Sir, Boss, Mam

Sa Pinas, yan ang madalas nating gamiting pagbati sa mga taong nakakataas sa atin. Ginagamit natin ito bilang paggalang (na may halong pagsepsep) sa mga kasamahan natin sa trabaho na mas senior sa atin. Sir/Mam din ang bati sa atin ng mga maid at yaya.

“Good Morning Sir” ang unang maririnig mo sa mga sekyu pagpasok mo sa department store. “Can I have your order, Sir?” sabi naman ng bata sa counter ng Jollibee. Lahat naka-“sir”, naka-“mam”.

Eto ang isang pagkakaibang napansin ko dito sa NZ. Sa office environment, o maging sa casual na paguusap, walang nagtatawagan ng Sir, Mam, o Boss kahit na ang kausap mo pa ay ang CEO ng kumpanyang pinapasukan mo. Lahat ng tawagan, mostly first-name basis. Sa mga pormal na okasyon naman, Mr, Miss or Mrs followed by the person’s last name ang gamit na tawagan.

Nung una-una ako dito medyo ilang akong tawagin ang boss ko na walang Sir. Kaya lang dito kasi ang Sir o Mam, ginagamit lang sa mga taong naparangalan ng knighthood ng Queen of England. Ang halimbawa si Sir Elton John. May “Sir” siya sa unahan ng pangalan niya kasi binigyan siya ng knighthood ni Queen.

Wala rin boss-boss dito, in the sense na katulad sa atin. Sa atin kapag boss ka, may taga-timpla ka ng cape, taga bili ng pagkain mo, kulang na lang pati paghugas ng pwet mo, iutos mo pa. Dito, kahit ikaw pa ang may-ari ng kumpanya, wala kang mauutusan para gawin ang iyong mga personal na pangangailangan. Yun ngang may-ari ng supermarket na pinapasukan ni Jean, makikita mo kung minsan tumutulong siya sa pag-refill ng mga stocks. Kung minsan nama’y nagpupunas ng flooring. Parehas lang ang estado sosyal ng employer at employees.

Sa aking pananaw ang paggamit ng mga pagbating nabanggit ay isang manipestasyon ng ating peudal na nakaraan. Dahil sa matagal na pagsakop sa atin ng mga banyaga nasanay tayo sa buhay na may master at may servant. Naging normal sa ating kamulatan ang isiping may iba’t-ibang antas ang lipunan. May mga makapangyarihan at may mga tagasunod lamang.

Eto ang isang bagay na kakaiba sa NZ (at maging sa ibang mauunlad na bansa). Ang kamulatang pinalalaganap ay ang pagiging pantay-pantay lahat ng tao. Kung sabagay, wala naman kasing ibang bansang sumakop sa NZ, kaya wala rin sa mentality nila ang notion ng master at slave. Kaya kung mapapunta ka dito at may tumawag sa yong Sir, Mam, Bossing, asahan mo, walang paltos Pinoy yon. Tama ba Bossing?

What is the significance of Good Friday?

a) It is the day Jesus was born.
b) It is the day when Jesus died on the cross.
c) It is the day Jesus rose from the dead.

This was a question asked in one TV show for kids last weekend. There were 2 teams competing with 4 members each of kids between the ages of 10 and 12. Believe it or not, none of the teams gave the right answer! (Which of course is letter b).

Ask this question to any 10 year old kid from the Philippines and you can be assured that you’ll get the right answer 99% of the time. As someone who grew up from a Catholic country, I thought these facts about Jesus are common knowledge. Too common, in fact, that asking them in a quiz show sounds ridiculous. More so giving an incorrect answer is almost sacrilegious. So, it was a bit of a culture shock for me to find out that here in NZ, a lot of children (and I’m sure even adults) hardly even knew anything about Jesus’ life.

In another news coverage last Sunday, a reporter was interviewing people on the street asking them what occasion we celebrate on Easter Sunday. From the answers given by the interviewees you can sense that very few really understand the meaning of Christ’s Resurrection. Some don’t even know that Jesus is the reason for Easter. There was one kid who said Easter Sunday is the day when bunnies go searching for eggs; that he is happy to celebrate it because he gets to eat big chocolate Easter eggs. It may be funny for others, but for me I felt really sad, angry even for some people’s seeming indifference to someone who’s paid the ultimate sacrifice for mankind. The least they could do is to know the basic facts about His life and death.

Oh well. It’s a different country, different people, different culture, different beliefs. Not everyone thinks the way we do. The only consolation is knowing that there are lots of people here who knew nothing about Jesus who live humble, honest, moral and decent lives. Compare that with some of our Church-going countrymen, politicians and even leaders of the clergy who live corrupt, decadent double lives. It would have been better if they had not known Jesus at all.

Don't Blog Your Boss

An interesting article I read from the New Zealand Herald. It talks about the consequences of blogging as far as employment is concerned. It reports of workers losing their jobs because of things they say about their employers in their personal blogs.

Here are a few notable excerpts from this article that you can read in full by clicking this link.

In the United States, Ellen Simonetti lost her job at Delta Airlines after she posted photos of herself on her weblog in diary of a flight attendant. Pictures showed her posing on board an aircraft wearing staff uniform. The company wasn't pleased. Until she included the photos, her site had been anonymous. Mark Jen lost his job at internet company Google after just 11 days with the firm in the US. His mistake? Keeping a daily online diary of his time there and revealing company tittle-tattle. In Britain, retail worker Joe Gordon became the first blogger in the country to be sacked because he kept an online diary that mentioned his "sandal-wearing" boss at bookseller Waterstone's. Britain's Guardian newspaper reported that Gordon was sacked for "gross misconduct" and for "bringing the company into disrepute".

The article concludes by saying that blogs although private in nature are public documents and therefore laws on publishing apply. By criticizing other people, your employer, your company or your customers, bloggers run the risk of being fired and can be exposed to defamation and slander charges. Careful, you never know, one of your readers may be your own boss.

The Diary of Clarabelle Lorance (conclusion)

Please read Parts 1,2 and 3 first in previous posts before reading this.

21st March 1845 Dear Diary, Nathaniel is getting better. He is slowly recovering from such a horrible ordeal. I visit him everyday to give him some food. In return he takes me to the most beautiful places. Yesterday we went to the top of a cliff and I saw the most manificent view of the sunset. It was absolutely stunning! 26th March 1845 Dear Diary, Today we passed a little hollow near a creek. We saw wild roses growing in a small spot. It is the first flower I have seen in a while. Ever since we started this journey all I have seen is lots of dust. Nathaniel picked a bunch of flowers and gave them to me. I was quite overwhelmed by the gift but I thanked him anyway. He has changed a lot since his father had an unfortunate outbreak. He has become older in a way. Before he was a mischievous boy. Now he is .... no, he has become a man. 1st April 1845 Dear Diary, This will be my last entry. I have caught cholera and I am becoming weak. Even as I write I feel exhausted. I do not think I can go on living so close to death. Before when I had just been diagnosed I fought it. I did not let it empower me but now I see no point so I no longer fight it. Instead I long to embrace it. If death comes to me I shall go to him running. Nathaniel comes and visits me everyday though I tell him he shouldn’t. For I am scared I will infect him with cholera. But he just smiles and tells me that during his time of need, I was there for him. He says he will never abandon me, as I did not him. We often have conversations when he visits. Once he asked me if I was afraid of dying. I said no without even realizing it. That’s when I knew I wasn’t. I am not afraid of dying. I have no reason to be. For I have no regrets in my life, not even deciding to go on this journey. I have enjoyed every minute of it, even some of the bad times. So even though I lie in bed sick with cholera I feel happy. I no longer have responsibilities and expectations to live up to. For once I feel free. 2nd April 1845 I am saddened to say that Clarabelle Lorance, daughter of Mr.H.Lorance died in her sleep last night. She had been suffering from cholera for a while and we all hope she died peacefully. Clarabelle never thought death was a terrifying end, but instead she told me that for her death was a blessing. A way to free her from the pain and suffering she endured every minute of her life since she caught this disease. When she was healthy she told me tales of a beautiful place, where daffodils blossomed all year round. I think she is there now lying next to a valley of daffodils. I think we will all miss her. I know I do. Clarabelle was my light in the darkness, my sun on a rainy day and my best friend. I loved her. My life and the world will not be the same without her. Nathaniel Sheridian

This was written by Fidez when she was in year 8 (equivalent to grade 6) as part of their Social Studies class when they were studying about the first American pilgrims to California.

The Diary of Clarabelle Lorance (part 3)

Please read Parts 1 and 2 first in previous posts before reading this.

5th March 1845 Dear Diary, Today a small child fell under a wagon wheel and died. We have experienced a lot of terrible ordeals but this has to be the worst. The child died too early in his life, he was only three! Sometimes I wonder where God is when these terrible things happen. I wonder why He took them so young. Then I realize God has a purpose for every thing and there is nothing we can do, instead we have to welcome his decisions with open arms and hope it is the right thing. 6th March 1845 Dear Diary, We felt miserable today. The heat was unbearable. It caused our water to grow warm and our food to soil. So we are back to eating crusty bread and warm water. 11th March 1845 Dear Diary, The whole camp is in mourning, after the death of the Sheridians. It is awful; I can’t believe that something so brutal could happen. No one could have predicted that Mr.Sheridian would lose his sanity, and kill his wife and children. He committed suicide shortly after the murders. The only one of the Sheridians that survived was Nathaniel, their oldest son. He was collecting firewood when this tragedy happened. Poor Nathaniel he is in distraught, he keep blaming himself. He is saying stupid things like that it was his fault and he could have saved them. It’s terrible for someone my age to go through something so traumatizing. Mr.Sheridian has always been a respectable man. We could never think he was capable of such a violent act. We all mourn for him and this family. 15th March 1845 Dear Diary, Today we had our first encounter with the Indians. They visited us in the dead of night begging for food. The Indians had brought scalps, which they had taken to battle to show us. I have heard a lot about the Indians many times. People told me they were savages and greedy criminals who wanted all the gold. Some even say that only a dead Indian is a good Indian. I do respect their opinion however I think that the Indians are completely misjudged. The Indians who visited us looked harmless. They even looked as if they were dying of starvation. But Mr.Sparks still sent them away without food and water. When everyone was distracted by one of the oxen I gave the Indians all the food I had. They thanked me with big smiles on their faces and left quietly. Before they left they blessed me with good fortune and a happy life.

(to be continued...)

The Diary of Clarabelle Lorance (part 2)

Please read Part 1 first in previous posts before reading this.

12th February 1845 Dear Diary, Today was a rather unfortunate day because Mrs. Thomsen’s children found two deceased bodies. The children were playing hiding games to amuse themselves, when they stumbled upon the bodies. Dr. Sheridian said that the bodies belonged to criminals because they had rope burns around their necks, so they were obviously hanged. When Mrs. Thomsen found her children kneeling over two dead bodies she went hysterical. I do hope she calms down soon, though I do understand that it must be traumatizing knowing your children have seen such a terrible sight. I can only hope that we don’t run into anything like this again, for the children’s sake and for mine. 20th February 1845 Dear Diary, We have finally reached the Army Fort. I am writing this while I enjoy a fulfilling piece of buffalo meat. It is the first satisfying meal I have had in a while. I am overjoyed that we have finally reached the fort. Here I met other people, some heading to San Francisco, Mines, and Utah. Some as far as St Joseph! They told me stories of their journey and experiences. We laughed and talked for what seemed like years. I will pray to God everyday that they too, will reach the mines safely. 22th February 1845 Dear Diary, We left the army fort yesterday with new supplies and renewed spirits. The whole bull train is filled with so much happiness. I can’t wait until we reach California! 26th February 1845 Dear Diary, Today we could not travel because of the heat. Our oxen just refused to move. So instead we used this day to make sure everything was in order. While our parents fixed things that needed to be mended, I looked after the children with Nathaniel. We played games with the children and told them stories of heroes and heroines. I felt like a child again, carefree and oblivious to the world around me. It’s days like this I feel lucky to be alive.

(to be continued...)

The Diary of Clarabelle Lorance (part 1)

This was written by Fidez when she was only 12 years old.

The Diary of Clarabelle Lorance (1830-1845) Her Journey to California by Fidez 8LL (Map drawn by Fidez of Clarabelle's journey from Missouri to California) 8th February 1845 Dear Diary, Since our journey began a lot of people have died of cholera outbreak. I fear that I too may fall victim to this deadly disease. I have decided to keep a record of our journey so if I should pass away my brothers and sisters, and people younger than me, will be able to look back on our journey. Oh it seems so long ago since Papa decided that we should head west in search of gold and fortune. Sometimes when we look back, we sometimes regret leaving home. Papa tells us to keep going and he encourages us to go on. 11th February 1845 Dear Diary, Lately our food supply is running low and our water is starting to go brown. It has been days since we came upon a clean waterhole. Yesterday we passed a waterhole however, the buffalo had already reached it before we did and the little water that was left was contaminated. Everyone’s spirits are down and we are all getting dehydrated. I do hope we reach the Army fort soon so that we can replenish our supplies and our spirits for the long journey ahead.

(to be continued...)

Isabella White - a Ghost Story

I can’t think of anything to write, so I thought I’ld post this short story written a year ago by my daughter, instead.

As part of their creative writing class, my daugther’s English teacher asked them to write a short story about their experiences during a recent school camping. Needless to say their composition has to be creative and entertaining. I was very impressed with Fidez’s writing who was only 13 years old when she wrote this. I’m publishing it here for posterity. I hope you like it.

Isabella White By Fidez 9LN I drifted into the cold silent dining room. The wooden tables and chairs and the barren stage with the dust filled piano had not changed one bit. Everything was exactly the same as it has been for 3 years. That was what pained me, not one cobweb moved since I died in this retched place. I drowned here 3 or so years ago in the river under the bridge. The way the wind stung my cheeks, the way the muddy bank slipped from my feet and the way the ice cold water filled my lungs has been forever stamped into my head. However I’ve forgotten why I was at the river or what exactly happened but I have always had the yearning to find out. They never found my body instead they placed a cross in the riverbank. Engraved on it was Isabella White 1986-2000. Normally you would expect the soul of the deceased to move on and find a peaceful place to rest but something has held me back. So for 3 whole years I have been restricted to the fences of this campsite as transparent shadow of the girl I once was. In addition I have to endure the pain of watching girls wander in and out of grounds chattering away like parrots in trees. I started to hear the faint sound of big black wheels crunching a dusty gravel path. The bus came to a halt and 100 girls came thundering out each carrying luggage the size of mountains. I envied them with passion. Sneering voices came into my head - ooh look at their clothes! I hate these clothes I am stuck in! Why are they so happy? Why can’t I be like them? People can’t even see me! I hung around and waited for them to assign cabins, duties and activities for the day. I heard a shrill voice call out “Group 2: Cabin 13”. The girls soon departed and I followed a group of girls enter cabin 13, my cabin. A red headed girl plonked her baggage onto my bunk. She pulled the rubber mat down and neatly spread out her sleeping bag. She was pretty but gigantic glasses covered her face, which was unfortunate because her fair skin was flawless. She made an attempt to introduce herself to the other girls “My name’s Izzy, I’m in 9PT. How about you guys?” Her smile was infectious and I couldn’t help but like her. On the contrary however the other girls laughed and snickered. Izzy just sat there motionless. A camp instructor yelled at them to get a move on and make their way to their activities. They bounded out the door and headed to the field. It was here that they would conquer the trapeze, walk the high beam, be thrown into the air and climb a colossal pole. The girls got into their harnesses and each took turns in every activity. Each one of them quivered with fear as they climbed the high poles. Every once in a while a girl would burst into tears and hug the pole as if it was a cuddly teddy bear. Eventually they overcame their dread and would leap into the air like a flying squirrel. After a few hours I grew bored and drifted away. I stopped in the middle of a meadow and observed the surroundings. This place was actually quite beautiful. Log cabins formed a methodical grid on the field. Surrounding the cabins were picturesque Christmas trees. The sky appeared as a brilliant blanket of blue airbrushed with puffy white clouds. Even the deadly river gave off a false sense of calmness, its lapping current hitting the smooth grey rocks. A metal bell clanged agonisingly; disturbing the serenity. The same shrill voice called everyone to dinner and herds of girls stampeded towards the dining room. After dinner came a surprise announcement. The girls were to go on the Burma Trail. I had never heard of this before. I later found out what this was. The girls were to cross the bridge and explore the forest with no flashlights. The only thing to guide them was thin rope which would lead them to the open meeting ground. A wave of excitement spread throughout the room as girls whispered anxiously to one another. I couldn’t help but feel anxious myself as I waited patiently for them to get ready. By the time the girls left the cabins it was completely black outside. There was no moon tonight and the stars had yet to come out. An eerie ghostlike mist covered the floor of paddock as the girls lined up. After a lot of bickering and frightful sobs they eventually entered the forest. I followed groups of girls into the thick blanket of forest. I was quite disappointed because it turned out boring and uneventful. All the girls did was: scream, slip down the muddy path and gossip non stop. I grew uninterested and was contemplating leaving until I heard one of the instructors launch into an enthusiastic ghost story. His voice turned low haunting voice as he proceeded to begin. It was one night just like this, just 3 years ago There was a girl called Isabella She was a lonely girl and she longed to have friends One night a few girls thought they might play a joke on her They told her to meet them at the bridge and that they would all go for a fun midnight swim She eagerly met them even though the current was vicious They told Isabella that she should go first They told her that they would help her Isabelle waded into the stream but as she slipped from the muddy bank into the bed of rocks She screamed for help but all the girls did was run away They say that she screamed until water completely filled her lungs Her body was never found, many believe that it is still here And that she often returns and skims the water she died in She sits by herself under the bridge laughing crazily. Just a few days ago under the bridge a message was found: So you don’t want to be with me? I’ll get you back. You wait and see… My eyes started to prick as I felt tears run down my face. I remember now the way they made me think I was their friend and how they didn’t hesitate to run away. As I was dwelling in my sorrow I heard girls whispering. “Come on Izzy! Just go into the water and see if you find the body!” I heard splashes and realised that Izzy was going into the river. I glided as fast as I could to where I heard the voices. I saw Izzy go into the water and I heard her mumble “I know what you’re doing. But the jokes on you, I’ll swim all the way down this river till you think I’m dead …then we’ll see who looks stupid” She swam gracefully down the stream but I could tell she was frightened. She stopped at a dead end. It was over crowded with murky mud, rough rocks and frightening flax bushes. I heard a splash as her glasses fell into the water. She stooped down to find them but something frightened her and she screamed and lost focus. She fell under the water and the current sucked her in. She was so helpless like fly in a spider web. I wasn’t sure what to do or whether I could help her. Emotion swept over me and a voice in my mind screamed “NO! She’s not going to die like I did!” I reached in and thrust my hand into the water and hauled her up. My fingers felt as if they were alive again. I placed her onto my bank as she spluttered and coughed strangely resembling a caught fish on a deck of a boat. Her face was pale white and her hair was tangled. Footsteps pounded against the path as the instructors rushed over her frail body. She regained consciousness and slurred words “Bushes…Body.” I couldn’t decipher her message but the instructors headed towards the bushes and started to search for something. I heard a deep male voice yell “I think I’ve found a body …there’s a locket … a name’s engraved on it …” People huddled together in anticipation of a name. His voice was faint barely louder than a whisper “Her name’s Isabella White” Suddenly I felt as if someone had just set me free. A ripple of joy and happiness went through me. My feet floated off the ground and I started ascending upwards. I suddenly realised I was moving on. I could finally rest in peace.

Isang paraan ng pagpunta sa NZ

Magkano na ba ngayon ang halaga ng pagpapa-aral ng kolehiyo sa Pilipinas? Kahit rough estimate lang ng mga pangkaraniwang courses – nursing, engineering, medicine, law, commerce, etc.

Kaya ko naman ito naitanong kasi gusto kong ikumpara ang gastos dito sa NZ. Student visa kasi ang isa sa pinakamadaling paraan ng pagpunta dito sa NZ. Kung may pera kang pang-tuition sa mga unibersidad dito at ikaw ay tanggapin nila, automatic kang mabibigyan ng visa ng NZ embassy. Hindi naman kahirapan ang entrance sa mga unibersidad dito. Ang isa nga lang sa mga requirements ay ang hinayupak na English test. Pwede itong kuhanin sa Australian Embassy sa Makati.

Iniisip ko kasi kung may kamahalan din lang ang pantustos ng kolehiyo sa atin, tapos pagkagradweyt naman ay walang siguradong trabaho, bakit hindi na lang dito sa NZ mag-aral? Sigurado akong mas mahal dito pero mas malaki ang chances na makapag-trabaho pagkagradweyt. Kung hindi ako nagkakamali, ang tuition dito ng isang international student sa loob ng isang taon nasa $10k hanggang $15k.

Actually, kung ako ang tatanungin, mas maganda dito ang mga vocational courses o blue-collar jobs. Maiksi lang kaya mas madali ring makatapos at makapag-trabaho. Matataas pa ang mga sweldo. Pati nga ang pagputol ng mga puno pinag-aaralan pala. Ang tawag nila sa mga taong ganito ang hanap-buhay arborist. Mahal maningil ang mga arborist. Nung minsan nga nagpa-quote kami para i-trim ang isa naming puno, i-trim lang ha, ang quote sa amin $800! Yun naman electrician namin naglagay lang siya ng sampung powerpoints at tatlong ilaw, $1500 ang siningil niya! Yung handyman na gumawa ng kitchen renovation namin, $250 per day. At yung hairdresser namin, $100 to $300 ang haircolor with hairstyle.

Ano ba yan? Mali yata ang propesyon ko. Makapag-aral na nga ng pangungulot.

Ah, fresh air!

If you’re coming over to NZ you'll find it refreshing to be able to breath clean air. There is hardly any air pollution around.

Smoking in any enclosed public areas is now prohibited, even in pubs and bars. And the price of tobacco is exorbitant compared to that in the Philippines. If you’re a smoker coming over to NZ be prepared to either quit smoking or spend around $10 per pack (I’m not sure of the actual street price as I don’t smoke). That’s roughly 400 pesos per pack! If that’s not going to force you to reduce or even make you stop smoking, I don’t know what will.

Think of it this way. If you’re a 1 pack a day smoker and decide to quit smoking that will be $3650 ($10 x 365 days) saved in a year. Multiply that by 40, that will be 146,000 pesos. Enough for plane fare to Manila. May pocket money ka pa!

Is it Instinct?

Clasp your hands together and allow your fingers to interlock as in this photo.

Which set of fingers, the left ones or the right ones, goes on top of the other?

I've never thought about this before as it seems very natural to me for my left hand fingers to go on top of my right. I thought it was because I was left handed, not until my daughter who's right handed did the same thing. Her left went over her right. It seems that being left handed or right handed has nothing to do with it.

Always, it's the left on top of the right. Or to think of it another way, the right hand is underneath supporting the left hand.

My daughter said that it's because of genetics, whatever that meant. I can only think of instinct to explain it. Maybe someone out there has a better explanation. Anyone out there who puts their right fingers over their left?

Clasp your hands again but now try putting your right fingers over your left fingers. It doesn't feel natural, isn't it? It feels awkward.

Observe couples and people when holding hands.

Which hand is underneath or behind the other? I'd say it will always feel natural for the right hand to be behind the left hand. I want to be proven wrong on this.

I wonder if this is universal to humankind. Maybe, nature intended it to be this way, so when people join hands together they don't feel any uneasiness.

Last question, when you kiss your partner on the lips, which side does your head incline to? Unfortunately, I can only try this on one person, so I have no empirical data to base any conclusion.

Getting a Gmail Account for Free

I can't believe that some people are actually selling Gmail account invites in Ebay. Gmail is an experiment in a new kind of webmail, built on the idea that you should never have to delete mail and you should always be able to find the message you want.

Gmail is from Google, so you use Google’s search features to find your emails. You have 1GB to store all your emails, so practically, you don’t need to delete anything (I’m a bit skeptical about this though). No need to sort or organize emails either.

It seems that Gmail is a growing fad among geeks like me. You’re not quite a geek if you have no Gmail account.

Unlike Hotmail or Yahoo, you can’t just register and get a Gmail account. Getting one is by invitation only. (Clever marketing I'd say). The invite comes in the form of an an email containing an activation key. Some people sell these invites in Ebay just because these invites are limited and the demand exists.

But why buy when you can get one for free. There is a website http://isnoop.net/gmail/ you can go to and get an invite. This website is a place for people with Gmail invites and those who want them to come together with minimal effort and fuss. All you need to do is enter your current email address and click a button. Wait a few minutes and open your email and you should find your Gmail invitation with a valid activation key.

However, a word of caution: Being experimental, Gmail still has some issues and problems, which I'm sure will be sorted out in time. So, I suggest that you still keep your current email address even if you decide to switch to Gmail.

I think it is worth a try. It's free anyway.

Blogging - The New Reality Show in Town

Too much, even of a seemingly good thing, can turn you off on that thing for good.

This is very true of reality TV shows. Sobra na ang dami. Nakakasawa na. Nagiging parang paulit-ulit na and they become boring and quite ordinary. To make them exciting producers spice them up with controversy. I wouldn’t be surprise if a lot of these so called "reality" shows were scripted; with their conclusions and eventual winners manipulated to some or great extent.

If you really think about it, none of these "reality" shows are genuinely real. The contestants know they are being filmed and because of that their actions would have a fair bit of hollywood acting. I'm sure their actions and decisions would have been different if there were no cameras recording their every move.

In order to be genuinely real, the characters must not be aware that he/she is being watched. Not even the slightest suspicion of someone recording their moves. Medyo mahirap ito kung TV show ang pag-uusapan.

But if you switched on to the Blogging world, and go bloghopping you will notice a lot of sites are about people and their day to day activities. A blog of someone talking not only about themselves but also about other people's intimate lives (and without those people being aware of it) -- that for me, is a form of a genuine reality show. Reading about other people's lives can be quite amusing and even absorbing. As social individuals it is quite natural for us to be curious about how others live.

I feel no qualms reading blogs of people talking about themselves and maybe occasionally about people they get into contact with. But when the blogs are mostly about other people and the stories sometimes bordering into the realm of gossip, (whether innocent or not), I feel uneasy and a bit afraid for the writer.

How would you feel if you find out that all your daily activities were being blogged by someone else? Your private secrets and daily affairs shared openly in public? And then you find out people, total strangers even, make judgments of you and make jokes of you. Even if the writer makes every effort to hide the subject’s identity, the subject would still be able to identify him/herself very easily. If you were the subject of the postings what would you feel towards the writer? At what point is it acceptable to write about other people? At what point is it wrong, thoughtless and inconsiderate to do so?

A fellow blogger, Major Tom, in a comment to a previous post said:

Blogging is the purest form of free speech among all media form nowadays.

It struck me that he's right. Then it dawned on me that every freedom or right we enjoy must be balanced with greater responsibility.

Happiness

I saw this in a note in my letterbox today.

Happiness comes from WITHIN. It cannot come from the OUTSIDE.

Something to reflect on, don't you think?

Cost of Owning a Car in NZ

Ka Uro, necessity ba ang sasakyan diyan sa NZ?

Mahihirapan ka dito lalo na sa Auckland kung wala kang wheels. Limited ang galaw mo kung aasa ka lang sa public transpo at sa kadi-lakad. Ang mga bus naka-oras at hindi kasing dami diyan sa atin.

Magkano naman ang mga sasakyan diyan sa NZ?

Brand new, mahal at mataas ang depreciation. Not advisable. I would recommend second hand, kasi ang mga second hand dito, maganda rin at comparable din naman sa bago. Mostly mga Japanese at European imports. Para magkaroon ka ng idea sa prices which range from $2000 pataas, pasyal ka na lang sa www.autonet.co.nz o kaya www.auto.co.nz. Mas mahal ng kaunti ang mga prices na nasa mga sites na yan kasi presyo yan ng mga car dealers. Siempre may commission pa ang salesman at medyo pakikinangin pa nila bago idispley ang sasakyan.

Kung gusto mong medyo makamura, pwede ka rin bumili sa mga car auctions. Ang isang malaking auction site ay ang Turners Car Auctions. May website din sila www.turners.co.nz.

Isa pang paraan ng pagbili ng sasakyan ay through private sale. Sa Auckland, may tinatawag na "car fair". Every Sunday ito. Lahat ng nagbebenta privately at mga gustong mamili pumupunta sa Ellerslie (isang suburb dito). Maaaliw ka nga dito sa car fair na ito at saksakan ng dami ng sasakyan, may lumang-luma na, may luma lang, may bago-bago, may bago talaga, sari sari na. Kung marunong kang kumilatis ng sasakyan at makipagtawaran, makaka-bargain ka dito.

Once na nakapili ka na ng gusto mong sasakyan, at nagbayaran na kayo ng vendor, magpipirmahan kayo ng change of ownership papers. After these, ano pa ang karagdagang gastos.

Change of Ownership - 9$. Babayaran mo ito sa post office at bibigyan ka ng sticker na katunayan ikaw na ang new owner.

12 month registration - $200. Sa post office din ito pwedeng bayaran.

Car insurance - around $500 to $1500 per year. By phone lang pwede mo na itong i-sort out. Pwede ring walang insurance, pero risky kung makadisgrasya ka.

Ang gasolina naman around $25 to $50 per week depende na sa layo ng tinatakbo mo.

Warrant of Fitness o kung tawagin ay WOF. - Sticker ito na ididikit sa windshield ng kotse pagkatapos itong inspeksiyonin at mapatunayan na road-worthy pa ito. $25 to $40 kada 6 months.

Yan more or less ang cost of owning a motor vehicle dito sa NZ.

Siyanga pala, pwede mong gamitin ang Philippine license mo para mag-drive legally for 12 months. Pagkatapos noon, kailangan kumuha ka na ng NZ driver's license. Maraming kwento si KiwiPinay tungkol sa driving test. Pasyalan niyo ang site niya dito. Lastly, hangga't maaari lang, huwag kang kukuha ng financing para pambayad sa gusto mong sasakyan. Talo ka sa interests. Kung kulang ang pambayad mo, murang sasakyan na lang ang bilhin. Hindi naman uso dito ang pagandahan ng wheels.

Happy driving. Just remember, drive left dito.

Economics of Renting vs Owning a House

Mga tanong sa akin ng isang kaibigan papunta rito sa NZ.
Ka Uro, mag-kano ba ang rental ng apartment o bahay diyan sa New Zealand?
Kung gusto naming bumili ng bahay, madali ba? Mga magkano naman?

Eto ang sagot ko.
Ang mga pinauupahan dito tawag nila flat o unit. Sa isang compound, usually 2 hanggang 4 na flats na magkakadikit. Sa pamilyang nag-uumpisa pa lang okay na ang 2 bedroom flat. May isang toilet and shower, kitchen, living and dining areas. At may isang carport o garahe. Normally, single level lang, hindi up and down.

Meron ding mga townhouse apartments, kadalasan ay up and down. Mga bago, pero, hindi ko ma-rerecomenda dahil may kamahalan and renta.

Ang renta sa 2 bedroom flat o house nasa $180 hanggang $280 per week (note: weekly ang bayaran dito, hindi monthly) depende sa laki, kondisyon nito at sa location. Kapag malapit sa city, sa mga eskwelahan, nasa ruta ng bus, at magandang area mas mahal. Ang disadvantage ng nag-rerent, parang tinatapon mo lang ang pera.

Kung meron ka naman pang down payment, mas maigi kung bumili ka na ng bahay o kahit unit o flat lang. Ang down payment na hinihingi ng bangko ay 5% lang naman. Ang 95% pahihiram sa yo ng bangko. Hindi mo kailangan ng collateral, basta may stable job ka. Mas madali kang makautang sa bangko kung salaried worker ka kasi alam nila kaagad ang total salary mo, kumpara sa kung ikaw ay contractual o kaya may sariling business. Kung sarili mo kasi ang business, hindi mako-compute ng bangko ang kita mo. Normally 20 to 25 years ang term at sa kasalukuyan 7.7% ang interest rate. Mas malaki ang weekly outflow mo sa pagbabayad ng mortgage kumpara sa kung nag-rerent ka lang. Pero, magiging iyo naman ang bahay, eventually.

Kabibili ko nga lang ng isang rental property, isang 2 bedroom na bahay at ngayon ay pina-uupahan ko sa halagang $270 kada linggo. Nabili ko ito ng $210,000. Tingnan natin kung ano ang mas maganda. Ang mag-rent o ang bumili. Sino ang may mas magandang katayuan, after, say 20 years (term ng home loan). Halimbawa, gusto mong mag-retire sa Pinas after 20 years, magkanong pera ang maiuuwi mo?

Total amount paid if renting for 20 years: $270 x 52 weeks x 20 years = $280,800

Medyo komplikado ang formula, pero kung marunong ka ng Excel, pwede mong gamitin ang PMT function at ipasok ito. Interest Rate = 7.7% divided by 52 (para weekly) . Present value = $210000, Number of payments = 20 years x 52 weeks. Ang makukuha mong sagot ay $395.94 per week.

Total amount of amortizations for 20 years: $395.94 x 52 weeks x 20 years = $411,777

Mas malaking pera ang ilalabas mo kung binili mo ang property kesa kung nag-rent ka lang. Mas malaki ng $130,977 ($411,777 minus $280,800).

Para mas madali ang pag-kumpara ng renting versus owning, isipin mo na lang na naglalabas ka ng $395.94 kada linggo. Kung nag-rerent ka ng $270 per week, ang $395.94 minus $270 ay $125.94. Eto ang savings mo kada linggo. Multiply mo ng 52 weeks at 20 years, you get $130,977 after 20 years. May pera ka, pero wala ka pa ring bahay. Yan ang take home money mo sa Pinas after 20 years. At kahit lagyan mo pa ng interest ito, hindi ito aabot ng 200k.

Eto naman kung binili mo ang bahay. Nagbabayad ka ng $395.94 kada linggo. Wala kang savings per week. After 20 years, wala ka ngang pera, PERO, may bahay ka. Magkakaroon ka lang ng pera kung ibebenta mo ang bahay. Ang halaga ng bahay after 20 years, hindi lang magiging doble, kung minsan triple o higit pa. Sa doble na lang: 2 x $210,000, e di $420,000 ang pera mo, at taymis 40 na lang = P16.8 MILLION PESOSES ang iuuwi mo sa Pinas!

Conclusion: You'll be better off buying a house than renting in the long term.

BTW, simplified lang na explanation ito. May mga variables na hindi ko na binanggit. Tulad ng rent, tumataas yan, interest rates, pabago-bago yan. Mga insurances, amilyar at repair expenses, karagdagan yan kung sarili mo ang bahay. Pero pwede na ring i itcha pwera ang mga yan. Manageable na man at di malaki. Just think of owning a house as forced savings for your retirement.

Tina

About 2 decades ago I worked with a European construction company in Saudi Arabia. Jean and I just recently got married, when I got a call from the recruiting agency that I needed to fly immediately to Al Khobar, KSA. Leaving your love ones for the almighty dollar is one of the toughest sacrifices Filipino overseas workers are forced to endure.

I worked for 18 months straight in KSA. And it was the longest 18 months of my life. Each waking day was a day I wanted to just pass by. Saudi Arabia is such an unfriendly place to live in. The climate was harsh. If it was not scorching hot, it was chilly cold. Making it worse was the unfair treatment we Filipino workers experienced daily from our European bosses, who were mostly racist and treated us brown colored workers as second class beings.

There were only two times of the day to look forward to. The time when work ends at 6PM and the time when mail was delivered. Everyday at around 3PM we received our mails. The letters we receive from home were perhaps the most significant single thing that stopped us from losing our sanity. For they were our only connection with our loved ones and the life we miss so much.

The feeling of joy one gets from a piece or pieces of paper (in those days when there was no email or internet yet), was indescribable. Much more if one receives a letter with photos in it, the feeling was magical! Like you're on cloud nine. At one time I received a letter from my sis who was in the States. She had just given birth to my first niece, Tina. Her letter contained cute photos of baby Tina smiling and crawling. Receiving those photos was a most wonderful moment. I was ecstatic I posted the photos all around the walls of my room. And everyday until the very last day I left Saudi Arabia, those photos stayed there, putting a smile on my face and briefly making me forget the hardships and loneliness.

Tina now has grown up to be quite a fun-loving and really bright young lady. Last time I've seen her was 10 years ago.

I've never related this story about those photos to anyone before. To Tina, I say thank you for helping me go through those sad times. And when it's you who feel sad, don't despair. Just remember all the people around you who loves you and most importantly Someone up there who loves you the most.

"The Last Samurai" and "Two Cars, One Night"

Kakapanood ko lang nung isang gabi sa DVD ng movie ni Tom Cruise, yung The Last Samurai. Sa DVD ko na lang kasi inaabangan ang mga pelikulang gusto kong panoorin. Mahal kasi ang sine dito. $10 to $12 kung adult. Mahal din ang arkila ng DVD kapag new release kaya hinihintay ko na lang na maluma, o kaya, humihiram na lang ako ng kopya sa mga kaibigan.

Gusto kong panoorin itong The Last Samurai kasi maraming eksena dito ang kinunan sa Mt. Taranaki, New Zealand. Ang Mt Taranaki kasi halos perpek cone din tulad ng Mt Fuji ng Japan. Hindi naman ako na-disappoint sa nakita ko. Napakaganda ng cinematography ng pelikula. At kung taga-NZ ka mare-recognize mo ang mga sceneries kahit na di mo pa napuntahan si Taranaki. Very green ang damo at may mga ferns kaya alam mong New Zealand. Nagustuhan ko rin ang istorya ng pelikula kahit na may pagka madugo ang mga battle scenes, kasi may human drama at pinapakita ang conflict ng luma at modernong pamamaraan at pamumuhay.

Tulad ng LOTR at ang The Whale Rider na pawang gawa din dito sa NZ, mairerekomenda kong panoorin itong The Last Samurai.



Ang isa pang kapapanood ko pa lang na gawa dito ay ang short film na "Two Cars, One Night". Labing isang minuto lang ito. (Kaya nga short film).

TWO CARS, ONE NIGHT is a tale of first love. What at first seems to be a relationship based on rivalry soon develops into a friendship. We learn that love can be found in the most unlikely of places.

Simple lang ang kwento nito tungkol sa perslab. Tatlong bata nga lang ang main characters. Simple pero cute at makatotohanan. Sa mga dialog ng tatlong bata, para bang nasariwa sa alaala ko nung bata pa ako at unang makipag-usap sa batang babae na type ko. Puppy love nga naman! Marami na ring nalikom na awards itong short film na ito nung nakaraang taon. Etong taon na ito, nominated siya sa best short film category sa Oscar Awards.

If you can change one thing about your life, what will it be?

This is a typical beauty contest question. And the classic answer has always been "nothing, I will not change a thing". I’ve been thinking about these type of questions a lot lately. Don’t know why, but maybe it’s normal when you’re past 40 and entering mid-life. All I know is there’s no truth to the rumor that I plan to join a beauty contest.

My parents died early. My father was 43 when he met an accident and died in his workplace. I was 10 years old at the time. Because I was young, I have fond but few memories of my dad.

My mom died nine years later after Dad died. She was 48. Her death was a slow painful one for she died of bone cancer. She had chemotheraphy for a few months, but that didn't control the cancer. For weeks, she became bed-ridden and had to take pain-killers to alleviate the pain and she knew her time was coming.

Mom was a HERO in my life. When Dad died, Mom single-handedly took over the task of raising us, all five of us, two boys and three girls. She was too pre-occupied earning a living just so we could all go to good schools that she sacrificed her own happiness. She never remarried and instead she devoted her life fully to us, her children. She believed that the best legacy she could give us was good education. That is why during her last days on earth I could only imagine the agony she must be enduring, tormented by the knowledge that she was leaving four children, all in college, and one still in high school all by ourselves, and not knowing what will become of us. The emotional torture was perhaps as unbearable as the physical pain caused by cancer. My mom is the most unselfish and bravest person I've ever known.

A few years after Mom's death, my two elder sisters graduated BS Nursing and BS Commerce from UST. Me and my younger brother graduated BSCE from UP in Diliman. And our youngest finished BS Architecture from UST. I know that one of the proudest moments of parent’s life is to see his/her child climb the stage and accept a university degree. An event, Mom never had the chance to experience.

So if ever I can change one thing about my life, what will it be? It will be for Mom to still be alive today. For her to be in our presence so I can hug and thank her enough. I want her to feel proud of what we've become. I'll bestow her my university diploma and say that this piece of paper wouldn't have been possible without her. I want to let her know that her sacrifices, blood, sweat and tears were not in vain. Mom, thank you, I love you.

Dear Kuya Eddie, may bumabagabag sa akin...

Blogging is a wonderful invention. First, if you are the writer, it gives you a chance to pour out your thoughts and feelings and share it with other people. Second, if you are the reader of other people’s blogs it gives you the chance to be friends with other bloggers who may be total strangers and if not for blogging the chances of knowing them is a definite nill. Blogging is a medium for interaction, a form of virtual sex, if you may. (In fact, you might understand my feelings better if you replace all "blogging" words in this post and replace it with "virtual sex").

Like most interactive human activities, the blogging experience can be different depending on one’s marital status. Kung single ka, blogging is not an issue. Kung married ka naman, at pareho kayong into blogging, mas maganda kasi it becomes another form of intercourse, este, communication. Kaya nga kakainggit ang mga couples na Pinoy bloggers na tulad ni Batjay at Jet at ni GeeJay at Raquel, sarap ng intercourse communication nila sa isa't isa.

My problem is that I’m into blogging, but my wife isn't. Eto kasi ang bumabagabag sa akin lately. Everytime I read someone else’s blog, pakiramdam ko, I'm doing something indiscrete. Everytime I post a comment on someone else's blog or when someone posts one on mine, there is a slight feeling of guilt inside of me. Yun bang pakiramdam mo, kahit wala naman masama sa ginagawa mo, dahil hindi ito alam ng asawa mo, may mali pa rin. Naguguluhan nga tuloy and isip ko kung dapat ko bang ituloy itong pag-ba-blog. Baguhan lang naman ako, yung mga datihan na sa blogging may ma-i-a-advise ba kayo sa akin? Interesado rin akong malaman kung merong mga mag-asawa ang nagkaroon ng marital problems dahil sa blogging. Bagay na ayokong mangyari sa akin, kung hindi'y tunay na napakasakit, Kuya Eddie.

Zen Story - A Gift of Insults

Mag-Zen muna tayo.

There once lived a great warrior. Though quite old, he still was able to defeat any challenger. His reputation extended far and wide throughout the land and many students gathered to study under him.

One day an infamous young warrior arrived at the village. He was determined to be the first man to defeat the great master. Along with his strength, he had an uncanny ability to spot and exploit any weakness in an opponent. He would wait for his opponent to make the first move, thus revealing a weakness, and then would strike with merciless force and lightning speed. No one had ever lasted with him in a match beyond the first move.

Much against the advice of his concerned students, the old master gladly accepted the young warrior's challenge. As the two squared off for battle, the young warrior began to hurl insults at the old master. He threw dirt and spit in his face. For hours he verbally assaulted him with every curse and insult known to mankind. But the old warrior merely stood there motionless and calm. Finally, the young warrior exhausted himself. Knowing he was defeated, he left feeling shamed.

Somewhat disappointed that he did not fight the insolent youth, the students gathered around the old master and questioned him. "How could you endure such an indignity? How did you drive him away?"

"If someone comes to give you a gift and you do not receive it," the master replied, "to whom does the gift belong?"

This is one story that has a very simple message and yet is sometimes difficult to put into practice. When someone gives you insults, the best reaction is not to accept the insults by simply doing nothing. Reacting violently only implies that you're accepting the insults. Truly, the best victories are won without a battle. What wisdom!