An Underground Addiction

The underground is teeming with addicts, their eyes all aglow in pregnant expectation. They peruse the goods on display in barely contained excitement. They know, they KNOW they are within minutes of finding the perfect fix from among the abundant choices. And within the hour or two, to be consumed in complete nirvana in the privacy of their homes. The air is electric, an organized chaos, as bodies move in purposeful harmony among the many stalls of the underground.

They flock to the underground in select hordes, enthusiasts from among different walks of life. But owing to the priceyness of such addiction, minimum wage-earners would find it hard to make frequent visits. Yesterday I noticed young men, in their mid-twenties, looking for a particular joint. There were some older folks, middle-aged couples, perhaps looking for some spark back in their lives. There were two Frenchmen wanting some Asian flavor. A bit shocking was an Spokening-Dollar kid, certainly not older than ten, greedily pointing out his favorites to his accomodating parents. Then there was me and my boyfriend. What utter fiends we
were. Oh, and what a delight offered by the pirates in a certain Makati tower.

It never ceases to amaze me how tasteful film pirates have become in the last year or so. In the early days (roughly two years ago?) there were only the mainstream Hollywood flicks that came out before the commercial screening in cinemas. But these days the choices are so astoundingly varied you will find yourself lost in many underground delights for hours on end. And since there are also concerts by varied artists, including many foreign orchestras, I am told people from the Philharmonic are also among the regular patrons. High brow, low brow, they all flock to the underground.

People know their stuff, they ask for certain films or documentaries by name. They will shell out 6,000 pesos to have the complete 10-seasons of Friends. This country (and probably the whole Southeast Asian region) has become the mecca of illegaly traded films. Illicit business is booming because it is feeding this country's film-starved people who are sick with the usual stale American crap and the even more stale local versions.

Really, the films on offer are just astounding. My boyfriend's collection of Kurosawas, Hitchcocks and many other art house films has probably hit 100. My collection of French films is close to a dozen now. Without this illicit trade these films would never have found their way on Philippine shores. And since piracy seems to be good business, this obviously means there is demand. Filipinos want to see good movies, and they are willing to shell out at least 80 pesos to see them. And we wonder why the local film industry is dead and dying some more?

Well folks, Dubya has won the US elections. God forbid four more years of the same ol' dung heap of a foreign policy he, his cohorts at Halliburton (among other beneficiaries of the military-industrial complex) and his spin doctors cook up. If only he weren't given the most influential public post on the planet. But he is. And roughly half of the US electorate has spoken. Some 60 million Americans want the rest of the world to suffer their war-monger President. What a sad, sad day it is. :(

No Weddings and Eight Funerals

Death is all around. Literally. My father died July of last year, my grandmother April this year. That makes 2 deaths in my immediate family. My chair's mother also passed away 2 months back. And before that one co-faculty's mother-in-law. And before that another co-faculty's uncle. This month, a grandmother and grandfather of a friend/co-faculty. This morning, another co-faculty's grannie bit the dust. Is it me or is Death stalking?

How many dead people in my workplace then just this year? Let's tally shall we?

1. Me -- 2 dead
2. Chair -- 1 dead
3. Co-faculty A -- 1 dead
4. Co-faculty B -- 1 dead
5. Co-faculty C -- 2 dead
6. Co-faculty D -- 1 dead

So that makes 8 funerals in a department of 10. Wow.

Reel and Real-Life Monsters

I've finally seen the infamous Frenchie film Irreversible starring the real-life couple Vincent Cassell and Monica Belucci. Yes, its as violent and visceral as all the critics say. The first 20 minutes will give you vertigo. Yes, Bella Monica is gorgeous in it. She has this scene where she sways her curvaceous body to rave music with bland skinny blonds who pale in comparison. Yes, the rape scene was very, very difficult to watch. My boyfriend couldn't handle it, and I was only able to get through the gruesome 10 minutes because I'd already known about this scene and I was watching through "technical eyes," wondering how they filmed it, the impeccable acting, the gorgeous lighting, etc. etc.

Its about an ordinary couple who were victims of a totally random crime, perpetrated by a sadistic fuck who wanders the streets of Paris. First he anally rapes her, taking particular pleasure in her pain and muted screams behind his restraining hand, and then bashes her face in the concrete floor. Over and over and over.

This film, curiously enough, showed the shadowy underbelly of the City of Lights. If monsters like that walked the beautiful parisian avenues, then equally monstrous beings must walk ours. The thought is frightening, especially as my work recently finds me in darkly-lit streets of Lito Atienza's Manila. That city gives me the creeps. Kalookan is a kiddie playground in comparison. I'd imagine horrible crimes happen under the mayor's brightly-lit smile. His face is plastered all over on cheap, ill-designed billboards.

I wonder, if human monsters, like the one depicted in the film, could only exist in a filmmaker's imagination. A day after having had those images indelibly marked in my head, I suddenly feel too...safe. And clean. As though I hadn't been sufficiently exposed to this city's filth that I would die of the first infection. I lead a relatively cocooned life, carefully screened off from this city's poverty. You and I, sitting pat in our gated villages, walled schools and guarded offices lead a pretty sanitized version of Metro Manila life. It doesn't mean the seedy underbelly doesn't exist. It must. Its out there, as greasy and as menacing as thin veil of grime coating every pavement, every building.

No More Fairy Tales

You are not my knight in shining armor. Not my savior, not my hope. Neither are you the tall, dark, handsome prince of my charmed, beautiful future. You could not hope to be one, if you'd so wanted. You have not the pedigree, not the airs, not the pomp and circumstance. You are not my dashing, debonair of a charmsman. Nor a suave Casanova versed in tricks of dinner talk and bedside manners. You are not the strong, silent, broken shell of a man, begging for my winsome healing strokes. A man of my girlish dreams you are not. A man of my teen-aged delusions you are not. A man of my imagination you are not.

What you are is my best friend in all times good, sad, bad, inane. What you hear in perfect understanding is my mind. What you are is my less than perfect lover in the sack. What you are is sanity and blessing and pain. What you do is make me upright when I am off-kilter. When the air congeals in my lungs, when the red doesn't flow smooth in my veins, when my heart pumps off-beat, then it is you I am missing. What you are is my complement. What you fit is the jagged edges of my puzzle. What you make is my life sweeter. And sour. And bitter. What you are is my love.

Ten Going on Thirty

Will you ever go back to teaching in that snotty school? My bestest friend stared back at me expectantly. No. The oodles of money they pay me to molly-coddle those rich bitches-to-be and those lazy in-need-of-sharpening little boys simply isn't worth it. Except for one. That ten-year-old I adored so.

Lance

I'd been warned, before he joined our class, of this little terrorist. He was disruptive in class. Manic. Short attention span. I'd expected a little monster, but I was pleasantly surprised. Sharp. Very sharp little kid. He knew what I was talking about the first time I explained French pronouns while the rest of the kids looked back at me with various levels of confusion. As expected, he got bored the second and third time I had to repeat myself. No wonder he's disruptive. He learns faster than the rest. How could the head mistress have missed this?

One Tuesday he hung back after I'd dismissed my Beginner's class. I was running late, but I thought he might want to talk.

"Hey Lance. That was a cool pic you drew. Do you really like tanks?"

"Yes."

"Strange though, are there always cigarette butts strewn around your living room?"

"That's the rec room. Yeah, my tito's."

"Your uncle lives with you?"

"Nah, he's my mom's boyfriend."

Dangerzone. It would probably be best if I steered clear of the Dad subject. Lance is playing with the colored chalk, leaving green and red marks on his white collar.

"Oh, I see. What about those magazines with the naked women on the cover?"

"Playboy? He leaves them out like that."

Asshole.

"Ok. Do you have any close friends here?"

"Here in school? No. They don't like me."

That's because they're snotty adolescent bitches and slow-learners who wouldn't get you.

"Why is that?"

"Because I'm fat."

"Nah, you're not fat. Just chubby. That's normal for a kid your age."

"Am too. They don't like me because I'm fat."

"Have you got any brothers or sisters?"

"Yeah. An older sister and brother."

"Do you hang out with them sometimes?"

"My sister's 26. She's married. And my brother's 23."

"Don't you hang out with your brother?"

"Nah. He's always out partying. He's like a vampire, asleep during the day and awake at night."

Ok. Absent mother. Absent father. Absent siblings and a pervert step-dad. Great.

"Oh. Well, have you got any friends in your neighborhood?"

"Sure. One. His name's Ryan. We play sometimes, but not often."

"So, what do you do most of the time?"

"I play computer games. I'm really good at them."

He'll develop great social skills for sure.

"Do you like our class?"

"Sure."

He finishes seat work at record speed. Then terrorizes his classmates. I can tell he likes my class. He shows up.

"Are you happy Lance?"

"What do you mean? Today?"

He stops playing with the chalk and looks up to stare at me, his smooth forehead wrinkled in query.

"Yeah. Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow."

"I dunno. I guess. Yeah, I'm happy."

"Ok. That's good."

He drops the chalk and dusts off his little hands. He makes a big show of standing up and dusting off his pants too.

"Mademoiselle? I've got to go."

"Alright. I'll see you on Thursday?"

"Yeah. Au revoir."

"Au revoir."

I'd wanted to talk more, but I'd sensed he was growing impatient with all the questions. Poor bright kid. The brave front he put up every day. Resident bad boy. Devil-may-care laughter. Arrogant swagger. Problem child. Problematic child. Heart-breaker of mine.

Sa Canada

Ipinagtatabuyan na'ko ng aking mga kamag-anak at kaibigan. Bakit ba sa tuwinang nababanggit ang hirap ng buhay sa bayang ito, at sa tuwinang naririnig ako ng ibang mala-litanyang isa-isahin ang kung anong mali dito sa atin, laging ito ang solusyong naririnig ko:

"Eh di mag-abroad ka na."

Noong isang araw tumawag ang isa kong Tita na ngayo'y naninirahan na sa Canada. Siya, at kalahati ng aking mga kamag-anakan. Kamu-kamusta, chismis ng kaunti.

"Kailang ka ba magbabakasyon dito? Hindi naman natuloy, nung Summer dapat 'di ba?"

"Ay Auntie, kasi po may pasok na. At saka mahal ang plane ticket! Halos linggo-linggo nagtataas ang dolyar."

"Bakit kasi 'di ka na lang dito na magtrabaho?"

"Ay, Auntie, sa tingin ko kasi mas kailangan ako dito."

"Sabagay, tatatlo na lang kayo d'yan. Hindi mo naman pwedeng iwan na lang si Mama mo."

Bagama't totoong tatlo na lang kami dahil sa pagpanaw ng aking ama at lola nitong nakaraang taon, hindi dito patukoy ang nasabi kong mas kailangan ako dito.

"Saka, sa ngayon po wala talaga akong planong mag-migrate. Sa kinabakusan malay natin." Para lang matigil na ang usapan. Kung ipaliwanag ko pa ang tunay kong pinapatungkulan, baka di rin n'ya maunawaan.

"Tama yan. Bata ka pa naman. Sige magpasarap ka muna d'yan."

Kumunot ang aking noo at nagpanting ang dalawa kong tainga. Tama ba ang narinig ko? Magpasarap muna sa Pilipinas? Nahihibang na ba ang kaisa-isahang kong tiyahin?

Huli s'yang pumarito nung namatay ang aking lola noong Abril. Siguro nama'y sapat nang makita n'ya ang hirap ng buhay dito. S'ya at ang iba ko pang mga kamag-anak ay 'di nagkulang sa pintas at reklamo;

"Ay, sa Canada, hindi pwede yang ganyan!"
"Ay, sa Canada alam mo kung saan napupunta ang taxes mo,"
"Ay, sa Canada makakain mo kahit ano'ng gusto mo."
"Ay, sa Canada, walang trapik!"
"Ay, sa Canada may disiplina ang mga tao."
"Ay, sa Canada, safe maglakad ng gabi."
"Ay, sa Canada, 'di kurakot ang mga politiko."

At pagkatapos mas masarap ang buhay dito?

Scene Eh, You Row Pa?

I've seen a grand total of three Cine Europa entries, "Black Meteor" from the Dutch, "Sweet Nightmare" from the Portuguese and "Distant Lights" from the Germans. The verdict? They all suck. This was supposed to showcase the best in European film right? Wrong.

The Cine Europa this year is a political statement. Nevermind the quality of the film, as long as they fit the general themes. Which themes you ask? Europe is a multi-cultural amalgam of nation-states, not exactly a coherent socio-political entity, but one working in harmonious cooperation. Europe is not xenophobic. Look, we welcome black soccer players! Europe does not condone racism. Europe is sympathetic to the immigrant's plight. Europe welcomes skilled, hardy foreigners. Europeans are more and more aware of being in a "union." Europeans are mobile within the EU. They even inter-marry! Europeans are investing in each other's countries. Especially in more economically depressed areas! Europe is being invaded by American culture, look at how crass and "baduy" we've become!

May this year marked European enlargement. 10 new states (central and eastern europe) are now official members of the EU. Europe is now 500 million strong. A huge market, obviously an economic powerhouse that seeks to rival the Yanks. What does this have to do with a film festival you say? Who said politics didn't use culture and culture politics? They are one and the same.

Diagnosis: Critical Condition (Or Why the Filipino Film Industry is in Deep Shit)

The Art Muses seem perverse in humor. Just as the local film industry breathes its last breath, foreign film festivals proliferate. How many have there been this year? Ok, let's enumarate shall we? (Those that I know of, of course.)

1. June. French Film Festival. Showy Frenchies like making big cultural splashes. And the film fest is the crowning glory of a month-long cultural celebration. They charged P50 pesos (I think) per film. Still cheaper than SM's P60.

2. July. Cinemanila. Hugely successful almost month-long festival which showcased some 20 foreign films, the epic-in-length Lav Diaz flick and the controversial "Imelda." My boyfriend and I shelled out P600 a piece for six films. Hard on the pocket but well-worth it.

3. July-August. Italian film fest. Screenings on Tuesday nights at the CCP dream theater. Its a small venue, but always packed.

4. July-August. Pink Film Fest. Haven't seen any of the entries. Shown not just here in Manila but in Cebu and Davao as well.

5. September. Cine Europa. Fourteen european films screening at the SM Megamall. Will also be shown in Cebu and Baguio Admission is free. I've seen "Black Meteor" and
"Distant Lights" so far. Germanic films that sucked big time. I will stick to Romance languages. Passion, intensity, similar Filipino temperament. Los Lunes al Sol and Les Choristes should be good.

While Manila residents are having a field day sampling film fares from all over, Filipino films attract flies instead of patrons. Even Bold Films aren't making as much money as before, and so SM Cinemas made the business move not to show them anymore. (No, not because they are bastions of morality and high standards all of a sudden.)

I think local producers should get a clue. People with extra money to spare for entertainment want to see films, not porno. Or the usual run-of-the-mill romances and comedies. What else explains the sudden demand for film fests? These are obviously hard times, and there is a widely held belief that "artsy-farsty" films don't make money. Precisely the point, with ordinary folk squeezing their budget as far as it would take them, they'll prioritize necessities. Not entertainment. And besides, they can always purchase that P30 VCD from the friendly neighborhood pirate.

Paglalayag

Takda ng ibayong panahong
Pagtagpuin kamalayang uhaw
Sa pagkalinga't kagalingan
Sa kalayuan ay natanaw
Na makadaupang palad
Ang sa layo'y di masukat
Damdami'y naglalayag
At patuloy na dumadaloy.

Na akuin ang hindi ukol
Na libakin ang kapalaran
Mga balakid ay isantabi
At panandaliang kalimutan
Ang malao'y di gamay
Kinabukasa'y panaginip
Ngunit patuloy na naglalakbay
Naglalayag na pilit.

__________________________________________

Sa kabutihan ng loob

Sa kabutihan ng loob
Dakilang nilulukob
Ang sakit ng iba'y pasanin.
Sa kung hanggang saa'y dadalhin,
Kahit na walang sinsakit, pipilitin.

Sa kabutihan ng loob
Dalisay ang tao,
Malaki man o maliit
Bobo't matalino,
Pantay-pantay ang pagtingin,
Kahit iba't iba ang saloobin.

Sa kabutihan ng loob
Tiwala'y walang patid
Palalagpasing pilit
Lahat ng pagkukulang.
Samantala'y dito nalalaman
Kung ano't sino ang mainam.

Sa kabutihan ng loob
Hinihinang ang lakas
Sa bawat sakit na pinalalagpas
Pag-unawa sa sarili't iba'y lumalawig.
Tibay ng didbib at pag-unawa'y nag-aanib
Pinsalang dulot ng tadhana'y pinapatid.
Sa kabutihan ng loob.

Confessions of a Bibliomaniac

I've acquired an addiction. One that I know wouldn't quit because I had once thought I would steal to keep on feeding it. I had dreamt of what fun it might be to be invisible so that I may acquire as much of my drug-of-choice as I needed. I'd dreamt of raiding bookstores. National Bookstore, Powerbooks, Fully-Booked, Even Books-for-Less and Booksale. I had thought of ways to execute this crime (what to wear, choice of get-away vehicle, shoes) in order that my theft might avoid detection, having CSI agents in mind. I am becoming a book addict.

No, now that I look back on it, this addiction has long been in the making. It started when I was 10 years-old. It was fashionable in my fourth-grade class to read. The choices weren't all that many; Sweet Valley Twins, High and University, Hardy Boys, Nancy Drew and Sweet Dreams. These were the mainstream choices among other 10 year-olds in my all-girl school. Much as I might like to claim I preferred the young super-sleuths to blonde bombshells-in-the-making, I cannot. There was something uncomplicated and pleasant in the travails of pre-pubescents' angst about boys, peers and their parents. I like Sweet Dreams too. My first copy I had bought because the main character had my first name. Sweet Dreams shaped the way I looked at boys and my general knowledge of them, I must confess, rare species as they were in my All-Girl universe. If I had known then what I know now, I'd have stuck to sleuthing.

I'd collected dozens of these books, but like any book junkie, I thirsted for more. And so, I "diversified." I believe I was in fifth grade when I discovered Christopher Pike. Master of horror novels for the young, I was attracted to Pike's kind of morbid. Murder, ghosts, psychopaths and aliens were introduced to me by this juvenile version of Stephen King. Many a night I'd quivered in fear and hyperactive imagination. I loved Pike,but growing older tends to inhibit suspension of reality. And so, I moved on to "older" material.

I was 12 I think when I read my first historical romance novel. Yes, the kind with half-naked people on the cover. Ah, the joys of sex between two caricatures in an imagined historical setting in far-away lands. This was how I learned about the birds and the bees. I fed on relationships between stereotypes written for female consumption to ensure maximum romantic satisfaction in lieu of "real" relationships.

This was how I learned about love. I was hooked. And all through highschool I lived and breathed Judith McNaught, Johanna Lindsey and Amanda Quick. I was a princess, a dutchess, a lowly servant-girl who consorted with titled, aristocratic, dark-haired men who were stoic, virile and thoroughly "masculine." These men substituted for the minisucle number of boys I encountered in my real world. And so I believed men were honorable, principled beings with an almighty penis to satisfy my budding female urges. Alas, reality is a slap in the face when it comes to the men in my life. They are far from the noble, gentle knights of my girlish imaginations. Real life had finally caught up and I grew older, supposedly wiser, leaving my romances behind.

College introduced me to books that shaped and continue to shape my brain's synaptic activities. Landmark titles are Global Capitalism by Richard Peet, a Marxist. I picked his book randomly from the OPAC list of the UP main library because my Polsci 11 teacher asked us to pick among three choices on which to write an essay; War, Capitalism and the third I can't remember. Well, you know which one I picked. I suppose, more boys than girls chose the first one. I had no interest in the logistics of human evisceration. And so, completely by accident, I discovered I liked political economy, of the international sort. And of the "radical" kind. That book started it all. No professor, no indoctrinating activists. Just a single book.

My choices of books have since left the imaginary realm to dwell on "real" events and theoretical paradigms that explain and analyze them. I still occasionally purchase "in-between-ears and thighs candy" readily offered by the likes of Linda Howard and Patricia Gaffney. The writing is marginally better than my teen-aged choices, but still follows the romance formula. The fiction classics I've read can be counted on one hand. I am woefully ignorant of Gabriel Garcia Marquez or James Joyce or Brett Easton Ellis. Of pop authors I've heard Murakami and Palahniuk are gaining cult following. I've seen Fight Club, but that's about as close as I'm gonna get to entering Palahniuk's postmodern imaginary. I prefer to read postmodern socioligist/philosopher Jean Baudrillard instead.

And so throughout the years my bookshelves have continued to burgeon conversely with my eye grade. God help my poor irises, for they must be sacrificed on the altar of my addiction. I am ready to make such a sacrifice. What other explanation is there when one gets so giddily delighted by booksales and rare-book finds at bargain prices? What other explanation is there for the happiness and well-being that ensues after each quick book-gratification? I am a bibliomaniac. Does it have to do with the hubris of accumulating knowledge? Maybe. Does it have to do with "The more you know the more you don't know?" Maybe. Does it have to do with stocking up on a social capital that doesn't have anything to do with the numbers 36-24-34 or straight hair or a properly sweet demeanor? Maybe.
_____________________________________________________________________________________

Speaking from the soul, head and gut.
De l’âme, de la tête et de la foi
Mula sa saloobin, sa isip at sa panalig

Je suppose, quand nous sommes chargés avec le complexe messianique, nous croyons que le monde n'aura pas aucune possibilité d'avertir la fin sans nous. C'est arrogant. L'orgueil se réverbère. Mais l'histoire montrait les hommes et les femmes effectuant des changements mondiaux en toute autonomie. Fin, je suis une de ces personnes-là. Toujours rêvant des moyens qui basculeraient les quatre colonnes fixes sur lesquels tout le monde reste. S'ils étaient capables d'avoir joués le rôle du messie, pourquoi pas moi?

I suppose, when one is inflicted with messianic complex, one tends to think the world could not possibly escape Armageddon without her. It is arrogant. It is self-important. I am guilty then. Of dreaming of ways to unhinge the world from whence it is pegged. History has shown men and women single-handedly change the face of the earth. Why shouldn't I be one of them?

Marahil sa panalig na lahat ng sangkatauhan ay karapat-dapat salbahin, ika’y nagtataka na ang daigdig ay nagpatuloy na uminog nang wala ka. Anong pagmamataas. Anong pagmamalaki. Ngunit hindi ba ang kasaysayan ay puno ng mga nilalang na sa isang lakas ay gumuhit nang kapalaran ng sandaigdian ? Ako’y nagnanais na gumuhit din. Hindi pa nagsasawang managinip nang gising na ang pakay na ito’y maisakatuparan. Kung ang tulad nila’y nagpunyagi, bakit hindi ako ?

Superducks and underducks
by Eduardo Galeano

EVERY day we spend $2.2bn on killing each other....

The five largest arms producers are the US, Russia, China, the United Kingdom and France. They are also the countries with a veto in the United Nations Security Council. It insults common sense to make those who provide the world’s weapons the guarantors of world peace...

These five countries are in charge. They run the International Monetary Fund and all (except China) are among the eight countries that take most key decisions at the World Bank and the World Trade Organisation, where the right of veto exists but is never used....

Ah, the depressing things you learn about the world huh? Want to read the rest? Click here

What Damaged Culture?

Our culture is a damaged culture. I remember hearing this from my social science teacher back in high school. And since I was a kid and didn't know any better, of course I believed her. I'd since forgotten that day, that lecture and this term "damaged culture." But I'd retained the idea, most likely subconsicously. So all these years I was walking around with this mantra drumming in my head:"We are a damged culture...we are a damaged culture....we are a damaged culture...."

Then this term was resurrected in my universe of consciousness when I took Anthropology 225 under Professor Dacayanan. There are as many definitions of culture as there are writers she said. Among those she mentioned, this is what stuck to my head. "Culture is a tool for survival." Meaning, a culture of a particular grouping evolves to ensure its survival. To ensure that the grouping as an entity continues on (and does not
disintegrate i.e. Yugoslavia or disappear entirely, err...Atlantis?).

Recently I've encountered this term again in Julsito's and Doc Emer's blogs. It irks me so when I see fellow Filipinos describe our culture as such. Can we say ours is a "damaged" culture? I don't think so. Why? Because:

1. It presupposes we had an "intact" culture beforehand. And something or someone along the way went and broke it. Pray tell, who was this breaker of cultures? Spaniards? Americans? Japanese? Ourselves? And before these invaders came? Was there an intact "Filipino" culture? Were our ancestors calling themselves Filipinos? No, they were calling themselves Ibanags, Ifugaos, Tausugs, Hiligaynons, etc. etc.

2. It presupposes that other cultures are undamaged. What, pray tell, is an intact culture? The Americans'? What with thousands of immigrants coming in every day bringing along with them their own unique cultures? What about Greeks back in the classical era? No, wait, they were killing each other then too. And so we can't really say theirs was an intact culture. Not to mention the fact that the Greeks have inherited much from the Egyptian culture, who in turn were influenced by the Mesopotamian cultures.

Can we say the Western Europeans have an intact culture then? No. Because Western European history goes well beyond basing their civilizations on Greeks. As I said, Greeks trace their roots to the Middle East.

The point here is, cultures evolve and whether the evolution is judged "good" or "bad" is subjective. A culture is a way of life. And if our culture today means under-the-table deals, graft and corruption, crab mentality, then there was a reason for this. This culture didn't appear out of nowhere. And it is not a natural state of being.

Government is corrupt. It is self-serving. It is inept. We all know this. But then the culture of government in the Philippines has never been concieved of and practiced otherwise. Government is a pact between a people and a State. The People give up their rights to State for the latter to protect the former. Provision of public services, ensuring peace and order etc. etc.

But then Government in the Philippines for over 350 years was never meant to be a pact between people and State. There was no people. And there was no State. Government was simply an institution to assure the smooth running of a Colony, to extract economic resources as efficiently as possible without rebellions from the subjugated populations and such.

And Government was also seen as the quickest way to move up the social ladder. And so, civil "servants" joined Government to enrich themselves and not to become purveyors public service.For three and a half centuries this was the culture of government.

What about such self-hatred from Filipinos themselves? Filipinos who are so self-critical? Filipinos who denounce their citizenship abroad? Filipinons who would rather the Philippines become an American state?

Well, if you'd been told over and over in the past that you and your culture is no good, inferior, backwards, why should you think otherwise? Eventually, you believe the mantra. And if you yourself use foreign standards with which to measure your achievements or shortcomings, what other conclusions will you end up with?

We should have a new mantra drummed in our cerebrums. We need a change in culture.

"We need a cultural revolution...we need a cultural revolution...we need a cultural revolution..."