The insolence of an ungrateful alien

NB: This article is a reaction/open letter of the blogger to Mr. Herdy La. Yumul's article on http://riknakem.net/2013/08/06/for-speaking-ilokano-3-students-expelled-by-christian-school/

Photo courtesy of http://anti-oppressive-education.uregina.wikispaces.net/

Dear Herdy,

 

I just read your article about the three young students who were kicked out of school for speaking our native vernacular—Ilokano.

I am saddened and at the same time alarmed to learn that those students enrolled in that school (Saviours Christian Academy, Laoag City) are arbitrarily deprived of their right to speak in their local tongue, within the school premises.

Over the last decade, as our country grows more diverse, mostly from the influx of recent immigrants, we are seeing increased number of cases of language-based discrimination, particularly in schools and in the workplace. English-only rules, accent discrimination in hiring or promotion practices, and lack of translation of safety information are some of the common complaints—all of which are constitutive of coercion and deprivation of the right to freedom speech.

For Mr. Brian Shah, he has a responsibility to be culturally aware of his students and encourage diversity. His immersion in this country and him being an alien, should strike a chord on him of the respect and admiration we have accorded to him when he first set his foot to our land. Thus, such respect and admiration should be also reciprocated with high regard to our heritage as Ilokanos—as we speak naturally, the vernacular Iluko despite of some of us being educated with Spanish, French, and English languages.

It is shameful that people discourage others from speaking their native language. Wouldn't it be nice if everyone had the freedom and right, to speak their own language in public without fear of persecution from those that cannot understand them and have no desire to do so? Some day it may be illegal to speak Ilokano or Iluko in this province. Logically and in case of doubts, then just remember that English is not the native language of Ilocos Norte.

By the way, the 1987 Constitution guarantees the freedom of speech as the political right to communicate one's opinions and ideas using one's body and property to anyone who is willing to receive them. It includes any act of seeking, receiving and imparting information or ideas, regardless of the medium used—and that should mean to include all kinds of vernacular including Ilokano. Such right is accorded to all human beings, young and old. In fact, freedom of speech and of expression is a universally recognized human right.

In one case, the Court declared that it is incompetent for the government to prohibit the teaching of the German language to students between certain age levels since there is nothing inherently harmful in the language that will impair the upbringing of the child, and in fact, such a subject could improve his academic background.

Relative to this, speaking of Ilokano within the school premises should also be viewed the same way, as “there is nothing inherently harmful that will impair the upbringing of our children if they speak in Ilokano.”

Simply put, to educate children on our native tongue is an imperative. In fact, in these times when children are exposed everyday to myriad of information in the television, internet and other mass media, it is even past the time to ask if the inclusion of the Ilokano language should be discussed in formal education. Why? Because Ilokano or Iluko is a recognized form of verbal communication.

The development of our children is a concern of all institutions in the society especially the schools who are responsible in teaching and molding them. It is in schools where we partly or wholly entrust the future of our kids.

The act of Mr. Shah in dealing with the three young people is a reminder to all of us that such a type of oppression still exists. I hope, that this example of ignorance will not be forgotten and may all of us continue to move forward while creating a world that fosters children to embrace their heritage.


Sincerely,

Anton

Life's one, two, tree

“What we are doing to the forests of the world is but a mirror reflection of what we are doing to ourselves and to one another.” ~ Mahatma Gandhi

Planting a Neem tree in Paayas, Burgos, Ilocos Norte during the International Arbor Day Celebration, June 25, 2013. Neem tree is a tree in the Mahogany family Meliaceae which grows in the tropical and semi- tropical regions. It is a fast growing tree which can reach a height of 15-20 meters.

Said Herman Hesse; "For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche. In their highest boughs the world rustles, their roots rest in infinity; but they do not lose themselves there, they struggle with all the force of their lives for one thing only: to fulfill themselves according to their own laws, to build up their own form, to represent themselves. Nothing is holier, nothing is more exemplary than a beautiful, strong tree. When a tree is cut down and reveals its naked death-wound to the sun, one can read its whole history in the luminous, inscribed disk of its trunk: in the rings of its years, its scars, all the struggle, all the suffering, all the sickness, all the happiness and prosperity stand truly written, the narrow years and the luxurious years, the attacks withstood, the storms endured. And every young farmboy knows that the hardest and noblest wood has the narrowest rings, that high on the mountains and in continuing danger the most indestructible, the strongest, the ideal trees grow.

Trees are sanctuaries. Whoever knows how to speak to them, whoever knows how to listen to them, can learn the truth. They do not preach learning and precepts, they preach, undeterred by particulars, the ancient law of life.

A tree says: A kernel is hidden in me, a spark, a thought, I am life from eternal life. The attempt and the risk that the eternal mother took with me is unique, unique the form and veins of my skin, unique the smallest play of leaves in my branches and the smallest scar on my bark. I was made to form and reveal the eternal in my smallest special detail.

A tree says: My strength is trust. I know nothing about my fathers, I know nothing about the thousand children that every year spring out of me. I live out the secret of my seed to the very end, and I care for nothing else. I trust that God is in me. I trust that my labor is holy. Out of this trust I live.

When we are stricken and cannot bear our lives any longer, then a tree has something to say to us: Be still! Be still! Look at me! Life is not easy, life is not difficult. Those are childish thoughts. Let God speak within you, and your thoughts will grow silent. You are anxious because your path leads away from mother and home. But every step and every day lead you back again to the mother. Home is neither here nor there. Home is within you, or home is nowhere at all.

A longing to wander tears my heart when I hear trees rustling in the wind at evening. If one listens to them silently for a long time, this longing reveals its kernel, its meaning. It is not so much a matter of escaping from one's suffering, though it may seem to be so. It is a longing for home, for a memory of the mother, for new metaphors for life. It leads home. Every path leads homeward, every step is birth, every step is death, every grave is mother.

So the tree rustles in the evening, when we stand uneasy before our own childish thoughts: Trees have long thoughts, long-breathing and restful, just as they have longer lives than ours. They are wiser than we are, as long as we do not listen to them. But when we have learned how to listen to trees, then the brevity and the quickness and the childlike hastiness of our thoughts achieve an incomparable joy. Whoever has learned how to listen to trees no longer wants to be a tree. He wants to be nothing except what he is. That is home. That is happiness.”

Balanggiota

You always ask me. That is, likely.

And no, I do not give answers. You are sensitive.

I am, too. No, I do not give answers.

You always sway me. That is, likely.

And no, I cannot be twisted. You are steel.

I am, too. No, I cannot be twisted.

You always seize me. That is, likely.

And no, I cannot be captive. You are permanent.

I am, too. No, I cannot be captive.

You try to hook me. That is, likely.

And no, I cannot be clasped. You are enduring.

I am, too. No, I cannot be clasped.

You try to obliterate me. That is, likely.

And no, I am not easily wiped out. You are disaster.

I am, too. No, I am not easily wiped out.

You try to lambast me. That is likely.

And no, I cannot be censured. You are free.

I am, too. No, I cannot be censured.

You entice me. That is likely.

And no, I am not overwhelmed. You are devastating.

I am, too. No, I cannot be overwhelmed.

Ask.

Sway.

Seize me.

Hook.

Obliterate.

Lambast.

Entice me.

Asshole.

Ode to Monching

Dear Monching,

Dalawang buwang mahigit mong hinintay ang araw na’to. Alam kong, excited ka sa bagong mundo—malamang para sayo, ito ngayon ang real world. I saw your eagerness to learn, your desire to be free and of course, I know, you’re longing for new friends, too.

My kid Fiel Sigmund, then 3 years old, whom I endearingly call Monching.

I saw you so happy when mum have told you this morning that she has taken a leave from work so she could accompany you on your first day to school. I wish I am too, but Dad has some equally important work to do. Anyway, you know I can always catch up with you, awesome kiddo!

You see, yours is different from mine when I first set my foot in “real school.” Wala pang trolley bag na Cars o kaya Batman backpacks nung araw, o kung meron man, hindi pa uso, o kaya walang pambili si Nanay. Hindi rin uso ang hatid- sundo noon o school service. Kailangan magising at gumalaw ng maaga para sa halos isang kilometrong lakaran papuntang school. You see, old times are tough. Hindi katulad ngayon, almost everything is easier.

Mum and Dad graduated from the same university where we are sending you now. It’s a great school for amazing kids like you. Well, you are amazing because you have shown us remarkable cleverness and cunning attitude since you were born. You were thoughtful and sweet on your own ways, though you are exceptionally “makulit.”

You always say that you wanted to go to big school. At, ito na nga-- ang araw na iyong pinakahihintay. Mum and Dad are not expecting medals, ribbons, and certificates from you. You know those are only made of metals, satin sheets, and papers and sometimes they can be bought—ugh, somewhere else (like others do). But if you can bring home some “metals, satin sheets, and papers” those would be great compliment anyhow. We only ask you to make good on your studies, be diligent at all times, and that would sufficiently make us proud.

Ah, you may still get dirty and stinky or soil your school uniform ‘coz I know you don’t just do something without learning. Its okay, you can always play when it is time to play but, remember to be smart and tough as I have always taught you.

Hey kiddo, I am going to tell you some more on a weekend when we bike outdoors or jog at the stadium. Am sure you’d be glad to listen more of my pre- school stories or maybe interested to learn some stuff about “bullies” or boring subjects.

Bye for now. I love you kiddo!


Dad

PS: Don’t be late and forget not about our ‘deal.’

5IVE: Limang Retorika

Hindi kita bibigyan ng mamahaling tsokolate, o bunch of white roses, o di kaya'y recite a lovely poem, o magi-status ng matatamis at matatalinghagang love quotes upang mapasaya ka ngayong 5th wedding anniversary natin. Alam mo namang ‘di talaga ako mahilig magbigay nang mga ganun, lalo na sa tsokolate, dahil marami lang tayo sa bahay (hehehe). Alam ko namang sa bawat araw ng ating buhay, samut saring karanasan na sumasalamin sa matamis na pagmamahalan ang ating pinagdaraanan. Nandiyan ang saya, lungkot, kulitan, harutan, suntukan sa braso, at minsan "silent wars" din- yung tipong walang iimik tas may mangiyak- ngiyak na lang later on, pero sa bandang huli, a tight hug will sink in all bad feelings. Kumbaga, ang pagmamahalan natin, full of spices at surprises na din. Ikaw ba naman kasi ang nakapag- asawa ng malikot at makulit.

Sabi nila, kapag anniversary daw, kelangan mag- celebrate. Pero para sa akin, mas higit pa ang call for celebration kasi sa tingin ko, ang araw na'to ay sadyang itinadhana para pagsamahin tayo at ipahiwatig sa buong universe na may katulad nating nagmamahalan-- ng buong puso, sa hirap at ginhawa, sa lungkot at saya, meron man tayo o wala, at walang mga kondisyon kapalit ng pagmamahal.

We have changed over the years, but the sparkle in our eyes is as bright as ever and my love for you is even stronger. It has been another year. Time flies when you're having fun, ika nga!

Kaya naman, congratulations to us, we are five today. At dahil para sa akin, everyday ay anniversary natin, panata ko, hindi ako magsasawang magsasabi sa’yo ng “I love you Mommy Doc” araw- araw, at mas lalong hindi ako magsasawang kantahan ka ng I wanna Grow Old With You ni Adam Sandler bago matulog-- at siempre, makita ang iyong kagandahan tuwing imumulat ang mga mata sa umaga.

Kampay para sa limang taong pagmamahalan, Mommy Doc Sherlyn Bactin Nicolas!






Me and my wife, Dr. Sherlyn Bactin- Nicolas whom I fondly call Mommy Doc. We tied the knot on May 17, 2008 at the Immaculate Conception Parish in Batac City. We have one kid-- Fiel Sigmund who is a pre- schooler at the the MMSU- LES.

Walrusian Sonnet: Of love and autonomy

Today, I let go of his hands free from mine
Then he started to stroke his pencil with great liberation
On his pad paper, he wrote my name in full and so her mom's.

He never said he was proud of it.
I said, I am and her mom too.
He smiled back. I knew he was learning on his own.

He is only four
And I mean to grant him further freedom, choice, autonomy.

I would not know what he wants to be
But I certainly know where he will be.

Founded in Faith, Centered on Love

Today is September 18, 2012. It is my birthday and it is been a while since I posted my last blog. And no, not that I am tired of writing, perhaps, I am just too selective what articles from my journal deserves a post. Yet, this time I am not lifting an article from my journal. I am writing what my heart dictates. No edits. No right clicking to check on the right word or synonyms that would fit well to my sentence construction. In short, I am just purely writing, this time under the throb of my heart and compulsion of my mind.

“Hinubog ng tatlumpo't tatlong taong pagmamahal, pag- aaruga, at pagkakakilanlan bilang tao-- kaibigan, anak, kapatid, asawa at ama. Haggang ngayon, hindi pa rin pumipikit ang mga pilik.Tuloy ang daloy ng dugo at buhay sa bawat kahinaan at kalakasan. Ang mga karanasan sa buhay, matamis man o singpait ng katas ng gumamela, naging bahagi ang mga ito kung bakit ako naging AKO. Tuloy ang buhay, ang saya. Think happiness, ika'nga.”

The preceding snatch which I posted over Facebook had solicited some “likes” and sumptuous comments. Truly, the line came through my mind while I was looking at some of my pictures on my net book until my mind wandered travelling back some years from the past up to the present times.

Growing up in a brood of three while our father is away for the most part of the year and with our mother taking charge of all the chores at home, I am a witness of the “hard life before we get into a dwelling called home,” or that “educate yourself if you want to see the world” experience.

My father was a constant absentee from home not because of severance. He was on every two- year contract as a foreman of a furniture manufacturing company in the Middle East way back in the early 80’s up to the mid- 90s where he finally settled home due to the Gulf War. My mother on the other hand, was our constant guide, a mother cum father for us three kids.

Me and my wife, Sherlyn.

Like any typical mother, ours was a constant hard disciplinarian with a twist of some “sticks and yell” whenever house rules were evaded. Largely, our Manong takes responsibility towards me and to our youngest when mother would get off from the family home to do some commerce or trade nearby, sometimes out of town.

Our parents sent the three of us brothers in the same school from pre- school way up in the college. According to them, learning is best in public schools and universities. At one point, I despised my mother for not letting me go to the school where I wanted to pursue a degree in college. But as usual, mother’s decisions were like a judge’s final resolution- non appealable and even an attempt for a motion for reconsideration is prima facie denied.

After all, Manong was an attestation to my mother’s claim that public schools are the best schools. He obtained his Electrical Engineering degree from a local state university and hurdled the board examination the same year after his graduation. In short, I and our youngest were also sent to the same state university where Manong have attended. Later, I would graduate with a communication degree and our youngest, a computer engineer.

Back in the middle 90’s when my father finally came home for good, my family moved to a modest house adjacent from my father’s family home where we stayed, perhaps until I was five or six years old. The new home was far better than where we were I thought, since we were previously under one roof with my father’s parents and siblings. My father was eldest in a brood of ten— some were married and had children too whom I play with during weekends.

As I rekindle, I fairly revive that I have experienced labor during my tender years. Not because I was required by my parents but because I was envious to my friends who seem to enjoy some trade such as picking chico fruit and sell the same in the neighbourhood. In doing so, I would be able to afford to buy a bottle of Coke or Mello Yellow after I sold mine.

At one point, Manong and I have also experienced buying and selling old bottles, scrap metals, and other wisp goodies with our own kariton. This time, my brother and I have to pretend like we were just out picking chico fruit but in reality, we were engaged in buy and sell with our push carts intentionally not brought home. Otherwise, we would be prevented from doing our “business” forever. Yet, my mother would later find out what we were doing. Since then, my Manong and I was prevented from leaving our house early in the morning during weekends, my mother, under the impression that we would go back in that buy and sell stuff.

Rarely having a common time due to conflict of schedules, it is worthy to note that this photo (including two Yayas on the most right) is the most complete family picture ever taken. On the pool from L-R is Hannah (Manong's eldest child), Manong Randy, Jabez (Manong's second child), my kid Monching and wife Sherlyn, Theresa (my mother), and Ate Joy (Hannah and Jabez' Yaya. On top from L-R , me, my father Jun, and youngest brother Loyd who stays in Makati, Phl. and Ate Jaja (Monching's Yaya). September 16, 2012

Since I was small, I was made to understand by my parents and was taught by the circumstances that surround me that life would not be fine sans the hard work and cooperation. For example, my mother would post a work list in our kitchen’s back door indicating therein the specific jobs for us three brothers such as who will wash the dishes, mop the floor, pump the deep well or water the plants. Ignoring such specific duties would bar anyone of us from watching TV or play dodge ball with the other kids around.

Nonetheless, our mother, the expert disciplinarian educated us with the best home-grown teachings which are beyond compare to the principles and theories that are taught within the four corners of any popular learning institutions.

My father, on the other hand, is an epitome of a gentle family man worth emulating. While on vacation, my father would make sure that all of us would have a chunk of his modest precious time. Born traveller and adventurous, he would bring us out of town and meet other relatives and family friends. We would go out for a picnic or breakfast over the beach or even stay longer to watch the sunset. At home, he would cook us some mouth- watering kebab inspired foodstuffs while singing Tom Jones or Engelbert Humperndick songs. My father memorizes his lyrics along with the slightest pause or falsetto of each song he sings and I was his number one fan. In fact, I first learned my basic guitar chords from him when I was six during one of his vacations at home from abroad.

He was a book enthusiast and an accomplish historian in his own right. Not because he did study time and history in a modest university but because he was a vast reader of histories from the holy book up to the latest issues on human invasion to the moon or planet Mars. Conceivably, I could have inherited his deep passion for books.

Most of all, my father is a living proof that a college degree is not a requirement for one to see some of the most significant historical sites in the world. For one, he would account during his vacations that he had visited the birthplace of Jesus in Israel, the Holy mountain of Mount Sinai in the north western Saudi Arabia, and the cradle of civilization of Iraq. 

In fact, nearly two decades now since my father came home for good, he could still write and speak Arabic fluently and can communicate basic Indian and Bangla languages. Just recently, when my aunt along with her Punjab husband from Malaysia spent summer with us, our foreigner- uncle was surprised that my father could speak basic Indian- Punjabi dialect.

Looking back now, I have seen the saga of my life and my family like a roller coaster. The joys unforgotten, the hardships that inspired me, the knowledge acquired throughout my existence, my frustrations and desperation-- they have become the core of my persona. Within the sphere of influence though, I strongly attribute that whatever I have become now, the family whom I was with from the day of my conception until birth, is the same family whom I adore when I speak about love and values.

Truly, I have gone far from where I started. Life goes on, and perfect bliss is always around despite everyday confrontation with various negative atmospheres. And when I grow older, I would mean to tell my child's child that once upon a time I had a family that was founded in faith and centered on love, and that he is destined to be the apparent heir of great love, kind-heartedness, and wisdom.

oOo