Clinton vs Trump

 

How I view the world of cosmic differences of Clinton vs Trump, setting aside sex and bias and my/our personal self-interests.

Clinton is definitely a consummate politician, having spent her life so far in that tumultuous arena, and a seasoned lawyer, too.  As such she is much nuanced in all the known intricacies of the political game, both within and even beyond ethics or our perceived morality.  And she may even be perceived as unscrupulous or amoral in the dogged pursuit of political correctness (imagine her unequivocal support for late-term abortion).  Making use of all these means and more, she with her nuclear family have survived all “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortunes”.  And their collective past has been typified and littered with very dark and foreboding episodes, among them  the Lewinsky case, the humiliating impeachment, Benghazi, the stealthy maintenance of a private email server, blatant lies caught and revealed, etc.; and at times literally littered with dead bodies.   But they have weathered them all, and have even been generously rewarded with financial largesse.

Trump however is essentially a businessman, not a politician and thus an outlier, and maybe more an entertainer given his most recent pursuits and avocation; but, he is definitely all in pursuit of self-interests and self-satisfaction.  Given his orientation he is known to be brusque, brutish, unrefined in the eyes of polite society.  Political correctness is not in his vocabulary, maybe because his outsized ego will not permit it.

His track record is also laid bare and naked, a record also quite checkered in many respects.  Many public bankruptcies, associations with gambling and casinos, and the unhappy trails of many suits filed against him and his enterprises.  But he too weathered all of them, and as testimony he continues to swim in the lap of luxury and opulence. 

In both cases, the rule of law of men smiled at them.  And withheld harsh judgment, though whether justly or unjustly who is to say.

One defining difference in the comparison though is that Trump in all this pursued his own personal interests, while that of Clinton was all done under the noble shield of public service. 

Remember too in public service one tries to do great service to gain approbation, self-contentment, and of course, votes during elections.  But in business, the standard and measure is essentially how rich and influential one has become.

Being now in the same arena, supposedly all in the name of self-less and altruistic service, we will find Clinton so at home and comfortable in her own skin; while Trump unless he realizes the importance of this delineation, will flounder and not be easy on the eyes and minds of the electorate at large.  He has to take on the role and accoutrements required in the political game.  He chose freely to enter, as it were, into the lion’s den.  It is his to adjust and adapt, or be unceremoniously set aside.

Their married lives have also been grist for the mill in this campaign.  And what can one say.  Except both are so not in the ordinary, or are unusual and technicolored.  And neither one would be happy to discuss or revel in the subject during fireside chats with family and friends, especially conservative older folks.  

Though children ought not to be dragged in, but since both chose to bring them in, then they too became fodder for media and committed supporters.

Records would show that Chelsea has led a quite sheltered life, not having to go through any period of privation.  Went to excellent schools, and when done given a very cushy job with benefits that would pop the eyes of any jobseeker.  And when time to get married, everything in high-fashionable style and luxurious elegance, complete with a 10million dollar abode.  A very far cry from the humble beginnings of Bill Clinton in Hope, Arkansas.

Having married at least 3 times, Trump has several children.  The adult ones work under the Trump array of enterprises.  I suppose they all went to excellent schools, too, and when done immediately installed as critical players in their organization.  Listening to the ones who are in the public sphere, they appear to acquit themselves creditably in personality, manners, and cognitive abilities.  I add this because I know little of them, unlike Chelsea who has been in the limelight since childhood.

It is safe to say that probably it is a harder task being part of an organization that could either profit or lose, than just be employed in a big company or tag along with your parents during political sorties, or personal trips, or etc.

 Given all the above, where do our fears of selection stand?  And are they still valid and founded?  As I had declared earlier, between the 2, I favor Trump.  And it is not founded by fears for or against either, for any way we live with fears and uncertainties daily in our lives.  We ought to learn and manage and continue our lives in tandem with them.

What about their politics?

That would take a novel-size treatise.

So in a most microscopic synopsis.  Hillary represents the revolution started by Obama, to “fundamentally change the US of A”; and Trump represents all that the US was before, and going back would make “America great again”.

The details are all eschewed, assisted in no small measures by unscrupulous supporters essentially coming from one side assisted by water-carrying media.  And this technique has not only spawned the current fears, but the outright violence we see in the streets that articulates the divides between the races, and the haves and have-nots. 

The question then is:

Do we like what we see or do we want a return to what it was?

 

 

 

 

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.

Of Social Mores and Beauty Pageants and More

Current social mores are at the very least confusing, but at worst, hypocritical.  And without the guidance of traditional moral virtues will continue to be so.

Societies have over the ages gone and progressed a lot, but a little examination will reveal that in spite of all this, we still continue to pursue activities that in truth expose us to greater dangers from the baseness or coarseness of our primordial instincts as human beings.  We like to celebrate how far we have untied ourselves from the prudishness of yesteryears while at the same time have curbed the prurient tendencies that sat at the other extreme.  But we appear to have leaned too much one way, at the grave expense of the other.

 These stubborn concerns came to the fore when the results of a beauty pageant were thrust into the world stage because of an error committed by the emcee.  The end result was that instead of the candidate initially proclaimed, the real winner was the participant coming from the Philippines.  And the entire world it seems is in a gnarled twist not so much about the pageant itself, but about the unintended ramifications on all the parties concerned – from the candidates to the emcee, the countries represented.  It would appear further that countries of the participants are being suckered in to get involved in this petty controversy like it had the makings of serious national security issues. This news eclipsed many of the more pressing news in the world, relegating them to the sidelines until maybe when all this pageant brouhaha subsides or spends itself to ennui.

 Many no doubt, and they indeed did based on entries/comments on social media and other on-line sources, wonder why the fuss about all this.

 It is the usual run-of-mill beauty contest after all, where women are paraded around publicly before adoring eyes of judges, mostly male, in different sessions of dress and undress.  From traditional attire to the skimpiest of attire, passing as bathing suits.  The latter of course getting the most attention and media coverage.  Thus, when in the news it is expected to see a gallery of these women baring all that exercise, diet, sun, cosmetics, or what have you, have enhanced in the natural beauty nature has gifted to their bodies from birth.  These contests do have segments where their mental acuities are tested, like a question or two about some worldly concerns such as peace, wars, etc.  And of course, a talent segment where these ladies get a chance to show their favorite hobbies whether singing, declaiming, or playing an instrument.  But truth be told, the contest is about how well physically developed their bodies are and more to the point, how desirable they appear to those countless males looking for partners to  mate.  One can then say sensuality becomes a critical measure in picking the likely winners.

 I doubt anybody will dispute that any normal, healthy, hetero-male exposed to such paragons of desirability and sensuality, and being allowed or allowing himself to savor those moments, does not instinctively feel his desires for procreation stirred up and started.  And I say, instinctively, with not much prodding.

 And the popularity and pervasiveness of beauty pageants, from the local, to the national, to the international, have created different niches in different industries inexorably developing to a point where it won’t be long, this will become an industry all its own.  From cosmetics and outlets such as stores and parlors, to physical fitness trainers, to coaches of different modalities, etc.  Already certain So. American countries are noted for such push to ensure winners in their contestants.

 And these thorny moral issues are true not just in beauty pageants, but in a gallery of socially acceptable activities that we now have permeating all levels of our societies.

 We go next to the modelling business which traditionally had been intended to highlight the creations of those who manufacture apparel and various accessories.  Now we know that instead of the clothes, the ones wearing them get more attention and benefits.  The men and women, but mostly the latter, have become the centerpieces of this industry.  And like beauty pageants, the lady models have become the luscious bits to be ogled at.  And these same ladies have gladly obliged by parading in the barest of clothing and in most seductive poses. And again a critical factor in popularity is the degree of sensuality exuded.

 To digress, read an online item about how the models of a famous lingerie store behave when they are off the limelight.  That they allow or pose themselves being photographed without those little patches of cloth passing for lingerie.  How shallow, when for all intents and purposes they have already paraded themselves naked in front of throngs of animated people.

 Then we have the glittering world of Hollywood which feeds us our just desserts via movies, TV programs, etc.  It is typical fare now to see episodes of scantily-clad or immodestly-clad actresses in scenes of “simulated” sex as naked as it can get.  Never mind the foul language thrown every which way.  It does deserve it then to be called soft-porn when such scenes are described.  But again hypocrisy shows its slip when we read that one particular actor whose real girlfriend was in the movie with him that they actually had real sex for the movie.  No simulation there it seems to say.

 So far what we have described are currently all acceptable socially, with the caveat of course, that there are “strict” rules governing these.

 Now comes the kicker.  Porn, or hard-core porn as differentiated from Hollywood’s soft porn.

Personally, I do not see much differences.  Many “adult” actresses are just as physically gifted, some very knowledgeable and articulate on different subjects, with some even very adept at marketing (themselves) and creating business.  But they do leave nothing to the imagination, and everything is real.  No simulations there.  And porn is still socially taboo in most places, though very pervasive and well patronized.  Its secretive patrons stealthily partake mostly in darkened solitude, and speak in hushed whispers when dealing with the subject.  It is also a highly regulated activity, both as to form as well as for health requirements.

So where are we going as a society?  With regard to morality, and maybe, with regard to our respect for women as co-equal partners of men, rather than just as objects of wanton desire?

In our polite society most of us know how to behave morally and to regard our fellowmen, but our actions sometimes do not jibe, though we still pretentiously maintain our supposedly high moral stance.  How different to the brutal savagery shown by certain groups in the Middle East, where their actions are fully synched with the warped beliefs they cling to.

 

 

 

 

Local Public Transport System

 

 

Our local public transport system in the city beyond its chaotic jumble is one that appears to defy logic and common sense.

First of all, the size of the urban poblacion is so miniscule, one wonders why walking is not the preferred option.

Using Divisoria as a point of reference, it is only a little over one kilometer to get to the Capitol and its environs, which include other government offices, hospitals, and heavily-patronized businesses like banks and restaurants.

From Divisoria to City Hall, is a few short blocks away; same with the churches and large schools.  Even the pier area is not more than 2+ kilometers away.  Cogon is definitely within walking distance.

 What more?  Plenty more within striking distance for what one needs critically or necessarily for daily living.

Yet.

Our streets are a sorry mess, to say the least, with a messy coterie of vehicles of all sorts.  From sikads, to relas, to jeepneys, bicycles, motorbikes, and yes, assorted carts and caritons that defy justification and description.   And added to the motley mix are the mindless pedestrians on the streets.  Should we wonder why traffic most times is at crawl pace in many chokepoints?

Why so.

For one thing. Our “door-to-door” mentality most likely brought to the fore because of laziness or sloth.

When we take public transport, we demand to be loaded and/or unloaded where we stand and/or where we want to alight, not an inch less, whether legal or illegal, or whether affecting traffic or not.  And even ambulatory vendors have to be within inches of us, thus they are all over the place.  And our dainty selves need to take transport for distances beyond a block or maybe even less.  Neither the cost notwithstanding, nor where our economic station in life lies.  Nor our years of earthly existence, since many of the sikad riders I see are young and able, with very sparse carry-ons on them.  As a matter of fact, many are neatly uniformed students.

Why, in our gated subdivision beleaguered residents found the need to have available sikad services, for the few blocks in and out of it.  So they can hop to regular public transport which they need to bring them to the poblacion, the closest area of which is less than a kilometer away.

Need we wonder why many of us live unhealthy lives, or unhealthy lifestyles overall?

 

 

 

Growing up a Neri-San Jose – in Cagayan de Oro in the 50’s

 

As I watch the grandkids on my rare visits to their places of abode, I cannot help but be amazed at their almost unbelievable growth compared to the last time.  It feels like one has traveled to some distant misty future to witness the changed images of them in adulthood.  In another vein, one becomes sullenly introspective about one’s own travel through aging.   If they have grown this fast, then time must have lapsed sufficiently to make one feel and look old or older.  The latter definitely is my case.

 One cannot then help reflect on one’s own childhood, as a way of comparing that past to the startling present that has caught one unawares, and off-guard.  One accepts that it cannot be helped since man is innately reflective and wants to be assured of some continuity either with life in general, or selfishly, of one’s own perpetuity or immortality.

But how does one reminisce about one’s own childhood without being biased or partial since one reflects through the prism one has developed growing up?  In other words, how does one write about personal experiences without investing too much of one’s emotions and acquired prejudices into that narrative?

Nothing like putting things in writing and finding out or allowing third parties to make judgments.  This bit of autobiography undertakes this rather intimate narrative with an intent to allow those privy to it to maybe also introduce their own versions on the same incidents.  That way many sides are exposed and brought into the mix, and one can hopefully arrive at a truer depiction of events of an era gone by.

An early challenge to this attempt at impartiality may be the particular way I grew up as a child.  Though I had 8 other siblings in the family, which was headed by my mother, I pretty much grew up on my own.  Most times alone with my adolescent thoughts, and making decisions without counsel from anybody else including my mother.  Family conversations/discussions, beyond the casual or cursory exchanges necessary to maintain minimal functioning in a household, were mostly non-existent.  Rare indeed were the deep interactions I had with all my siblings.

Given this rather dysfunctional conundrum, one could not again help feel inadequate in certain assumed qualities needed to make for a more adjusted or well-balanced growth as an individual.  And certainly I can point to certain personal quirks which may be fruits of this unwanted situation.  I judge myself quite timid and ill at ease in my social interactions with my peers and those in authority.  Since I knew that I had to rely solely on my own, my actions came out appearing bereft of moral certitude and with a big dose of tentativeness. And so much hesitation was quite normal in making actions that were clearly in hindsight easy to do, and with no shame or reservations attached.

I vividly recall the case of a green glass flower vase of my mother, who in introspect was quite solicitous with the few things she had in her life,  that I had used as altar ornament for the school’s chapel, having been assigned in class for the purpose.  But for some unrecalled reason I was too timid and hesitant to approach the caretakers of the chapel to ask for my mom’s vase back, though there obviously was no reason why I could not do it.  I was just too timid to even try.  So that every time I passed by that chapel I would be reminded of the vase.  And every time I recall taking a furtive look at the altar to see if it was still being used.  I believe this whole thing was slowly forgotten when I noticed the vase missing in the altar. My mother never knew about it and she never asked about it.   

Another very stubbornly-remembered incident which happened in early high school was a book borrowed from the school library.  That book may have been a James Fenimore Cooper classic, like Last of the Mohicans, or maybe even, Kidnapped, by Robert Louis Stevenson.  Since I was quite slow in reading it or procrastinated too much, the return date had expired by the time I had occasion to attend to it.   And there was then a penalty assessed for any late return.  I believe it started at 10 centavos for the first week or so, then more added as weeks passed.  I again found myself unable to approach the librarian whom I knew anyway (Mr. Portillo) that I allowed that book to be late for a long period of time, though every time I passed the library this gnawing feeling of anxiety and frustration would inch up to bedevil my mind.  How I finally resolved that simple dilemma, I cannot now recall.  But somehow it got returned.

All things considered, I did manage to grow up not too bad, though I would still be nervous in front of a crowd and especially in front of ladies.  I just couldn’t help it.  My speech would at times be rushed, high-pitched and shaky.  And my mind would draw a blank, running mostly on reflex. Relief would come only after I would be back to being alone.  And to this day, this remains a mortal challenge for me, incessantly focusing on controlling and setting aside this very cumbersome and frustrating behavior.  Though I am getting better in control as I age, more and more.

Those preliminaries resolved and shunted aside, let me proceed to committing to print the many vignettes and homely sceneries collected during my youth, as I still continue to remember or recall them.

Life in the idyllic 50’s in rustic Cagayan de Oro City can be randomly described as the following.  A city of maybe 40,000 souls, each mostly known by everybody else with familiarity sufficient enough to qualify as a typical nodding-acquaintance kind of a relationship.  A city of narrow streets defining grid-iron type of city blocks, some paved with asphalt and the rest of graveled pavement.  Open drainage canals laced both sides of the streets, fed by the outflows coming from each house.  Drainage consisting of water from kitchen and bathroom sinks, from bathroom showers, and soupy waters from laundering done, etc.  We lived a mere block away from Divisoria Park, the central locus of life in the city, where parades congregated, important events held, political campaigns germinated, where most community-wide activities transpired.  At some point, we had lived right along the perimeter of the plaza, with our second-storey windows looking into the square; where by the way, the public market was once conducted.

No television, and only one radio station to provide listening entertainment or as medium for news both local and national.  Vehicles were few giving streets their perpetually empty look, save for the ubiquitous tartanillas noisily plying city streets. The two most popular schools in the city, one run by RVM nuns and the other by the Jesuits, were both a block or two away from where we lived.  Even the cathedral, the place of worship for most residents was a few minutes’ walk away.  And of great significance to the city, the river that traverses the city and which probably figured prominently in the location of the city was again a few hurried steps away.

In fine, the world that my youth gravitated in was very miniscule and provincial.  If we were not at school which was located two blocks away, we were gathered in the town plaza which was a block away.  And if we had some loose change for movies, we hied over to the few decrepit movie houses right in front of the plaza, or two blocks away.

Loved to be alone in movies to enjoy my kind of pubescent escapism at a very cheap price (the cost of a day’s baon). And during hot summery weekends we had the run of the beaches located some 3-4 kilometers away going east where relatives had beachfront properties.  And for household needs the public market was right in the plaza occupying two of its many sections.  And if out-town trips were made, the pier area was only 3 kilometers away going north, from which distance many hardy individuals could simply walk to.  In the very scant occasions where air travel was had, the rudimentary airport was maybe 5 kilometers from the poblacion.

In this rather isolating environment my childhood travels and experiences were similarly defined.  Most of our activities and interests were centered on our even smaller and rather quaint little neighborhood, consisting of a few blocks, and bound closely not only by its minute size, but by the fact that most residents were more or less related to each other.

Out of this microcosmic tapestry, my childhood memories were woven into whole cloth to form my youth.

Being born a Neri-San Jose came with some preconceived notion about being high-born, whether deserved or not.   The name itself was easy ticket to all that was deserving of those who carried the same name, duly earned by them because of wealth, renown, and influence.  Or even notoriety, like that of two of my grandfather’s siblings who were noted for their very miserly ways.  And their rumored deceptive ways of acquiring wealth.

Typical of the misconception about the name then was that being a Neri-San Jose denoted being born of wealth and influence, typically shown in real estate holdings.  The local historical facts were given as default reasons by those outside of family circles.  Clearly it is not logical to assume that all who carry that name would necessarily be similarly privileged.  And my father’s family being worthy to that fame did not necessarily hold true or carry over the next generation or two.   And of such was our case.

Being always embarrassed by that undeserved adulation which truly did not apply to us though others would continue to insist on it, one had perfected the response of either being quiet about it or simply saying that we did not belong to that class though we carried the same name.

We did derive some pleasure and satisfaction associating and confirming our close relationships with those relatives who did deserve the renown and popularity.

Part of my precious youth was spent with relatives.  During early HS I lived with an aunt as companion for her only son.  They lived in a big and new house in Lapasan District, which then seemed like some distant barrio, not serviced by electricity.

And true enough, we lived in a little neighborhood were a number of our rich relatives also lived.  Though their houses were more worthy of praise than ours, we did belong with them in that sense, that we lived close to each other.  Though it rarely went beyond living close to each other because we never really developed closer personal interactions with them.  But we did not mind that much, since we were contented knowing we lived in close proximity.

A sister of my grandfather was steeped not only in the pious practice of her Catholic religion, but also overly generous in her show of support of its mission.  Thus, any call for donations would be responded to not only with gusto, but with unprecedented generous amounts.  Thus, in the periodic listing of donations, which would prominently be posted at the main entrance of the cathedral, one would see her name on top of the list, with the rest way down below her in terms of amounts given.  I confess it elicited some personal pride knowing the same last name was shared.

To end and in fine, after making this pained comparison, I judge my own inauspicious and materially-sparse childhood almost diametrically different from those of my grandkids.  How blessed they have been.  This rapidly modernizing world has opened countless doors of opportunities for them to develop and choose the kind of lives their dreams can weave for them.

But I am quite willing to let go of my own and move on without much regrets but filled with hope.  Ready to pass from this life.  With the firm hope that our succeeding generations can forge better in forming their lives and being worthy contributors to humanity.

For sure, better than what our generation has been or will be.