Atticus Finch as alpha dog

The author Red Ligot is my student in an English composition and literature class at the Community of Learners. Topgether with my team teacher Ruth Katalbas, the class studied Harper Lee's Pulitzer Prize-winning novel To Kill a Mockingbird for much of the second quarter of schoolyear 2015-16.

Red is that young quiet writer brimming with mature insights. Nothing makes a teacher's heart swell more than a student who really gets it! And Red consistently does. While some of his classmates write apologetic little notes to the teacher that they didn't understand the point of the book or had little time to read it thoroughly, Red reads with comprehension and thus always aces our closed-book quizzes. His essays are consistently good, too.

Sorry, stage teacher here. Read on!

Atticus Finch as alpha dog

Original cover of the novel

Rizal in July

School's in again, and teachers, not just media folk, get invited to activities related to their profession and vocation, particularly the teaching of the life and works of our national hero (my personal idol) Jose Rizal.

When Maite dela Rosa, my supervisor (the equivalent of a principal) at the Community of Learners, learned that I was up and about after an ailment and going out already, sometimes to attend lectures (one event a day, unlike before when I had a crowded tuhog-tuhog or one appointment after the other schedule), she asked that I go to this one: the Teachers' Conference on Rizal's Life and Works at PETA's home grounds on Eymard Drive, New Manila, Quezon City. Whenever I go there and the weather outside ain't rainy, I start to miss its former home, an open-air theater at Fort Santiago, Intramuros, those years when PETA truly embodied the "aesthetics of poverty." There's something about walls and ceilings.

My daughter and niece like to remind me I should keep my storytelling down to 350 words or less and let the rest of the story be told in photos.

So okay, okay, I know how to listen to these experts in social media communication--the young.

This is the lamp burner that Rizal gave to his sister Trinidad and where he put his poem "Mi Ultimo Adios." This lamp is in the permanent collection of the Ateneo Library and housed in its Art Gallery on the second floor. I took this photo during a class field trip to the university's Library of Women's Writings and gallery on another occasion. Photos by Babeth Lolarga

When you're at a PETA workshop, prepare to get physical before you buckle down to listen to a lecture, watch a play's excerpt or have a Q and A with the playwright or director.

A tour of the theater all ready for another weekend of Rak of Aegis

View from the outside of a dressing and make-up room

To the question on why he chose to specialize in teaching the Rizal course, Vic Torres, a De La Salle University professor and five-time Palanca Literary Award winner, said in the beginning (or just five years ago), he took it for granted. It meant an additional subject, additional pay apart from teaching journalism and history. Then he realized while studying and preparing his lectures that there was so much to learn from the national hero's life and even to discover new things about that life. His novel Noli Me Tangere, for example, is also "a literal recipe book--it was obvious that he was hungry when he was abroad." Before Dr. Torres knew it, Rizal became very much a part of his life.

My incredible week in review

Waya Araos-Wijangco, Jerry and Melen's eldest daughter, with her niece and everyone's fave little girl, the sociable Amarra Araos Encabo

Old ties renewed: Host Doc Melen, writer Gemma Corotan-Kolb stand behind Nympha Saño, who Odette Alcantara used to call "Nymphette", and a blogger who has adopted the babushka look (coming soon, when her budget finally allows, peasant blouses)

The week of July 7 to 10 will be recorded in great detail in my personal diary as a very full one--the jingle lang ang pahinga kind of week that has taken a toll on a bum knee. The Sunday began with a visit to the Araos family, a hi and a ho to remember Jerry by. He would've been 70, a milestone year.

While I was there, Melen and youngest son Julian brought out some bubble-wrapped paintings that are bound for Florida, the US of A (not Florida Bus Lines). These were gifts to Jerry when he was hale, hearty and the biggest "encourager", after my husband Rolly, when I returned to art school. He saw to it that I would exhibit with his art guild Salakai in one of the biggest simultaneous art show events at the old SM Megamall Art Walk in May 2007 (them were the days when the SM chain of malls still had a veneer of credibility). These works haven't been exhibited; they were personal gifts to JVA's family. Now Jerry and Melen's youngest daughter Mira, who's infanticipating, will hang them in her nursery.

It just occurred to me now that these works remain untitled. So, Mira, it is with extreme pleasure that I give them the "names" they need for after all, they are the babies of my mind, heart and hands. Dear Mira, these are all the "authentication papers" you'll need.

"C Is for Crabs, C Is for the Cancer-borns" (Jerry, Mira and I are all born under the zodiac sign of Cancer.)

"Tea Time for Stones and Two Jars"

"Cubes, Ovals and a Ripe Orange"

After Jerry died, Melen said when she met my grand-daughter again two years after she delivered Kai/Butones that she hoped Amarra and Kai would become friends. This is to continue the deep ties of the Araoses and Lolargas--what Jerry had written in the past about how our families are intertwined. But due to geographical reasons, it may be Amarra and my grand-niece Machiko Skye Lolarga Susi (right) who'll hit it off. Max, as the family calls her, is, like Amarra, an Antipolo resident.

Monday, the seventh of July, was Maestro Darrell Ang day. When he arrived at NAIA the day before, Joseph Uy, consultant of the Manila Chamber Orchestra Foundation, who was there to welcome him, texted immediately: "Ma'am, Darrell is now here. He's gorgeous. You'll like him."

I texted back: "Baka naman himatayin ako!"

Joseph: "Don't worry, Ma'am, I'll catch you."

That's what I love about Joseph. He has this deadpan humor, and he doesn't add cheesy smiley emoticons on his messages the way I always do.

I had to give up a ladies' lunch (postponed for the nth time) for this coverage for Vera Files. I always am thankful for good, kind cab drivers, even the talkative ones, who bring me to my destination and back to the house without incident. I can't tip them anymore, but if there's an anti-hypoglycemia pack of sugar-free anything (mints, candies, cookies), this goes to the driver of the moment. Better than a tip because their faces light up when they say: "Mommy, solved na merienda ko." With the babushka look, they initially speak in English and ask from what country I am. Naks! I'm inclined to say Greece or Ukraine, but I don't want the discussion to get political and complicated so I quickly confess I'm Pinay and I have a pangit haircut to hide which is true. The barber (yes, barbers are cheaper than salon hair stylists) is still alive, by the way.

Group shot around Maestro Ang (seated second from right between classical music blogger Andrian Lontoc and a babushka) at the Makati Sports Club. Others in photo are Jasmine Cruz (bending left) of BusinessWorld, Baltazar Endriga, chairman of the board of the MCO Foundation, Ellen Tordesillas of VERA Files, Malaya and Abante, and Allan Pastrana, contributing writer of Philippine Daily Inquirer and a teacher at Miriam College. I told Mr. Endriga it must be nice to called Chairman of the Board like Frank Sinatra. His quick reply: "But he was Sinatra, and his friends in the Rat Pack were all millionaires! I'm not."

Tuesday I filed my story only to learn that the Vera Files site had been spammed and hacked.

Wednesday was teaching day--the first time I went to school accompanied by a yaya, my mom's. Never, not even in my nursery and kindergarten years, was I ever accompanied by a yaya to school. But this time, someone had to help me carry my students' notebooks (the equivalent of theme notebooks in my high school years), other teaching materials, my umbrella and backpack of personal stuff.

Should I also be grateful for over-frank students who ask for my exact age, what the matter was with me and if I'll be due for retirement soon because of disability? One asked, "If you're sixty by next year, will you have to go? And if you do, will they dissolve CW (creative writing)?"

My answer was diplomatic: "When the time comes for me to leave school, someone will take over. No one is indispensable in any organization."

Thursday, oh my! It was La Gilda Day, her vernissage at Silverlens Galleries in Makati, but I'll reserve a full-length account of that wild evening for another outlet. I wanna share this precious pic of funny girl Chit Roces Santos who's always Not Quite There and her babushka pal. I asked what did she come as. She said, "Masahistang bulag!" We sat together for a bit by the registration table at the entrance, and I said, "If people ask, you're my caregiver. Class ako ngayon--tisay ang yaya ko!"

Chit and blogger

Don't even talk of Friday because from the moment I woke up with my husband by my side (a rarity when I'm in Manila), I was in a go-go-go mood. His idea of a treat was to cover all meals in one blow--yes, a luncheon buffet that started at 11:30 a.m., ended at 2 p.m., 15 minutes before all the stations closed. He seemed insatiable and steadily ate through plates of sushi, sashimi, chorizos, three flavors of green ice cream, halo-halo with just the sangkap, not the ice and milk, buko pandan, mango sago, all downed with beer. I was waiting for him to turn comatose before my eyes, but it was I who got sleepy from just two plates of sushi.

What woke me up was when the waiters started singing table to table where a birthday celebrator was seated. They were a threesome: guitarist, a maracas and a tambourine player. One of them carried a portable sound system. I envied the tables that had a celebrator each so when our neighbors enjoyed the birthday song plus another pop hit, I asked if anniversaries were counted (our 30th was coming up in a few days). Yup, they "performed" anniversaries, too. A waiter proceeded to fetch this huge tarpaulin with "Happy Anniversary" writ large. When the singing started, I felt an instant shot of adrenalin. It was my cue to rise with my cane, sit on Rolly's left leg and do a lap dance. Guess who walked with a limp after? And the song we were serenaded with? "Kahit Maputi Na ang Buhok Ko!"

Old couple marking their Pearl Anniversary with a cheerful photo bomber behind them. I'm pretty sure that if I die ahead of him, Rolly will miss me acutely because of moments like this one and thus forgive my past transgressions.

Hubby and I capped date night at the Mostly Mozart 2014 Festival. Knowing what a screeching, shameless fan girl I am when the gods and goddesses descend from Music's Olympus, Rolly kindly took my photo by the grand piano with an Adonis, Maestro Darrell Ang.

As if all those activities weren't enough, I met some of my CW students yesterday, a Saturday afternoon, at the entrance of the Ayala Museum for a field trip. They not only visited the permanent diorama and the Fernando Zobel retrospective, they were present for Dr. May Jurilla's lecture-presentation on "Romancing the Book." My instruction to the kids was to listen well so they could ask one well thought out question each. In the end, only three overcame their shyness to raise their hands during the open forum.

One, two, three: Hashtag Ayala Museum!

Photos by Angel Reyes Nacino, Babeth and Suzy Lolarga, Maite de la Rosa, Rolly Fernandez and others like another restaurant customer

59 but not counting

These flowers wet with the previous night's rain greeted me when I stepped out of the house as an officially 59-year-old person.

"Maligayang bati sa iyong kaarawan, Babeth. Sana'y ulanin ka ng marami pang biyaya! Dalangin ko'y hindi ang iyong kalungkutan o kaligayahan kundi ang pagmamahal na maaaring umusbong sa dalawa. (Trying to be makata on your birthday, ha ha ha)." - Noel Soler Cuizon

By far Noel's message was the most touching message I received on June 24 along with that of G, my former student at a private school. Part of his email went:

"Good evening po, Teach. Happy Birthday again to you. Kamusta na kayo? How are you celebrating your 59th Birthday? I texted you this morning & also received your reply. I'm doing ok in college. I'm just a 1st timer pa lang. I have 7 subjects but no major yet. I've met new people already, but haven't made new friends yet. I'm only talking & hanging out with my friends like Luis, Milo, my Kuya, etc. There are some works I'm doing already. I have HWs too. Sometimes, I get to do them in my free time & sometimes I forget. Pasensya na. I'm only missing my years sa High School. I still do my best in college. All the things I've learned in (my former school) are naiipon pa rin with me. I learned a lot from you, T. Ruth, T. Maite & other teachers out there. I consider all of you as my 2nd family...Tnx. God bless."

Even if I cringe on reading the word "thanks" spelled as "Tnx," that's okay. I continue to emphasize in the new composition class I'm handling now that short cuts in spelling like "tnx" are acceptable in SMS but not in classroom work.

Except for Ida, our overseas daughter, everyone is accounted for in this picture. Thanks for picking up the tab, Kimi!

Another nice part of my day was being with my foodie family, sharing a meal at O'mai Khan restaurant in Baguio. Since I arrived ahead of the others, I used my prerogative, the way President Aquino did in proclaiming the new National Artists and dropping the name of actor Nora Aunor (something I strongly and vehemently disagree with), I ordered a la carte one rice meal with ulam that suited each family member's taste: Korean spare ribs for Rolly, tempura for Kimi, Mongolian fried chicken for Mackenzie for sharing with Kai and Korean beef strips for me with lots of honey-sweetened but still crunchy dilis and vegetable sidings for the birthday girl. And apple pie a la mode for all!

Oh, you beautiful pie, you great big beautiful piece of pie!

The Little One sidled up to me twice during lunch to say she wanted to blow my birthday candle. Of course, she did so to everyone's applause. Nota bene: she was too shy to blow her own birthday candles in April. I guess the number of guests then made her shy.

Kimi at first objected that she wanted the kalamansi tart, but when she tasted the apple pie, her big eyes bulged bigger and she said, "Masarap nga!" Later in the evening when I was on the road back to Manila, she texted that she was having a strong craving for apple pie (that can only mean that she's returning to O'mai Khan on her own one of these days to appease that hunger).

All in all my body and spirit are full! Belated tnx, God and all ye saints (friends and family alike)!

What's a birthday without a cupcake? Odette Mills of Cake Baby baked my order of a dozen goji berry cupcakes for sharing with Rolly's colleagues, who're my friends, at the Inquirer's Baguio bureau. Most photos by Babeth Lolarga

Unafraid of the creative overflow because we're fueled by faith

"You must not fear, hold back, count or be a miser with your thoughts and feelings. It is also true that creation comes from an overflow, so you have to learn to intake, to imbibe, to nourish yourself and not be afraid of fullness. The fullness is like a tidal wave which then carries you, sweeps you into experience and into writing. Permit yourself to flow and overflow, allow for the rise in temperature, all the expansions and intensifications. Something is always born of excess: great art was born of great terrors, great loneliness, great inhibitions, instabilities, and it always balances them. If it seems to you that I move in a world of certitudes, you, par contre, must benefit from the great privilege of youth, which is that you move in a world of mysteries. But both must be ruled by faith." - Anais Nin in a letter to an aspiring writer

I often wonder if I am in any way living up to my role as a teacher, even if I'm only part-time. Most times I have to mind my duties as someone who happens to know how to write a little or over-much, depending on the reader. Somehow I can still make a shaky living out of writing. It doesn't matter anymore that the earnings still add up to a little below the poverty line at month's end, and I always need a lifeline extension from family in Pasig and in Baguio, especially my partner of close to 30 years (I silently thank Rolly Fernandez and the heavens in my morning rituals).

There isn't much of a difference between me and the help that my family in both cities hires to do house chores. Part of my work sometimes involves cleaning up other people's manuscripts, making sense of them, even if these sometimes cause me symptoms of stress like falling hair and growing irritability.

In one of the articles I found in the Web, it said that those who serve--nannies, domestic helpers, gardeners, care-givers of the sick and dying, dishwashers--they are the truest philanthropists in these times. The work I do forces me to sit for hours and hours. I don't know how long I will hold out, but I always finish, or try to anyway, what I begin. Nothing ennobling about lengthy sitting and enlarging one's avoirdupois, but I'm grateful just the same.

I don't know where or how this morning's blog entry will end. I wanted to begin with re-telling how Teacher Maite dela Rosa and I accompanied some high school students enrolled in the Community of Learners creative writing class on a field trip to the Ateneo Library of Women's Writings and the Ateneo Art Gallery upstairs this past Saturday.

Born in the late 1990s, the students are part of a generation that woke to a digital age. Something like the notebook of poet Angela Manalang Gloria, with the Bureau of Education's logo stamped on the cover, looked supremely exotic to them.

As I carefully opened a page (for me the experience was close to touching the shroud of Turin, having worshiped for quite sometime at Manalang Gloria's altar, though invisible), there were audible gasps and comments like "Look at her penmanship!" I asked if they knew what a fountain pen looked like. A boy answered, "It's something you have to constantly refill."

I turned another page that showed Ms. Gloria's handwritten draft for a poem that left clues to her creative process: how she crossed out some lines, then replaced them with another. That detail started a short conversation on the process of revisions and discouraging the use of correcting fluid. But sometimes one or two kids can't help being obsessive about erasures--part of a young writer's quirks that I have to respect.

We saw the typescript of scholars Doreen Fernandez and Edilberto Alegre's interview of Edith Tiempo. It led to a brief discussion on what a typewriter looked and sounded like, how it used to be the writer's tool. A girl said, "My lola still uses one." And I saw that lola in my head composing her lines to the clackity clack of an Underwood or a Remington.

Maybe in my next life, I shall be working in the stacks, meaning, become a library chick.

Seated around the first table at ALIWW: Mark Lee, Bea Buenaventura, Julian Zapata, Teacher Maite and Miki Cabochan. Girls at the next table: Isabel Arellano, Mika Mamauag and Joan Torres. Standing are Gio Gutierrez and Janrick Razon.

That's us at the gallery with part of Rodel Tapaya's exhibit behind us. His show "Bato Balani" will be the subject of our next writing exercise.

A gentle reader's confessions

Image from Pinterest.com

It's Sunday,worship day. Yesterday was supposed to have been confession day, but since I'm a long-lapsed RC (Roman Catholic, not RC Cola), I've done my confessions everywhere, except at the confessional (a traumatic Catholic girlhood took care of that).

What has replaced the old-fashioned confessional, with its historical reference to the betrayal of the Katipunan, is reading to music, writing to more music and moving through my days with a song in my head and my foolish heart and offering these riches to my Maker.

I can't imagine reading or writing or even meditatively folding my blankie (grandchild's word for "blanket") without a fascinating rhythm throbbing in my head.

Yes, it's a way of coping, a preventive measure from tipping over and falling into a dark edge.

Recently, author Romi Garduce wrote to say that he appreciates my blog because of an inherently optimistic streak, though cock-eyed. He, however, said that his blog is "dark" (whatever that meant). 

Okay, shameless plugging again for Romi's book, Akyat! Journey to the Seven Summits. I'm excited because copies will be made available in Baguio's Mt Cloud Bookshop this month (oh, sweet October). I've made predictions that have gone wrong, but my gut declares that Romi's inspiring life story, the National Pride that he is, will resonate with many readers, not just the sports and Ze Great Outdoors communities. Even I who confesses to a favorite sport of reading while reclining until my arms and eyes hurt thoroughly enjoyed his book. 

This blog is dedicated to my Community of Learners students--I've compelled them, using my secret dominatrix voice, to read read read to enable them to write write write and soar from whatever condition(s) they find themselves in.

Back to my coy voice. Copies of Romi's book are available at the following stores:

Mom Matec and the boys in her life

Villanueva and her three sons Franco, Ibarra and Lorenzo

When her first child Ibarra was born 20 years ago, Matec Villanueva, then 32, felt like she was a Ms. Universe contestant onstage answering a crucial question asked, the question being "What is the essence of a woman?" Her quick answer at that point in her life would have been "Motherhood!"

"It was real and spot on, not some lofty, nice-to-hear answer. At that moment, I knew what the essence of a woman meant, and I was feeling it, for real," she said.

Like many talented women, she had issues with her mother. She said, "I wanted to be a better mother than her."

But when the child was nearly two, she began to worry. She noticed that Ibarra or Bubba just wanted to play alone. He seemed to act deaf at times when she and her then husband Kiko Gargantiel knew that he wasn't.

Villanueva recalls, "The most telling sign was he appeared not to have eye contact with the people around him, including us. Kiko and I talked about it, and we started to seek professional help. In my gut, I knew he was autistic. I was just hoping I was wrong. I had to know for sure."

Around this time, she bore another son, Lorenzo, now 17.

Villanueva didn't think she was hit with a double whammy when the second child turned out to have special needs, too.

"He also belongs to the autism spectrum," she said. "How did I cope? I accepted the reality that my sons had learning disabilities. I decided not to waste time moping or feeling bad.  My ex-husband and I decided to do as much as we could to help our sons."

Along with sending their boys to the right, i.e., accepting and supportive, schools and classes (Community of Learners and restaurateur Waya Araos-Wijangco's cooking classes tailor-made for kids with special needs), the couple was aware of the future and their mortality as parents.

Villanueva said, "We knew that we were going to die some day. We had to make sure that they could be independent and not be a burden to their youngest brother (Franco, now 15, has no disability like his elder brothers).  We sought all the professional help they needed. We read up and tried to learn as much as we could. We sought the best professional help we could find.  More importantly, we loved them for what they are."

Because of the intervention steps the former couple took (they remain friends), Villanueva reports like a proud mom: "Ibarra and Lorenzo are well-behaved and have developed adequate life skills. At first, it was hard to be firm with our resolve, but I just had to accept that it was for their own good."
Her firmness sometimes surprised people who weren't aware of where she was coming from.

She said, "I've encountered people who didn't know better and found me a bit too harsh because I refuse to give in to their tantrums. I took the time to explain that my sons had special needs and I was merely doing what I should. I resisted the temptation to pacify them by giving in to the tantrums.  It all paid off because Ibarra and Lorenzo are well-behaved. They have adjusted to normal living."
 
The same resolve and toughness made Villanueva, who is 53, the chief executive officer of Publicis Manila, a multinational advertising agency.

She has managed to find time to monitor the boys' eating and lifestyle. She said, "People with their
 disability tend to either be picky or obsessive eaters. I trained them not to eat more than they should, take sandwich and salad for dinner and to exercise every day. Ibarra swims at Celebrity (Plaza in Quezon City) for an hour, three times a week and walks for an hour for the rest of the week. Lorenzo walks for an hour after dinner for his exercise.  I am very thrilled to say that they are fit and not overweight. And yes, I imposed my lifestyle on them: eating well and exercising."

Asked if she feels she has crossed a difficult bridge and can relax a bit, confident that the boys can fend for themselves, she answered cautiously, "They have gone a long way but far from what I had in mind. I am still working at it to make sure that I give them a chance of having a life."

To parents who may be going through a struggle of accepting that they have a child with special needs and may be at a loss of where to turn, Villanueva offers this advice tinged with the voice of experience: "God gave them to you because He knows you will do a good job. Don't fail God. And most especially, don't fail your child."

First published by Vera Files/Yahoo Philippines on July 7, 2012

High School Class of 2011, Part 1

These three student writers were enrolled in this blogger's creative writing class for the academic year of 2010-11 at the Community of Learners Foundation (COLF). It's an hour-long enrichment course ("elective" is what we used to call it in college) held every Wednesday.

They are graduating in April. Their second to the last activity this fourth quarter is to do ekphrastic writing. This is based on a pre-existing work like a painting, a drawing, a film, a piece of ceramic, etc. Since the blogger found it cumbersome to haul a work to class, she asked them to first do their own drawing or painting, then write about it after.

To Amaris, Miggy and Gerry, the graduating seniors in my class of 17, have a great time in college or wherever the kind winds bring you. See you at the COLF Christmas bonfire that gathers not only current students but the school's alumni.

This class is where the teacher felt that she learned more from the students than they from her. Truly. Thank you for the trust, kiddos!
_________________________________________________

JUST SOMETHING SIMPLE

A simple piece of painting
Hardly even anything is there
Nothing but a stem
A stem that is on its way to the ground

It is the dawn of summer
In another part of the world
Fall is about to enter
This is the first stem that fell
To welcome fall

The sun is shining
But the day is coming to an end
Everyone is watching the sun fall
The colors bring a smile on the faces of viewers

It may just be a stem falling
But it means the start of a new season
It may mean a new beginning for others
Whatever it may mean
I know it will bring peace to you

--AMARIS BIANCA GAMBOA

LOVE IS IN THE AIR!

Love is in the air
Love is everywhere
Love is in the atmosphere
Love is romantic
Love is comedy

Love is good
Love is bad
Love is peace
Love is war
Love is static

Love is delicious
Love is voracious
Love is undeniable
Love is pleasurable

--MIGGY IYULORES

A CONDOMINIUM AND A HOUSE
A house is nice. It is comfortable, and you can go move in it comfortably. A house is also affordable when the bill for water and electricity comes. The costs of these depend on how much you consume.The house owner has lesser fees to pay.

A condominium building is also fine, and it is solid because it is built with concrete. It hardly breaks when a storm hits it. The building stays still, and the condominium can be comfortable.

The difference is the condominium is more expensive to maintain, but the security is better. You're safe from robbers. But in a condominium, there are more rules to follow, and the things you can do are limited.

Whatever they are, depending on who lives in it, a house or a condominium can become a home.--GERRY GAMBOA

Hard Habits to Break

"If only" may be among the sad phrases in this borrowed language because of the heavy load of regret that it carries. The New Year and decade forced this writer to examine recent turns of event prefaced with the phrase "if only." Although the things that happened to me weren't that earth-shaking (e.g., misplacing my eyeglasses or slipping in the bathroom and breaking an elbow bone), these have made me turn inward and reflect on better management of daily life by being more alert and more aware.

With some of my creative writing students at the Community of Learners, we thought and wrote about certain physical and mental habits that need retooling if we want to evolve for the better.

My inner work involves re-learning and practicing awareness for the costs of not being aware can be high as my recent experiences have shown.

If only I had been more aware that the light bulb in the bathroom had gone kaput, if only I wasn't in a rush to meet a Tuesday appointment, maybe I wouldn't have slipped on the bathroom tiles as I reached for my towel. Maybe the elbow bone that was shattered and now due for surgery would still be intact and I wouldn't  be struggling with the weight of a cast on my dominant right arm as I write or do whatever task that needs doing. Nor would I be enduring the pinpricks of pain as I go about activities I used to take for granted like filling a pitcher with water.

If only I had been more alert one Wednesday morning inside a public jeepney from the corner of Gil Puyat and Chino Roces avenues in Makati, watching out for landmarks to get to my destination, I wouldn't have missed my stop. But because I entertained stray thoughts, I ended up walking back two blocks to get to the place.

That same day, I decided to be more aware. I instantly silenced petty worries and became conscious of sights outside the bus window. Do you know that there is fountain sending out jets of water just outside the Makati Post Office? Or that a long and wide length of Ayala avenue's pedestrian walk is closed to pedestrians, leaving them a narrow walk to get from place to place? From the height of the bus I could see workers breaking down the old pavement to make way for what? Another series of underpass? There is no sign to indicate what they're up to so I assumed that.

I shared this reflection with my students who then wrote about certain habits they also want to shuck off for better health and better inter-personal relationships.

Junald Robin de Guzman admits to laziness in practicing daily oral hygiene. He is aware of its consequence; at his last visit to the dentist, four teeth had cavities that needed filling. He writes, "I still don't care much about tooth brushing, but it's definitely on my mind. If I brush more often, I'd have less cavities or even none at all."

Carem Castillo's concern is the same: forgetting to brush her teeth nightly. She writes, "My teeth are not disgustingly yellow but neither are they pearly white. Since I was a kid, I've had nights when I was too lazy to brush my teeth. I didn't know any better, but when I grew up, it was because I was too tired to care so I went straight to bed. When I started to strive for some degree of perfection, that's when I realized I had to do something. I tried everything from whitening toothpaste to baking soda which tasted horrible. They somehow worked, but none really did the trick. Then I realized that the only way to better oral hygiene is to just brush your teeth two times a day every day. I'm glad to see it is paying off."

Franco Gargantiel admits to a "swearing habit" that is ignited when he is angry.  He says that cursing does "relieve the anger and stress inside, but when I do that, people around me think I'm out of control or worse. If only I can find a way to release my frustrations in a silent, peaceful way--that way, I won't upset anyone else when I'm upset."

Claudia Cruz's preoccupation is fiddling with her hair to get rid of its knots to the point that she forgets what is happening around her. "If I didn't always fiddle with my hair or bracelets when I'm in an awkward conversation, I can be a person with good public relations."

What the kids and I saw was truth in a saying that awareness is being present in the moment. It means not being engaged in reverie while sipping coffee, for instance, that one is unaware of the beverage's heat or flavor until one gags. Awareness, I suppose, is like watching letters become words and words become sentences on the computer screen, hearing ambient sounds of an electric fan whirring in the room or the street sweeper's stick broom scratching the pavement as it picks up leaves that fell after last night's downpour.