Showing posts with label Human Interest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Human Interest. Show all posts

Benguet lass prides self on ‘track’ as future electrician

>> Monday, March 29, 2021

By Liza Agoot  

BOKOD, Benguet – Kate Scott, a young lady from the town of Bokod, said training to become an electrician is not something women should be afraid of, but a source of pride.
    She said girls like her are also capable of performing tasks which used to be just for men.
    Scott said gender is not an issue in her course Bachelor of Technical Vocational Teacher Education, in which training and practice to hone the skill in doing house electrical wiring is a foundation.
    The 19-year-old barrio lass from Barangay Daclan here was undergoing a one-on-one practical examination with her professor in her house wiring subject at Benguet State University-Bokod campus early this week when interviewed by the Philippine News Agency.
    She was working on a series of lighting systems, connecting one to the other and to the switch.
Benguet State University is a government-run academic institution with several campuses in Benguet province that bring quality education to far-flung communities.
    Both hands holding pliers while fixing the wires, Kate said in Ilocano, "This is not just for men, women can do it too as long as you know the safety precautions."
    Her course does not only prepare her to become a licensed teacher but also a skilled electrician.
    Now on her second year in college, she is determined to finish her studies, believing she could be as skilled as the men in the profession, for which she is arming herself with theoretical and practical training.
    Scott recalled that her interest in the field started in high school. She said with the basic training she acquired in her Technical and Livelihood Education subject, she decided to take the course after graduation. "Gusto ko na iba naman sa mga kapatid ko (I want to be different from my siblings)," she said.
    Scott's eldest sibling is soon graduating with a Bachelor of Science in Information Technology degree. The second is taking up a food science course while the youngest is still in high school.
    Cesar Miguel Suayan, Scott's professor in Electrical Technology, said she is one of only two students who continued with the course amid the pandemic.
    He said there used to be over a hundred students but the pandemic left only Kate and another male classmate in the roster. The others opted to stay at their family farm to tend to their crops.
    "I offered to give one-on-one lecture because of the safety issue involved in handling electricity on their own at home and Kate responded," Suayan said.
    He said that for Scott to be able to practice a profession as an electrician, she needs to pass the licensure examination for teachers and acquire a national certification from the Technical Education and Skills Development Authority.
    Suayan also said Scott has always shown determination to learn and hone her skills. -- PNA
 

Read more...

Gaano Kita Kamahal, the movie -- a Baguio love story

>> Saturday, March 27, 2021

EASTWIND
Bernie V. Lopez

“Now that I have told you my pain, it has disappeared. When I see your pain, my pain is too small to bother with.”
    This true story was made into a movie, Gaano Kita Kamahal (How Much Do I Love You), a Viva Films production starring     Christopher de Leon as Rolly Suclad (his real name) and Lorna Tolentino as Maribel (not her real name). This is the story of how hatred consumes and forgiveness heals.
    Rolly was a basketball star at the University of Baguio, good-looking, idolized by women, envied by men. He was a working student, a part-time security guard at Mines View Park.
    He was courting an extremely beautiful girl, Jessica. Many were running after her, but Rolly was way ahead as a basketball star. He was on first base in two weeks, when his rival, Arnie, courting Jessica for a year now, never got to first base. He was extremely jealous.
    One early morning, as Rolly dozed off while on duty at the park, Arnie sneaked quietly, and seeing a pot of live embers that     Rolly used to get warm in the cold, poured the contents on his face.
    Rolly had more than 20 operations. He was in the hospital for two years. They could no longer restore his face. He looked worse than Quasimodo. Jessica vanished. From the heights of stardom, he plunged into deep depression and despair. He had nightmares for many years.
    Maribel was a student nurse who changed his bandages every night at the hospital. She became his only comfort. They would talk for long hours at night.
(Conversation reconstructed.)
ROLLY: I will find this guy, Arnie, who did this to me, and I will kill him.
MARIBEL: What for? Will it change your face?
ROLLY: But it will satisfy my hatred. He ruined my life.
MARIBEL: Your hatred will only consume you. Just forgive and forget.
ROLLY: That’s easy to say. I can never forgive him. (shouting) Never!!
MARIBEL: It must be hard how extreme hatred consumes you. I have never experienced that. My pain is very different.
ROLLY: What is your pain, anyway?
MARIBEL: Oh, something simpler,
ROLLY: Tell me.
MARIBEL: This is the first time I am away from home. I come from a happy family of 10 children. We never quarrel. Every day is heaven in our home. Now, I sit on my bed at night, unable to sleep, feeling so homesick. I have this deep depression, even as I am busy working. Once, a patient noticed my tears when I was taking her temperature.
ROLLY: Your pain is easier than mine.
MARIBEL: I know, that is why I want to help you. Now that I have told you my pain, it has disappeared. When I see your pain, my pain is too small to bother with. I think you are a very kind and gentle person even in your pain.
ROLLY: When I am with you, I forget about vengeance, at least for a while.
And so, they became each other’s comfort in the darkness of their lives. Gradually, in spite of Rolly’s horrid face, they fell in love and eventually got married — Beauty and the Beast.
    But Rolly’s obsession to find Arnie never left him. His hatred consumed him totally, until it affected his marriage. At times, Maribel could not reach out when he was totally withdrawn. His marriage was falling apart.
    Rolly met Paul Aguas, who convinced him to join a Catholic charismatic group. Rolly found respite from his rocky marriage.     He found spiritual comfort from prayer. After a year, he had a dramatic spiritual transformation. His obsession for vengeance vanished into thin air. He poured himself to serving the Lord. For 20 long years, he was an active volunteer in the group.
    One evening, he and Maribel were in a restaurant. Rolly suddenly started shaking. He did not see Arnie, but felt his presence. Perhaps, hatred gave him psychic powers. He knew his transgressor was close by. All the hatred came back like a tsunami. Maribel held his hand tight in tears.
ROLLY: (Trembling) Lord, I forgive him. Lord, I forgive him. Truly, I do. I forgive, I forgive. Thank you for removing the hatred in my heart.
    Rolly slumped on his chair, sobbing shamelessly. Arnie did not even know. It was a feat. In return, God’s gift was a happy marriage, restored instantly when he forgave. He was blessed with three children. He later organized a charismatic group for actors and actresses called Oasis of Love, of which Christopher de Leon was a member. Eventually, he died of brain cancer. Maribel remained in Baguio teaching.
    All paths lead to the Lord when we lose our way. He makes us blind so we can see. He sends the storm so we seek his shelter. For decades, the storm raged inside Rolly. But instantly, he was in the windless eye of the storm. Forgiveness healed him.
    Send reactions to eastwindreplyctr@gmail.com
 
 

Read more...

Two women of substance

>> Wednesday, February 27, 2019


BENCHWARMER
Ramon Dacawi

Even in death. two women are keeping me alive. Their unusual  rage against the dying of the light is keeping me and many other dialysis patients alive. Looking back at how these two women struggled to live to the fullest tell us how beautiful and precious life is, however insurmountable the odds maybe.
                I recently went to the wake of one of them. Amor Inacay Orpilla who succumbed to pneumonia, at 39. Pneumonia is a fatal illness we who are undergoing regular dialysis dread and are prone to develop. Thrice I’ve been lucky it was detected early, while I was confined for another ailment less serious.
Amor had to be in Manila recently, to bring a group of patients to offices of politicians where they could be given a portion of the medical fund of the senators and congressmen.
               She made the trip despite feeling weak, as she badly needed the extra fund for the trip organizer to temporarily sustain her life-time dialysis and medication. So she came home in pain and was rushed to the Baguio General Hospital where she was later pronounced dead.
In a country where millions are poor, it’s normal for legions to pursue dreams of instant financial relief. They queue up daily , hoping to be part of the audience and then be chosen at random by the master of ceremonies to play, dance or do whatever for cash rewards dangled in those noon-time game and variety television shows.
               “Pumila at nakapasok ako at nagbakasakali, ngunit di aki natawag ni Mr. Willie Revillame (I lined up and was let in but I was never called by (host) Willie Revillame.)”
“Still, I keep trying,” she admitted when I interviewed her three years back, before I would also start my four-times-a-week dialysis for life.
Over lunch at the city hall canteen she and fellow dialysis patient Mary Grace Binay-an, then 23, 0f Irisan Barangay , continued to day-dream. They had just hiked to the City Hall to work out the release of two vans to bring 20 patients to the Philippine Charity Sweepstakes Office on June 12, a day after Independence Day.
A college scholar who had to quit school to concentrate on her work as barangay secretary of Irisan Barangay here, Mary Grace was less outward than Amor, who was straight-forward in telling you she needed financially support to make it for another day.
Amor and Mary Grace found strength in each other. Amor was devastated when she learned Mary Grace earlier succumbed to pneumonia. She never gave up, continuing her fight for survival that earned her the respect of fellow patients whose resources to go on – material and otherwise – were far beyond her means.
               Some people introduced to Amor were surprised by her openness in seeking support, as she knew it was the only way her straightforwardness would eventually be seen as part of her undying rage for life.
Eventually, they learn she was orphaned and living in the care of her two aunts and that she must tell people she needed their help to survive. Eventually, those who had reached out to her would understand, and give inspiration to fellow patients who, despite their resources, initially feel they were in conditions far worse than Amor’s.
               “Sulatan kaya naming ang “Wish Ko Lang”, Amor wondered aloud , referring to the Saturday show over GMA 7 that turns wishes of some of the poor into reality.
The two women’s wish was, is and will always be a long shot.  At that time, Amor estimated there were 130 patients reporting twice a week for their blood-cleansing sessions at the renal room of the Baguio General Hospital and Medical Center . At P2200 per patient per session, the wish would require P572,000.
The only child of Moreno Orpilla, then a 70-year old widower who retired as an engineer and was also then on maintenance medication for heart ailment, Amor had been on dialysis since January, 2010. Father and child were both jobless, yet defied reality by trying to survive on his P3,000 monthly SSS pension.
               Amor reached this far in a relentless fight for life, a feat fellow patients almost couldn’t believe, given the meager resources she had and the will to sacrifice self-restraint for the sake of life.
Looking back at what she had undergone, one can’t help but realize that she was right in her rage against the dying of the light and that no matter how difficult it had become, life is and will always be beautiful. That’s why she did her best to live fully, even beyond the circumstances and dictates of  circumstances.

Read more...

A reminder from God

>> Saturday, February 16, 2019


BENCHWARMER
Ramon Dacawi

 “Children are a reminder from God that the world must go on.”
The quote is from Baguio boy and thinker Jose “Peppot” Lambinicio Ilagan, a fellow newsman who went ahead due to kidney failure. It’s a life-time medical inconvenience I’m coping with, making me realize life is beautiful, despite your having to now and then throw up unanswered questions to the sky.
In-between shots of gin, we were discussing “Eco-walk”, a basic and simple environmental program of having kids trace their source of water, from the faucet to the pipes and ending at the Busol Watershed. There, they drink water from the source and then plant a tree seedling to the foliage.
 Eco-walk gave me, Peppot and other fellow Baguio journalists, together with Baguio barangay captains, a refreshing respite from the daily grind. We simply could not refuse guiding kids excited to trace where their tap water comes from. The hikes were our mandatory exercise, allowing Peppot and I to sweat and to delay the eventual impact of diabetes, which is kidney failure.
Peppot, my brother, mentor, immediately saw the power of kids in convincing tree-cutters and fire-bugs from destroying Baguio’s remaining pinestands and water sources. The kids’ daily presence in Busol somehow reduced the number of illegal logging and fire incidents in what remains as one of the few water sources of Baguio.
The program galvanized the city’s barangay captains to action, initially by building the lecture shed and then training themselves as guides under Manny Flores, who committed what remained of his life to the program.
Truly, why deny a child the right to know where his water comes from? For Busol, we adopted the “muyong” system of forest management effectively done for centuries by the Ifugaos to ensure year-round water for their rice terraces.
More often than not, a child who grew up in Baguio after the 1990 earthquake has experienced “Ecowalk”. So did thousands of visitors from all over the country who adopted their own kids’ programs patterned after that of Baguio’s.
As seen in the program and in recent events, the power of kids cannot be over-emphasized. When that pine stand beside the Baguio Convention Center was threatened to be destroyed and turned into four high-rise commercial buildings called “Baguio Air Residences”, kids of Baguio Pines Family Learning Center wrote then President Glorai Arroyo, asking her to save the trees.
To permanently save the pinestand, city mayor Mauricio Domogan offered to have the city buy it, together with the Baguio Convention Center that the Government Service Insurance System initially agreed to sell to the city.
Recently, however, GSIS had a change of mind, saying the area’s land value has appreciated and offered the lot at a higher price.
Kids rom Baguio Pines Family Learning Center went into letter-writing, this time asking President Rodrigo Duterte to convince GSIS to save the pine lot so the “City of Pines” won’t turn into a misnomer.
First to respond to the pupils of school principal Leonila Bayla was GSIS president Jesus Clint Aranas who said the GSIS property “will remain the home of these beautiful trees”.
As Peppot had reminded us: Children are a reminder that the world must go on.” – e-mail: mondaxbench@yahoo.com for comments.



Read more...

Cancer patient’s daughter wins Miss Baguio 2018

>> Sunday, October 21, 2018


By Aileen P. Refuerzo

BAGUIO CITY – “She promised me she will not spend money coz she is aware of my medical needs.  And yet she faced her battle with dignity, pride and strength and confidence… she was in emotional turmoil for several weeks and yet, she made it!”
From her sickbed, Lilybeth Bartolome proudly posted this message over social media as a tribute to her daughter Trizha Ocampo’s winning the Miss Baguio 2018 last Oct. 7.
Touched by the family’s story of struggle and strength, Sonny David Ticwala, head of the Sonny T. Productions which organized the event, shared the post and her admiration for Trizha.
“As what her mother who has been battling cancer for many years now said, Trizha went independent, did not employ any handler, did all her make-ups on her own, drover herself to the pageant with her tote bag and a small make-up table hanging on her left shoulder and still won,” Ticwala said.
Trizha, a 24-year old University of Baguio Mass Communications graduate who represented San Roque barangay bested 19 other beauty tilt aspirants during the pageant night.
In her own post, she dedicated her victory to her mother whom she described as “my Queen, my source of strength, confidence and wisdom, my reason to do my best in everything I do, my number 1 fan and the reason why I’m who I am today.”
“I’d be lucky to be at least half as great as she… Stay strong.  We got this,” she wrote.
Aside from the top plum for which she won a cash prize of P50,000, Trizha brought home the Darling of the Press and Best in Swimwear awards.
It was her third time to join the pageant while two other winners were also second-timers.
“They keep on coming back proving that the tilt has been handled with integrity and credibility,” Ticwala said.
Ticwala said this year’s Miss Baguio edition was special as the production is marking its silver anniversary in the business.
To commemorate this milestone, Ticwala adopted silver as motif for the production, stage and even in the gowns of the participants and waived the ticket fees for the public.
                Completing the Miss Baguio court were Neeve Comanda, a 19-year old senior high school graduate from the University of the Cordilleras who was adjudged Miss Baguio Tourism; Chelsea Claro, 20, Tourism student of UB, Miss Baguio Liga ng mga Barangay; Ivylou Borbon, 19, St. Louis University Tourism student and the reigning Miss Hotel and Restaurant Association of Baguio (HRAB), 1st runner-up; Belle Belle Belsa , 21, UB Psychology students, 2nd runner-up ; Olive Virador, 20, UB Hotel and Restaurant Management student, 3rd runner-up; and Xiannia Trinidad,17, UB senior high school student, 4th runner-up.
Chaserylle Know-Well Sison copped the Miss Charity award.
Comanda also clinched the Best in Evening Gown, Miss Photogenic and Miss Yamang Bukid titles.
The other special award winners were Dani Agustin, Miss Friendship; Stephanie Disu, Best in Creative Cordilleran Attire; CJ Olive, Glamour Girl; ORille Rish Gashiel, Miss Talent; Ezra Hesekiah, Crowd’s Favorite;  Kristine Billy Tabaday, Eros Goce Choice Award and Miss Pretty Me; Karyl Collene Tolentino, Miss Anytime Fitness.
               The top three winners received cash prizes of P50,000, P30,000 and P20,000 respectively while the four runners up got P15,000 each 
All the seven winners  also got beauty treatments from Pretty Me (P20,000 worth for the top three and P10,000 worth for the runners up), gift packs from Globe Telecom and beauty treatment from Skin Deep Aesthetic and Academy.
All candidates will receive plaques of appreciation from the City Mayor, scholarship from Providence Polytechnic institute, gift packs from Yamang Bukid Healthy Products, gift certificate from Beauty Lounge Hair and Nail Salon, framed picture from Baguio Frame Em shop and ELX Photography, framed picture from Eroz Goze Photostudio, gift certificate from Anytime Fitness, casual wear from King George Bueno, swimwear from Albert Alberto, jewelry from One Jewelry Art and gift pack from Robys Pick Crafts.

Read more...

On the road to dual citizenship

>> Sunday, April 9, 2017

BENCHWARMER
Ramon S. Dacawi

(The signs of aging are catching up, signaled by my doctor’s findings more than 20 years ago that I am sugar magnate without a hacienda. Effects make it more difficult to laugh, something I have to cling to triggered anew by this piece I wrote several years ago, before the doctor told me I have a heart and it was not working well. That’s what I told former City Prosecutor Evelyn Tagudar, that she knew she has a heart only when she had her check-up.
Whatever, for the nth time, I share experiences about getting old. – RD.
The reminder started coming 16 years ago at the city market. That was before I obtained ,dual citizenship.  At the city market, I asked a woman vendor how much a bunch of ampalaya leaves was from her “bilao” pile.
“Sangapulo, Tang (Ten pesos, old man),” she replied with casual certainty. She was 200 percent sure I was as old as her father. The tang of it all was truly pungent, sharply painful and jolting. With her flowing white hair and desert-like wrinkles, I swear she was, by conservative estimate, no younger than 75. Old enough to be my mother even as I presumed her father had long been gone.
I was 50 then, young enough to be her son or, at least or at the most, her “ading”. Still, she surprised me with that unbelievably thick wedge she placed between our years on this mortal plane.
I surprised myself. I held my temper, hid my discomfort and discomfiture. From nowhere poured on me an abundance of tact and propriety, patience and perseverance that only a young man wooing the girl of his dreams could muster.
“Maysa man ngarud, nakkong” (Let me have one bunch then, my child),  I replied, as nonchalantly and matter-of-factly as she had addressed me.
It lifted her to cloud nine. She was smiling almost ear-to-ear, believing I had just proclaimed gospel truth. Having caught her drift, I also felt good toasting her beauty and youth both long gone.
It took me time mulling over the brief encounter. In-between musings about my own aging, a thought intruded. My response should have been more calculated and subtle, towards a cheapskate’s bargain plea: “Mabalin kadi, nakkong, nga lima pisos laengen?(Will it be all right, my child, to have it for five pesos?).”
The reminder about aging is getting more recurrent nowadays, sending me to intimations about my mortality. That was what Domcie Cimatu, a year my junior but my senior at the University of Baguio Science High, was suspected of doing for  being out of circulation for sometime due to arthritis.
Two years later, after a basic journalism lecture for students, I took the front seat of a jeepney at Km. 4, La Trinidad, Benguet then asked the driver the rate to the city proper. He looked at me and remained unsure.
“Seben pipti no regular, siks no senior citizen (Seven pesos and fifty cents for regular, six for senior citizen),” he replied. Being three years short of the age for fare discounts, I handed him P7.50. He counted the coins with his eyes, shifted gears and then resumed speed. I was pretty sure he would have re-examined my face, but reined in the urge. From the corner of his eyes, he saw me staring at his doubtful own.
“Pakited mo man plitik (Kindly hand over my fare),” I asked a younger passenger inside a jeep bound for home. That's all I said, no "ading" or "nakkong" or any other qualifier.
He got my P20 bill and told the driver for everyone to hear: “Maysa kano nga senior citizen.”
That’s why I try to make it a point to have coins in my pocket. If you don’t have the exact amount and hand over two fives, the driver sometimes deliberately forgets to give the change, be it P2.50 or P4.
I'm afraid to ask, lest he would ask: “Senior citizen?”
It’s hazardous to my wallet, but I’d rather flag down a cab. More than the convenience of having no one to overestimate your age, it used to amuse occasionally seeing my older brother Joe walking the three-kilometer route to and from where we both work.
One morning I found myself at the end of a long queue at the former PCI-Equitable Session branch. I inched my way to the teller for,I guess, an hour. Finally, I was infront of her glass. She told me my withdrawal – a
Samaritan’s donation for the sick – was still being processed.
Perhaps calculating my age, an off-and-on alert guard manning the heavy human traffic flow told me to sit by the senior citizens lane. By the time I saw my withdrawal papers were ready, the guard had forgotten me. I took the initiative and returned to the same teller’s window.
Without looking at me, she told the guard, “Sabihin mo sa kanya, do’n s’ya pumila sa linya ng senior citizen (Tell him to take the senior citizen’s queue).”
I didn’t budge, peeved that she didn’t tell me directly. I almost choked blurting out the truth in my fractured Tagalog: “Di pa ako senior, my tatlong taon pa.”
She kept quiet, neither asking nor looking for proof of my birth date which was not reflected on either of my office ID or  the GSIS eCard that the government insurance system seems to want to change every year. Lining up at the senior citizens’ lane would have been a lie, which she must have thought I had committed for my non-compliance of her order to the guard.
Being reminded of one’s aging is hardly funny. Okay, I’m like anybody. We all wish to reach that age of dual citizenship – Filipino and senior.  But not as fast as others had wanted me to believe I had become before turning 60. They make me feel clumsy. And old.
Not Mike Santos, the ageless, lanky folksinger who had gone to the great folkhouse in the sky. He once swore, he’d always be younger than his mother-in-law. He handled aging with grace and even found humor in the morbid.
“Alam mo,pare, tuwang-tuwa ako nang mabasa ko yong Midland Courier,” he told me over coffee. “Binuklat ko yong obituary at laking pasalamat ko dahil wala yong retrato ko’t pangalan do’n.”
“Dapat palagi kang bibili hanggang makita mo,” I suggested. He stared at me and then smiled like a 10-year old. (email:mondaxbench@yahoo.com for comments.)


Read more...

Roberta’s blind courage

>> Sunday, March 26, 2017

BENCHWARMER
Ramon Dacawi 

The multi-titled Baguio Cinderellas took me in as team manager in 1991, a year after the July 16 killer quake. Never mind that I didn’t know what an off-side rule is and the fact that pro bono family Doctor Julie Camdas-Cabato had just confirmed then that  I was a sugar magnate without a hacienda,  translated to being a football team manager without money and experience.
Ignorance and poverty were of no moment throughout my romance with the Cinderellas. After all, the girls had earned the sobriquet for their having to scrounge for funds just to reach the playing venues of tournaments they were a cinch to win. More often than not, they would come home with the champion’s trophy.  In some rare occasions, they would end up the runner-up, If it had to be, their worst finish would be at third place.)
Last week, we were talking about Roberta Sandejas. She was that lanky, good-looking 16-year old from La Salle High School who ventured as a spectator into the 3rd National Ladies Open Cup in October, 1995 in Sta. Cruz, Laguna.
As eight of the Cinderellas were then members of the national squad, only four could be fielded at a time. So the girls were playing and winning in the preliminaries with only eight or nine players, two or three short of the 11-a-side standard.
After breezing through the eliminations with a clean slate, they were to face equally tough Davao for the championship. From the crowd of spectators, they just picked out Roberta, asking if she would like to play for Baguio.
The 90-minute regulation play ended in a 0-0 draw. On the 13th minute of extension on a Friday the 13th, the girls suddenly struck a golden goal. Roberta, who was ignored by the Davao team for her awkward play, suddenly found the ball coming to her in the course of a scramble at the goal mouth. She tipped it in for the victory. It was her first goal in her first tournament.

 The Cinderellas never heard of Robera Sandejas  again.
 Until one morning,  when a front-page feature item appeared in The Philippine Star.  The boxed story was headlined “Roberta’s blind courage”. Somebody had thrown acid on Roberta’s face, disfiguring and rendering her blind.
Accordingly, she was undergoing a series of skin-graft surgery, even as she expressed optimism about her eyesight being restored – and, perhaps, hope that she would be able to play football again. 
After the hand-wringing, nail-biting and eye-welling, the Cinderellas knocked on doors as they used to when raising funds for their next tournament. They collected empty bottles and old newspapers they converted to cash at the junkshop.
At Christmastime, they came up with a little over P20,000 which they asked Peewee Agustin and me to deliver to the girl’s home in Paranaque.  Roberta’s brother and sister told us their mother had brought her to the United States for a series of tests and surgeries. The siblings phoned their father, who dropped his work and rushed home to meet us.
Somebody from La Salle told us later that Roberta had married and later passed away. A check on the internet somehow confirmed the transition.
“We are deeply saddened to report the death in the early morning of Sunday, November 7, of Roberta Sandejas Shroyer, who volunteered for many months at the National Center before joining the national staff in May of 2004,” said a news item posted on Braille Monitor. “She was born in Manila , Philippines , where in high school and college she was a talented soccer player.
 “After being badly injured and blinded in a tragic incident in her home, she left Manila and moved to Baltimore, where she graduated from the rehabilitation program at Blind Industries and Services of Maryland (BISM). There she met her future husband, Justin Shroyer. Before recently requesting to be assigned the job his wife had done. Mr. Shroyer worked in the Materials Center.
“We enjoyed Mrs. Shroyer’s easy laugh and great sense of humor, her excellent cooking at various chapter functions, her enthusiastic participation in our many activities, and her positive outlook in life.”
                With the story is her photo, her eyes covered by dark glasses, her face bearing the scars of her ordeal. Another photo of her in black and white before the tragedy sent memory swirling back to that image in September (her birth month),  15 years ago, of the Cinderellas sweeping the comely 16-year old off her feet and raising her up their shoulders in triumph in that Cup in Laguna.
Some of the girls eventually faded out to pursue careers, - sisters Monique and Julie Jacinto to vegetable trading, goalie Luz Pacubas to medical technology practice, her sister Mian and Virgie Tibaldo Bungay to business, Cheng Mendoza to teaching.Sisters Anna and Vangie Umoc played for a while with the sepak takraw national team. Some fell in love, married but continued playing in tournaments, bringing along their babies to be watched by the second or third-generation drafts and those who drove them to the venues.
To them, football is art, winning secondary. Instead of blasting from a distance, they would shepherd the ball - as in a slalom – as close to the net as possible before tipping it in. It’s  a practice too agonizing for their handful of fans to watch. Because of their adherence to the truism that the Baguio boy or girl is marked by a sense of fair play, more often than not, they would come home with the MVP and Fair Play awards to add to the team title.
They take wins almost as a matter of course, for, almost always, there’s not much to celebrate a victory with. Driving them home from a seven-a-side victory, Randall Dampac of the Benguet Electric Cooperative just couldn’t take it. He stopped beside Jollibee in Tarlac, counted what he had, woke the sleeping girls and announced he was treating them to supper.
They were dead tired on the ride back home last week-end, after their second-place finish at the Luzon leg of the Beach Football in Subic. No use trying to wake them up for a celebration along the way.
The modest placement will be marked quietly later,  when they visit their “muyong” at the Busol Watershed and add new seedlings, as they used to after those previous glorious campaigns. (e-mail:mondaxbench@yahoo.com for comments.)  


Read more...

Remembering a doctor gentle on our mind

>> Thursday, March 23, 2017

BENCHWARMER

Ramon Dacawi

The oak casket was lowered a little after half-past noon on March 2010, at Heaven’s Garden. It’s that bluff at the side of the Loakan Airport ,  partly overlooking Green Valley where Dr. Asela Talco-Casem grew up. Bathed in full sunlight, the mourners from all walks silently gathered around the freshly dug patch. A mild wind blew in from the south, later nudging up and away white balloons released into the air. After casting  flowers and soil into the grave, the crowd spread into the shades in a picnic of sorts celebrating the life of a sister, friend, guide and moral compass. . 
                There was no formal graveside ceremony. Personal prayers were either murmured or silently offered. The formal final rites, together with the biblical readings, were done in church and during the wake. My mind turned to James 2:18-18, a passage seldom quoted. It’s about faith, which is dead if not accompanied by action.
                I never heard Asela quote scripture. She lived it, as those who knew her knew. Among them were those who, over the years came and  leaned on her and her staff in their valiant struggle to still and pacify their minds, in and out of the psychiatry department of the Baguio General Hospital and Medical Center. That’s why some of them also came to pay their respects.
                At the wake, Dr. Josefina Laza-Luspian, Asela’s friend and nephrologist, failed to fight back tears. She inched her way to the side of the casket and whispered a request: “Asela, ipasam man kaniak dayta ugalim.” When he heard the news, Dr. Tony Tactay, orthopedics chief of BGHMC, cut short his conference and took the earliest flight for home.
                Medical center chief, Dr. Manny Factora confided to Dingky, Asela’s husband, the difficulty finding a healer approximating the grace, quiet tenacity, competence, belief, understanding and compassion with which Asela anchored the transformation of the psychiatry ward into the honest-to-goodness department it is today.
                Asela went against the grain of convention. She had opted to serve in neurology but found the only vacancy was in psychiatry. She took it, fully aware of the meager givens in a field most stressful, least materially rewarding, most neglected and still misunderstood.
                Until the end, she pushed her cart to maximum effectiveness - with doggedness, belief and innovation. As slum teacher Efren Penaflorida, deservingly hailed recently as CNN’s Hero of the Year, did and continues to do so. For Asela, it meant leading the staff to scrubbing clean the pungent-smelling, depressively dark ward at the basement of the communicable diseases building. It meant giving away expensive professional drug samples as fast as they came, or digging into her pockets to sustain the doses of  the poor who couldn’t find refuge in the private mental health facilities. It meant canceling a well-paying, less stressful supervisory slot offer Down Under, in favor of the quixotic, continuing challenge of heightening public consciousness and understanding and making a dent on the stigma attached to those who suffer from mental illness.
                For one who listens for hours almost everyday to patients’ narrations of their fears and images needed to figure out course of their healing, stress management has to be personally practiced as well as advised. It requires inner strength to listen to others spill out their blues and doubts, with the healer having no outlet to share her own. .
                “I never heard my sister complain,” her elder brother Alberto, a teacher in civil engineering, noted after the funeral mass. Others who spoke shared the view, with some admitting they, too, found therapy confiding to Asela, who listened and offered advice when they sought it.
                Beneath the calm, the positive demeanor, Asela had to bear an off-and-on reminder of her own fragility. Only a few outside family and close friends knew she got another lease on life 17 years ago. That was when her kidneys failed. All her brothers and sisters rushed to her side, all wanting to be matched for a transplant. The specialists eventually chose Alberto as donor. 
                The gift allowed her to make a difference, her work disrupted only by occasional procedures and medication to prevent organ rejection. In April 2009, she found therapy in remote Tinoc town in Ifugao. She traveled with her trainees to the seat of Kalanguya culture to help villagers cope with the psychological impact of their futile attempt to rescue and save the passengers of that ill-fated presidential plane that slammed into their mountain early Christmastime.
                Coming home, she told Dingky she was deeply impressed by the honesty and lack of guile of tribal folk. She learned the villagers had secured and returned intact the valuables, including substantial cash, strewn around the wreckage, even as they had to do the traditional cleansing ritual.
                Asela was of the same mold  as the culture-bound villagers she visited. So was former Budget Secretary Emilia Boncodin. Both women worked with brilliance, innovation and passion. Both brushed aside material acquisitiveness. Both left a legacy that debunked the perception and stigma attached to government as the bastion of the mediocre, the uncaring, the corrupt and uncivil.
                Boncodin,  also succumbed to complications of renal failure, five years after her kidney transplant. She was 55. Asela was back to dialysis recently. Hours before she was to travel for her second implant, with cousin Anton Talco as donor, she had a heart seizure. She was 51. 
                Asela’s daughter, Marie Joy (Babeng), spoke for her dad, brothers Mark Allan (Bugoy) and Christian Marlowe (Budoy) and the Talco-Casem clan.
                “Even as I express the gratitude of (our family), the only way we can substantially thank you is to pass on your kindness to others,” Babeng, a young nurse, said. “I guess that’s the lesson Mama taught us, quietly and gently, often without the need for words. In so doing, she passed on the strength she knew we needed most in times like this.” (E-mail: mondaxbench@yahoo.com for comments).    


Read more...

Postscript to: A Love that goes beyond Valentine’s Day

>> Friday, February 24, 2017

BENCHWARMER
Ramon S. Dacawi

BAGUIO CITY -- Through feedbacks, former Mayor Greg Abalos  of La Trinidad, Benguet and Connie Angeles of SM Foundation  almost told me the love story of widow Datsu Infante-Molintas  pony boy Mike Molintas should have not been broken into two parts but printed as a whole in one issue.
“Ituloy mon a,” Abalos said while Angeles wrote, “Ay manong, nambitin pa.” “I remember this story, Ninong,” wrote Annabelle Codiase-Bangsoy who once wrote the romance for a national daily. “Aw8 your SUSUNOD NA KABANATA,” scribbled Sunstar Baguio publisher Reinaldo Bautista, my teacher at the University of Baguio Science high which he founded. “I can relate to your story, classmate! Waiting for the next chapter.” – Rhoda Joseph.  “Bitin”. – Mercy Bastian. “Waiting for the next chapter, episode” – Diane Miles, Gloria Taqued.  “Where is the itutuloy?” – Dr. Lilian Velasco. “Waiting for the next episode,” – Marilou Serrano.
Whatever, the couple’s story has been told and  retold on this space each time Valentine’s Day approached these recent years, saving me from writing a new column piece to fill up my weekly space. Sharing with romantics a true love story focused on a widow’s might and resolve to hold her family together amidst seemingly unending vicissitudes has been a privilege.
I had known Mike Molintas since we were young pony boys renting out horses at the Wright Park bridle path. He would enliven our gin-laced evening bonfires belting out Hank Williams and fix our saddles, reins and stirrups in his leather shop that now serves as home to his widow and sons.
Aside from trying to teach me the ropes in breaking -in wild horses, Mike gave me his newly washed and pressed jacket the morning after he saw me walking home soaked in the rain. He watched as I led several riding enthusiasts around the Wright Park oval, and then asked if I could buy, with my earnings, his jacket for P5. He claimed he badly needed money. It was an alibi, I realized later, for his wish to give me something to protect me from the next rains.
That gesture seared into my brain like branding iron, to the point I murmured during his wake my resolve to help his youngest son, Nino Joshua, recover from his life-threatening heart ailment.
During Nino’s pre-surgery check-ups, we would deposit him and his mother to the home of Datsu’s aunt, nationalist Maria Feria, in an exclusive subdivision in Makati. After Nino’s recovery Feria bought the kid’s family a farm-lot in Tubao, La Union which Datsu developed into a piggery and fruit orchard.
Nino’s aunt, Emilia, gifted him with a cow which the boy raised until it multiplied into a dozen, including a twin. Reason enough for one of the boy’s elder brothers to rib him, suggesting it was time to slaughter one head.
 “Ayoko,” Nino replied. When his brother insisted, Nino told him, “para rin sa mga anak mo kaya ko pinararami ‘yang mga baka.”
The boy, however, knew when it was time to sell one of his cows. That was when his mother told him they were traveling to Baguio as she needed a medical check-up for her back pain.
They were waiting for the bus when Nino gripped his mother’s hand, transferring a wad, saying it was for her medical needs.
“Hindi ko malaman ang gagawin ko; napaiyak na lang ako at niyakap ko ang aking anak,” Datsu recalled.      
At Nino’s birthday three years back, Datsu told me her siblings were asking her to bring her orphaned family to Bacolod and there administer what remained of the clan’s real property.
It was a gesture of reconciliation, an acceptance over her having followed her heart and risked being disinherited. (e-mail: mondaxbench@yahoo.com for comments.)  


Read more...

Portrait of a life of sharing

>> Wednesday, November 16, 2016

COMMUNITY BILLBOARD
Vicente A. Sapguian

Despite the anguish and pain, Ramon Dacawi faces life with a smile. Himself now a dialysis patient tied to the dialysis machine four hours a day, four times a week, he still relates  humor stories that deeply provoke entertaining enlightenment and the smiles and laughters that remind one how sweet and precious life is.
This man amazingly radiates confidence and calm that is contagious to other troubled lives.
I am witness to countless instances when Dacawi would appeal for support for helpless  financially deprived patients. Most of those who would respond immediately are those who know him, of like hearts but would prefer to remain anonymous.
Of late, that he has to be confined almost monthly in the hospital, friends would hand him cash and insist that he use the money for himself. A luck, Dacawi keeps sharing it with his crowd of indigent patients who intermittently seek for hope even for just a while more of extended life on this plane.
One of Dacawi’s doctors observed that even if the sick man is barely conscious, some visiting relatives of those patients still find ways to whisper in his ears their desperation for  cash. This prompted one of his doctors to restrict visitors whenever he is confined in the hospital.  “I cannot ignore them all the time. Their needs are real and I understand,” Dacawi says.
It is inspiring to note that the culture of sharing and helping is passed and sustained by association from a good heart to another.
The Baguio City council has enacted Ordinance No. 44 S. 2016 approved by Mayor Mauricio Domogan providing to cosponsor a concert production by a loose group of Baguio- based artists led by sculptor Gilbert Gano Alberto.
The concert production will feature “a unique mixture of ethnic and contemporary dance and music highlighting people as instruments of promoting the value of life and environmental protection.”
Sculptor Alberto beams that the city council gave free use of the Baguio City Convention Center for the concert and stage production on November 25, 2016.  It also unanimously approved the exemption for the payment of amusement tax provided that the necessary permits are complied. This gesture from the city council and the concerted efforts of this loose group of artists boosts a lot of morale for our endeavor to extend help for the treatment of Mr. Dacawi, Alberto says.
I remember a story Ramon Dacawi related to me once.
During his high school days at the University of Baguio Science High, he often walks to and from school from their abode in Pacdal. One afternoon, he came home dripping wet from the rain. Mike Molintas, one of the leaders of the Pacdal pony boys engaged him in small talk asking him how he is doing in school.
The next Monday, Mike Molintas went to their house early in the morning as Ramon was preparing for school. He was holding a flesh brown jacket that Ramon noticed was well-washed and pressed not to mention its expensive quality.
“Nakitak nga adu nailugan mo iti kabalyo idi kalman nga Domingo. Mabalin gatangem  man daytoy jacket ko iti tallo pesos laeng ta masapul ko unay kuarta?”(I saw that you earned enough from your horse yesterday. Will you please buy my jacket for three pesos because I need money badly?) Molintas asked Dacawi.
Ramon took the jacket. He knew he needed it for his daily use against the cold weather. It puzzled him though why Mike Molintas was giving it to him for a very cheap price.
Later when Mike Molintas died of a lingering illness leaving a son suffering from congenital heart disease, Ramon swore in this kind man’s grave that the son will live.
Nino Joshua Molintas lives up to this day and has never escaped celebrating his birthday without Ramon Dacawi.


Read more...

The angle after the storm

BENCHWARMER
Ramon S. Dacawi

Charles Kuralt said it: “The reporter is a stone skipping on a pond, taking an instant to tell a story and ricocheting to the next, covering a lot of water while only skimming the surface.”
In a life-time of journalistic work, Kuralt traveled the back roads, the rural streets of America. He was in search of ordinary people with extraordinary deeds, their simple pleasures and aches, the beauty of nature and the countryside. He wrote of folks otherwise nameless for their ordinariness, of places whose names may not be found on the map and never mentioned, much less covered, by conventional media. He did justice to these stories through the feature segment of the news telecast of CBS.  
Courage, sacrifice and fortitude, he found out, are not the monopoly of big names, of stars and celebrities, of world and national leaders, of usual and conventional newsmakers. He found heroism among common folk. For one, he found fulfillment recording and sharing the family story of brothers and sisters, all professionals, coming home to pay tribute to their parents who broke their backs sending them to school.
He wrote about a Russian dentist and war veteran who sought him out to finally be able to thank, through the power of television, American soldiers who risked their lives to share food so he and his fellow Russian prisoners could survive in a German concentration camp. 
It’s never water under the bridge to read and re-read his accounts of these human characters and places in his books “A Life on the Road” and “On the Road with…”, copies of which are still found in our “wagwag” bookshops. 
Similar stories surfaced from the recent deluge poured for days by the last two typhoons.. In the rush to meet the deadline and the element of immediacy in the news, thousands of these stories couldn’t be captured by reporters, however they tried to cover a lot of water.
Given the lack of time and space, the priority angle had to be on the number of victims, the extent of damage and loss, the cause and effect of calamity, the decisions from the top for relief and reconstruction, the lessons forgotten and re-learned, together with the finger-pointing that comes with the ebbing of the floods. 
A reporter has to sift through the voluminous accounts and facts taken from the coverage, and pick one or two that somehow give a picture of the rest. The rest would have to be written later, or never, forgotten as the situation normalizes and other newsworthy events needed to be covered also surface.
        Within the limited givens, media, especially television, depended on the amateur footages of witnesses and victims of the floods and landslides, for a better picture of what happened. Even in the aftermath, journalists will rely on the submitted accounts of the rescuers themselves in saving lives. These stories about selflessness are timeless, worth telling and recalling before, during and after the next storm, fire or any other disaster. 
These stories that inspire need to be told even during normal times, even if we can’t term as such this unending struggle to stand up against poverty. 
It’s responsible journalism to also focus on the humanitarian efforts of lesser mortals and groups, as it is to recognize the contributions of greater mortals and agencies in easing human suffering. The analogy lies in a plate of ham and eggs, as the late human rights lawyer and Baguio boy Art Galace once wrote. The chicken provided the egg and that’s involvement. The pig contributed the ham and that’s commitment. 
It’s fulfilling enough to write about a kid skipping his or her birthday bash and giving the party fund to another kid in need , as it is to record the number of people who will join this year’s “Stand Up Against Poverty” being mounted by the United Nations. The news value of a cancer patient giving up part of her chemotherapy fund for another patient is equal to that of the donation of, say, a Bill Gates. Except for the amounts, there’s no difference in the efforts. Both acts are driven by sensitivity.
Karl Marx said it so, even if not within this context: “From each according to his/her ability, to each according to his/her needs.”
The difference lies in helping and not helping. As Mike Jacobs of the Grand Forks Herald of North Carolina noted in one of his winning editorials, we are not what we have or own. He wrote the piece in the wake of a flood that hit his community. The residents  were not what they lost as they began clearing and putting order back to their town. Despite their personal loss, they tried to contribute to ease the loss of other victims. 
Just do it, then health secretary and Baguio boy Juan Flavier advised. That’s why journalists, especially those on television, are again doing it. They have gone beyond writing, shooting and broadcasting news, editorials and opinion pieces. They have mounted fund drives and relief operations. Thousands responded to their call, underscoring the power of media. 
The angle, however, may need to be refocused more on the donors rather than on the conduits. In the same token, a footage or two on volunteer rescuers, some of whom are also victims - of sleepless nights, of hypothermia, of hunger and of injuries in the line of duty -, may  also help complete the story  about our  collective sense of community. Kuralt was right about the limitations of reporters
            ***
It takes one to know one. A world champion martial artist who fought poverty early as a mine laborer’s son in Benguet came to the rescue of three distraught patients, including two girls who were at a loss on to pay for the next session of their life-time dialysis treatment for kidney failure.
Responding to the women patients’ urgent plea for help coursed through the weekly papers, former world Shotokan karate champion Julian Chees last week sent P10,133.72 that provided relief to four kidney patients undergoing twice[ or thrice-a-week dialysis treatment for life.
The sum was the latest from Chees, a sixth dan blackbelt and native of Maligcong, Bontoc, Mt. Province who now heads Shoshin Kinderhilfe, the social arm of his Shotokan karate school based in Germany.
Of the amount, P4,500 covered two sessions of hemodialysis for Jemaima Gac-oy, 22, of Virac, Itogon, Benguet who began her life-time treatment for kidney failure September two years ago.
 One session costing P2,200 will be for Erly Dumansi, a 35-year old mother of two, also from Virac, Itogon who was diagnosed for kidney failure five years ago.
The other week, P2,250 was used for the dialysis of patient Marcelo Baccud who had exhausted his resources and was waiting for a Samaritan to enable him to undergo his overdue blood-cleansing session at the Baguio General Hospital and Medical Center.
Gac-oy earlier received P5,000 support from a retired professor of the University of the Philippines  whose late husband arranged the  opening  by the late Shihan Kunio Sasaki of a Shotokan karate school in Baguio under what is now the  Japan Karate Association where Chees honed his skills.
Chees earlier sent P16,452.25 for Marie Joy Ligudon, a 12-year old patient from Ifugao whose twice-a-week dialysis is being shouldered by his adoptive mother, Gina Epe of Bokod, Benguet.

Another Samaritan, Esther Alicoy, delivered P2,000 for the ailing girl, P2,500 for patient Bester Imbentan, and P2,500 for Gac-oy.  -- . (e-mail: mondaxbench@yahoo.com for comments).  

Read more...

  © Blogger templates Palm by Ourblogtemplates.com 2008

Back to TOP  

Web Statistics