Valentines in the Valley 2018

Valentines in the Valley

February 14 is my birthday, not Valentine’s day. When some people have already buried Feb. 14 in their calendars to oblivion, I am (un)fortunately mandated by my own being to celebrate the same. The fact is, my name came from ‘Val’entines day, which further added ‘Red’ to (intentionally) highlight the color of the heart. “Adu la angot!” expressed my unmarried friend whose name is “Mary”.

The Valentine season as they say is a time of victors and victims for those who volunteer and vie for the cupid’s arrow. Depending on who you ask; it is either a valuable volition, or a virulent vexation, usually a failure to honor a verbose vow, or simply a violation from the romantic villain. For the veterans of the game who have endured such vicissitudes of fate brought by said valentine madness, it is just another vacant day not in vain. Since, as “V” said: “the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous”.

Obviously, such fad is economic more than cultural. February is the gain season for our rose and flower farmers in La Trinidad, the better time for our coffee shops and restaurants, and an opportunity for many of our local gift shops to exploit. Money is meant to be used and shared after all.

For those who want to spend a romantic time in the valley, you can hike and have a picnic at Mt. Yangbew, or at Mt. Kalugong eco-park. You can also visit Jeffrey Visaya’s garden at Brgy. Bahong/Alapang and spend the day with their plants and flowers. Of course our town is teeming with great coffee shops. Hunt them all from Km.3, Km.4, Km.5, Km.6, to Brgy. Poblacion. For those who prefer to go out at night, La Trinidad has a cowboy bar lane in Km.6 (from Oldwest to Cowboy town).

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The “Eternal Student” book published to cap my 30 years of existence (kuno) is out. I dedicate them to my supportive kapamilya and friends. I planned to consign copies to local bookstores and offer them for a cause – following a tradition that calls for us to share what we have in order to welcome more ‘blessings’.

The Teacher-Student relationship Case

    CHUA – QUA vs. CLAVE CASE

In 1976, a teacher married her student and got fired. :)

This case was about an affair and marriage of 30 years old teacher Evelyn Chua in Tay Tung High School in Bacolod City to her 16 years old student, Mr. Bobby Qua. The petitioner teacher was suspended without pay and was terminated of his employment “for Abusive and Unethical Conduct Unbecoming of a Dignified School Teacher” which was filed by a public respondent as a ground for her termination.

This would have been just another illegal dismissal case were it not for the controversial and unique situation that the marriage of Evelyn Chua, then a classroom teacher, to her student who was fourteen (14) years her junior, was considered by the school authorities as sufficient basis for terminating her services. The case went on to the Supreme Court which ruled in favor of Evelyn.

The Supreme Court declared the dismissal illegal saying:

“.....[the school] utterly failed to show that petitioner [30-year old lady teacher] took advantage of her position to court her student [16-year old]. If the two eventually fell in love, despite the disparity in their ages and academic levels, this only lends substance to the truism that the heart has reasons of its own which reason does not know. But, definitely, yielding to this gentle and universal emotion is not to be so casually equated with immorality. The deviation of the circumstances of their marriage from the usual societal pattern cannot be considered as a defiance of contemporary social mores.”

This is a truly remarkable case wherein the Supreme Court ruled in favor of “love”. J


                                           

Valentines day sucks sometimes :)

The fire police in the truck were chuckling, their job was already done when they got here. Apparently, of all people who might need them, they responded to the house of a Barangay Official (who is supposed to be one who responds to fire incidents). Alerts are high for them because King’s College threw in a spectacle of fireworks display, and the fire trucks, at last, will be roused to its duty. I get to beat myself from the analogy that I was supposed to be at the college to assist my co-teachers in the culminating program of the Foundation day. But, here I am in a wet short pants stained with charcoal because I have to watch the fireworks display from the elevated road and forget that I also left some flames beside the stock house that stored piles of dry wood.

So, what went wrong? The answer is simple, it is February 14. One of the most commercialized and sensationalized date in the history of humans, and fortunately/unfortunately, the date in which I have to be always identified with. My name is inseparable to ‘Valentine’s day’ because not only did my parents adopted “Val”, but also painted it “Red” to permanently etch that event’s color in my person. At least I was not named ‘Valentino’. 

Five hours ago, I was giving replies to text messages that I am in Manila, even though I’m just in my bed munching some chips while watching the TV, and hoping that this day will end. Earlier, I even applied for a birthday leave despite the knowledge that all members of the faculty are needed in the school event. I want to avoid people, avoid meetings…I wanted to be alone – just like last year, and even years before that.

Why do I have to do that? I have learned to run away from Valentines day, because of the stress of it – the high school pressure of having a date, and the jealousy that one feels when popular guys receives tons of love letters, while you stand there with ‘forever alone’ guys contemplating about your sad ‘fate’, or the stress of impressing someone, even if you are aware that you have just spent a week’s allowance.

I’ve been there, the ‘unpopular guy’, the ‘fat boy’ whose supposed sole purpose in the world is to be made fun of, and be a character of somebody’s joke. It’s not that I have not overgrown that ‘victim-mentality’, but I am surprised that even after 10 years, my tendencies in life are shaped by my interesting experiences in elementary and high school.

Sometimes, guys like me will never find ourselves perfect for someone. That is why even if we have grown up from that awkward appearance of highschool and start having girlfriends, we break it up because in the back of our minds; we never found ourselves to be lovable, and we have to break things up before the girl does. Of course, girls will passionately react to this, but let’s save that for a later ‘lovechika’ kunwari (haha). A girl once told me that I am afraid to get hurt that’s why I avoid relationships and commitment, and perhaps, she is right.

So, again, what went wrong? It is the date (period). If only it wasn't Feb. 14, I could’ve made it to our school event and not have to burn some old letters (and memories). I wouldn't have run outside to watch the fireworks display, and would have not forgotten that I am burning something which would have prevented the burning of the whole stock house, and would not have exposed myself to a bunch of grinning people who knew that it was my birthday and I was just hiding in my room to celebrate it. I can only tell them that; “Nu sabado tau nga mangan etoy ayan me inya?” (hahaha!) See my point when I said something about stress? 

What comedy! That I have to ironically burn a big candle light (the stock house) to celebrate my natal day (sabi ng mga nurse), and have to excite the emotions of the whole community on the sight of it.

Tsk tsk tsk…This is one of those instances when I hate Valentines Day!

P.S. : NO ONE GOT HURT IN THE FIRE ACCIDENT AND THE ‘TAMBAYS’ DID A GOOD JOB IN SAVING WHAT REMAINED, THEY SHOULD APPLY AS FIREMEN (Although I have to buy 2 by 2s and Empelights afterwards..”Dayta gamin ti madi na aglibre!’ hahaa) 

Blues of June (Fiction)

It was in the rainy evening of June. He parked his car beside the gasoline station not too far away from the bar where he consumed his fifth beer. He turned the engine off but decided to keep the stereo on – he needed the DJ’s voice, at least the rare hit on good jokes to kill the boredom. After damaging his car in five identical occasions, he had learned to always give himself a few minutes to sober up before going home. The rain and that non-cooperating shield-wiper convinced him all the more that he needed every ounce of alertness to survive the road. At least, just for that night.

The DJ started to dedicate a love song; somehow, she was already finished with her last caller. “Another Chicago song”, he thought on the few opening notes he recognized from high school. He was not aware that he was smiling on the thought of it. Those memories of his high school life had succeeded in tempting him into playing with them again – it was already almost twenty years ago. He saw flashbacks of his few friends, his teachers, some events, and of course, the memorable people with it. They were good memories – the recurring image of his awkward self with a guitar, his club activities, his classmates, his stressed teachers…and of course, Myra.

 That thought of her almost drained the alcohol inside of him. He needed another drink, but he decided against it – it was still Tuesday, and he has yet to complete three designs for a client. At 33, he was a junior architect for ECO-house designs, a young company which specializes in ‘green-designing’. He was not sure if there is a bright future with it, but he was contented – he will own his little home after twelve years of salary deductions, and perhaps start saving for his old Pajero’s replacement. He remembered that his boss will have his chemotherapy next month, and the thought of a possible retirement that will advance his career made him feel guilty – ‘a man’s loss, will always be another man’s gain’. He sighed - again, the stress of it made him thought that high school will always be one of the best parts of his life.

The song switched to another ballad after another love quote from DJ Hillary Johnson - the best Side A classic, and he smiled. Old songs, bring back old memories indeed. He was ready to sing along with it.

“There are times, when I just want to look at your face, with the stars in the night…there are times, when I just want to feel your embrace, in the cold night…I just can’t believe that you are mine now…You were just a dream that I once know..I never thought I would -” he paused to check his phone, and continued,  “ …anything in this world, you’re all I need to be with forevermore..”

Slowly, he deliberately relived the memories of the first woman he truly loved. Myra was his classmate in high school, although she was first stricken by her endearing laugh in his first year. She was his team mate in scrabble, where he intentionally delayed their games just to spend more time with her. From there, a certain kind of friendship blossomed – he started a routine of visiting her in her mother’s clothing-store for years. She was the first girl whom he had truly loved. Too bad, Myra only considered him as a friend. Friend-zoned, you can say. She was the first girl to have given him the drowning feeling of hurt, of pain.

This event in his life changed him. His fear of the same kind of rejection forced him to reinvent himself; changing his awkward appearance with the cooperative stage of puberty and maturity, and developing an image that was easily acceptable for his new friends.  Eventually, he became the playboy he abhorred in highschool. A disguise he made to project desirability, or perhaps for Myra to notice him.

They met again in college and they dated. He guessed that somehow, his transformation helped. As young hearts then were easily swayed with doubts, they did not become an official couple until after they graduated from college. It was easy and difficult at the same time. Easy, because they have known each other since highschool. Difficult, because both are convinced that they are entitled to new things in their lives. More difficult for him because Myra was his first love, actually his only love.

Eventually, Myra went abroad leaving him the promise that if they are meant to be together, then they will always end up in each other’s arms – yes, that overly-used quote again. For a couple of years he submerged himself with work. It is the only way to make him forget that he actually misses someone. It did not take any longer for him to receive the news that she is already back in the country.

It was unbelievable for him when they spent many days together again. He thought of proposing to her after he will earn some money, perhaps in a year or two. Yes, he actually thought of marriage – she will be 26 or 27 when that will happen, which is perfect for her expectations. It was that easy for him to imagine, until Myra told him about ‘it’. She told him of what happened to her and her friend, or lover, abroad. And after the rush of tears, the words "I'm sorry, I don't love you anymore" sunk him deeper into the void.

He remembered that moment well, and he felt the pang again – he never truly moved on. “Why? .... Why?” Is it loneliness from being away? He did not really ask. “You promised…” is all he can mumble. Funny, how he expected too much. “I know,  I didn’t have a choice…” Choice? He pondered on what it really meant that day. It was not something that is not forgiven overnight, not after the feeling of betrayal, not after broken promises.

But, It was about three thousand nights since then, and they never talked again– not after he banned her name on his Facebook account, or after Myra went back to her work abroad. There were many nights like this, when he ponders on what could have been if he had forgiven her that time. However, that wasn’t the first time she did that – there was highschool, there was college, and even when they’re already working. He was just scared on what he will feel if she will hurt him again. It is not easy to let go of things - memorable things, beautiful things - but he worries on what will happen to his world. He cannot afford another heartbreak, especially from her, that is why he decided to let her go. He concluded, actually convinced himself, that some things are not really meant to be.

Just like his failures and inabilities, his desperation and loneliness...just like the rain which will always be there to drench him, he will always be haunted by the memories which he, ironically, holds dear.

He can't move on.

There were many nights like this, especially in June.

Sagada Love Story (Fiction)

 Would it be something that you would want to feel? Even if it’s this late? We could have had it all.

Five, no, about six hours.  Do you remember? The bumpy trail, your head on my right shoulder to show you proudly all the 'views' - an Ibaloi girl with an Ibontoc boy who is proudly showing Mountain Province? A young guy introducing his world, or perhaps attempting to confirm a part of his life to that woman who won his heart?

We arrived on a rainy day, on a stop to Sagada to see the place, particularly, the famous coffins and caves. We walked casually down to a road looking for an Inn. We finally settled with George’ s Inn. It must be the computer shop below it. Do you remember? I hope you do. We never even got to close that penthouse door. We were so in love. We can’t even get enough of each other. Do you remember? The kisses? The hugs? The warmth of our bodies. The passion we can only let go off when we fall asleep. Did we even leave our bed to see the attractions of the place?

Remember when we pulled the pillows and blankets outside to see the stars? We were lucky that before closing hours, we have bought a bottle of gin, and your favorite chips; that black Tortillos along with some vinegar. You really loved that then… I know, because I have come to love it too…

Remember when we walked in the rain. Those are what we saw in the movies, and we never really cared. We laughed about it. You called me “noisy slippers”, because of the way I walk with them. Do you remember when he had coffee on that little shop when we were dripping wet? Tell me that you do.

Do you remember the words that were supposed to be said when one wakes up first? “Good Morning beautiful..” if it was me who does. I never cared any of your words, because I always feel your kiss on my forehead, my cheeks…my lips. Do you remember our mornings? Our nights? Do you remember?

I know you remember when we painfully argued at Bontoc, the way I was jealous back then. When we never talked for two hours and thirty minutes in the van but finally made peace at Bauko, and started kissing again. When we reached Mt. Data and number 114 will be etched in our lives forever? When we (or I) got drunk at the fireplace and you dragged us to our room. Do you remember how happy we were? Do you remember any of  it?

Today, you stood there with that glorious wedding gown...and you are not waiting for me.