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11:04 PM
It's bad enough to like someone who does not like you back. But to have a crush on someone who does not know you exist? Ugh, the pits.
Especially if you're a girl and all you can do is make pa-cute and hope that he'd notice you...
A lesson unlearned
Inquirer News Service
March 13, 2002
RUMMAGING through my things one night, I dug up something I haven't seen for a long time-my grade school autograph book. I began to smile as I was flooded with wonderful memories of carefree days and former classmates as I leafed through its pages.
Typical entries were: Dedication: "Thanks for letting me sign your nice slum book. TCCIC (Take Care 'Coz I Care)"; Describe your crush: "Secret"; What's your most unforgettable moment: "When I slipped in front of my crush at the canteen."
Re-reading my classmates' slum book entries reminded me of one of the things that occupied our minds back then: first crushes. They were either celebrities or schoolmates (I went to a coed grade school). Mine was a schoolmate.
I was in grade five when I first felt the stirrings of young love. My first crush was a grade ahead of me. He was lanky and bespectacled-not crush ng bayan material, although my friends said he looked cute. To me, he was the best-looking guy in school.
I couldn't recall any first encounter, but I would notice him whenever I saw him with someone I knew. As I started to see him more often, I felt strange new emotions. My heart would skip a beat or my stomach would do cartwheels when our paths crossed. Sometimes, our eyes would lock for a second or two. The eye contacts were probably accidental but, na‹ve as I was, I harbored illusions that he was as aware of me as I was of him.
I thought of confiding in my friends, but paranoia got the better of me. I was scared that they might unintentionally reveal my secret and he would find out about it. Not that it would make a lot of difference since he didn't know who I was.
But, like all secrets, it was soon out in the open. One day, a classmate returned a notebook she borrowed from me and said, with a grin, "I saw what you've written at the back." I immediately turned to the last page and saw to my horror that it was filled with thoughtless scribbles of my crush's name. The next day, the news reached others. One or two classmates graciously offered to introduce me to him, "He's my ate's classmate, just tell me when you want to meet him," while some devised plans to get him talk to me. Though I appreciated their trying to help, I wanted to get to know him without anyone's help so I profusely declined the offers and told my friends not to mention the topic again.
My paranoia increased after that. I began to avoid him, simply stealing glances once in a while, because I was afraid that even just by looking I would give myself away. Then the school year ended.
The following year I didn't see much of him and I heard he left for the States the year after that. The accidental meeting I was waiting for never happened. Looking back, I realized how foolish I was to forego a chance to meet him because I was waiting for the right moment.
Though I risked revealing my feelings by asking a classmate or even an acquaintance he was always with to introduce us, it would still have been better to have done so instead of wondering years later what could've happened if only I did something. It's sad that I never got to talk to him because I was too afraid.
Sometimes, we miss the most beautiful moments simply because we refuse to make the first move and choose to sit down and wait. But I was young then, what did I know?
The tragic thing is, I still haven't learned my lesson.
The author is a sophomore Philosophy major at the Ateneo de Manila University. She has recently given up stalking her crushes.
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10:25 PM
If you think picking up guys in this country is easy--even if you have valid excuse for it (like we did)--you are WRONG! This assignment shows that Filipino guys are not yet ready to get "picked up." I guess it's just done not here. Which is why the guys we "picked up" smelled something fishy the minute we approached them.
Nevertheless, I enjoyed doing this little assignment.
Hard art
Inquirer News Service
November 20, 2001
EQUIPPED with nothing but guts and killer getups, we headed to Makati one Saturday night with one mission: to pick up guys. On the surface we were cool, calm and collected. But inside we were going bonkers—at least I was.
Our first stop was Pier One at Fort Bonifacio. We all had drinks to bolster our confidence before spotting our first prospects: two guys a few tables away. Jules and I took on the task.
We moved closer to our preys and prayed that it would turn out ok. We approached them and paused before their table. Eye contact with the guys, check. Exchange of warm smiles, yes. It's now or never.
"Hi, I'm Melissa and this is my friend Jules. Can we join you?" I blurted. If the guys were shocked by our bold come-on, it didn't show. Without missing a beat, they stood up and graciously offered us seats.
Wow, I thought, it's that easy? The guys, Jeck and Chris, were charming and well versed so our conversation flowed well. We swapped cell phone numbers and before we knew it, Pam was signaling us to go. It was time to hunt for new blood. But before we did that, we were faced with the daunting task of telling them about our little "experiment". Thank god the guys were cool with it, although afterwards their smiles became less frequent.
After a while, I left our group and went with Cher to scan the place for fresh prospects. Finally, we set our sights on a group of guys who looked like they were having a blast. Without a moment's hesitation (I'm exaggerating, of course) we approached the group and bravely introduced ourselves.
All conversations halted, necks craned at our direction and everyone at the table stared at us. The silence was frightening and suddenly, I was not feeling confident anymore. Then one of the guys stirred and offered us a smile and his seat. I began to breathe. Cher and I joined the group and we zeroed in on the two Spanish-looking guys seated right next to us, Rafa and Carlos, both junior college students at CSB.
Chitchats and cell numbers were exchanged and after 45 minutes or so, we bade Rafa and Carlos farewell.
Shortly, we went back and spilled the real reason why we approached them. Rafa and Carlos were astounded. A friend of theirs started chuckling aloud while another hooted to the two guys, "And you thought you were hot!" In a while, Carlos half-jokingly remarked, "I knew there was something fishy about you two. You were too aggressive." They agreed to an interview, but refused to have their pictures taken for the paper.
Afterwards, our group headed to Pravda. The place was packed and I saw a couple of people I knew. I was tempted to join them and call it quits with the assignment. It was past 2 a.m., after all, and I was dead tired. Also, it didn't help that all the guys there seemed taken. Luckily, we had a little assistance from Jules. "You see that tall guy standing alone, sipping a drink? That's a friend's friend. He's harmless.
Good luck." And with Jules' blessing we approached Jay (not his real name), a basketball player from DLSU. His friend Luke joined us momentarily and eventually Cher was left with Jay while I was chatting with Luke. He offered to buy me a drink and our conversation lasted longer than I had expected. It was a pleasant surprise when we found out that we both live in the same village. Time flew by quickly until it was time to go, although Cher and I begged for a few more minutes to wrap things up. We told the guys that we had to leave for Pier One. They offered to go with us—that is, if it was ok.
Breaking the news was the part I dreaded. Jay took it pretty well. Luke, on the other hand, felt bad. "So is your name really Melissa?" he asked me skeptically. Ouch. He thought the whole thing was a lie, which was totally understandable. Luke and Jay grudgingly agreed to have their pictures taken and announced that they were leaving right after. So much for the offer to accompany us to Pier One.
Most of the guys we met that night eventually got over the shock of being the guinea pigs of our experiment. I still have contact with some of them as of this writing. Although it was fun meeting them, I truly felt horrible when it came to confessing our ulterior motive. Yet come to think of it, I would never muster the courage to approach any of these guys on my own. And even after finding out how simple it could be with the appropriate smile and the right guy, I don't think I ever would do it.
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8:11 PM
An article about my trip to Canada last summer... I think this version is a bit too short--I had to remove a lot of parts in order to meet Inquirer's word limit. I'm trying to find the original, longer version but it seems that I've lost it. Oh, well.
Going solo in Vancouver
Inquirer News Service
Sept. 25, 2002
By Melissa Telan
IF you wish for peace and calm, then a vacation in Vancouver in spring may be just what you need.
Vancouverites say that Vancouver is loveliest during spring when the air is tinged with the sweet scent of pine, when the cherry blossom is just blooming and when the snow-capped Rockies looms on the horizon. After two years in college, amid the frazzle of midterms, deadlines and presentations, I felt that it was time to revisit the place.
When I was 13, my best friend and I spent summer in Vancouver on our own. Last summer, I went by myself. Initially, my younger brother was to accompany me, but he decided to stay home and spend vacation with the girl he was courting.
The idea of exploring Vancouver on my own didn't daunt me. In fact, the thought of absolute freedom for two months just thrilled me. What I didn't expect was the occasional moments of loneliness and a constant craving for a ready ear and a reassuring laugh only a travel-mate could provide. Peace and calm, indeed, has its price.
Adventures
Armed with only a guidebook, a bus pass, a map of the Lower Mainland (which included Vancouver and its neighboring cities), I set out on the streets of Vancouver.
Every day was unique. One hour, I was enjoying a latte in a cafe at the cobble-stoned streets of Gastown, the next I was having a Greek feast at the Lonsdale Quay in North Vancouver. I ticked off every tourist attraction recommended by the guidebook: universities, galleries, casinos, museums, mountain resorts, science centers and parks.
I was not disappointed, but the real adventure was in places outside of the guidebook when I simply hopped on a bus not knowing where I was going and what I was going to do.
During my first trip to Vancouver, I remembered conducting a mad shopping spree in Metrotown (Lower Mainland's version of Megamall) and Robson Street (think Rodeo Drive of Beverly Hills). But on my recent trip, shopping lost its charm after I realized how expensive everything was when converted to pesos. That is, until I discovered thrift-buying.
Good Finds
With the help of the yellow pages and the dailies, I combed the city in search of thrift stores, consignment shops, flea markets and garage sales. My patience and perseverance was rewarded with good finds: a Griffin and Sabine book (one dollar) at a thrift store in downtown Vancouver, a Nine West black leather tote (eight dollars) in a Salvation Army store in North Vancouver, a Versace purse (ten dollars) for my mom in a consignment shop in Kerrisdale.
But what I liked most about thrift-buying is getting to know the people behind these stores. I swapped stories with an elderly Irish thrift storeowner who, I found out, didn't really need the money she earned from her shop. She was already well-off enough. I listened to more of her accounts before I bade her farewell, and then she removed something from her lapel and placed it in mine. It was a tiny pin of the Canadian flag, "because you're very nice," she said. I was touched. She told me it was her good-luck charm, and it was pinned to her whenever she traveled abroad. "Now, it will go to the Philippines," I told her. She laughed and asked me to visit her again soon.
As I boarded the plane going home, I had a nagging feeling that I forgot something. Now it came to me: I never visited my Irish friend again.
Flirting
One of the things I mastered in my first few days of my two-month trip was the art of dining alone. What I failed to perfect was how to act when someone joins you while you are doing so. Come to think of it, there is no crash course in the art of flirting with strangers, especially if you were brought up the Maria Clara way like me.
If you are female and alone most of the time, chances are you'll bump into ready Canadian bachelors who are happy to get to know you. Or at least ask you out for coffee. You meet them everywhere: the library, the gym and at the streets. At first, I found their brashness rude, and I was unable to react to their come-ons. But, like all things, I got used to it. I soon welcomed the freshness of simply introducing yourself to anyone you fancy without inhibitions. Also, it was a great way to meet cute guys. With the experience, I found out that with an open mind and a ready smile, you can talk to just about anyone.
There is something magical about traveling alone, something enchanting about not knowing how your day will turn out or what you will see but certain that it will be wonderful, because it is something novel. Something you have never experienced before.
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7:30 PM
This is an essay I wrote way back in high school--I found it years later, chiseled it a bit and submitted it to my English class since I was too tamad to write something that time, hehe. After that, I submitted it for publication.
Unlike what some people would like to think, this is entirely fiction... although you can say it's inspired by my weight loss a long, long time ago.
Reflections of an ex-Fat Girl
published in BNEXT
May 20-26
Until three years ago, I was the constant center of ridicule. Everything about me was weird; everything I did made people snicker and laugh. People gossiped about my slightest move, scrutinized my every mistake, and mimicked my actions behind my back.
Or maybe I was just paranoid. But nobody can really blame me because I had every reason to be.
I was 15 then, sick and tired of those shrill jabs I got each time I was ignored, criticized or laughed at because of my looks. My whole life I felt hideous, (no) thanks to my unsightly excess baggage. Being 30-plus pounds overweight, everything about me just seemed disgusting.
I was so sensitive about my weight that I'd cringe at the mere sight of anybody whispering, thinking that they were talking about me. I think one of the most essential lessons I've learned from puberty is that in this society, people are like gifts under a Christmas tree it's the packaging that counts.
So everyone covers themselves with fancy clothes and jewelry; they show off flashy cars with equally flashy dates; travel the ritziest places and tell everyone about it in a "sosi" (elite) twang; and make sure they are seen in the right places with the right people. That is how the world turns.
And how I longed to fit into that world! How I very much liked to be smack in the middle of what was happening to its shallow existence. To be one of "them," be merry, and live like there is no tomorrow. Unfortunately, I was not good enough. I did not have any of the mentioned traits above. I could not show off fancy clothes because my body was anything but fancy. I was not gorgeous enough to lure shining knights in their flashy cars.
Then one day, I firmly told myself that I've had enough. I decided to change everything: I began by setting my goal of shedding 30 pounds. I gave up meat and sweets on February and by March I was going to the gym regularly. Before I knew it, I had curves, breasts, a flat stomach and a whole new wardrobe. Nothing can beat sheer determination when trying to lose weight. And with my new body came everything else.
I swapped my dorky glasses for hazel contacts. My baggy, out-of-date clothes were replaced with trendier, sexier ones straight out of those glossy fashion magazines. I had a complete makeover done by the best salon money can buy. Confidence came out naturally. It drained my piggy bank but who's complaining? By the time school began, I was broke but beautiful.
I made heads turn and tongues wag on the first day of school. The gushing at how thin I had become, how different I am or how prettier my hair looked was nonstop. It didn't take much time for me to be one of them. In an instant, people who never knew my name started coming up to me. I started to receive invitations to the best parties around, and guys with fancy cars finally began to ask for my number. It was all happening too fast. I got what I had always wanted and I couldn't ask for anything better. I was satisfied. Unfortunately, not for long.
I finally got tired of living the "fast life." It was surprisingly exhausting. I had to constantly discipline myself to eat right and exercise regularly because one wrong move could be fatal. And as a jobless teenager still relying on Mommy's and Daddy's allowance, I was having a hard time making ends meet to keep my wardrobe, hair, contacts, and God knows what else. But most of all, I was bored with the monotony of competing with everyone else regarding who had the better body or the cuter boyfriend.
At one point, I suddenly felt hollow because all that seemed to matter were these superficial things. I admit it was fun while it lasted, but then what? Will I be spending the rest of my life trying to stay beautiful and please everyone?
I've never truly questioned it until now, but why is there so much emphasis on the physical aspect in our society? Why is this factor so seemingly significant on a person's standing, his success and failures, and on almost everything else he does? Then it hit me: do looks create the person? I think deep down, I knew the answers all along. It has been clearly pointed out to me since that day the world branded me a loser.
Years of unpopularity taught me that people identify you only with what they see. Looks are important for the obvious reason that the world loves the beautiful ones. The rest are outside looking in. For these "losers", beauty, or other forms of external enhancement, is whatever they want and needsecurity, love, respect, and everything else the world has denied them for not fitting into the mold. For them, beauty is happiness, or so it seems. The obsession suddenly became clear to me, mine and everyone else's.
I blamed my looks for a lot of mistakes and hurt I had received. Ugliness was a sickness, and beauty was the cure. It took me several years to find out how wrong I was. The sickness wasn't skin-deep. I thought that invitations to the hottest parties and compliments about my looks would fill that void inside me. Strangely, it barely made the slightest dent. It's still the same old me: depressed, insecure and unsure just for completely different reasons.
That's the crazy thing about society, the world and life--it tricks you into thinking that what seems and what is are the same. And sometimes, you never even find out the difference at all.
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7:12 PM
wrote this essay for class before submitting it to Youngblood. It makes me sad and nostalgic whenever I reread it.. it reminds me how simpler life was when i little. How even the smallest things could cause me such glee.
And of course, it reminds me of Christine.
Christine’s Swing
Youngblood
IF YOU happen to pass by a street called Sampaguita in Mandaluyong, please give it a kiss for me. This was where I spent the best years of my life.
My old neighborhood in Mandaluyong was anything but posh, a contrast to the village to where we transferred when I turned 9. In spite of that, I loved everything about that neighborhood. Perhaps it was the only place where I truly felt home.
Our old neighborhood was like one big family. There, everyone knew everybody else’s name down to the children, the yayas, and even the vendors who regularly hawk wares on our street (like Mang Jimmy who bellows "Taho!" at eight in the morning and "Balut!" at eight in the evening).
But what made my stay in Sampaguita special were my friends, my old gang. When I reminisce about my group, I remember us playing patintero, langit-lupa or piko on weekends, devouring halo-halo together on lazy summer days and caroling with them during Christmas time. Sadly, my memory bank contains only so much and I can hardly remember anything else about my friends.
There is, however, one person I still remember very well: my friend Christine. She lived right across our old place and, even though she was 4 years older, she was partner in crime. My best friend. Together, we would go hunting for salagubang at the nearby bangin and collect spiders in the basement of our house.
The other kids from our neighborhood thought such activities were icky. Christine and I thought they were icky, and together we would laugh until our bellies ached.
I recall spending countless days in Christine’s house. Actually I liked to go there because of her mama’s heavenly cooking, but she thought it was because of her swing. That white swing, a gift from her papa for her birthday, was Christine’s pride and joy (she was the only one in the neighborhood who owned one).
Christine adored that swing and we would often waste our afternoons taking turns at it, rocking back and forth and pushing ourselves as high as we could.
One day out of the blue, Christine told me she was leaving for America “to get well”. She said she had leukemia, a sickness I’d never heard of then. I was not a bit worried. Christine was a strong girl.
When will she be back, I wanted to know. She said she didn’t know. But while she was away, could I please take care of her swing?
The swing is still with me to this day, 13 years later. Christine never came back for it.
The swing is a bit rusty now, but I would not let anyone put it away. Others may think it is just a piece of junk, an eyesore. But that swing is a link to my carefree childhood days in Sampaguita.
Sometimes, I sit on it (even though it’s too small for me now) and imagine I am six years old again. I would close my eyes and remember Mang Jimmy, who sold taho in the mornings and balut in the evenings. I would remember my old gang and our games during the weekend. And then I would remember Christine and our belly-aching laughter together. And how she loved her white swing. And how I loved her. And how I would never see her again.
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7:10 PM
This piece is about two things I love: bargains and books.
Book lovers’ guide to bargain-hunting
Inquirer News Service
June 20, 2001
SO, you’re hooked on books. You devour every scrap and morsel you can get your hands on, but it’s not enough to keep you still.
It’s exasperating how you constantly find yourself itching to buy another paperback right after you finish one because those ghastly prices at local bookstores simply stop you dead on your tracks. You’re near bankrupt. You’ve spent the remainder of your Christmas money on that P800 “Harry Potter” book and now you’re saving your measly allowance for the new Amy Tan novel you absolutely must have. Too bad. You’re broke, frustrated and fidgeting to curl up with another good read. You lament and ask: What’s a book lover to do?
Why not try bargain book shopping? Bargain book hunting is an art on its own. Bookworms and bibliophiles alike have skillfully mastered this task out of the need to satisfy their insatiable appetite for books while, at the same time, keeping their piggy banks intact.
With the peso on the slump, continuous purchase of foreign-published books could easily drain one’s resources. Aside from avoiding exorbitant expenses, book hunting appeals to one’s sense of adventure and shrewdness. There’s that unexplained joy and feeling of pride once you stumble on a book you’ve sought after for so long without having to shell out so much money. The thrill of discovering new bargain book treasure troves can be so utterly invigorating that it sometimes becomes an addiction.
But before you get excited, let me remind you that bargain books are usually secondhand. Those queasy over the thought of owning musty-smelling softbounds and wornout-looking paperbacks should get over the notion that crisp, out-of-the-printer books are the only way to go. Books are books. Sure it’s great to buy brand new every so often, especially if you have the funds, but you’re missing a big bundle by passing up the chance to go secondhand. While good reads are not cheap, cheap reads can surprisingly be very good.
To all you, book lovers, 2bU! guides you around town for a peek at the best places to shop for books, the bargain book hunter’s way:
Segunda mano
For a crash course on bargain book hunting, segunda mano or bookstores that sell used books is the ideal first stop for neophyte hunters. Locating one is not tough since it’s found nearly everywhere—popular malls, shopping centers, supermarkets and even in obscure and unexpected areas like Quiapo and Baguio.
Such bookstores are a book lover’s gold mine. Crammed in a few square meters are literally hundreds of titles of every genre and price range. But to truly maximize what these stores have to offer, one must remember that patience is a virtue. Good books don’t walk up to you and wave, “Psst, over here!” But really, the search is part of its charm. Here’s a review of one:
Book Sale: Surely you know about Book Sale. With numerous branches scattered not only across Metro Manila but all throughout the country, you may have stumbled upon one. But what’s truly great about it is that it offers such excellent variety of books to keep any bookworm bustling happily for hours.
Books are separated and classified according to condition, genre (romance, children’s lit, bestsellers) and binding (softbound and hardcover). Magazines and comics are also found on certain bins. Spotted lately were Madeleine L’Engle’s “A Wrinkle in Time” (P10), Amy Tan’s “Joy Luck Club” (P25), Anne Rice’s “Interview with the Vampire” (P105), Terry Brooks’ “Sword of the Shannara” series (P90), Stephen King novels (P30-P130) and “Chicken Soup for the Soul” first serving in hardcover (in very good condition at P350). Classics are pegged at P40, almost-new bestsellers at P80 and slightly tattered books in cheap bins, although all pages are still intact, as low as P5.
Each Book Sale outlet, like a fingerprint, is unique. No two stores offer the same assortment although veteran book hunters would swear that the best branches are those located in places people don’t frequent much (so you dodge all the competition!). Check out branches at Virra Mall, Edsa Central, Quiapo and inside Cherry Foodarama in Mandaluyong for the best buys.
Other bookstores to watch out for: Eighty-eight Bookstore, Diplomat and Merriam-Webster.
Recto
Recto is the original “book lover’s haven.” This strip has long been famous as a place to purchase all kinds of cheap, segunda mano books. Ideally situated near the university belt, this is the best site to buy textbooks for the tight-budgeted student. Recto is also a mecca for hard-to-find or out-of-print locally published books that you probably won’t see at most used-books stores. Not just a place to get books, you can also sell your old books here when in need of extra cash or just feel like cleaning out your shelves and drawer. Just remember that prices are not yet final since haggling here is the norm.
Book swaps
If you feel like ridding old books collecting dust in your shelves while getting new ones to fill it up again, then keep your eyes glued on the dailies for announcements of book swaps.
A must-go is the semi-annual Filipinas Heritage Library book swap. Books are appraised and given points by the FHL Book Swap Staff, with 20 points being the highest value for one book.
Book owners are given coupons based on the number of points their books receive. For instance, if you surrender books equaling 50 points, then you will be given coupons worth the same amount in return. You can use these coupons to “purchase” books at the swap.
Seen at the recent swap meet were Erich Segal’s “Love Story” (6 points), Jessica Zafra’s “The Twisted Menace” (3 points), Jackie Collins’ bestsellers (1 point each), John Grisham paperbacks (3 points), Judith McNaught novels (6-18 points) and Alex Garland’s “The Tesseract” (10 points). Back issues of fashion magazines merit half a point each.
Trust me, it’s impossible not to come out grinning from the book swap. For the best book deals, get there as soon as the swap begins. Watch out for the next FHL book swap before the year ends.
Online auction sites
The World Wide Web brings you closer to amazing book bargains. Local online auction sites give book buyers a direct contact with original book owners. Registering as a member is free and easy.
The best thing about online auction sites is the availability of recently published or still popular books that might not be seen at used-books stores for a few more years. Commendable auction sites are eauctions.ph, ebili.com, pinoyauctions.com and bidshot.com. Great finds include “She’s Come Undone,” “Tuesdays with Morrie,” “Bridget Jones’ Diary,” Tolkien’s “Lord of the Rings” series, Christopher Pike novels and “Harry Potter” books.
Other sites to visit include buyand sellph.com, pacific.net.ph’s pacific mall and pinoycentral.com and Pinoyexchange.com’s classifieds section.
It’s late. After rummaging, excavating and haggling all over the Metro, it’s finally time to bring home the newly bought treasures. And with that, the book lover snuggles up, tired but content, and reads the blissful night away.
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7:49 AM
I think this essay is self-explanatory. Every semster, without fail, it comes... I can't wait for graduation, when I won't ever have to encounter hell month again.
How to survive 'hell month'
February 26, 2003
Inquirer News Service
AH yes, dear student, the school year is ending. But before planning that summer trip to the beach, you have to undergo one final hurdle: hell month.
Hell month translates to weeks of distress, agitation and nail-biting due to all the exams, papers, reports and oral defense you have to accomplish to finish the school term.
Your patience and sanity are tested during this period of time as you cope with the nerve-racking pressure of finishing so much work in so little time.
During hell month, coffee becomes a staple, eye bags become part of cosmetics, and acne starts popping uncontrollably on the face.
Times like these bring out the worst in people, so much so that even the gentlest person you know transforms all of a sudden into a cranky ogre.
Although there is no getting past hell month, here is a guide on how to get through it in one piece:
There is no getting around studying. Some people believe that they can get by with just listening to their professor during class time. However, to fully understand the lesson (and getting high marks at that), students must allot some extra studying time on their own.
Have your own study corner. Having a permanent corner would induce you to studying. Your nook should be well lighted, uncluttered, comfy and as quiet as possible. It should also have as little distraction as possible. This means that cell phones should be muted and magazines should be kept at bay. When you can help it, don't take phone calls until you are done with your lessons.
Study regularly. Having a study corner is effective only if you spend time in it at a specific time each day. Consider study time sacred. Before you know it, study has already become a habit.
Stop cramming. Most students seem to live by the motto, "Why do it today, when I can do it tomorrow?" These students get a rush out of beating the clock and submitting their work, although sloppily done, on time. During an exam, they wait until the very last minute before hitting the books, and when that last minute arrives, they don't sleep a wink. Later on, they complain how little sleep they get. Procrastinating during normal times is bad-during hell month it is a nightmare. Perennial crammers should learn how to maximize time and use it wisely. If they won't do it for their grades, they should do it for their health.
Get sufficient sleep. During hell month, sleeping seems a nuisance, a waste of precious time. It is then tempting to forego sleep in order to finish reading for that test tomorrow and writing that term paper due in three days. However, sleeping only two or three hours a day may spell disaster. Losing sleep over studying may get you sick. It may spoil your concentration during a test, or worse you not make it to the test at all. This brings us to the next lesson...
Make sure you make it to the exam. This seems a silly advice, but some people oversleep because they were too tired cramming the night before. Take the case of my friend Liz last semester, who spent all night studying for her 7:30 history finals only to wake up at 9 a.m. and miss the exam entirely.
Make sure you get the exam time correctly. A classmate of mine thought that his oral exam was due 7 p.m. He went to the venue an hour before since he didn't want to be late. Eventually his time came but the teacher did not call him in. Soon he found out in horror that his oral exams had been due 7 that morning. He was not allowed to make up.
Study first the most difficult lessons, and then proceed to the easier ones. When you have two or more exams for the next day, study the more difficult lesson before proceeding to the next. In that way, even if you lack time studying for the easier subjects, you have at least acquainted yourself with the more difficult subject.
Join study groups. Such groups are effective, just as long as they are not mere chat groups on the latest episode of "Sex and the City."
Before going to a study group, make sure you have studied the lesson thoroughly on your own. The study group should serve only as a review group and as support to clarify some concepts you don't understand.
Stay healthy. If you notice, most students get sick during exams time. Colds and fever are plentiful during hell month because of stress, poor eating habits and lack of sleep. It is imperative then to stay healthy during hell month. This means you have to eat well and exercise to keep fit, improve your concentration and minimize stress. You should also take vitamins regularly.
Reward yourself. You are not a machine that can work 24/7 and not have a break. Reward yourself for every milestone you have accomplished. If you have finished studying for that Theology finals, for instance, perhaps you can pamper yourself by reading a good book or getting a pedicure. Remember, every little task you finish leads you one step closer to that much awaited summer vacation on the beach.
Somewhere in time in Biak na Bato
Inquirer News Service
Situated 20 minutes from San Miguel, Bulacan, the Biak na Bato National Park is actually part of two other Bulacan towns, San Ildefonso and Doña Remedios. It was the site of what would turn out to be "cave trekking."
The park is a historic place. It served as shelter for hundreds of Katipuneros fleeing from the Spaniards during the Philippine revolution. Tourists and nature lovers also flock to it for its rich flora and fauna and its jaw-dropping rock formations.
But it is especially known for its caves—there are over a hundred caves in the park; however, only less than 20 have been explored. It is a must to hire a local guide when exploring the caves for the first time. A guide usually charges P150 for each cave exploration.
Our group set our sights on Paniki Cave, or Bat Cave. Our guides said that Paniki Cave is the most explored of all the caves because the trek leading to it is comparatively easier.
The hike was far smoother than I had expected. The trail leading to the cave did not seem steep at all. The relatively cooler climate in the park also helped make the climb leisurely.
It did not seem long before we found ourselves in Paniki Cave. We dipped our feet in the cool mountain water found in the cave while our eyes drank in the gargantuan stalagmite formations.
We let ourselves be hypnotized by the cave's wonders. We made our way back to the resort, but not before leaving our weariness behind. I sighed, and realized it was the first time I had enjoyed a trek.
Leisure farm
We returned to the San Miguel Leisure Farm for lunch. Our food tasted excellent. The fantastic view of the Sierra Madre Mountain Range also helped whet our appetites.
But the best part of my stay was taking my siesta in one of the resort's thatched-roof huts. The huts were small but cozy, and it was considerably cool despite the lack of electricity. Sleep came easy. In fact, it was one of the best naps I ever had.
After siesta, our hosts, Christine and Yummie Ngkaion, announced they were taking us somewhere-not just to another place but to another time.
When our van headed toward the San Miguel town proper and made a turn to Rizal St., we saw century-old houses and we felt, indeed, that we had gone back in time.
But what made the houses special were the role some of them had played in Philippine history. Mr. and Ms F. D. V. Buencamino gave us a tour of the houses while providing facts and trivia.
The De Leon house was said to be owned by a relative of Gregorio del Pilar. Apparently, explained the Buencamino couple, Gregorio del Pilar stayed in the house before proceeding to Tirad Pass.
The De Leon house carried furniture and artifacts from the past century, all peculiar and interesting. But most fascinating were the religious icons, particularly the century-old sculptures of the 12 apostles. They were stored in a dark storage room only to be taken out during the Holy Week for procession. Kept in the dark room, the icons looked almost alive.
The townsfolk believed that the images were magical. The caretaker of the mansion told us the statues were picky on who would carry them during processions. "If they don't like you, you won't be able to lift them. They will suddenly become heavy," he said.
At the Tecson-Mendiola mansion, which belongs to a clan of Chinese-Spanish mestizos, we were told that Emilio Aguinaldo signed the Truce of Biak na Bato there.
Some houses on Rizal St. would be familiar to many since they had been used for movie and television productions, such as the movie, "Filipinas," and the soap drama, "Hanggang sa Dulo ng Walang Hanggan."
We capped our stay in San Miguel with a visit to Ocampo's pastillas factory, where we learned about the basics of making the yummy delicacy while gorging on it.
It was sad that the day had to end. If only I had known sooner, I would have gone to San Miguel earlier.
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