Malatan-og Falls in Don Salvador Benedicto

Campuestohan: Road Pictures Included

One Stop Negros Oriental Tour

To Write is To Make it Right

There comes a time when we write because we want to. There also comes a time when we write because we need to. This is one piece of writing that comes so easily because I need to. Read on.

Good day. I can now afford to write that greeting because this was written few days after January 02. Otherwise, this should have immediately started below. 

This is to formally file a complaint against a Montenegro Shipping lady staff on duty in the morning of January 02, 2016 at the port of Siquijor for negligence of duty which borders to gross incompetence with regard to her supposed roles and responsibilities as a ticketing staff of the said shipping company. In as much as we wanted to keep our peace, we cannot stand to keep mum about what had happened, simply because it is so wrong and that we don't want this incident to happen to us again and to other people. 

We arrived at the port of Siquijor at around 8:45 in the morning of January 02, 2016. I was with my sister and brother-in-law. When we arrived, people already flocked outside of a certain fastfood house waiting for the ticketing table of Montenegro to start issuing tickets. We decided to have breakfast. At around 9am, a lady from Montenegro shipping arrived. My brother-in-law lined up. Suddenly a commotion erupted. One foreigner and a local quarreled as to which line was the legitimate one. A police officer in uniform instructed to only form two lines. However, the foreigner insisted that his queue was the only line allowed. The local did not agree. The lady staff of Montenegro kept silent, ignoring the loud exchange of arrogance from both men. Both of them wanted to be right. She issued a ticket to the foreigner. My brother-in-law was in the line where the foreigner lined up. But when she already issued the ticket to the foreigner she shouted that the only allowed line was the other line - the line not instructed by the police officer because according to her, that line was longer than the other. She made a point with conviction that she will only issue tickets from that line. That was when my sister approached her and told her that the police officer was the one who made the order of forming that line. And she heard it. She, in fact, issued a ticket to the foreigner coming from that line. She said no! That's when I stood up and told her she should have arrived earlier so as not to cause the rumble and chaos. But she retorted telling me she was in Larena issuing tickets and that she was just alone doing the job and that she was still making a report. Now her irrationality and incompetence filed up. Finally, she agreed to alternately issue tickets to both lines. What struck me the most was when she said, that was the last ticket to be issued, not minding the people at the back who patiently waited under the heat of the sun, hopeful to get their tickets. She should have told the people who lined up, "I can NOW only ACCOMMODATE until 5 or 10 people, WHATEVER THE CASE MAY BE. Such gross incompetence! I felt small as a Filipino, she existed. Pardon.

I cannot understand and I believe I need an explanation on the following:

1. Why is it that Montenegro shipping only assigned one ticketing staff on a holiday and a New Year at that?

2. Why is it that that lonesome lady seemed so incompetent to carry out her job? She should have arrived earlier in the ticketing table. She should have informed that the shipping line can only accommodate this much. She should have requested the police officer to help her and do the counting for her. She should have stood up and spoken up to pacify the erring parties. She should have been so organized knowing she was only the one in the table. But she FAILED in all of these.

What made the matters worse were her remarks:

1. We should be submissive to foreigners at all times and at all cost because they are assets. (even if they are wrong?)

2. When the crowd dissipated with her announcement of no tickets available, she kept murmuring why my group got angry with her. Huh!? I told her, "shouldn't we speak up to point out your unfair treatment, jugdment, and incompetence?" 

I believe one should speak up and let this problem be known for immediate correction and corrective action. "Evil flourish only when good men do nothing." 

There is still hope in this country. I believe so. I would like to believe that there are still good men working to make this country a worthy place to live in.

Respectfully yours,

Jay Cris Famoso

Don’t Swim on Good Fridays

Julie! Julie! Help! I screamed like crazy.  I waved my hand up in the air as she didn’t seem to notice.

Jul! Jul! Come over here! I was slowly moving away from her and from the shore. She did not have the faintest idea I was calling for rescue. In fact, she just waved and smiled back. I was scanning the shoreline for JR but he was too far. He seemed to really not care about anything else except for what’s underwater.

Feeling helpless, I took in enough air, and shouted, “I am drowning!” I need help.

Julie is a fairly good swimmer.  She moved, really fast. Or perhaps she saw I was moving away faster.

Julie, JR, and I took our lunch in one of islands of Gigantes. That was Good Friday. After the seafood treat, we allowed our bodies to rest and spread carefree in the shoreline like we owned it. The sun was up showing its might so we chose to stay under the generous shade of palm trees. “It’s 3 o clock”, the boatman announced.  We rolled up our bodies soaked in white sand and ready for our last dip in that island. We readied our snorkel, which by the way, were all new. Haha. It got its first test of waters in Gigantes.

That day seemed ideal for swimming. We rushed to the sea before we rush to the next island. I floated like a log, face underwater, carefree, and directionless. I just let the water took me to the wonders underneath. “I was like saying, “Take me, I‘ll follow.” There were times that I get a glimpse of Julie and JR when I removed seawater from my snorkel. Didn’t I say, it was new? I was still getting the hang of it. It seemed like a fair day for the three of us.

Thirty minutes past three, I noticed I was already the farthest from the shore. Feeling uneasy about it, I made a U turn, and tried to swim like an authentic swimmer. I spread my arms and kicked my legs, spread them again and kicked, spread and kicked. But I noticed, it made no little difference. Donned with an orange life jacket, I calmed myself. I floated for a while. Gathered some strength. Then swam. And kicked. I moved not closer but father from the island. That was when I knew, I needed help.

So I looked around and saw Julie. JR maintained a closer distance to the shoreline. I shouted at Julie.

Julie! Julie! Help! I screamed like crazy.  I waved my hand up in the air as she didn’t seem to notice.

Jul! Jul! Come over here! I was slowly moving away from her and from the shore. She did not have the faintest idea I was looking for rescue. In fact, she just waved and smiled back. I was scanning the shoreline for JR but he was too far. He seemed to really not care about anything else except for  what’s underwater.

Feeling helpless, I took in enough air, and shouted, “I am drowning!” I need help.

Julie is a fairly good swimmer.  She moved, really fast. Or perhaps she saw I was moving away faster.

When Julie reached my side, she held me like a child with one arm, and swam like a fish. But we were not moving, at all. She made all mightiest attempts she learned in swimming but failed. The current was  too strong to counter. I was thinking of drowning and dying. “Julie, we will be headlines tomorrow!”, I said to her like I mean it. She did not mind me. She instead taught me how to swim on my own. And I obeyed. But I seemed to swim backwards. Being dramatic again, I said, “ Julie, we are going to die!” She answered back, “Shut up!” I can feel she’s mad. I don’t know if it’s me or the situation.  Maybe it was me. She made a tall order that we swim far from the island because that’s where there is less current.  As always, I obeyed the order and was very quiet this time. I let her be the captain - Captain Julie. But all our efforts went for naught. I gave up swimming. I just stayed in the waters. And yes we are still moving, moving away from the shoreline.

Julie and I decided to part ways. I told her, I go to the island, and move sideways, getting hold of the rock formations until I get to the other side of the island and call for rescue. She will remain in the seas on the lookout for boats that could possibly rescue us. As I parted from her, I can see Julie waving her hand to signal help from the passing boats. But the guests just waved back.

I reached the sidelines. I felt safer. Not until I saw the bigger waves hampering me. And the rocks were pointed in formation, it can lash out your palm anytime. Plus of course, I need to hold firmer on the rocks to keep  me steady. And there were crawling sea creatures, not so friendly-looking, which competes for the space in the rocks you’re holding on to. But I ignored them all. Steadily, I moved inch after inch. I can see I’m near. I felt my breath getting back to normal. I felt safer now. Until, I saw, from a distance, our boat with JR and Julie already in it, waving their hands at me. How should I feel? Relieved or embarrassed? I think both and in that order.

Don’t swim on Good Fridays!

Room 440

Room 440. Its was a small room, small enough that you can explore its bareness in a second. It has one patient's bed with a not-so-soft pillow, a brown watcher's bed near the closed window, two plastic white chair, and a small table. You can see whiteness all over. All walls are barren white made whiter by two fluorescent lamps; one at the center and the other at the patient's head. I entered this room, Tuesday, April 21.

It was Saturday, April 18, at around 5:45pm when I arrived in Bacolod from Manila for a badminton tourney. I was chilling hot. I did not have an extra piece of cloth within my reach to drive away the cold. And I was terribly coughing in a 5-second interval. Imagine that for a 1-hour flight. My thoughts ran wild. I was imagining if they have a sound-proof room in the plane where I could transfer. And I am wiling to pay. That was how terrible I felt with the disturbance I gave, especially to my seat-mates. So I just prayed hard that my seat-mates wont mind. Good thing, I was seated at the last row, seat number 33. But the not-so-good scenario is that I was seated at the center. I was looking at each of them. The one at my left was wearing a headset. A relief. On my right, the window side, she was deeply asleep, or perhaps just pretending, so I won't be humiliated.

I rented a cab all for myself, coughing continued, but at least this time, the sound was only between the driver and I. I arrived home - weak, tired, and sick. I took one tablet of biogesic and immediately hit the sack. I felt better the next day. In fact, I reported for work Monday, April 20.

While at work, at around 6pm, I noticed, I was getting hotter. Please take it literally. I took another biogesic and cleaned up my area. I need to be home to rest. I just bought large fries and spaghetti in the nearest Mc Donald's in case my stomach will demand for food. I only finished the large fries and half of my pineapple juice for dinner and slept. In the middle of the night, I told myself, I need to admit myself.

The next day, April 21, I filled my bag with clothes, toiletries, and chargers. I carried myself alone in the hospital. I told the information at Riverside Medical Center that I want to admit myself. I haven't finished my statement yet, she already pointed her hand to the admitting section. I obeyed and took my priority number - 33. I filled out some forms and signed them. And I was instructed to proceed to the emergency. I was terrified. What? How worse am I? Why the emergency room? But they know better so I followed. I was made to lie down in a moving bed and changed my shirt to a hospital gown. The nurse took my BP and pulse rate. And the doctor went to my side and interviewed me. He threw so many questions of which the answers I can hardly recall. I can even feel his impatience growing bigger. A lady nurse took blood samples and a man in his forties gave me an ECG. When the doctor left, a male nurse went to me and he was shaking a container. I asked, "What is that for?" And he replied, "You need to wear oxygen mask." I exclaimed, "Huh?" "I am breathing fine." "Please ask the doctor again!" And he did not come back.

Another test was scheduled - xray. I was lying in bed when the assistant told me we are going to the xray laboratory at the second floor. I told him, "I can walk upstairs." And he said it cannot be. Once admitted, walking is taboo. So I passed through hallways, rode in elevators in my metal bed, where strangers look at me with pity in their eyes.

The worst part of being admitted was the time when you are injected with the needle for my dextrose and antibiotic. But I learned, it was only painful in the beginning. I can feel the liquid literally running through my veins. It felt uneasy but you will learn to embrace it. And live through it. Because at this point in your life, you don't make choices. The doctor does. And you are in complete obedience.

I was first transferred to a suite room in the 5th floor because at that time a Regular Private is not yet available. And wow, it was like a hotel accommodation. The room has big sofa with a center table. The curtains are thick and expansive. The space is big that it can accommodate a coffee party. And the best part of it all is that it is a room with a view. The left window ushered in a scenic mountain view and a beautiful sunset. The window in front of me revealed nature's greenery - big, tall trees and the Silverio Mansion.

I was enjoying my suite room, when a phone call disturbed it. "Sir, please be ready to transfer to Room 440." I said, "Now?" And he replied, "As soon as you are ready, Sir." I said, "Okay." My voice dropped like an echo vanishing in mid air. Oh life. You have a way of waking us up to reality.

I can hardly sleep during my first night in the hospital. I was worried I might ran over my left arm with a needle inside my vein. In fact, I dreamed of it, that I visualized it so vivid and real. I saw blood bursting from my left hand and the tubes already detached. How I was so terrified was beyond words to translate. But then again, our body easily adjusts. The next day, I was sleeping already like a log. I opened doors. Sometimes, I eat by myself. I wash my own spoon and fork. I live by it. I am titanium. Four days in the hospital. Four days of extreme solitude. Four days of learning to be strong. It was at room 440, that life revealed some of its lessons. Lessons taught so well.

AN ULTRA RUN IS NOT JUST THAT

Perhaps, a lot of people will just shrug it off and say EVERYBODY can RUN. And they would even cite an example; one man with only one leg can even finish a marathon! Wait. True enough, we all can run. But not an ultra marathon. Truth is, an ULTRA RUN is not just an Ultra Run.

The year was 2014, during Masskara Festival, when I realized Ultra running is not just for people with two strong legs.

Gun time was 2AM, Sunday.  I went out of the office at 4PM so I can sleep and gather enough strength I need. How much strength? That I cannot accurately answer. The plan was to wake up at 12 midnight. I was so ready for sleep to come. Lights off. AC blasting. Complete silence. Thirty minutes after, I was still awake and alert. I was what the song of John Farnham described, “I toss and turn. Can’t sleep at night. It’s worrying me.” I patiently extended the wait for Sleep to finally arrive but another 30 minutes passed, I was fully aware of how many turns I have made in my bed. So I grabbed the TV remote control and turned on the set. Now Showing: MMK. That hooked me more to alertness. I finished it without difficulty. And yes, I did not sleep before the run. Time check: 12 Midnight. I rolled out of bed and prepared myself for insanity. For the craziest adventure ever!

Start - Capitol lagoon.  Oh boy, while my cab was rolling its wheels in the city, envy crept in my body. From my seat, I can see happiness through my window. While for me, soon I will set off on a journey of the unknown. That moment when choosing is too late. No turning back. The cab cannot enter Lacson Street, so I unloaded at the back of Mcdo. I grabbed a cup of brewed coffee. At 1AM, I was the odd in a multitude of people. While they were dressed for a street party, I was in my Black New Balance Shorts, yellow Yonex Shirt, and my Neon Green K Swiss shoes. I almost wanted to hide myself. But as I looked around, I can see the apathy of people, so that help erased the awkwardness.

Time check: 2AM. I pinched my arm. Yes, this is so real. I readied myself, physically. Stretching, jogging in place, and praying. My heart’s beating became erratic when I heard the bang! I ran. Very slow. Slowly.  I was in a group in the first 10 kilometers. It made me smile because at 2AM, we have an audience around. And of course, with people’s eyes on you, you run, not walk. Or else, they will have something to say. After the 15^th kilometer, the separation of the best, better, good, and not-so-good runners, became obvious. Where do I belong? I am not saying. Ha! Ha!

I did not know, some parts of the road we traversed did not have street lights. And there were no houses around. Only sugarcane in both sides. With nothing to see on the road, I just prayed, I cannot step on shits, sharp objects, and snakes. We arrived in Murcia Public Plaza, still very dark, but sweating profusely. We stopped to catch our breath, and indulged in boiled bananas and water. As much as we wanted to stay longer and fill our tummies, this we know we cannot afford. The finish line was very expensive. The running continued. Until we reached Mambukal. This came in as good news; 30 kilometers conquered. The other side of the equation brought in the no-so-good-news; 20 kilometers to go. Keep the faith. Keep the sanity. Keep running. The day already ushered some light and so we thought of having breakfast. It was timely that we found a decent restaurant which was still closed when we arrived. Time check: 6AM. Their signage says, “WE open at 7AM”. We did not give up. We shouted, “Tagbalay!” And perhaps with the way we look, the owner, with alertness, opened the gate of the restaurant. We gave ourselves the treat our bodies greatly deserved. So we had full breakfast – we ordered fish tinola. Time ticked so fast when we are not on the road. Ha! Ha! The full breakfast took one hour. The walking and running continued while the sun revealed its might fiercely as the day progressed. We reached Kipot bridge and indulged in their famous brewed coffee (made famous because of the socks as filter. Who’s socks? Ha! Ha!).

The elevation was becoming more painful. Although, the prize is, it’s getting colder.  You cannot have it all, as they say. We marched and marched the long and winding road of La Carlota. That last 8 kilometer stretch was perhaps the most challenging part of the run. That was the mental and psychological attack. When your body is already very, very tired, the decision to give up becomes as easy as 1,2, 3 or A, B, C. And this separates what ultra runners understand.  An Ultra run is not just an Ultra run. When we ask residents along the way, some would say, “Just Continue, You’re Near”. This is good news to our ears. But others would ruin that by saying, “Are you losing your mind? That is way too far.” Some would even insult us by giving us coins so we could ride instead. Now the decision to listen or just shrug it off is in your hands. To finish or not to finish. That is the question. The Chinese proverb is correct when it said, a slow steady action is more important than standing still. We walked. And walked. Even in our power naps, we were walking! We should be moving. Because it is the only way to get to the finish line.