US and Philippines Trade Agreement

Detractors of DJT continue to be baffled by his common-sense approaches to issues big and small, and high and low.  And in the process many are in a tizzy fit, their minds unable to grasp the "hidden" rationale.

Take the latest trade agreement between the US and the small country of the Philippines.  On the surface this is what is known.  It was agreed that US imports to the Philippines will have zero tariff, while Philippine imports to the US will instead be levied 19 percent, rather than the current 20 percent. 

Without thinking of the bigger picture or really, not knowing more, immediately the knives were unsheathed and outright condemnation ran rampant.

Here is my take, not necessarily from insider information but simply from making deductive reasoning culled from past statements and prior trade agreements with the rest of the world.

This is how the mind of Trump works, working on the premise that he had seen how the US had been taken advantage by its partners.  He thus wants to promote fair trade, with no country taking advantage of his country.  In his mind and with great confidence in American exceptionalism, he would rather that there be free and fair trade.  This one can deduce from past nuanced statements he has made about trade.  And if anything, Trump is so predictable when it comes to things he had articulated in the past.  He keeps his promises.

On a very positive note and maybe not known to many, the Philippines has been enjoying the positive end of a trade imbalance with the US, in 2024 alone that figure was $4.9 billion dollars.  Stated differently, the Philippines has been exporting and importing from the US but really exporting a lot more than importing to the tune of $4.9 billion.

Using tariff as effective negotiating tool, the US wants the Philippine to help mitigate this imbalance in the best and most fair way.  The Philippines will allow more US imports or encourage US exporters by easing regulations.  So the Philippines had responded generously by dropping altogether all tariff levies of US imports.  In response, the US has reduced the rate on its end by a mere 1 percent, which admittedly appears quite a pittance.  But that is not the end of the matter.

So what is to happen?

Once this trade imbalance is ameliorated, so that both countries will be importing and exporting almost the same, then further negotiations can be made to rectify the situation, and to make for a more reciprocal and fairer trade agreement.  One can be assured that neither country will interpose serious objections to the new agreement.

No country in the world could easily dismiss the biggest economy of the world, the US, as a destination of its exports. Almost 70 percent of US GDP is devoted to consumer expenditures.  Foreign investors with their abundant capital resources  continue to flock to the US which they consider very fertile and safe grounds.

Lastly, one has to consider other items discussed, like aid and assistance packages that may have been agreed upon as hinted in the interviews, given the very volatile situation in that part of the China Sea.  Add also the detail that tariff is not levied on all but rather on selective items.

Siargao On My Mind

 

The way I see it.

Call it the mystique or lure of places like Siargao.

It is simply a confluence of a couple of very strong drives.

First, the foreign young and impressionable tourists who are lured to the islands looking for thrill-heavy adventure in environment very different from their own, where they can feel and are treated like royalty by the locals.  

But unlike before, many of them are now coming not because they belong to the rich elites in their own countries but as regular folks able to travel because of mobility and overall affordability, helped by the lower costs of living in the islands.

Second, the local boys, whether as potential Lotharios, swains, or simply as indolent beach bums with not much else to do, who are quite beside themselves in friendliness and helpfulness.  This they show in their ready and easy patronizing ways with these Westerners, who we have to admit must appear very attractive and desirable to them. 

All this must conspire whether wittingly or unwittingly -  their very fair and smooth skin, well defined physical attributes, light-color hair, cute English accents, highlighted and accentuated by their very revealing beach wear.  All dovetailing to the typical Filipinos' standards of pulchritude. It must appear as like Eden for the locals.  Like surreal living in the movies. Or as dream experiences of a lifetime.

Put these two irresistible forces together, and who knows.  Anything goes?  The locals never had it so good.  So do the foreigners.

Brings me back to the memories of Pitcairn Island, as it figured in the book, Mutiny on the Bounty, which account was based on real-life events.

The all-male mutineers led by Fletcher Christian hid themselves in this remote island in the Pacific and intermarried with the natives.  Now Pitcairn Island is peopled by the descendants of those men and their native spouses.

Who knows in the near future Siargao could be peopled by a new strain of Filipinos, unique and distinct from the rest. 

Digging Deeper into Childhood Memories

Of waving green balili grass undulating with the wind.  Of quaint nipa huts with dirt floors.  Of bitter-tasting rain water as drinking water from an earthen banga, fed and replenished by rain flowing from the nipa roof.  Of dusty rolling streets where noisy kids paddled their rickety rubber wheels, up and down.  Of a decrepit panaderia at the bottom of the road.  Of an old lady named Inoria resting in her creaky lantay, selling the most delightful bread and pastries a child could hanker.  Etc.

Of these are the itchy splinters that keep resurfacing, as I recall distant time of youth in the bosom of then enviable Cebu City, in the colorful milieu of my mother, her mother, and their relatives.  Mostly of renowned birth, but quite simple and unpretentious in living style and quarters.

My mother originated from old Cebuano families with roots that dated back to early Spanish times. My father who was himself from old Cagayanon families married into that.  Thus, as kids we had spent time in both Cagayan de Oro and Cebu.  While I was already born in Cagayan de Oro, my elder siblings were born in Cebu.

As such, part of my early youth was spent in Cebu and these recollections partake of that part of my growing years.  Of times when we vacationed in Cebu in my grandmother’s house located close to the intersection of old Sikatuna St. with D. Jakosalem Street., a rather quaint section of the city with narrow lonely streets then as now.  We lived intimately nestled close to relatives of my mother.  That meant most of our neighbors then were close relatives, and thus we lived in a small community of extended families.  All this spelled happy and lively times of camaraderie and laughter for the many kids around there.

Thus I reminisce of cool afternoons, just roaming around with other kids inside my grandmother’s homestead which was essentially an empty lot save for the two diffident huts, blanketed by tall green balili grass waving in cadence with slow breezes of the afternoons.  And we kids would just romp and play, tumbling and horsing around not really minding that later on our bodies would get itchy from the grass.  But as kids we frolicked in gay abandon.

My grandmother’s house was situated closer to the lower end of the road downgrade which originated from D. Jakosalem St., set back a bit from the road.  A little bit up but closer to the road was the even smaller house of my grandmother’s little sister, Lola Pepang Ramirez.  Both houses were close enough for conversations to be carried with ease between the two places.  And these modest homes paled in comparison to the size of the lot that grandmother owned.  And she also possessed more real estate in other parts of the province.

My grandmother’s house was a very retiring nipa hut with dirt floors, though the bedrooms may have been a bit elevated and thus had wooden or bamboo floors.   I do not recall our having electric lights then, nor indoor plumbing.  We had drinking water coming from a banga that was fed with rain water coming from the roof.   My grandmother being widowed early, I do not have any recollection of my grandfather.  Similarly, her little sister was also already widowed when they lived close to each other.  One significant thing I do remember what my grandmother busied herself with after her prayers which spanned throughout the whole day was that she was so attached to sewing and darning clothes.  And she was so good at it in detail and symmetry, that the result looked like they were done by machines.  This I can easily recall because I used to watch her often.  And this experience I believe may have also gotten me interested and into sewing and darning clothes.  And this acquired skill has done me good up to this day.

In this rustic environment, we spent whatever little time we garnered during our not so often vacations to the land of my mother, embraced by a tiny neighborhood of good-looking relatives, a welcomed result of an admixture of different ethnic hues obtaining in that place. From Spaniards, to Chinese, and other mestizos.  Grandmother’ stock was considered Mestizo Sangley, and her husband was most likely with Spanish blend.

Philippine Coinage

Philippine coinage is quite distinct from the rest, having thrived in 3 different worlds.  First from its Spanish colonial tutelage that lasted over 300 years, punctuated by 40 odd years of American rule, until 1946 when it was granted independence and had to learn to live on its own under a republic.

And oh what a ride it had been, leaving behind a treasure trove of memories and artifacts whose discoveries and collections could last lifetimes.

Beginning in the 1500’s Spain held away in the islands, and like true colonial powers then tried to suck dry the islands’ treasures and resources to pleasure the kingdom’s imperial elites and their prodigal tastes.  But like lazy imperialists, it never really tried to develop a distinct and separate identity for the archipelago, though it was named after one of its kings, King Phillip.  The Spanish currency system simply got extended to the islands, and beyond that, Spanish citizens intermingled with the rest of the population.  Making only one distinct imperial caveat.  If you were born in the mother country you were referred to as peninsulare, and insulare if born in the islands.   Anyway, the natives were thus blessed with the coinage of the realm sufficient to declare it as also their own.

At the turn of the 19^th century, the Americans came, via a one-sided war against the colonizers, and then pitted against the hapless natives, and ruled the islands with relative ease for some 40 odd years.  This time establishing a separate coinage system for the islands to give it distinct identity, though still a vassal of the new colonizer.  And wonder of wonders, the US established in the islands, the only (up to this day) mint located outside of continental US of A.  It was called the Manila mint and operated until the islands’ independence.

Then came 1946 and independence.  Since then, the republic has taken over its coinage, until the present time

When Man’s Dignity and Respectability Play Second Fiddle to an Accoutrement

 

 

Once read a flippant study in the US about how everyday motorists show certain attitudes in public.  The study was executed quite simply, watching and recording behavior of motorists while idling in front of an intersection waiting for the lights to turn.

And the expected results came out quite cut and dried.  When an expensive car like a Mercedes (that was then the example given) tarries a bit after the lights turn, there was a marked though muted hesitance of those in the back to start honking their horns.  Not in the case of a more common and less-expensive car because almost immediately angry horns would start blaring at the first sign of delay.

The obvious inference was that those in the back associate expensive cars with important and influential people and thus the hesitance, and maybe, the fear to enrage the mighty and powerful.  Not so with regular folks driving the typical sedans you see toiling around.

Nothing new here.  Especially in this age when perception is king. A local Hizzoner who initially portrayed himself as the spokesperson of the masa was noted upon his election to have selected the most expensive SUV to be found locally, instead of taking possession of the former mayor’s still-looking-new and expensive service car. One to commemorate and to measure up to a newly-minted exalted position?

Anyway, this behavior is true in the US, and true everywhere else I dare say.  And I cull from my own personal experiences to drive home this well-worn point

Here in the old homeland, I typically have 3 options of vehicles to drive.  There was a 4^th one, a two-wheeler, but because of real imminent dangers to life and limb decided to consign it to the mountains for some other use.

Lucky me?  Not really, since all 3 of them are quite old – the latest one having come out in 2007, the oldest a remnant of 1995, and the 3^rd, a pretender of a vehicle bought over 10 years ago.  Anyway, they all have one general purpose, to get me from Point A to Point B said idiomatically, with the least amount of accompanying problems like ease of parking, and maneuverability in narrowed streets and traffic jams.  Thus, for certain specific purposes and occasions, each fills the bill which the 2 others would not be able to do as well.  Thus my choices as to which vehicle to use would be predicated by the purpose or purposes of the trip. 

In Cagayan de Oro, with all the attendant traffic problems plaguing the city, the ideal would have been the motorbike.  It could go most anywhere, even on sidewalks and parking would pose no problem. But the lurking trade-off is the risk to one’s health, both physical and mental. So on to the next best options.

Since we are dealing with behavior of motorists, one can say outright that the vehicle that gets the least respect and courtesy is the smallish and cheap Multicab van, and the one that is better deferred to would be the DMax, I guess partly because of its very robust engine and size.  And thus, its overall price. And the oldest one the L200 pick-up is in the middle, at times getting some respect but in most other times treated like the aged senior citizen that it is.

So how do all of this translate or play out into the reality that driving around the  streets of the city on any given day is?

For sure, driving the Multicab literally means getting no respect or quarter at all.  From all and sundry.  Not from the huge and shiny SUVs with their deeply-tinted windows.  Certainly not from the gargantuan trucks oozing out of the city’s narrow streets.  Not from the devil-may-care jeepneys/taxis and other public utilities.   Not from the relas who live in a world all to their own.  Not from the pesky pedicabs sprouting all over the place.  And yes, not even from the wayward pedestrians and the traffic enforcers when they are around.  Why, last Friday one RTA personnel manning a busy intersection could not help himself mutter within earshot how slow my Multicab was in clearing the intersection he was trying to keep from tangling.

This means none of them would give you an inch of right of way even if you waited till kingdom come.  Unless one forces the issue on them, playing a dangerous game of chicken.  And worse, all of them including the noisy motorbikes, will literally steal into your lane or where you find yourself driving, solely at their own pleasure and discretion and no amount of honking could even get the attention of those deaf and dumb motorists.  Though one knows they hear all right.

Yes, the multicab hereabouts could be deemed the perennial concept vehicle of the masa.  They are just so utilitarian and so darn cheap vehicles they can be used for anything and everything – as service car, as family van, as public utility, as whatever.  No wonder not only the masa but including polite society can only show derision and loathing for such low class.  And if you drive one, consider yourself as having been dumped into the same dire category. Getting no respect or courtesy at all, or any quarter given.

But when not driving the multicab, the gray L200 comes in very handy.  Old enough as to not worry about dings and dents, but quite reliable enough because of its older model diesel engine.  Has good loading capacity for short hauls.  Except driving it leads to a bit of confusion, because somehow one is not sure how the rest of the traffic denizens would regard it.  Like I said at times they show it some respect, and because of it one is not left languishing behind in busy intersections.  And one has clout enough to play the game of chicken when the need arises.  Still the classier guys those driving such new and nice SUVS with deeply-tinted windows will dismiss you because you are old and thus not worth much and definitely out of their league. They will most likely not give you the time of day in terms of right of way and exclusivity of driving lanes, preferring to ease you to a corner where you can only wait for them to pass you by to breathe in their noxious exhaust.  This they can do because they are newer and with more muscles, and because they can.

But driving the DMax is a totally different experience.  Why you could even play devil-may-care road hog if you had the mind and bent to do so. You feel you are on top of the world, cruising gallantly and victoriously through the rubble and trash called the rest of traffic.   Why you make people feel that you are the king of the road, having your way with traffic rules and regulations as strictures to be observed only by those who are less gifted and blessed.   Thus parking regulations cannot claim you as part of their domain, but for you to lord over them, at times with a simple flick of the hazard light button even in the middle of the street with traffic crawling all over. In the world of the lawless, you are on 7^th heaven.

Then one wakes up and realizes one cannot be happy or at ease entertaining such lofty presumptions.   Rather one wants to play the role of civic-minded motorist trying to obey traffic regulations in the hope of improving the chaotic situation. Like the proverbial candle lighted in that stormy sea of lawlessness

Still, it is nice to think that when I drive that DMax one could actually explore an upside-down world. A world where individuality reigns, rather than the common good.  Or where selfish personal whims pre-empt social goals.

 

 

 

 

Deliverance

 

From the early inky darkness of humanity’s ascent, through its dawning antiquity and now the almost naked clarity of its modern times, there has always been embedded in the deep recesses of his latent longings the gaping need for deliverance.  Essentially, that common thread that ran through the ages has been the strong desire for liberation from the vicissitudes of daily living.  Man since his novice years has never had an easy life, as we are taught in the holy books.  He came into this world with a very flawed nature, not in full grasp and control of the contravening forces that inhabit his daily living; forces that appear to go against his very nature.

In early times, man had always banked on the arrival of somebody or some things that would offer him release from his almost inborn sufferings from the world.  And in those times, he had always hoped that some extraneous forces would suddenly appear in the skies to bring him that release.

The ancient Jews also had identical expectations of Christ.  The promised Messiah that would snatch them away from their temporal miseries and lay them down to the Promised Land.  Unfortunately for them, Christ had a quite different idea.  Instead he had impressed upon them with the way he had lived his earthly life that deliverance would not come from outside of man, His excellence and Godhead notwithstanding.

Instead further he had impressed upon them that their rescue would ensue from the necessary changes to be wrought in their own lives.  The radical change being that they all should follow the life of Christ since only that imitation would ensure deliverance for them.  He had said, I am the Way and the Truth and the Life.  No one comes to the Father except through me.

Fast forward to the current times.  Our time.  And we are still looking for our deliverer, and still from one of flesh and blood.  In the person of our leader, Dear President.  We vociferously shout to him to deliver us from our vicissitudes.  And he appears to be inattentive, and to his detractors, clueless, about how to bring about that discharge.

His mumbled or jumbled utterances appear to come from nowhere – from nowhere that would give us understanding and wisdom.  Words and ideas seemingly articulated with a careless smirk, a mocking sneer, and even willful disregard and nonchalance for his constituents.

 Have we lost our bearings, or were we ever privy to the truth of what Christ had left us as legacy and gift? That our deliverance ought to emanate from us, and not from any forces without, especially those man-made or man himself?

Thus, the US and its boundless benevolence cannot save us, not the EU, Japan and whatever hosts of altruistic countries or organizations people can litanize.  Neither can our deliverance come from those that could provide us with most effective and lethal armaments man or country could devise.

Listen then to the hazy rhetoric of Duterte and in our hearts of hearts try to unravel if we can find parallels and connections with how our deliverance may be wrought for us.   That the overarching message may be that the Way is to cut umbilical ties with all the extraneous forces that we have been attached to all these times, and try working with our own resources and ingenuity to bring about our own progress and development.

Look not from without, but from within.

 

 

Election Epilogue Ushers in Real Prologue

 

 

 

In its earnest attempt to wrap itself on the relevant issues of the day, my puny mind sizes certain things up this way.  Many of us that do social media regularly, may not really want to aim for changes that will drastically change the landscape of the country, physically, economically, and socially.  Maybe “want” is not the right word, but more along this line, that given our fortunate status in life, it would be difficult for us to fathom the kind of fundamental changes that would be needed to bring about real meaningful reforms in society, governance, and in the economy in general.  So “cannot” is the better operative word.

After all, many of us live lives that can be considered comfortable and affluent enough.  And in any context, it is a difficult choice to try and upset the status quo, with its warts and all.  But truly, our privations in life are not anywhere near the same degree and caliber as the poor in the country, which by any worthy standards number too much.  Not just discerned from cold and hard statistical facts, but by cursory ocular observation around where we live and spend our days.  What the poor suffer are glaringly worse in comparison with the challenges in life that we perceive and imagine.  At times, worlds apart.

 And the poor gather in such great numbers, we can categorize them into different groups. We not only have the sorry multitudes of the very impoverished  poor, but the hardly-visible working poor, and the under-employed poor donning a  false façade of physical respectability and success.

 These great numbers are truly the ones in dire want of real reforms, but whether they are aware of the magnitude and requirements of their needs is another issue. One is not even sure if their numbers know what kind of reforms are necessary to ameliorate their unacceptable situations.  So it will be necessary for us the “enlightened” to lead the way to their “promised land”.  Noblesse Oblige.

And in a rare confluence of events, their numbers are joined by those in the upper echelons of society who are tired of the too-long tried and failed rule of the oligarchic elite.  In their utter frustration and restiveness, they too want change, great and novel change.

All this amidst the entire country enjoying good advances in domestic production and services to give it a justifiable claim as a surging tiger economy trailing the  hot heels of progress and development. Except that in micro-economic levels these good stuff do not trickle down any lower than maybe the upper 5% of the population, giving it a very bad case of very uneven and lopsided distribution of wealth and gaping income inequality.

The preponderance of rhetoric and issues in this election then centered around and about that crappy and unrefined outlier, but who was one perceived as divorced from anything and anybody connected with the lamented status quo.

 Maybe it is time to stop paying lip service to that old Magsaysay adage many politicians like to quote in times of wakeful reverie, which shiningly declares that one who has less in life should have more in law.  First to understand what it means, and next how best to make it reality.

The Evolution Of An Unscripted Search For The Ideal Home

  

After a long dry spell, I finally found both the time and urge to create a new blog entry, if only to keep alive the memory and animo of a blog that was started several years ago.

What to write about?

Something that has always been in the recesses of my mind, but never expressed nor allowed to ease into the forefront of things.

What many might suggest as the reflexive answer to the oft-repeated question of what their ideal home ought to be.

As kids and wards of our parents, the whole bit about an ideal abode surely did not occupy our consciousness.  We lived with our parents, and lived we did in the house or houses they provided for us.  It was not our anointed lot to be involved in the process of choosing places to stay.  We simply lived – with them.  And liked it or not, that sufficed for our continued existence.

As we grew and acquired our own families, again that question may have been farthest from our minds.  Why, we were too busy trying to eke out a living to worry about ideals.  There were budgets to worry about.  Work opportunities that probably took us to places we detested.  But we went anyway because work was more paramount.  A no-brainer choice compared to unemployment which could bring one’s family closer to starvation or deprivation.

And years may have rolled faster than we could have imagined before the same question may even have crossed our minds, though it obviously will at one time or other since this frenetic world of consumerism and temporal ideals will not leave anybody in peace.  Alluring advertisements in magazines and on audio-visual media, and even like-minded friends and acquaintances will not let us alone.  And there is no escaping that, unless one lived solitarily and in the mountains.

So now leaden and gray, we are left to ponder about the question again.  This time a new alignment is in our stars, giving us time and space, and maybe some extra resources, to seriously explore the question.

What would be an ideal place to live – for you and the rest of your reduced household, as empty-nesters really?  Not when you were young and ambitious.  Not when such an ideal abode could have provided optimal solace and comfort during your difficult years of raising a growing family or dealing with the multitudinous pressures of work.  But at this present time.

Such is the issue at hand.

Chronologically retracing the places where we had resided and spent precious time with family could help develop a keen perspective not immediately fathomed if we resorted to other methods.

The first real place that our fledgling family could call our own home was an old and tiny half of a duplex located in the periphery of Nazareth Subdivision in Cagayan de Oro, the land of my birth.  Rented for the measly sum of 65 pesos a month, it was very decrepit, sewage was leaky and thus made the place looked very filthy and unsanitary, walls were flimsy thus privacy was compromised, and it was hot and humid, dingy and too small for any comfort.  But we survived it, me, my wife, and two kids.  Overall, it was farthest from what could be considered ideal by any measure.

Thrown far into a distant place in pursuit of a better employment future, we rented another apartment.  No better or worse than the first, but maybe a little bigger space-wise.  Made worse by very unreliable electric power, though made more bearable by kindly and very hospitable landlords.  Had recurring bouts of loneliness and strong pining for a more citified environment.  Which promptly disappeared only after that short stint ended.

We were back again to the old hometown.  And the search for an abode close to work ensued.  It was back to the periphery of Nazareth Subdivision, to another duplex which was small, but painted and brand-new.  The small lot on which the building sat was bounded in the back by the city cemetery.  Ugh! Overall, nothing to crow about or a resting place devoid of any redeeming value worth a moment’s remembrance.  Space again was inadequate made worse by the arrival of twins, which doubled the total number of kids.

Finally in desperation, we decided to opt for acquiring our own house.  Not that the family was now oozing with wealth or ease.  But it was the only feasible solution to our multiplying challenges.

It was then that the idea of an ideal house for a growing family became a possibility.

We had purchased on installment two (2) lots totaling over 600 sq. m. in a brand-new and ultra-modern subdivision situated in a prime location very close to the poblacion core where I worked.  Wow!  And 2 lots to boot!

But when construction finally started after a whirlwind of preparatory moves, things had changed drastically.

One lot had been assigned to a sister so she could also construct her own house beside ours.  Though the lot where ours would stand was over 300sq. m. it would be a one-storey duplex, one half to be occupied by my dear mother with our youngest and unmarried sister.

We did live in that cramped space of a house with 4 kids and the help for the next 5 years.  Not ideal but bearable, it was after all our own house.  The first house we ever owned.

Then it was family immigration to another country in our continuing search for better opportunities.

We ended going thru the same rigmarole as when we started as a family – first bunking with relatives, then moving to a flat and then to an apartment.

To finally our own house.  Any house that we could afford – without any consideration or thought about what would be ideal for us.  So we ended in an old house with 1200 sq. feet of living space.  Its sidewalls flushed to both neighboring houses, making the entire block looking like a row of fused houses. Individual backyards provided some breathing spaces or elbow room for the occupants.  And for the next 20 years we would call this home.  Not ideal, but safe and secure comfort.

Halfway into our stay there, it was realized that relocation to another place would do the kids still in school better – better environment for both schooling and neighborhood.  Again, a duplex was the choice, though now it was called a patio home.  And it had more space and more rooms.  The development of a few acres had its own main street and open gates.  Still looking like a cookie-cutter community made more so by strict rules on the color of the houses – which was one color.

After retirement, the empty nesters had more depth and breadth to their visions of where the ideal place to live would be.

Away from the frenzied pace of urbanized living, in a newly developed community which used to be a farming town. Finally we were in a detached single-family house with some yards, and lots of elbow room within its over 2500 sq. feet of living space.  Though still part of a cookie-cutter type of development, except a lot larger in acreage.

Then we had to move back to the old homeland, whether permanently or not is still a floating issue, wafting out there in the firmament of uncertainty.  All our kids and their families are still out there.

But could we now pursue and bring fruition to our ideas about what and where the ideal abode ought to be – for us?  Well, maybe somewhat.

We now live in a nice house that we had built for ourselves – with detailed specifications essentially originating from our perceived likes and dislikes.  Though it bore many construction deficiencies, it can pass as livable and comfortable.  The lot on which it stands is smallish, as subdivision lots go.  It is not far from where the first house we ever owned now stands, though the latter had been renovated and made a lot bigger.  But overall, our place could be made better – like maybe in a better location, with better climate, with more natural amenities, etc.

So maybe, this could be the answer.

 

 

Out there in the mountains with its very cool climate, with a babbling brook in the back and within earshot.  Away from the chaotic hustle and bustle of city life and annoying people.

So who knows what after all this is done and ready for occupancy.  The future holds many answers.

Because as ever, life is a continuing journey.  A work in progress.

 

 

 

 

On Returning to the old Homeland

 

Many Filipino expats show uneasy ambivalence in their plans to return for good to the old homeland, with good justifiable reasons.  However, here are a few thoughts that could help in addressing the issue.

If one is simply planning an abbreviated visit, then it is quite easy not to mind the many “quirks” one finds there, or maybe even laugh them off. 

But once one starts living there and experiences these things on a daily basis and as part of one’s daily existence, then it becomes a different thing, especially for those of us who have been exposed to and have soaked in the nice living environments in other more advanced communities.

One has to have a heart of stone, calloused emotions, or even very deaf ears not to be affected by those pesky things around that need correction or improvement.  If so, then frustrations and/or anger could easily take over.  Or one gets prone to intuitively express unsolicited vocal criticisms at the very least.   If not more, like wanting to exhibit the itchy urge to try to do something about them.

For others, retreating in isolation to their own private little worlds is an escape option – their own beach-side or mountain-top hideaways, or hidden nooks and crannies in some remote barrio or town, etc.   Insulated from the rest of the world.

Anyway, coming back to stay for many of those planning to will not be that cut and dried, believe you me.  It will involve a lot of discovery or re-discovery, if you will, and making attitudinal adjustments in case the desire to stay put is strong.

Sorry to appear so grim and gloomy in my personal perspective, but I believe it is best to be forewarned and prepared.

Our Minority Status In Cagayan de Oro

It is sad to observe how our current situation is yet another grand display of the workings of our frail human nature. In the midst of tremendous human failures in our government, many considered good prayerful people of our community have decided to just sit back and be passive or worse, continue to throw support to a regime that ought to have been driven out so many years ago. Thus, amidst the wholesale chaos in our streets and thereabouts, things appear to be business as usual.

They come from all ranks. Successful businessmen who enjoy good patronage from both the people and government who believe that upsetting the applecart could only derail their successes. Or maybe they couldn’t care less.

School administrators and officials who have decided that what is important for them is that inside their hallowed halls and premises where they reign supreme, things are under control. Never mind what goes on outside their closed gates. Thus, traffic is usually atrocious in and around their vicinities. And yes, never mind that city governance is negatively impacting their abilities to operate their enterprises in the near future.

One could think that even the clergy from all denominations would rather preach religion passionately to their flocks but maintain a detached and silent attitude about the rest of the community which is being royally screwed by government.

And the rest of the politicians, of course, would rather protect their turf and make alliances for the next elections, however objectionable those partnerships may be. After all for most of them, political expediency is the end-all and be-all.

And we even have the highest executive of our land, if our reports are to be believed, who would rather that we the people make “as much noise” first so he can move. But in the midst of such glaring and blatant disregard of law and order, one would think that not necessary for him to proceed to do his appointed tasks.

And maybe a community so inured to lawlessness, pain, suffering, and inequity and has thus lost the grasp of or ability for change?

Thus, explains our minority status.

Bi-coastal Life

Last Sunday afternoon after a nice warm bath, I flopped my tired aching body to a nice soft sofa to face my friendly news gatherer – the TV set connected to a local cable company. With remote firmly clasped and electric fan quietly swooning in the background, I was ready to travel.

Held the notch on what is called locally as the Bloomberg Channel. A lively live debate was underway. Splashed across the screen in front of the portly moderator who stood behind an imposing lectern was the statement: California Is A Failed State. Huh, what? I almost lost consciousness. California, home to Hollywood, Apple, Facebook, Intel, Google, Yahoo, the most populous state in the union, among the top ten largest economies in the world taken separately, the most innovative, etc., a failed state?

Anyway after intently listening for a few minutes, I was getting the picture. There apparently is a proposition, or a ballot initiative put forth by the voters, that seeks to declare that the state indeed is a failed state. Probably to be voted upon during the next local elections this coming November. This whole process is uniquely California, an enviable model in its exercise of “direct democracy” - when the people themselves take a hand in governance.

Across one side, the negative side to a debate, I recognize the 3 panelists. – erstwhile CA governor, Gray Davis, who was unceremoniously ousted during a recall election that saw the start of the Arnie reign; Van Jones, of late an Obama appointee who had to decline due to some pretty incendiary statements made by him in his prior life, and Lawrence O’Donnell, an MSNBC anchor noted for his caustic anger against anything conservative.. All decidedly liberal in political orientation. And on the other side, the affirmative side, they had 3 panelists who were not known to me. – a lady editor of a popular website or group, a male economist, and another male panelist who had served in some administration. All who I suppose declared themselves as conservatives.

With a huge enough live audience who asked questions directed to all panelists, the overall discussion was interesting, friendly and civil so that my guess is that everybody walked away from it learning more about the attendant issue.

Of course, the issue itself has been dogging California for a long, long time, way past Grey Davis’ administration. People have been noticing the slow decline of the California economy and the shameful neglect of its government in stemming that downward tide. People have complained of recurring huge state deficits, too many regulations in its economic life from business to the environment, businesses burdened by too many taxes and regulations that they were leaving in droves, cities were deteriorating politically and socially, the latter in the form of unabated homelessness on city streets, infrastructures like roads and bridges were crumbling due to neglect, etc. Etc. Of course add to that, the still teetering housing situation which continues to hit the state harder than others. As we speak some areas have already lost more than 50% of home values pegged from 4-5 years ago. And still spiraling down with no bottom in sight.

But that is not my point. Personally, the issue for me is old hat, yesterday’s meal.

But because I am a naturalized citizen and continue as a resident of California, I am directly impacted by what happens there. While now spending some time in the old homeland, still one cannot ignore the realities there because pretty soon I will be back there for a spell. Most likely spending the same time when the local elections will be held.

What is astounding is that I can live 7000 miles away from it and still vicariously participate in its critical affairs at the flip of a switch, while at the same time still having my ears attuned to the local events that also daily affect my current life here. Straddling between two coasts without loss of any real time! One of today’s wonders!

But how shall I vote on this issue? That is not a “consummation devoutly to be wished”.

Some Observations on FICCO’s 56th General Assembly March 2011

This year’s overriding theme for another promised historic general assembly was “Blazing the Trail for One Coop, One Vision, and One Nation”. And indeed FICCO has been all that and more. But certain incidents leading up to the assembly date also promised to mark the event as another boisterous event. Chief among them were the now open enmity between certain members of the board resulting in reported shouting matches, laced with serious charges and countercharges; and the falling out of the credit union from the supported partylist, Ating Koop, culminating in the board’s resolution to break away completely from it in spite of the millions of pesos of credit union funds sunk into the effort. And this latter issue has splintered the board into two warring factions, making things look like we are witnessing fierce proponents in some private for-profit enterprise rather than in a credit union famed for its noble purposes of service and volunteerism. Thus, the date came with great anticipation for many members, especially those belonging to the main office.

This is a personal assessment of the whole affair, if only to tie together all the disparate parts. Only this time this will be less about the performance of the credit union which continues to score historic points, but more about the troublesome pressure points rocking the management level of the organization which have patently distracted the elected officers from their primary tasks of steering our huge ship in a singularly focused manner.

This is no technical analysis, or any serious treatise, but rather a randomly compiled narrative depicting how an observant layman member perceived the whole process and had then decided to reduce the experience into print.

To begin thus, this member observed the registration process with a general nod of approval. Attendance was very inspiring. Even with my early arrival of 15 minutes before 10am which was the scheduled start of registration, a sizable number of members of the main office were already in a bit of frenzy jockeying for positions in the many lines assigned. The actual assembly was scheduled for 12 noon but this member had decided to register early expecting an easy sailing and then just come back for the assembly itself. There were 3 lines for senior members bursting with grey-haired members eager to register and receive their package. The only damper was the realization that even for those clearly advanced in age crowding in lines was still in vogue. People still pushed with their bodies and blurred lines like there was a life-threatening emergency that they wanted to get out of in a hurry. Missing was the deference and orderliness that one expected from those more experienced in life.

Anyway, when my turn came it went fast and easy. With package in hand, I was out of there in a jiffy, drove out quickly to do some shopping, and then went through the material given at home. Now, the thick booklet that comprised as the main document of the package, loaded with all the financial statements and tons of critical information which compressed an entire year operation, ought to be given earlier so serious members get ample opportunities to pore over them, rather than cram during the harried time they can scarcely allocate after registration and before actual deliberations. Only a well-informed body can be expected to participate seriously in deliberations of this serious nature. And of course, a well-informed body makes for a more efficient and expeditious discharge of the many businesses attendant to an annual assembly.



Anyway, I was back inside the assembly site at past 12 noon half-expecting an assembly already underway. Thus quickened my pace to the cavernous auditorium to find an amply filled place, though the bleachers looked mostly vacant. But an assembly nowhere near being started. After a quick query from a staff member, I was told it could start any time. It eventually started before 2pm. Being on time has always been a problem with Filipinos and this event was no exception.

While the electric atmosphere commenced early during the readings of the various minutes of the previous assembly, the heat really elevated when the various resolutions were brought to the floor. Thus when the fireworks started was when one had fertile ground to mine for commentary.

And that was when the noise pollution was ramped up, where speakers using highly-sensitive microphones already turned up to full volume, bellowed with their speeches in very high decibels filling the entire place with what could be judged as like noise pollution. With impassioned speakers sounding like self-justified aggrieved parties, throwing both charges and ad hominems against their perceived tormentors. One was made to believe that there was a private confrontation between two factions, unmindful not only of their high calling as elected officers of a credit union but also of the fact that the general membership had little to do with the private wars being waged. Matters that would be better served if discussed and resolved privately, or within the confines of a smaller group like say in a board meeting.

And the irony in this was that recurrent mention was made of both democracy and representation. Justification was made for all this washing of dirty laundry in public as sterling signs of a democratic process and of representative democracy. But in my humble judgment it was neither democratic nor representative.

While granting that the democratic process can be messy and chaotic, the greater issue to remember is that while people can and will always disagree on issues, they need not be disagreeable in the process. We should always defer to ethical standards and show circumspection as a sign of respect to the subject of our tirades and especially to those ears that cannot help but to grudgingly listen to them being captive audience.

And it cannot be truly representative if discussions are hogged by a very select and small number of members and officers. But that was what happened, when turns at the microphones and the floor were exchanged only between the same people over and over again. It should be the task of the moderator to spread around the discussions to as many members as possible. That’s one way of assuring that brainstormed ideas are truly representative of the entire assemblage and not just of a small vocal group who cannot help themselves from speaking out at every occasion that turns up.

But in spite of all the bluster, this corner feels that certain issues which should have deserved more exposure were skirted and glossed over because maybe they did not advance the self interests of those concerned. I refer specifically to the attempted politicization of the organization as epitomized by the officers’ devoted attention to and avid encouragement of the partylist participation which ended in a most disappointing and expensive lesson for the credit union. Though a “timeline” was detailed in a newsletter that resulted in disbursements that totaled over 11 million pesos, this corner did not hear any more clarification from any of those board members who took great pains and efforts to push this agenda to the general membership, a general membership that looks to them for guidance, knowledge, and especially wisdom in the conduct of union affairs. Albeit the millions in losses, the preferred treatment had been that of silence from those directly involved. Where is the owning up and taking responsibility part for those who presented themselves as honorable and transparent guardians of union funds and affairs? I left during the waning moments of the assembly, which was past 5:30pm. Was this issue inserted during those moments? Like the typical late Friday afternoon press releases resorted to by scheming political administrations bent on going under the radar regarding some issues?

First of all, where is the wisdom in having the credit union engage actively in partisan politics, in a reality where politics is inherently judged to be corrupt and divisive? In a series of moves toward this end, one sensed that the union was not only designing itself in order to curry political favors, but to position itself to create a political base purportedly to serve its noble goals and interests. At the start, it was an endeavor that was deigned to fail, and fail it did.

Another misstep not given proper due was the recording of a paper loss of over four million pesos, all because some officers needed to declare income on the investment. And the solution rendered was to redeem the instrument while at the same time re-investing the same amount in the same instrument. Because it was not done on a timely manner, a paper loss ensued. But what was not even mentioned was whether the redemption process involved the payment of fees and commissions which is typical. Never mind the paper loss because it could be recovered by registering a paper gain when the performance of the investment improves.

What is sorely construed in all this is the apparent nonchalance by the parties concerned in owning up and taking responsibility for errant acts done in the discharge of positions of trust and of a fiduciary nature. Is it just invincible cluelessness or deliberate attempts at sweeping things under the rug?

An assembly that was scheduled to end at 5pm may have gone way past the time, and I could not tell since I could not muster enough free time to stay past 5:30pm. And I personally attribute this to a lack of good time management, a task primarily lodged on the moderator of the event. The moderator has to be proactive in making sure time is not wasted on endless discussions with no or scant bearing on the issues at hand, or on rambling speeches by those so inclined. Attention to political correctness or too much sensitivity on people’s feelings has to be curbed for far greater purposes. Like that precious manhours should never be wasted on loopy pursuits.

The Lemoncito Blooms In Tracy

Though arguably a native of the Philippines, the lemoncito (Sp. diminutive for lemon), or more popularly known in the Philippines as calamansi, does grow and fruit in temperate climates like in California.

The lemoncito is a shrub or a small tree known to grow as high as 3 to 6 meters and is better adapted to tropical areas. Known in the West as the calamondin, its scientific name is citrofortunella microcarpa. Aptly termed microcarpa because of the fruit’s small size, looking like a small orange orb when ripe.

Old childhood memories prodded one to transplant a growing lemoncito shrub from foggy Daly City to our new abode in sunblest Tracy, CA. Nostalgic recollection points one to childhood experiences where the fruit and its many uses figured prominently.

One such use could be classified as medicinal or therapeutic.

As I easily recall we were a family of nine kids, living in cramped quarters in the middle of a bustling city and whose young members were thus most prone to ordinary ailments children were heir to – colds, coughs, sore throats and other irritating EENT conditions.

Our ever resourceful doting mother was always ready with the concoction she called agridulce to treat those minor distractions. And preventatively dispensed with at times when the climes were ripe for them to visit us, like the rainy season, or the very humid nights spent inside our shuttered rooms curled inside our musty mosquito nets.

Agridulce, which is Spanish for sweet and sour, was blended from the juice of the lemoncito, with hot or tap water added, flavored with a liberal dose of sugar, and stirred with all the fruit’s pits swimming in the pale mixture. The fruit’s very sour taste blended well with sweet cane sugar, creditably acquitting its name of agridulce.

Our present lemoncito tree, which grows proudly side by side with a regular lemon tree, appears stunted in growth though abloom with fruits that are now ripening. I blame that on negligent maintenance, due to the long absence of the resident gardener, me.

Still I eagerly look forward to the day when I can harvest the lemoncito’s fruits and make me an agridulce.

Cheers.

For A Change: Government Works!

In the old homeland, bureaucratic red tape is the norm, siring corruption in its many manifestations as its runaway stepchild. The truism is that nothing works right in government. If one wants something done requiring government participation or intervention the usual route is to “bribe” the first government bureaucrat on sight to get results that would approximate anything decently passable. And this red tape cascades from top level responsibilities of government institutions down to such petty stuff as registering your business, filing tax returns or pay fees, or yes, getting a driver’s license.

But not anymore. At least for the last process mentioned above – getting a driver’s license.

I had heard mentioned before by friends the unbelievable wonders that had transpired in the usually tedious and corruption-wracked processes involved with the land transportation agency, from securing driver’s licenses to registration of motor vehicles. As a young kid dealing with this agency, then called the MVO (Motor Vehicles Office) to get my first license, I had my first learning exposure to the petty corruption associated with certain government agencies. It was my first brush with this ugly monster that is now an acceptable reality in the country, from the petty to the huge and sublimely gross. Enough to merit global notice and tag it as one of the most corrupt nations in the world.

Any juvenile discussion we had then brought to center attention this derided agency, coupled with the allied corruption exhibited by some policemen who made life miserable for some of us kids honing our driving skills on the comparatively empty streets of our little town.

Thus, it was with almost unbelievable glee and surprise when this time around as a returning compatriot, I found myself going through the process of securing a local license for my extended stays, and being treated with such unexpected dispatch and ease. Almost like I had gone to heaven to do an earthly chore.

First, a little background explanation for the kind of procedure that I had to go through in “re-newing” a local license that had expired almost 30 years ago. I had initially thought that all it needed was to present the old license, get lectured for my neglect in its timely renewal, pay a fine, and then the typical long wait for the renewed license. Quite simple though maybe drawn-out time-wise. But I thought wrong.

This time the agency (now called LTO – Land Transportation Office) has a very accessible sub-office right within the most popular mall in the city. So one’s weekday leisurely visits to the mall can now also involve going to that office and asking questions about driver’s licenses.

After explaining my most unique situation, I was told in no mean terms that no, I could not renew the old license since it has been over 10 years ago that it expired. That I would have to go through the whole process of securing a license, much like the young greenhorn I was when I first secured my license, going through the layered process of first securing a student’s permit. That sunk me deeply inside. Imagine going through the whole excruciating process – studying, taking an oral exam, actual driving test, etc. Once in a lifetime should be more than enough for such torture.

But a ray of blissful light. Unless, I had a valid foreign license. Voila! And that I had, a US California license that was not expiring till the end of this new year. This would involve a conversion of the foreign license into a local license.


And this would require the following documentation to be submitted. Not really, just Xeroxed copies of the originals. My foreign license, my foreign passport and the page where the latest port of entry stamp is found. But first I had to pass must-have drug and medical tests. And by the way, a one-stop shop sits next to this sub-office where urine can be tested on site and a resident doctor can provide for instant cursory medical examination. In less than 30 minutes, I was out of there beaming, with a negative drug test and a clean bill of health certification in my possession. It helped that I am in good shape (ahem!) and I do not take narcotics other than those present in prescribed medication.

The following day armed with all the other requirements (Xeroxed copies) I was on my way to the main office located in the western edge of the city, promptly at 8am, the appointed hour I was told that government offices open for business. I was wrong a second time.

Some government employees use a good part of that first hour bantering with fellow employees, or for the ladies making their faces up, or for latecomers buffer time to arrive for work. Anyway my cynical self had planned for a long waiting period.

Surprise of surprises, I was out of there with my spanking new license in less than an hour, of course, counting from the time the first window opened. Aside from the documents submitted and the fees paid, no further questions were required or asked. And was poorer only by 1500 pesos for the entire experience.

Kudos to the new expeditious processing at LTO!

A couple of minor dampers really.

Plastered and writ large among the many notices on the walls of the agency was the bold warning that clients should not engage the services of fixers in conducting their business. But lo and behold, a young diminutive person (wearing some plastic employee badge dangling in his neck) and clearly from his speech a member of our favorite local minority glared at me upon my arrival close to one of the unattended windows and with a hand motion asked for the documents I was going to submit. Looked at them, hesitated, and then in a low voice away from the earshot of the slowly gathering crowd asked if I needed to have this expedited. Sensing a con, I parried with the innocuous statement that I needed anyway to speak to the lady at the window about something else. That ended the episode and as I curiously peered at the moving figure, I noticed that he had moved on to another part of the compound, closer to the gate and parking lot. Maybe, looking for another kill?

The other one, even more minor. I would have been issued the permanent plastic laminated license, except that their machine broke and I will have to contend with holding on to a temporary license good for six months until the machine is repaired.

Oh well, one cannot really expect everything to go smoothly. The facility and speed in the issuance of the license was miracle enough.

And I count my blessings as they come my way.