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.

It All Started in Cauayan

It was just suppose to be a birthday escape. Entering a new decade, I thought of celebrating it, differently, if words can faithfully describe it.

It was one of those aimless walks in the central walk of Robinsons when my gaze met this, Summer Beachcapade in Cauyan on May 10. Meant to be? Yes! But honestly, the main deal was not, running. I was excited for, Volleyball.

Running and I, matter-of-factly, has this: a love-hate relationship. Who wouldn't hate it? I was humiliated by it, in my own hometown. Read, "I don't Ride, I Run" for the complete story.

When we arrived in El Tzino, Cauyan, happiness is slowly coming from a far. The warm summer breeze. The sight of the waves frolicking with the sand. The stationary yellow boat under the moving blue sky. The unassuming stance of the mangrove trees. Nature had it beautifully painted before me, canvass not needed.

When we add years to our lives, we are hit by certain realities. But when we reach 30, the hitting becomes harder. The inescapable kind. Unignorable. The kind where it will wake you up in an afternoon nap. And one of which is my, running a half-marathon. That dream was temporarily left on the side, after many years ago, it taught me, that running requires practice and discipline. That it is not something you decide in an instant and you say, today I will wear my running gears, and run 21 kilometers.

I parked this dream years ago, and I picked it up, in the silent town of Cauyan. I said in my interview with Simply Emmy that it has to happen now. Youth is not forever. The energy and vitality we posses today is not eternal. So I decided to finally do it.

The Cauayan run was my Birthday Run. Although, that information was only shared between myself and my officemate, Johanna. But of course after that, facebook revealed what was once a secret. And now I pledged that next year, a chocolate cake will be shared under the Lomboy tree in El Tzino. A trail run is not your ordinary run. Perhaps, if I may estimate, it is a road run times 3. What made it more intimidating was the fact that, participants were what we call the "elite" runners. Having said that, they were the fast species. But I really don't mind. Haha.

Gun start at 3pm for the 10k and 21k categories. The sun was proudly up when we started. It was fun. Well to be more accurate, it was challenging. We went up and down of hills and valleys. We were treated with scenic mountaintop view of the Cauayan seas. And the abandoned sugarcane factory by the beach now rustic and lifeless was a view worth noticing. Mt. Delirium from the name itself need no further explanation. The food stations were generous - boiled bananas, chocolates, candies. In one of the stops, I feasted on boiled bananas. Perhaps 3 or 4. The lady at the station honestly blurted, "Panginaon na guid na imo ya". Hungry as I was at that time, I did not mind. At the onset of sunset, I made it to the finish line. My birthday gift to myself was a bucket of sweat, a medal designed with local shells, and the boiled bananas. Heaven.

From then on, I was joining runs, here and there. Weekend after weekend. Not skipping a run, I was practically having 100 percent attendance. It was madness. Thus, I already have all colors of a singlet you can imagine. Add also to that some medals which I faithfully earned. I crossed seas, in Iloilo and Guimaras, to keep those happy feet moving.

Until September this year, I was so excited to be reunited with an old enemy. Time for the annual Milo Marathon. With all the fun runs from 10k-21k and the road runs from Caltex East to Alangilan, I was ready for this enemy. I was equipped. True enough, that Sunday, I never felt braver and prouder in my life. It was joy. I, after 5 years of doubting, was able to ran my half-marathon. Dreams do come true.

It only takes, baby steps, to get closer to that dream. In fact, I have traveled 50kilometers already, chasing for that goal. People said it is very far. I said, oh yes, it was very far! In fact, that far, far distance sent me to sleep beside the road. Thank God, Charmie woke me up.

A small, baby step I took in Cauayan led me to bigger, bolder steps today. I would not have defeated my long-time enemy if not for those baby steps. No wonder, dreams are for free. I dreamt. In fact, I dreamed big dreams. Today I can say, the biggest dreams create the biggest joys in my life.

I Don't Ride, I Run

I was running, gasping for air, sweating under the 8 morning sun, when I heard this: wang...wang...wang. It was a patrol siren following me. I wondered. For sure, I am not the first runner!

Fellow toastmasters and guests, I don't ride, I run.

When two of my colleagues invited me to join them in Dumaguete for a 21-kilometer race, I, without moments of doubt, said YES! Now I know why, two of them simultaneously grinned when I said that one word - Yes. It was I who gave them, perhaps, the biggest shock in their life.

We all run. I run. I belong to the generation where our playground is the street, corn fields, and open lots. So I thought, it will be easy. Oh running, you are my game, is what came running around my mind.

It all happened in 2007 during the 31st Milo Marathon. The venue: my hometown Dumaguete. Gun start: 4am. When we arrived in the public plaza, I was astonished with the volume of runners. I said, "Oh, those ambitious little children. Watch me do it", with an arrogant smile. "Excuse me! Excuse me!" as I penetrated the noisy crowd. They were all anxious. I was not. I looked for an open space enough for my arms to circle and stretch. Looking around, I felt so confident, that I can breeze through each one of them, like a speed of an MRT.

Suddenly, one man stood up on stage, holding a megaphone, and raising a gun. "21-kilometer-runners, are you ready?" Five. Four. Three. Two. One. And then the gun shot. The crowd of runners rushed. So I rushed. I speeded. But they speeded too. Until I noticed those little children, ran past me. Feeling the insult, I doubled my steps. But they were just...fast! So I tried to forget about those children disrespecting me. I was just running my pace. Well, my turtle pace. No pressure. Im not in a hurry! In my mind, I said, "We will still see each other at the finish line."

Feeling a little bit tired already, I realized, oh, this is quiet a long distance. I should have known. But the huge pride in me, shouted, "You should finish!" So I continued to run. When the flesh is weak, even though the spirit is willing, the flesh wins, so I walked. Never mind the judgmental looks of people. I ignored each one of them. And then I heard someone shouted, "Jay Cris, why are you there?" Of course, I was too weak to even shout back. In silence, I just said, "Because I am not lazy like you." I continued telling myself, "Common, these little steps will take you to the finish line." Until, I saw the turning point. What a beautiful sight! I heaved a huge sigh of relief. Ten Kilometer is finally conquered!

I was running, gasping for air, sweating under the 8 morning sun, when I heard this: wang...wang...wang. It was a patrol siren following me. I wondered. For sure, I am not the first runner! What is this? And then I heard people, in a loud conversation, saying, "There, there is the first runner! The champion!" And they were clapping their hands. The patrol man, who was already beside me, with his radio in one hand said, "I am with the last runner of the race, Roger. I am with the last runner of the race, Roger." I wanted to disappear at that moment. I wish I can just press one button to open up the ground, eat me up, and disappear forever. Still not giving up, I said to the man, "Sir, can you just stay a little farther?" And he replied, "No Sir, my task is to accompany the last runner!" And then he radio'ed again, "We are still very far, Roger. We are still very far, Roger." And that drained all the hopes in me. My pride is gone. So I humbly made a request to the patrol man, "Sir, can you offer a ride for me going back to the hotel?" He answered, "I can bring you to the finish line Sir! We've got free ice-cold milo there." I answered, "I'm already tired, Sir. I wanted to rest." Polite way of saying, "No thank you. My pride is more precious than your ice-cold Milo!" So there, I stopped running and yes, I am still proud, I saved seven pesos for my fare going back to the hotel.