But, as luck would have it, representing my school in an inter-university quiz contest sponsored by the then Southeast Asia Treaty Organization (SEATO) gave me the needed break to enter the “professional world” – the government broadcast media.

No matter how I love this job, I realized that the control levers of society called competition and professional jealousy could greatly affect one’s momentum.

Naïve as I was, and disgusted at how some colleagues jockeyed for “lucrative” beats, I left the media and jumped from one private company to another and worked as a staffwriter, medical representative, associate editor, communication specialist, and executive director.

Looking back, I’m amazed at how switching from one job to another could actually shape your perception in life, measure your strengths and weaknesses, and harness your creativity in job hunting.

For instance, applying for a job and getting rejected does not mean the world will stop spinning. One day, I got hold of a copy of the publication called Top 1000 Corporations and selected the top 100. I then wrote a standard application letter, changing only the addressees and names of the companies, and mailed them all at the same time. Then, I searched for background materials about those companies.

Voila! To my surprise, several companies replied and invited me to take their standard pre-employment and IQ exams—and short interviews—with no guarantee for an immediate employment.

Just as when I was about to throw all rational calculus to the wind, I found myself one day taking almost the same type of exams that I encountered previously. Except for editorial writing (editorial, straight news, short feature, and English-Filipino translation of everything I wrote), the series of standard IQ tests laid the foundation for this “final test.” It was smooth sailing all the way, and I topped the exams against 10 short-listed out of the over 200 applicants for one job position. I stayed in this embassy job for 16 years!

But long years in one particular job do not mean the end of the road, especially if you have streaks of silvers in your crown. You decide to move on by taking the high road.

Taking risks is a choice. I took that risk and applied in an international nongovernment organization. But age matters as a matter of policy. You see, I was past 40 then, if you know what I mean! I was hired, nonetheless, because of my relevant and rich work experiences.

In these “exercises,” I realized that a new job does not actually solve old problems because of the psychological stresses it brings as we face new challenges, faces, and phases in an entirely new environment. As one psychologist says, “A new job follows closely behind moving house, bereavement, and divorce.”

I realized that preparation, knowing what I want, and going after it are parts of the whole equation in giving my best dunk shot in anything I do.
I realized, too, the value of not burning the bridge that I crossed, but of expressing my appreciation and gratitude to people whom I’ve worked with and guided me to enrich my professional life. In short, we get most things in life, of value, through our interactions with other people.

Above all, faith and confidence in one’s self are defining values that summarize this entire exercise called job hunting. As Sir Edmund Hillary says, “It’s not the mountain we conquer, but ourselves.”

Even today, after all is said, done, and achieved, I really felt that I’m just a lucky worm trying to inch my way into this harsh and competitive world.

From the working press to the exciting world of the press office in a diplomatic environment, and up to an international nongovernment organization as now, such kinds of interviews were dime a dozen.  How I influenced readers in the process of reportage governed by the tyranny of deadlines is another matter, suffice it to say that I have tried my very best to be as balanced and as plain as possible in discussing issues that affected our daily lives.

Throughout my career, I have never been interviewed by anybody with the same intention as that of a journalist, except for routine job interviews.  Even then, what we say and how we say things depend entirely upon our ability to communicate and influence people.

Of late, a group of students from the University of the Philippines Los Banos (UPLB) interviewed me on the subject of development communication. I felt privileged speaking with bright young people, knowing for a fact that somehow, my three cents worth of perspectives may affect them as they begin to thread their paths outside the four walls of the academe.

After that interview, I unexpectedly received this email on November 26, 2008 from one of my interviewers. Here’s an excerpt:

“I would just liken to express my gratitude in behalf of my group mates for allowing us to have some time to speak with you. You helped us a lot in our exercise, and you sure gave more than what we needed, I really learned a lot from our conversation. I’m sure my group mates also did. I admire you for your passion in your work and in helping the country in general to achieve development…

“Like you, I also came from a poor family, and I am a lucky one to reach college in our family. I am graduating his semester, hopefully, and am planning to join the workforce that engages in achieving development…I am also sad with the current situation of the country, and with the situation of development communication as a field…I really appreciate all those you have taught us…I consider you more, Sir, as a mentor and not as an interviewee for our exercise…I hope we’ll meet again some time. Good luck to you, Sir.”

And then, I received a text message from another UPLB devcom student:  “Hi Sir! Thanks for having accommodated us. We look up to you Sir, and indeed we learned a lot. Thanks so much. God bless”

“Thanks for sharing your knowledge to us. You are god-sent to us,” an intern from the Batangas State University said in another text message.

These brief encounters with undergraduate students gave me a renewed strength to trust and inspired me with hope on young people’s idealism.  Such is the magic of sharing one’s knowledge, now matter how little.

At the end of the day, I felt like riding on a dove’s wings – spiritually rich and humbled by the experience

Military people peered at the door of the immigration office where I sat for more than an hour whispering, Filipini, Filipini (Filipino, Filipino)!

At that moment, I realized how world politics could affect travelers. I heaved sighs of relief an hour later after the officials confirmed that I was headed for Aleppo to work as a Consultant Science Editor/Writer for the International Center for Agricultural Research in the Dry Areas (ICARDA).

Silence greeted me on my way out as the throng of people disappeared. I saw my suitcase beside the conveyor belt, and the baffled driver of the Center. As we walked to the car park, a man carrying a traditional coffee pot approached and offered me Turkish coffee. Still hot, the coffee, with its sticky precipitates, “bit” my throat. The smiling coffee man offered me water as chaser. The man was a dollar richer after that!

Stepping on biblical and medieval ground was a dream-come-true.  In ancient times, Syria fell under the Canaanites, Phoenicians, Hebrews, Arameans, Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, Romans, Nabataeans, Byzantines, Crusaders, and the Ottoman Turks. 

Syria is a land of biblical tribes where religions and civilizations converged. King David and King Solomon of Israel, for example, controlled Syria during those times. It was also on the road to Damascus, the oldest inhabited capital in the world, where the incredible conversion of Saul (Paul) to Christianity took place.

Located 350 kilometers north of Damascus is the 16^th century BC Aleppo Citadel, a magnificent fortress that I visited during my free hours and on weekends (Fridays and Saturdays). It is said that the prophet Abraham milked his cow at a spot in the Citadel. On that spot was built the Abraham Mosque in 1167.

Tired of discovering the huge complex, I feasted my eyes on the gold jewelries, colorful carpets, kaffiyehs, woolen fabrics, and antiques at the 13^th century souk (bazaar) right across the Citadel, interrupted only by the passing donkey and motorcycle at my back.

One Saturday morning, I and my Nigerian officemate, Moyomola Bolarin, visited Qaalat Seman (St. Simeon Church) 60 kilometers north of Aleppo, where the monk Simeon lived atop a column for 37 years “to get closer to God.” Today, pilgrims and tourists visit the church, with St. Simeon’s column still very evident in the courtyard.

A week later, I and my other officemates – Manaf Hammam, Majdi Kebbe, and Rami Tahhan – set out for the city of Homs close to the Lebanese to visit the Krak des Chevaliers (Crac des Chevaliers), a Crusader fortress and one of the most important medieval military castles in the world. A World Heritage Site, the castle served as a garrison during the Christian Crusade. Crusader art (frescoes) inside the castle is still intact.

In modern times, the Roman Papacy world would not be complete without mentioning the Popes of Syrian origin – Pope Gregory III (731-741); Pope Anicetus (155-166), the first Roman Bishop to condemn heresy; Pope Sergius I (687-701), who added the Agnus Dei (Lamb of God, you take away the sin of the world…) in the Christian mass; Pope Sisinnius, who reigned for about three weeks in 708; and Pope Constantine (708-715), whose reign fulfilled the prophesies of the Book of Revelation.

The Old Testament also mentions Hama or Hamath several times. Considered as the most picturesque city in Syria, it is an important agricultural and industrial center and home of the surviving 13^th century norias (water wheels) along the Orontes River. “People in Hama wouldn’t be able to sleep if the creaking sounds of the norias disappear,” says Manaf.

Tel Hadya is where ICARDA is located. An archeological site located 35 kilometers south of Aleppo, it is where a covered Roman water duct was found.

I left Syria in May 2001 after a three-month sojourn. As I said khatrak (goodbye) and shukran (thank you) to my ICARDA colleagues, I heard the driver saying, Yallah, yallah (Let’s go, let’s go)!

On the way to Damascus, I saw atop a barren mountain the looming statue of the late Hafez al-Assad, the father of Syria’s incumbent president, Bashar al-Assad, whose huge photographs in tarpaulin are prominently displayed at the side or back of passing busses, buildings, and even on the ancient walls of the Aleppo Citadel. 

I flew back to Manila happy at the thought of stepping into biblical and medieval ground, bringing home with me two pieces of rock that I “excavated” inside the Aleppo Citadel.

Someday, would it be Jordan? Israel? Egypt? Inshallah (if God wills).

Humor at primetime slot is a very pervasive component of television programming, which has brought about a revolution of lowered expectation. This is because daily boob tube sitcoms abound 10 pieces a cent, which could well provide social scientists empirical data on why legions of Filipinos voluntarily succumb and wallow into vicarious experiences for “wholesome family entertainment.” 

This form of entertainment deadens and anesthetizes the people’s sensibilities against a daily diet of government scams, political razzmatazz, gory killings, and sizzling movie gossips (anchors, advertisers, and TV stations earn millions this way, do they?) especially on Sundays. 

However, such form of entertainment brings to the fore the Filipinos’ proclivity to laugh at their own humor—at themselves—with the end result that people, especially the young, become intellectually malnourished and virtual idiot box trash bins. 

Against this backdrop, such “whole family entertainment” thrives. Television ratings soar, sponsors edge out one another for primetime slot, the ad industry booms, television stations rake in more money than ever, while the gullible viewers get less and less. 

Such programs present scripted plots based on simple make-believe experiences magnified 10-fold, aside from a heavy bombardment of commercials telling everyone what to drink for lasting friendship, smoke for respectability, what to spray for wholesome body odor (oink, oink!), where to remove those fats and abs, and what to use during one’s period even if one wears a white jean. 

Years ago, a study conducted by Prof. Joanne Cantor of the University of Wisconsin on the effect of humor on recall of a radio ad has far-reaching implications for advertisers. She said, “Humor enhances attention to itself, but not necessarily to the information presented with it…” 

 Watching TV slapsticks also readily transports one to the end of the world where cuss words are predominantly used. Viewers salivate. Programming as a concept is dead. ]

Tom Shales, formerly of the Los Angeles Times, once lamented:  “The network will put anything on the air that sells; the old values like class and prestige are practically extinct. Our lowered expectations of television seep over into other aspects of modern life. If you tried to put on a program about wisdom or courage now, you’d be laughed right out of the conference room. Television tells us to fine-tune our expectations downward and just be grateful that some nut doesn’t blow up the world.” 

Now that the Trillanes, NBN deal, impeachment, P500,000 cash gift to governors, the Burgos disappearance, killings of journalists, and a host of other scams seemed to have been drowned by the Christmas season, and government functionaries explaining why the World Bank should not hold its loans against Pilipinas Kong Mahal because of excessive corruptions, it’s back to the boob tube for “wholesome family entertainment.”  

We can only hope that nobody dies in a stampede during a revolution of lowered expectation!

Do you realize how big the human brain is? Dinosaurs may be huge, but their brains are as small as a pea. But the most striking difference between humans and dinosaurs is not our larger brain, but how we use them. Unlike other creatures, humans wear clothes, grow food, sing songs, read books, and build airplanes like Enola Gay to drop atomic bombs—but worship God still! 

Such differences stem from our ability to think, reason, make choices, and modify the world. Each of these abilities depends on our capacity for language—the ability to think in words, form concepts, and have ideas. From these, we develop a thirst for knowledge and a hunger to understand. 

Through language, we are able to ask questions: Why do we fall in love? How do planets and stars move? Where does rain come from? What makes wind “visible”? Why do plants grow? Why do flowers bloom?  

Each answer leaves us with more profound questions. Does creation have a purpose? What is life? Why do we exist? What is man? From questions such as these came philosophy, and from their answers, religion.

 Our capacity for language and to think made us aware of time. We can go back to our past experiences, think about future possibilities, and bring them altogether into the present. Time, therefore, is a conscious thread in our lives, but at a price, because we begin to fear death. And so we ask, “Is there life after death?”

Our awareness of time expanded our choices. Hence, we plot and determine what our futures will be, not que sera sera. 

Being able to think back and reflect upon our experiences enabled us to become conscious of our own consciousness. We can observe our thoughts, experience our minds, and reflect upon our inner experiences. Aha, we have a sense of self! Once again, we ask, “Who am I?” 

We can look back at the whole evolutionary process and exclaim in beautiful language and wonder at the magnificence of the universe. As a result, we are now conscious not only the world, but also of the world within us, and of the consciousness that lights that world.

 Isn’t it safe to say that man’s consciousness of his being, his self, and his universe is brought about by our gift of language and our capacity to reason? As a result, man is nothing but evolution become conscious of itself?  

 

Born in Pangasinan from a poor family of eight, I am rich because as a young lad, my perception of poverty and affluence was a 10 centavo coin inside my pocket. And I felt rich. I am very competitive because I argued with my parents for my high school education. On graduation day, my father was up the stage twice pinning a little something on my shirt. Lucky worm, I said to myself. I finished my BSE from FEU after seven years! What kept me from dropping out of college was an allowance of P25 as a campus writer, and a part time office job with a monthly salary of P100. 

During those trying college years, two of my unforgettable experiences in applying for a job greatly affected me later in life. I applied as a janitor at the Pasay City School Division. The superintendent’s eyes never escaped mine during the interview. After a few minutes, he said, “Study some more, hijo.” That was Dr. Narciso Albarracin, who later became Secretary of Education. I didn’t get the job!

Later, I applied as a cub reporter for an afternoon broadsheet. The editor asked, “What books have you read?” I said Sartre, Ayn Rand, Bertrand Russell, etcetera. He said, “Read some more!” End of interview. Whew! 

Study. Read some more. Those were challenging words and admonition that guided me on. One semester before college graduation came the “break.” PBS hired me as an Information Writer. Wow! Thanks to an inter-university quiz contest sponsored by the SEATO where I, together with two bookworms, represented my university and won the championship. 

I enjoyed my brief elitista status when I enrolled at the Ateneo de Manila University for my master’s degree in comm research. Unfortunately, my new employer “exiled” me to Mindanao. I left Ateneo, not only without a masters degree, but also sans the “Aarneow” twang. Years later, I u-turned into journalism, wrote for the mainstream media, joined Bridge Asia Communication, Australian Embassy Manila, IRRI, and finally earned my master’s degree in comm management from the AIJC. 

Today, my silver linings are prominent, if you know what I mean. I have three children, all professionals, and an excellent profession. You may ask, “What do you want for the rest of your life?” Just simply feel “rich” by stopping being human, and be a true human being. After all, being rich or being poor does not judge a man.

(My farewell speech delivered before the Australian Embassy staff in Manila on 31 October 1997.)

 

I’m looking at a certificate which represents 16 years, four months, and 12 days of service for the Australian Embassy in Manila, the most meaningful part of my professional life as a journalist. 

There is always a penalty for “replacing the lens cap for the last time,” as Mr. John Patrick beautifully puts it. And that penalty is delivering a farewell speech. 

I said meaningful because as a Press Officer working in the background, I was a witness during those 16 years to both national and international events as they unfolded before my eyes – APEC, ASEAN, ministerial visits, MOU signings, etcetera, ad infinitum – as two countries tried to forge and strengthen existing bilateral ties that formally started 51 years ago in 1946, coincidentally the year I was born. 

Meaningful for a journalist because it was during those years that major political transitions took place in the country. It is interesting to note how close door neighbor Australia responded to those events. It was Australia, next to France, that recognized the Aquino Government right after it assumed power. 

During those years, I saw the workings of Australia’s development cooperation with the Philippines, from the rough roads of far-flung areas in Mindanao, the depressed areas in Northern Samar, and in the depressed barangays in Cebu. But I tell you that “Ceboom” ends where the dirt roads begin. It is in those areas where the indelible imprints of Australia’s development assistance are found. 

More importantly was the people-to-people link developed, and is still developing, between our two countries. You see this strengthening link in the government, in the academe, in the business sector, and even in culture and the arts. 

Why am I saying this? 

To my mind, the reason is that Embassy people – whether A-based or Locally-engaged – have their own unique role to play in strengthening these links. What a better place to strengthen such links than within our workplace – the Embassy – for each is an Ambassador of Goodwill in his/her right. 

As I leave the portals of this Embassy, I am comforted by the fact that I was once a part of a great team, in my own little way, which immensely contributed to a better understanding between our two peoples. 

But I must say that change is a universal rule, and my leaving the Embassy is a part of that change…just like changing the lens cap.

In 1969, I was a young broadcast journalist fresh from college working for the Philippine Broadcasting Service Network (PBS). 

One day in October that year, the Malacañang Palace ground was surrounded by tanks and military men in fatigue uniforms, as if an invasion or a coup was forthcoming. It was not. Senators Juan Ponce Enrile and Leonardo Perez, journalists like Vero Perfecto of the National Media Production Center (NMPC), Han Brown of the Far East Broadcasting Company (FEBC), DZHP’s Ed Tipton, myself covering for PBS, and a host of mean-looking plainclothes presidential guards, heaven knew how many, clustered around Marcos who looked dapper with his jusi barong, cool but stern, shooting questions with probity to the Republic’s enemy number one.  

The event was the surrender of Huk Supreme, Commander Sumulong who, to my mind, was more of a bandit than a communist ideologue and a threat to society at that time. The event was a political prop for greater things to come.   

Weeks later, the renowned Rev. Richard Wurmbrand, who spent 14 years of communist torture in Romanian prisons and author of the book, Tortured for Christ, called on Marcos. He showed to the President his scars from wounds inflicted by his Nazi tormentors. Not to be outdone, Marcos rolled up his sleeves, and showed his World War II scars. TV cameras rolled and still cameras clicked and flashed. Showtime! 

A few months after, US Peace Corps volunteers called on Marcos. A huge reception was tendered in their honor by a “grateful” first couple. It was a big media event to show how the Filipino people were grateful to the Americans. Imelda looked regal in her white terno as she sang glowingly.  

Souvenir Marcos medallions were distributed to the volunteers and to all people who mattered to IM and FM. I got one of those big medallions, not because I mattered to Ferdie and Meldy, but because I sweet-talked a Blue Lady who was more concerned keeping her teased hairdo from being raffled than in distributing the give-away of her masters. 

Oh, by the way, do you remember this radio station ID? “You are tuned to DWIM-FM 104.3 kHz.” Bright idea! Subtle! Subliminal! Got the picture? 

Then, my newsroom boss, Constantino “Tony” Bernal, gave me a congressional assignment. At the old Congress at P. Burgos Street in Manila, I was amused, more than impressed, by the antics of congressmen – a privileged speech in English, a vehement objection in the Visayan dialect, a point of order in Ilocano, and a call for a five-minute recess by an exasperated congressman – in Spanish! The issue? National language, of course! We could not even agree on one! 

I left the media later on and joined Unilab, where my first task was to monitor the congressional hearing on drug monopoly. Unilab owner Jose Yao Campos and Marcos were compadres. Got the bigger picture? 

But the most heart-rending event was yet to come. As a member of the Rural Broadcasters Council (RBC) then, it was at Unilab where I received a telegram from Press Secretary Kit Tatad on August 12, 1972, which read this way:  

A few months after that, Marcos declared Martial Law! That was the message of the telegram. 

These events taught me several lessons: That you and I must be perceptive of political developments in our country so that we may avoid being swept by the winds of history…that you and I must be vigilant and politically conscienticized on the workings of the government, so that we may not end up at the mercy and at the palms of government leaders who pretend and act as demigods. 

But the greatest lesson that I learned from this political upheaval was that a “door” slightly left ajar was all it took to unseat a dictator. Marcos loosened up on that “door,” and that “door” was the press. The tyrant was history.

 My message is that, while we may have the most critical and adversarial press, so be it, because that is the essence of democracy. Let us protect that freedom with responsibility so that tyrants may not find another sheaf of page in our contemporary history. 

 I was glad, and still am, a part of the working press.

Have you ever considered that life is like a computer? Sounds too simple, right? If that is so, how do you define life?

I believe that life is the art of drawing conclusions from insufficient premises. There are no classes in life for beginners. There are no short courses or survival course of any kind. Have you ever come across a book entitled Life Made Easy? There is none because we are always asked to deal with what is most difficult, important, and crucial: that of making choices and decisions in order to modify our individual world.

And because of that, it is the advantage and nature of the strong to bring crucial issues to the fore and confront them, unlike the weak who always have to make a choice between alternatives not entirely their own.

In life, we are always confronted by simplistic questions answerable only by “yes” or “no.” No “ifs” and “buts.” Just like using that box Bill Gates popularized – the computer.

Now, back to my original question: Have you ever considered that life is like a computer? I say it is.

Years ago, my memory was so overloaded with viruses, how I wished I could have downloaded those into others’ computers. The only recourse, I thought, was a complete reformatting.

After spending so much time scrolling documents, selecting scores of them, deleting them, the dialogue box said, “There are no items to show in this view.”

The computer knows how to dare and confront us by a simplistic, yet loaded question when we do that: “Are you sure you want to delete the selected items?” For a moment, I was shocked. I hesitated. There I was, seated right in front of the computer being challenged by a simple multiple choice: Yes or No?

Again, when we are confronted by two conflicting interests, we have to choose in favor of one. Without blinking an eye, I pressed “Enter,” thus letting go off those pent-up steam…having realized that the power to forget is a necessary condition for our existence and survival. In so doing, I entered into a new space…a new window…without backspacing.

As man is condemned to be free, the new inputs were now carefully selected. Some saved documents were given new titles, reset in bold font, underlined, and saved.

Life is like that—like a computer. We close a file (our unpleasant memories), reopen our saved documents (our fond memories), hoping that no virus (bad experiences) would infect our new file (our new life).

As we close a new document that we have created for the day, another window opens the following morn to be filled with new inputs, not by design, but by choice. And when we have completed our draft, we read it, scroll, perhaps deleting some parts, until we stump our imprimatur—full stop! And then, we heave a sigh of relief because we encountered no technical problem at the end of the day! But if we fail, then Bill Shakespeare is right in telling us:

Life’s but a walking shadow,

A poor that struts and frets his hour upon the stage,

And then is heard no more.

It’s a tale told by an idiot,

Full of sound and fury

Signifying nothing!

But we are not walking shadows. We are not poor players and, above all, we are not idiots because we recognize that life is full of rhythm. It is a precious gift that defines the purpose of our existence…that is, only if we have the courage to delete unnecessary documents…only if we know how to select what we input…what to save…how to be bold in opening a new window…a new file…which is life itself! For life is a huge canvas where only us can capture the seasons of our own lives.

Life is like a computer?