norm, failing to see anything in publicly publishing your work except humiliation. I believed then, as I do now, that displaying one's dirty laundry is uncalled for in blogs, as it very often incriminates others. I also believe that writing a blog warrants a certain amount of gall. Far too many bloggers have gall in excess, I'm afraid. Just look at all those blogs whose entries defy description and can only be interpreted symbolically by a mental image of your favorite analgesic. I had no wish to embarrass myself so publicly, after wincing countless times at myriad grammatical errors and various other indiscretions.

However, I have since then appreciated the value of a blog as a medium by which to broadcast one's thoughts with virtually no expense or censorship, and also as a way of making sense of all the thoughts crammed in my head that would otherwise expire, unused and bodiless in the sphere of existence that is the abode of abandoned ideas. My blog has become a form of catharsis for my ever-moody, ever-neurotic self, and quite luckily only a few people know about it. I want to keep the thoughts in this blog hidden from the people who think they know me. I use a pseudonym because, were I to use my real name, other people's preconception of me would distort my words. I do not want to change my words to please other people, and at the same time I want to write with relative freedom. Let the random reader stumble upon this blog, but seldom will I let my classmates, friends, or relatives read this, or let them know that I have written these words. I am reticent to show them these thoughts, because I do not know what they will make of it, and I do not want to come to blows with any of them, physical or otherwise. The fact that I am a private sort of person is one of the other reasons I want my identity to remain unknown; it is also the reason I reveal so little of my personal life in this blog. I think its anonymity reflects the alienation and disillusion that compels me to write, and I want it to remain that way. To quote Joan Didion, from whom I borrowed this title, "I write entirely to find out what I'm thinking, what I'm looking at, what I see and what it means. What I want to what I fear." I write, simply, because.

Kontrabida

Para sa akin, mas maraming lamang sa pagiging kontrabida; ano na nga ba ang pakikipagsapalaran kung walang kontrabida? Ang mga kontrabida ay ang mga bumubuhay ng kwento--sila ay mga iconoklastikong tauhan na nagsusumikap pabagsakin ang nakagawiang pamamaraan ng pamumuhay, ang status quo. Sila ang mga taong kinalimutan at itinakwil na ng lipunan-- ang mga tinuturing kasuklam-suklam dulot ng samu't-saring dahilan. Ngunit sila ri'y kahanga-hanga dahil pinili nilang hamakin ang tadhanang kumitil ng kanilang mga pangarap, pinili nilang umahon sa pasyang pinataw sa kanila ng tadhana na siyang lulugmok sa kanila patungong kamatayan kung ito'y kanilang sinundan. Pinili nilang mabuhay sa gitna ng pagkamuhi at kalungkutan. Kung tutuusin, ang bida ay katha lamang ng mga taong tumatangkilik rito-- ang mga taong nakikinabang sa kanya. Maaaring ang isang bida ay nagbibida-bidahan lamang, at wala naman palang tunay na kakayahan. Siguro ang naghihiwalay lamang sa mga bida at kontrabida ay ang paghanga ng lipunan at ang pagkamuhi nito.

Maaring pinili ko na rin maging kontrabida dahil alam ko na noon pa na hindi rin tumatagal ang pagiging bida; at kung gayon, bakit pa ba ako magaaksaya ng panahon na magpakabida, kung pagiging kontrabida rin ang hahantungan ko? Nais nating maging mga bida, ngunit hindi natin maikakaila na likas na sa atin ang pagtitiwalag sa kabaitan. Hindi tayo mga santong kahoy na mananatiling mapayapa sa gitna ng unos ng buhay, at hindi natin maaring pangarapin na tayo'y gagawa lamang ng mabuti sa ating kapwa. Sa hindi maipaliwanag na dahilan, tayo ang nagiging kontrabida, sa ayaw o sa gusto natin.

Kanya-kanya tayo ng kontrabida sa ating mga buhay-buhay. Mayroong mga iba na nalimutan na natin, mula pa sa pagkabata; mayroong laging nakaabang, na biglang sumusulpot mula sa madidilim na sulok; mayroon na rin tayong napabagsak at nalupig. Ngunit sa buong buhay ng isang tao, mayroon isang kontrabida na hindi lulubay sa kanya, at iyon ay ang sarili niya. Hindi nga ba't isang malaking hamon ang pagsupil sa mga tukso na inaalay sa atin nga ating mga isipan? Hindi nga ba't nag-aalinlangan tayo sa araw-araw kung ano nga ba ang daan na dapat tahakin, hindi ba tayo nanganganib dahil sa pag-aalinlangan na ito? Hindi ba tayo nagiging hadlang sa ating mga mithiin? Hindi ba tayo ang mga kontrabida sa sarili nating mga buhay, na humahadlang sa pagtanghal ng mga eksena sa maikling dula? Hindi nga ba tayo ang mismong sanhi ng ating kasawian?

Ang mga Dasal ng Mapagsumpaing Pabasa/ The Passion of the Damned

Dahil na nga Cuaresma at marami ang nabuburo sa kainipan at maging sa alingasaw ng mainit na panahon, naisipan kong ipamahagi sa inyo ang mga dasal na akda ni Marcelo H. Del Pilar. Babala: hindi dapat basahin ng mga taong walang kamuwang-muwang sa ibig sabihin mga salitang “satire” at “irony”. Kung kayo’y mga dugong-bughaw na kabilang sa aristokrasya ng mga makikitid ang pananaw, maaaring huwag na ninyong basahin. Sa mga deboto de sanctimonyo: ang mga ito ay hindi patungkol sa Diyos, kundi sa mga nagsusupumilit maging diyos-diyosan sa kanilang mga kapwa.

Pagsisisi
Panginoon kong Fraile, Diyos na hindi totoo at labis nang pagkatuo gumaga at sumalakay sa akin: pinagsisihan kong masakit sa tanang loobang dilang pag-asa ko sa iyo, ikaw nga ang berdugo ko. Panginoon ko at kaaway ko na inihihibik kong lalo sa lahat, nagtitika akong matibay na matibay na dina muling mabubuyo sa iyo: at lalayuan ko na at pangingilagan ang balanang makababakla ng loob ko sa pag-asa sa inyo, makalilibat ng dating sakit ng mga bulsa ko,at nagtitika akong maglalathala ng dilang pagkadaya ko umaasa akong babambuhin ka rin, alang-alang sa mahal na panyion at sa pangangalakal mo ng Cruz, sa pagulol sa akin. Siya nawa.

Ang Amain Namin
Amain namin sumasaconvento ka, sumpain ang ngalan mo, malayo sa amin ang kasakiman mo, kitlin ang leeg mo dito sa lupa para nang sa langit. Saulan mo kami ngayon ng aming kaning iyong pagungal para nang pagpapatawa mo kung kami’y nakwakwartahan; at huwag mo kaming ipahintulot sa iyong manukso at iyadya mo kami sa masama mong dila.

Ang Aba Po Santa Barya
Aba po Santa Baryang Hari, inagaw ng Fraile, ikaw ang kabuhayan at katamisan. Aba bunga ng aming pawis, ikaw ang pinagpaguran naming pinapanaw ng taong Anak ni Eva, ikaw nga ang ipinagbubuntong hininga namin sa aming pagtangis namin dito sa bayang pinakahapis-hapis. Ay aba pinakahanap-hanap namin para sa aming mga anak, ilingon mo sa amin ang cara-y-cruz mo man lamang at saka bago matapos ang pagpanaw mo sa amin iparinig mo sa amin ang iyong kalasing. Santa Barya ina ng deretsos, malakas at maalam, matunog na ginto kami ipanalangin mong huwag magpatuloy sa amin ang mga banta ng Fraile. Amen.

Ang mga Utos ng Fraile
Ang mga utos ng Fraile ay sampu: Ang nauna: Samabahin mo ang Fraile na lalo sa lahat. Ang ikalawa: Huwag kang magpapahamak manuba ng ngalang deretsos. Ang ikatlo: Mangilin sa Fraile linggo man at fiesta. Ang ikaapat: Isangla mo ang katawan mo sa pagpapalibing sa ama’t ina. Ang ikalima: Huwag kang mamamatay kung wala pang salaping panlibing. Ang ikaanim: Huwag kang makiapid sa kanyang asawa. Ang ikapito: Huwag kang makinakaw. Ang ikawalo: Huwag mo siyang pagbintangan, kahit na masinungalingan. Ang ikasiyam: Huwag mong ipagkait ang iyong asawa. Ang ikapulo: Huwag mong itanggi ang iyong ari*. Itong sampung utos ng Fraile dalawa ang kinauuwian. Ang isa: Sambahin mo ang Fraile lalo sa lahat. Ang ikalawa: Ihain mo naman sa kanya ang puri mo’t kayamanan. Siya nawa.
*Ari- ari-arian, etc.

Nakapanlulumong isipin na hanggang sa kasalukyan ay mahalaga at naaangkop ang mga katagang nakasaad sa mga dasal na ito sa ating lipunan. Kakatwa talaga ang pananaw ni Del Pilar dahil nasasakupan nito ang hinaharap ng mahigit sa isang siglo. Siguro nga totoo talaga na ang mga b__ ay hindi namamatay, sila’y nagpapalit lamang ng anyo. Nananalamin ang mga dasal na ito sa ating mga naunsiyaming pangarap, at sa kasaysayan ng bansa, at wari’y minumungkahi: Ganito kami noon, ganyan pa rin ba kayo ngayon? Sadyang kalunas-lunas ang ating kalagayan na wala na akong ibang babanggitin, ngunit kung inyong mamarapatin lamang ay punan ninyo sa inyong mga isipan ang mga maaring ipalit sa pangngalang “Fraile”. Maligayang Pagbangon ng Poong Hesukristo, at para sa mga nagsipuntahan sa lalawigan, maligayang (?) pagbabalik sa buhay metro.

Disjointed dreaming

Just the other day I overheard three girls talking about dreams. One of them told the other that zinc deficiency can cause people to forget their dreams, and may even hinder people from dreaming. When I opened my email inbox that day, a message my friend had forwarded caught my eye. One sentence read, " Did you know that the more you dream, the higher your IQ?" I thought to myself, "Bloody marvelous. The reason I've had trouble dreaming is due to a dearth of zinc in my diet... But wait. Am I supposed to be stupid because I rarely dream?"And off I went, babbling to myself.

The thing is, I used to think that an absence of dreams was a good thing. Most of my dreams are not the transcendental type that make people euphoric upon waking. My dreams are usually nothing short of terrifying. I dream of dystopic settings, amputated limbs, serial killers, weirdly intelligent crocodiles, and odious monsters. At other times I dream surreal dreams in which impossible things happen which cannot be reconciled to any nascent reality in my consciousness.

However, recent events have made me realize that dreams are important and, although they should sometimes be taken with a grain of salt, their value in showing people the subconscious self should never be discounted. Dreams reveal to us the things we refuse to acknowledge while awake; they show us different perspectives that we would never have thought of in a mundane frame of mind. They also give new insights to who we are, and who we might become presently. Occasionally, for some people, they are prophetic.

I really regret the loss of all those forgotten dreams, never to be retrieved, never to be reconciled with the dreamer, never to be written down, never to be spoken about. There is something about dreams that makes their existence so fragile, like that of mirages that rise and fade in the mind's eye; one never knows if they are material, if one ever saw them at all, or if they were merely a shimmer of light in the intensely arid desert. Sometimes, waking up from a bad dream gives more validity to existence than a dreamless slumber, and the horror of a dream is offset by the inexplicable feeling of being alive. In the end, I will try to keep my dreams intact, if only to alleviate the numbness I get from not dreaming, if only to remove myself from the commonplace demands and drudgeries of the world, if only to make myself a place in a world far removed from what I know.

But please have mercy and don't make me dream of the Brurats Show.

Cerebrity!

Well, as of today I have officially joined the ranks of cerebrities. For those of you who are not yet in on the arcane definition of cerebrity, here's a word from the loony lexicon:


Cerebrity (noun): 1)An ordinary person who becomes famous for a short while due to aberrant behavior or unusual accomplishments, gets high on fame, and invariably topples from stardom in less than 15 seconds;

2) An ordinary person who believes himself or herself to be famous because of all his or her many acquaintances;

3)A person who becomes known by dint of praise or calumny from a person having some degree of renown;

4) A bona fide celebrity ( think superstar) gone insane and on the rampage (think Michael Jackson);

5) An old, aging, bygone celebrity who still thinks that she or he (often enough, it's usually a she) is still famous and venerated; this type will do anything and everything to attract attention, get gigs, or sign autographs.


I happen to fit in the third category. It seems that our school paper has ordered a fatwa against me, written up in the (in)famous flame column for all the world to read. It narrates that I had been so high-and-mighty as to criticize the various parts of their beloved paper and further brands me as a "desperada", and also flagrantly insinuates that I am not in my sound mind, referring to me as a "kuleleng". I know they can't be referring to anyone but me, it's so obvious. I don't deny the fact that I criticized the paper, in public; nor do I impose my views on anyone. I must say that I already had an inkling of suspicion about this. What surprises me is that they waited so long to do it. The incident is already a few months old; it's stale as Tutankhamen's ointment in the news world. It's such a stagy piece of yellow journalism, it's so cheap. However, I believe they included it in the most recent issue because they've just started an anti-opposition campaign. There was one column in which they were castigating a letter to the editor regarding the idiotic "Vote YES" business over a certain office in the university, and it seems that the right to freedom of speech is being violated by one of its alleged guardians. There is nothing more disgusting than an institution excoriating a single individual because of just criticism. It is unprofessional, undignified, immature, ludicrous, and even pitiable. It is like Hitler and the Gestapo all over again. How funny can it get? A paper that pretends to champion freedom of speech yet seeks to suppress the vociferations of anyone who finds fault with it! A paper full of knaves who twist one's words to make a trap for fools! A paper staffed with people full of their own self-glorification, not deigning to admit their faults, their biases, their inadequacies! A paper that forces upon its readers a narrow-minded point of view, with no regard for their free will and intellect! O Judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts, and men have lost their reason!

It is so paltry an act to hurl petty insults at people of whom the public has no knowledge . One of the lessons in The Art of War is the principle of inscrutability, of veiling one's weaknesses. The paper has gone against it entirely by acknowledging the presence of people who disagree with it and making it public. The paper is staffed (and stuffed) with inept peacocks who showcase their errors to the world without any apology. If they are as competent as they say they are, why do they need to harp on the people whose views differ from their own? If they are really convinced of the worth of their newspaper, why do they need the approval of each bystander to affirm its value, and why do they need to blatantly humiliate the people who notice the errors they have committed themselves? By pointing out people who find fault with their work, they only prove their inanity and bigotry to the rest of the world. An exemplary writer, be he journalist, novelist, poet, or blogger, must always consider that his views may not be acceptable to all his readers, and that reaffirmation of the value of his work can come from him alone. He cannot force an idea into an unwilling reader's mind, nor can he tell people to recant any criticism they might have made against him. In short, he must take things realistically and dispassionately, at least in public.

I write this post, not only because I wish to proclaim the injustice of my accusers, but because I want to show where I stand, and what I stand for. Of that, the reader is the judge. My last words are these: an institution which upholds the highest virtues in human existence, truth, justice, reason, rectitude, and dignity, would not abase itself in the mud of controversy, nor would it exalt itself by vilifying others. An institution which declares its allegiance to truth, moreover, cannot sow the seeds of dissent and deception and stay true to its innate purpose.

Hair

When we look look back in time, we will invariably find that there has always been a great to-do about hair, whether in religion, fashion, and, more recently, in politics. Clumps of hair were enclosed in the walls of Romanian churches because it was believed that the magical powers of hair could ward off evil. As popularized in movies and books, people have kept locks of hair to remember their loved ones by.Every period, country, and profession has a distinctive coiffure, be it the pompadour of the courtesan, the wareshinobu of the maiko, or the chignon of the prima ballerina. Hair has raised issues small and great: to powder or not to powder, to don a wig or a fro, to wear hair curled or straight, to shave or to wax-- what is that quality of hair that so preoccupies us about it,despite its vestigial function?

Hair, for many of us, is not merely an appendage; it is a status symbol, an affirmation or renunciation of one's identity, a yardstick by which one can measure self-esteem, a means by which one can feel good about oneself. We often go to the greatest lengths of bother just so our hair will be fashionable and presentable. We have often been intrigued by the faddish shampoos, conditioners, treatments, and serums that promise to rejuvenate, restore, strengthen, straighten and smooth hair. But what for? To what end? When one considers the expense and effort we generate in order to make hair decorative, one has to wonder if it were not better to forgo hair altogether.

Hair loss is viewed in our culture as nothing short of tragic. People comment about women who have lost hair in such an offensive fashion : "Sayang, ang ganda niya dati." I cannot reconcile myself with the way people deal with other people who really don't need to hear their inconsiderate views. It is as if a woman is only an object and, upon losing her hair, she ceases to be an object of femininity and becomes a symbol of decay. I commiserate with cancer patients who have lost their hair but, at the same time, cannot help feeling slightly envious. They are no longer obliged to abide by the standards of beauty, because their illness has given them an excuse. They are no longer bound by the ritual of hair; they only need to tie a scarf over their heads. However, losing hair is traumatic for them, because it emphasizes their mortality and their impending death. Thus, their bald heads become testaments to their suffering and their tenacity to live.

For the rest of womankind, baldness is not an option. Many people are scared of losing hair because of their vanity. Others (including myself) are simply too scared to shave their heads, for fear that they would be ridiculed, disowned, or dubbed as Buddhist nuns or punks.

But think about the time, money, energy,not to mention the hundreds of liters of water you could save every year if you had a bald head. You would have, on average, an hour of free time added to your day. You would only need a hat of a scarf to cover your head; you would feel cooler in hot weather, because most of our body heat escapes through the head. You would no longer agonize over a bad haircut or atrocious dye job for weeks. You would not have to feel guilty about tipping the hairdresser. The environment would certainly be less polluted if you went bald. There would be fewer algae outbreaks, fewer instances of fish floating belly-up in the streams, and fewer forests cut down. Maybe, when people realize how overrated hair is, they'll decide to stop feeling so sorry for themselves, and resolve their personality issues. When people don't feel the need to criticize a movie star's hair, makeup and wardrobe on the the red carpet, improvement might be possible.

Imagine a world full of egg-headed people going about their business, happy, self-assured, and responsible, who care more about their fellow man than their supply of hair accoutrements;
a world wherein differences are reconciled, and people who don't prescribe to the current rituals and norms of hair are not punished nor discriminated against...

I seem to have lost you at the words "egg-headed".

Ah, well.