Salamat, Fr Joe Ante, OMI

I was billeted at the guest house of the Notre Dame of Jolo College at that time.  This was 2007 and I was in Jolo to monitor rice distributions of the UN World Food Program (WFP) to persons displaced by armed conflict.

The Guest House was just separated by a high wall from the Jolo Airport and I could see the runway from my 2nd floor window.

The whole time I was there (11 days), I had the opportunity to hear the early morning mass in the nearby chapel.  This was where I first met Fr Jose Ante, OMI, known to many as Fr Ante, whom I know only through name.

I introduced myself after mass; and told him the nature of my mission in the island.  We prayed together for continued blessings and more importantly, Divine Protection.  I was able to attend two more masses with him as celebrant after that.

Then last Friday afternoon I read an article by Edwin Fernandez on ndbc.news.ph of Fr Ante's demise.  It was a sad day.

I can't thank God enough for your gift of self, Fr Joe.

Blessed journey.

Vultures On Wheels Story 1

A couple of Grab Taxis already cancelled my booking because they cannot come to where I stood at SM Aura in Taguig due to traffic.  The guard suggested I use the taxi lane, meaning, I will be taking a regular taxi.

I told the driver to go to a certain subdivision in Paranaque, and mentioned the street.

"Saan tayo dadaan, Maam," he asked.

"Di ba Kuya kayo ang driver?" I asked back glancing at Google Maps on my phone.

"Di ko po kabisado papunta doon."

"Ganon ba. Ilang taon na po ba kayong drayber?" I told him which road to take.

"Di ko po kabisado yang lugar na yan, Maam eh."

He heard my phone giving directions.

"Mag GPS na lang tayo, Maam."

Hell yeah, I thought.

"Mas mabuti pa kuya palit tayo. Ako mag drayb ikaw maupo dito."

Silence.

The roads the map told us to take were clear, but we have no way of knowing which one is two-way or one way.  We had to go back.  Traffic was slow; and the driver was already expressing exasperation, to put it mildly.

"Galit ka kuya?"

He mumbled things like lugi ang byahe, mahal gasolina, ek ek bodbod.

"Nag drayber pa kayo."

Silence for a few meters.

Grumbling again.

"Buti di ka pinagkakainteresan ng pasahero mo nyan Kuya.  Kung nasa Davao ka lang baka di ka na makakauwi sa pamilya mo hanggat di ka umayos."

Long silence.

"Taga-Davao pala kayo, Maam?"

I didn't answer.

"Gusto ko si Duterte maging presidente eh."

"Ah ganon ba Kuya? Magpakabait ka para di ka mareport kay Duterte.  Huwag kang balasubas sa pasahero."

We found my destination and I paid what was in the meter and asked for a receipt.

Date. Check. Time. Check. Number of kilometers. Check.  Time picked up and time dropped off.  Check.  Clear printout. Check.

"Pasensya na Maam ha.  Minsan inaabutan din tayo ng init ng ulo dahil sa trapik."

"Ok lang Kuya.  Magbago din ang bansa natin."

And this was yet August.


* * * * * *
Metro Manila
8 August 2015

Eighteen and More

The priest concluded the mass by praying over Gel.  It was a beautiful feeling – so much to thank for this beautiful person in front of me who, eighteen years ago, fought for life in the emergency room of the Cotabato Regional Hospital.

The night before Gel was born, I felt a certain tightness in my tummy; but my date with the stork was still a month away so I did not worry a bit.  I had a prayer meeting to attend and Brod Nerio of the Elim Community offered me a ride on his motorcycle.  Jun didn’t like the idea but I justified it was more convenient than walking to the highway to get a jeepney and walking further to reach the venue.

By around two in the morning I was awakened by active labor.  I had to rouse Jun from his sleep to call my mother-in-law.  After examining me, Mamang said I would be giving birth anytime.  Doeh gave us a ride to Auntie Annabelle’s clinic; who said there was not much time so we went straight to the hospital. 

I sat on the passenger seat, with the backrest reclined all the way down.  Doeh sped while Jun at the back comforted me as I mustered all my strength with every contraction.  On instinct I raised my feet on the dashboard. Somewhere along the way everything that wiggled from my insides were caught by my nightdress.

Upon reaching the emergency room I said with the loudest voice I could gather: “Unahin ang bata, unahin ang bata!”  Only then did everybody else realize I already gave birth.

There it was – a slimy little creature, full of superfluous hair, swimming in amniotic fluid on a cold stainless steel tray.  For what seemed like endless millions of seconds I waited for a cry, a whimper – the faintest sound to tell me that my baby is alive.  No, I did not wait for anything to tell me she was alive: Deep in my heart I knew that my baby was alive.  All that came out from my mouth were praises and thanks to God for the gift of life.  There was no room in my mind for anything except life for my little one.

“Baby Girl!” Doeh announced to everybody.  We were all happy.  My baby girl looked like a wet kitten, motionless while hospital staff put tubes into her tiny nostrils.  I was whisked off to the delivery room separating me from my newborn infant.  I was confused.  I was told I had a “precipitate baby.” What’s that?  I just want my baby beside me!

In the delivery room Dr Redoble removed my placenta and told me they would dress me up soon.  Remember we were not able to bring anything in the flurry of things.

Shortly afterward Jun came with a change of clothes and told me that Gel weighed 1.9 kilos and is doing well.  But she needs to be incubated.  The nursery was being renovated and the incubator is in the nursery.

After I was sewn up and cleaned by Auntie Annabelle I was transferred to another room with three other mothers who also just gave birth.  I was the only one who did not have my baby with me.  I soon found out that there is a different protocol for “precipitate babies.”  In layperson terms, that means hospitals follow a different set of steps for babies who are born outside the hospital.

I was getting upset.  I requested for a wheelchair that did not come even after an hour.  I did not have slippers so I borrowed from one of the moms.  Holding my jelly-like tummy, I hobbled to the other end of the long building or else I would go berserk if I will not see my baby.

Finally at around 9 o’clock, I saw Gel again.  Rather, I had to find her from under the sheets.  She was so tiny she was a far contrast from her two brothers when they were born.  I often compared Gel’s body to a pint-sized Selecta cup topped with a dollop of ice cream for the head.  That small.  I sang her a lullabye whose title I now miss – but the lyrics were “I Stand In Awe of You”.  I was that.  Literally.

She was sleeping – serenely as an angel.  Her mittens fell off when she moved because it was too big for her fists even if the laces were tied.  An overhead bulb provided the warmth she needed.  She had a dextrose needle stuck to her tiny foot.  Jun had to scrounge the pharmacies in the city because the needle number Gel needed was so small it was rare. 

Angeline.  Such a fitting name for something so beautiful.  Everything about her was complete – except for her size and number of months she was supposed to stay in my tummy.  I have always dreamt of naming my daughter after my maternal grandmother Angelina who is also my namesake.  At least one of my four official first names.   

Sahadia was supposed to be her second name in Arabic like her two brothers -- but in the rush we were able to register only Angeline.

There were perhaps a dozen more beds in the public ward.  All baby patients and their mothers.  There were also watchers who slept under the patients’ beds.  Gel’s bed was beside the window.  Ram who was just six suddenly looked like a giant beside his little sister.  Then we called Raj who was a sixth-grader in Cebu.  We were a happy bunch.

By 630 in the evening a heavy rain fell.  One of the panes on the window was missing, sending strong winds and rain spray on us.  Other mothers helped us move (Jun was running errands) to an empty bed near the door, away from the missing pane.

Late in the evening Gel was fitful and started crying.  Wow she had strong lungs!  She’s healthy!  When I cradled her in my arms she quieted down; but shortly after I put her back on the bed, she was crying again.  After a couple of visits, the nurse turned off the 500watt lamp.  Gel went back to sleep.  So it was the heat from the bulb. 

By dawn she was fitful again; and the nurse suggested I breastfeed her.  Gel suckled, but I wasn’t giving any milk.  I was almost in tears, feeling so inadequate.  The nurse came back with a small plastic disposable container and a medicine dropper.  It was breastmilk from the hospital’s milk bank! We fed Gel drops at a time.  Praise God for breastmilk from other moms.  It helped us through until my own milk flowed in the afternoon.  

Gel was given antibiotics intravenously every now and then.  She had to be observed by her pediatrician and I was impatient for us to go home.  The hospital was never a place for me to heal and be back in one piece.  I also badly needed a bath.  More than a dozen people in the ward at any given time did not help dissipate the heat.  Finally after two days and two nights in the hospital we were discharged.  This was the longest I stayed in a hospital after giving birth. 

From then on it was a life of constant visits to doctors.  Confinements in the hospital and other challenges made babyhood for Gel opposite from that of Raj and Ram.  She was born in a public facility (Notre Dame was razed by a fire in September of that year).  She didn’t suckle my breastmilk much.  She was lactose-intolerant we had to always be on the lookout for a steady supply of lactose-free infant formula.  We took jeeps or multi-cabs to rush her to the hospital when she was sick; or even traysikad to have her immunizations.   

I worked outside of the house before she was a year old; and I was an absentee mother for most of her formative and character-building years.  Jun and Mamang filled in the gaps.

I always dreaded Monday mornings when Gel would chime, "Alis ka na, Nanay?"  Not "Alis ka na naman, Nanay?"   There was no "naman".  A child's pure heart did not set conditions.  Despite security restrictions on traveling after 5pm, I found ways to travel Friday evenings and be home on weekends.

Then Gel went to boarding school for secondary education.  Remote control supervision was the next best thing to motherly presence.

Coming of Age

To think she is now eighteen.  Boodz reminded me that not one of us four sisters had a celebration when we turned that age.  Shouldn’t it be time for us to be thankful for the next generation?  Gel is so special since she is the first in her generation to continue the DNA of Avelin, our mother; and yes further up – of Angelina, our maternal grandmother.

The celebration need not be fancy.  A mass and an intimate dinner after that would be fine.  In many societies, when a girl reaches a certain age (15 for some; 18 for others), it is expected that she should have already been armed with the rudiments to face life ahead.  Life skills, so to speak.  Interestingly though, presenting our girls to society for marriage does not fit into our family’s idea of coming of age. 

And so it was.  Fr Caabay of Sta Monica Parish was available for the 630pm family mass on the day of Gel’s birthday.  It would be at Fat Tony’s for at most twenty guests.  Fat Tony’s just launched a day before and it has an impressive menu of healthy, organic ingredients and they do not use MSG.  The place is also non-smoking and has a patio.

Pink roses were not available as direct flights to Puerto Princesa were canceled for the APEC Meeting in Manila.  But chrysanthemums in three shades of pink were just perfect for the celebrant’s bouquet.  The Red Velvet Cake from Heavenly Desserts was just – yes, heavenly with 18 lighted candles.  

My heart was just full of gratitude for Gel and how she has grown despite my constant absence.  When she was a baby, we loved to ask her: “Sino ang baby na hinatid ni Lord sa highway?” She would answer with glee: “Gel!”  Her birth certificate cannot indicate the name of the hospital because technically, she was not born there.  So the name of Sinsuat Avenue, a highway, is filled in the blank.

With Jun in Cotabato, Raj in Davao, and Ram in Saudi – physically, there was only Gel and I for her coming of age.  But we celebrated it together with loved ones and friends who sent their love, prayers, well-wishes and positive thoughts, transcending space and distance.

The preemie who once slept face down on my tummy is now tall and lanky.  There’d more multiples of 18 birthdays ahead of her. 

I thank God for this day and more.

*****
Puerto Princesa City
19 November 2015

Aveen Acuña-Gulo posts herself on Facebook as a Monumental Operations Manager (MOM) and is now vacationing in Palawan not as a tourist.  She is a Bukidnon-born Cebuano mother of three (3) Maguindanao-Ilonggo-Cotabateño children; who will always be a child at heart even if she is a hundred years old.

She wrote a column “The Voice” for the Mindanao Cross from 1991-2006. 

She likes to challenge stereotypes.  “Don’t worry about my opinions.  It won’t make a dent to the conventional,” she says.

        

Heneral Luna: Reflections

Why look for unity when it's not there...?

My eyes still stung long after Gel, Ruby and I left the movie house.  It's been ages since I last saw one memorable movie; much less one memorable Filipino movie.

Raj texted Friday that we should watch Heneral Luna.  Okay...movies cost a fortune – well, maybe pittance – but it’s hard to part with hard-earned money on scripts and plots that just change titles, producers, locations and actors.  Maybe I could wait for the DVD; and since I abhor many things that occupy space – maybe an e-copy will do.

Ever the loving firstborn who makes things happen without being disagreeable, Raj just lets his movie-bored mom be.

With time on my hands I googled (where else to go but virtual) Heneral Luna.  Why, it's been on FB at the time when Pacquiao and Mayweather were pummeling each other, and I didn't see it?  Shame.  Unfolding in front of me were reviews that led to another; and another; and so on and so forth.  This may be worth my time so Sunday was a date; after church.

*****

The ticket girl told us that religious services are held every Sunday at the same cinema where Heneral Luna was assigned.  I told her to convey to management that their schedules on the internet should be updated so as not to fool patrons.  Who cares if the message got across.  

People were forming a beeline to another cinema dedicated to some movie – again, Filipino (arrgghhh) – about confused relationships.  Why do they love to create problems where there's none, no...? So so first world let's just discuss that later.

We had no choice but take the first screening the next day Monday.  And be there an hour early.

*****

I can make out mostly silvery crowns from the audience; and under low lights I figure that Gel and Ruby were the only young people among dual citizens (Filipino and Senior), Honorary Seniors and oh, quite a number of Caucasians, too.  Heneral Luna was only on its 5th showing day and at least 60% of cinemas nationwide have pulled it out in exchange for run-of-the-mill high-grossing films.  We almost missed it then.

I was too dumbstruck to applaud on how fine a movie it was.  Images kept running in my head even after the closing credits.  No, I wasn't watching a movie – I was watching history.  And when one is part of and in the midst of history, tears are not enough.  A hundred and fifteen years after the assassination, apparently more sweat and blood still did not unite the nation.  Hack and bullet wounds on a general did little to change the country's politics and power struggles to date.  Like movies with boring themes, only the names and faces have changed in present-day Philippine governance.  

So “The only real Filipino General” was a hot-head.  I can almost see fire spewing from his mouth as he squeezed patriotism among peers; and extracted discipline from soldiers.  I can only surmise that the characteristic of the Filipino of “ayaw magpasabi a.k.a. di magpatudlo, di magpasulti” already existed in those days.  What I know is that in my generation even ROTC commanders got shot for giving, er, shouting orders.  Mother Teresa couldn’t have built more than 150 houses of charity had she not given orders, as one author described her, like a drill sergeant.  Nah… she’s from another country.  Back to the Philippines…

Forget tribalism – this trait of aversion for being corrected is common among us.  Bless you if you don’t get slighted when someone comes across as brash, abrasive, dominant, loud-mouthed blah-blah even if you both have the same goals.  Whether ilustrado, bagong-yaman o masa – walang pagkakaiba.  What do you think is the reason people spin off into factions? 

Luna's killers must have been oozing with hatred when they delivered those deadly blows and bullets.  I looked up the English equivalent of the word “dumot” and what came up on google translate was “hatred” which doesn’t quite give the intensity.

In Bisaya, dumot can be described as that kind of nagging need to get even for being wronged, or for feeling threatened.  It can stay suppressed until it sees the opportunity for revenge, usually bloody.  A person can act in a cordial manner towards his offender all this time the opportunity has not yet come.  I still have to come across written or oral accounts on how satisfied one got after executing revenge.  Can he now sleep well?  Will he always be on his toes?  Isn't he scared for his kin?

The Filipino regionalism is attributed to why the dream of one-nationhood is elusive.  This is projected quite clearly in the movie that anyone who wants to conquer the Philippines need not lift a finger that much because Filipinos will bicker among themselves and implode. The same strategy is still being applied now by well-placed Filipinos towards their constituents by dangling millions in the guise of freedom from want (Negosyo o Kalayaan – HL).

Loyalty to one’s family, clan, tribe, party or organization has been said to get in the way to achieve collective good; in the same manner that many crimes have been committed in the name of the family, clan, tribe, party or organization.

                                                                                      

If honesty is such a lonely word, peace is the most abused.  Peace is usually interpreted as something that benefits one’s interests only.  To think that almost everybody has interests! And sometimes one can only see the value of peace if he sees its contrast which is violence.  Appreciation of peace cannot always be pabebe, pa-sweet-sweet, beating around the bush so as not to graze sensibilities, shielding young people from harsh realities with the beautiful, the well-scrubbed and images of perfection.  Why then, have we raised generations of wimps, generations who would rather stay in their comfort zones?  To borrow more words: Pacification by Cappuccino?  (Hindi panlalait ang pagsabi ng katotohanan – HL).

I believe many who watched Heneral Luna transcended the blood, the brutality and the bed scenes.  Come on, children and young people these days are not naive having been exposed to these same B's on digital gaming and computer generated movies.  Gel shared that Heneral Luna was very much like Game of Thrones.  And because Mom doesn’t have an idea what GOT is, she gets a crash course from this highly-wired teen.

What should scare us parents to shielding children from historical accounts executed on screen?  Paint them a rosy world?  Maybe the only possible reason that we will prevent our children and young people to watch it is when we can't provide them with backgrounders and answers to their why's.

I have long given up on Philippine movies that I don’t even bother reading reviews. In the same manner, I have long given up on hearing about and witnessing Philippine politics that no personality-centered news catches my attention anymore.  I have let others do the looking so that my mantra has become, “Wake me up when something is happening.” It better be really good for me to be convinced; and if someone has to convince me, it has to be someone credible.  It took my son to wake me up with Heneral Luna and spark some hope – at least on Philippine Movies.

One final note: It is striking to note that an actor was willing to play a relative who is written down in history as a traitor.  Will the rest of us have that magnanimity to be cognizant of past mistakes?  How far can we go not to take it against a contrite descendant the sins of his forefathers?  The word is contrite.  As Saladin told Balian in the movie Kingdom of Heaven, “I am not one of those men.”

For public outcry to compel the movie to be back in theaters is something.  Could it be that the Filipino audience had to settle for mediocrity on film (throw in TV and politics) is because only more of the same is offered?  Why do lousy productions get more promotion than substantial ones?  Will the Heneral Luna experience push producers to crowd-source promotions for better quality films? 

It won’t be long -- knowing our national penchant for euphoria – that the Lunacy that held a precarious spell on national consciousness will face the danger of being set aside for the next trending topic.

Unless we shed our misplaced loyalties to family, clan, tribe, party or organization, I’m afraid The Fiery General would still be shouting --

“Punyeta!”

* * * * * 

Puerto Princesa City

21 September 2015

Aveen Acuña-Gulo posts herself on Facebook as a Monumental Operations Manager (MOM) and is now vacationing in Palawan not as a tourist.  She is a Bukidnon-born Cebuano mother of three (3) Maguindanao-Ilonggo-Cotabateño children; who will always be a child at heart even if she is a hundred years old.

She wrote a column “The Voice” for the Mindanao Cross from 1991-2006. 

She likes to challenge stereotypes.  “Don’t worry about my opinions.  It won’t make a dent to the conventional,” she says.  "But don't you think, too, that I should now remove those tribal identifications?"

Fathers & Sons

(The following article first appeared on the June 14, 2003 issue of the Mindanao Cross).

* * * * * * *

Fathers and Sons

There is this story of a Manobo family starting its day before daybreak.  The family stove is at the center of the cogon-roofed house.  As the mother goes about preparing breakfast of root crops and a few fish, the children gather around the fire for some warmth.

The father gets his bolo, maybe a spear or a bow and arrow, and joins the children.  He tells stories about how he gathered food the day before; assigns the eldest son for some tasks so that he will be a good food gatherer by the time he grows up.  The rest of the children are assigned tasks that are fit for their respective ages -- who will feed the chickens, etc.  They talk about how they want to see the day ahead.

Ah, some corporate meeting in a different setting.  The challenge for the present-day father has never changed -- no, it has changed.  The challenge has grown bigger.  Blessed is the family whose fathers can gather his children and discuss matters that directly affect them.  It is a rarity these days where fathers run corporate or organizational meetings and meet the family for the same purposes.  

The third Sunday of June is celebrated as Father's Day.  The call of the times is for fathers to save their families from disintegrating.  There are just too many temptations around that threaten the family.  The father should now go back to being in charge -- and raise sons who will also be in turn good fathers when their time will come.  

According to Dr Philip J Mango, President of St Michael's Institute for Psychological Sciences (www.stmichael.net):  "There is a masculinity crisis in society today.  Men are not doing what they are supposed to do, because we are not training boys to be the men they are supposed to be.  Men have to be heroes, persons who transcend their egos, fears and selfishness, and make sacrifices of themselves as a gift for those they have been called to protect." (Why We Need Heroes, Faith & Family Magazine, Spring 2003).  

Thank God, many fathers will be spending Father's Day with their sons doing what men are supposed to do: go to church, have brisk physical exertion like basketball, swimming, horseback riding, hiking, helping Mom around the house with some carpentry work, do some gardening, do some volunteer work, etc.  Much better than a seemingly more feminine pastime of hanging out in the mall or shopping.  (Ah, look what advertising has done to males).

To all the Fathers in the world revive the masculine tradition. God Bless You!


* * * * * *

Angels In My Travels

Maybe age is catching up with me in terms of catching buses while moving from one place to another because I now get muscle pains like I never did before.  While I keep a wary eye on dispatchers (barkers, some say) who assure you the bus is arriving soon (karong taud-taud); or porters who always say they don’t have change so you end up giving a whole bill, it’s never long when an angel comes along.

The aircon Rural Bus from Tacurong was just pulling off the ramp in Kabacan when I got out of the van from Cotabato City this particular Tuesday morning.  The conductor told me there were no more seats available but I am never a complainer for standing in a crowded bus.  Like many Filipino commuters, I am just grateful enough there’s a way to get from one point to the next.

As I eyed each row to be occupied, I reached the last row of seats at the back (The Balcony).  I just did not get an empty seat, the person beside it was Ray John! He video documented our climb to Kansad Gadung, a Teduray Sacred Place in 2013.  RJ’s current assignment was with the Dulangan Manobo of Kulaman, Sultan Kudarat.  Needless to say there was a lot of catching up more than a year hence while enjoying the moving landscape. 

* * * * *

Wednesday morning the Rural Bus to Tacurong was De Luxe, meaning non-aircon.  No problem.  The same thing, I am just one of the many Filipino commuters that are grateful for any means that can get us from Point A to Point B in one piece, non-aircon notwithstanding.  Others pushed me to go to the balcony; which was also full.  I can stand in the middle, no problem, so they squeezed ahead.  Securing my backpack in the overhead loft, I get settled – standing up.  

When the bus was already plying the highway, a young man stood up from his seat and said, “Aglayan lang ko, Maam”.  Meaning, I can have his seat because Aglayan was just a few minutes away; and Kabacan was 5-6 hours ahead for me.  “God bless you,” I tell him and he smiles.

* * * * * *

The Weena Bus in Kabacan was aircon, alright; but a handful of passengers standing in the front aisle would not budge even if there was plenty of space in the middle.  I squeezed myself; and got settled – yes, standing up.  Two young ladies called my attention and told me the three of us can sit in two seats designed for two.  Hmm – half of my butt did; but not long enough, a young man some three rows behind said he’s going down and I can take his seat.  I said my thanks to the young man, the two young ladies, they smiled and I moved.  I felt sorry for those who did not budge.

* * * * *

The tricycle driver from the Magallanes Terminal did not have change for my ten-peso coin.  No problem, keep it.  His face showed a sign of relief. 

* * * * *

Four rather-full multicabs in Mabini did not want to go to where I asked them.  I tried to wait for one more and if there’s none I can probably walk back the next block where passengers are just coming in.  Then a motorcycle pulled up in front of me and offered me a ride.  My brain processed for some milliseconds and I realized it’s a neighbour whom I haven’t seen in ages.  He happened just to pick up some vegetables for supper on the way home.

We had a happy exchange, saying he kept tab on Facebook though he does not interact much.  When I reached the corner to the house, I alighted and tapped him on the shoulder in gratitude and told him, “You’re an angel.”  He smiled.

* * * * *

Long hours of travel on public transportation have always been a given in this country, especially in the countryside.  While nothing much has changed over the years except for the models of the buses and the cemented roads, people’s lives remain the same: passengers in terminals scamper each time a bus arrives to see where it’s headed to; barkers shout the destination of incoming buses instead of putting up arrival and departure schedules; conductors negotiating with some passengers that if inspectors come in they say they already have tickets; and so on and so forth. 

Why government at all levels have not achieved systematizing public transportation is beyond me still.  Meantime, I took note of the passengers who are headed the same destination as mine – so that if they scamper and return to their seats, it’s not our bus yet.   No need to be stressed out.  So much human activity is happening there’s no time to get bored.

Indeed, if government cannot establish systems, people cope.

Cotabato City

30 April 2015

* * * * * *

Aveen Acuña-Gulo posts herself on Facebook as a Monumental Operations Manager (MOM).  She is a Bukidnon-born Cebuano mother of three (3) Maguindanao-Ilonggo-Cotabateño children; who will always be a child at heart even if she is a hundred years old.

She wrote a column “The Voice” for the Mindanao Cross from 1991-2006. 

She likes to challenge stereotypes.  “Don’t worry about my opinions,” she says.  “It won’t make a dent to the conventional.”

FBolution

One day I will get bored with Facebook.  Although it seems that THAT day is not yet today.

Some get bored with my posts, the way I also get bored with some posts.  Some unfriend me and I rarely unfriend some.  But these cannot be reasons for me not to enjoy Facebook all together.

Seven-eight years into FB'ing, this type of communication has evolved into many facets; and so far I still appreciate FB for what it is:

1.  FB is for everybody.  Especially for those who want to see their own pictures that earlier were called vanity shots.  Now more popular as selfie, this love of self is so determined to be exposed so that it could easily be confused with self-determination.  After all, a selfie is a mirror frozen in time.  Could one be really determined enough to be bored with looking at oneself in the mirror?

2.  FB is for everybody.  Very much like real life, FB groups start out with one topic and then becomes so garbled with everyone talking in different frequencies (aka splatter) masked as freedoms of expression. Soon they quarrel with each other or somebody posts something for sale then everyone else starts leaving.

3.  FB is for everybody.  Those who are very outspoken on FB sometimes can be demure in real life. Is it not rare to see FBzens who can be profound on spirituality one moment and still be candid about nudity and raunchiness tomorrow?   Then there are those who smother pity on emaciated children today and parties with one politician tomorrow or some celebrity the next in the name of some kind of fancy advocacy.

4.  FB is for everybody.  Initially there was this scare that exposing your whereabouts in real time could put you in a grave security risk.  But through time there was just millions telling each other where they were that nobody really bothered whether you're slurping goop or skinny-dipping in a war zone.

5.  FB is for everybody.  For ones who did not undergo rigid training on research and documentation, FB Photo Albums can actually be a virtual stack of index cards, arranged systematically to contain exchanges that express people's thoughts in their most unguarded, thus spontaneous and natural, moments.  Which somehow makes them more human and real, don't it?

6.  FB is for everybody.  Veterans spot newbies easily.  They are the ones who thinks that all posts and comments are directed at him/her.  Or that each and every single post by others have a direct concern on him/her.  S/he feels compelled to greet every celebrant Happy Birthday or post what everybody else are posting.  If one still does any of these even with years of FB'ing s/he remains a newbie.

7.  FB is for everybody.  One's villain is another one's hero.  Nuff sed.


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Puerto Princesa
27 March 2015

Aveen Acuña-Gulo posts herself on Facebook as a Monumental Operations Manager (MOM) who is now vacationing in Palawan not as a tourist.  She is a Bukidnon-born Cebuano mother of three (3) Maguindanao-Ilonggo-Cotabateño children; who will always be a child at heart even if she is a hundred years old.

She wrote a column “The Voice” for the Mindanao Cross from 1991-2006. 

She likes to challenge stereotypes.  “Don’t worry about my opinions,” she says.  “It won’t make a dent to the conventional.”