THE TEACHER

“Now… is the time… for retribution!!!” the big voice boomed in the teacher’s mind.

“No…,” the small voice softly begged inside. “That would be wrong…”

“SHUT UP!” she inwardly shouted and squeezed her eyes shut to clear her mind.

The teacher, Miss Benida Enriquez, tried to block the disturbing voices in her head. That afternoon was the final examinations in Mathematics for the 8th graders. She needed to concentrate on watching over the examinees but as the final examination drew nearer, so did the bickering between those voices in her mind intensify.

“WHAAAAT? Will you just let the sinner go unpunished?” the big voice demanded.

Miss Enriquez’s face contorted as her inner conflict escalated. When she opened her eyes again, she focused at thirty young minds working hard on 8th grade-level Math problems. Like a camera with zooming lens, her gaze zeroed in on the petite and ever-cheerful Emily Simon, the best pupil in class and granddaughter of her life-long enemy.

“Please…. leave the child alone… She was not part of this,” the small voice implored.

“SO WERE YOU!!!” the big voice countered. “Was it your fault that you were born to Filipino and Ponapean parents? Was it your fault you were born to an impoverished family? Your being a ‘half-cast’ and poor caused Emily’s grandmother to cheat you of the medal you deserved and awarded it to your rich and pure-bred classmate.”

Then, painful memories flashed back to Miss Benida Enriquez.

Dhekla Simon, their 6th Grade class adviser and Emily’s grandmother stiffly told the young Benida Enriquez, “So, it turned out you are Best in Math, Benida… I never expected a half-…” Mrs. Simon stopped in mid-sentence and then hissed, “Just make sure somebody will put this medal on you.”

Despite the Mrs. Simon’s harshness, young Benida Enriquez was happy and proud of herself. Although she was good in Math, she did not expect she would earn the medal. All she did was study hard and practice solving problems everyday. Thank God, she got the award. More importantly, the Best in Math medal would be the first and only medal in her whole life.

She was overexcited at her achievement and so, she asked her mother to accompany her to the School Year Closing Ceremonies. Her mother begged off because she recently gave birth to a daughter with her current American beau. So, young Benida requested her biological father to take a leave from work so that he will be the one to put the Best in Math medal on her.

At the ceremonies, when Mrs. Simon announced that Marie Isaac, the First Honor, was Best in Math, Benida’s father glowered at her, demanding answers. On their way home, he reprimanded her, “Next time, do not pull this prank on me, Benida. Now, I lost some time at work for no good reason.”

The day after, young Benida came back to school to get the bag she left behind. She heard voices from the classroom.

“Benida appeared heart-broken yesterday,” the 7th grade class adviser remarked.

“Serves her right,” Mrs. Simon sneered. “She is such a trying hard half-breed bastard. She should never hope she’d be the best of anything. Her family could hardly pay for her schooling…Her father should be sent back to sow his bad seed in hell where he came from and her mother should have her brain transplanted to her hips.”

Cruel laughter followed.

“Hey, take a look at the bracelet Marie’s mother gave me yesterday…” Mrs. Simon boasted, “Marie’s family was so thankful I was too honest to admit to the Principal my ‘mistake’ in computing their grades in Math. Had I not done it, Marie would have never gotten the Best in Math and the 1st Honors medals,” and meaningfully added, “You know what I mean…”

More nasty laughter.

“Goodness, Dhekla,” the 7th grade class adviser gushed. “It is real, isn’t it?”

“Of course, it is real… do you think they can’t afford…”

She did not bother hearing the rest. All she did was run away.

That was the first time she ran away and she spent the rest of her life running away from everything unpleasant to her. She devoted much more time on her studies and never gave any attention to awards and unkind remarks of other people around her. Books and the voices inside her head became her only friends.

Miss Benida Enriquez, the teacher, snapped her attention back to the present. As she paced about in front of Emily’s chair, a crumpled piece of paper fell from her pocket. The next time she passed by the same place, her foot purposely stepped on the same crumpled paper. She picked it up and read what was written on it. It bore all the formulas for computing areas and volumes of various shapes, written by Emily’s distinctly meticulous handwriting.

“Is this yours, Emily?” Miss Enriquez demanded softly at Emily.

“Yes, Ma’am, but…” Emily meekly started.

“You cheated!” Miss Enriquez loudly accused and pointed a finger at Emily.

With one accord, all the others turned at furious Miss Enriquez and the now red-faced Emily.

“You just go on answering your examination, class,” the Miss Enriquez advised, “Only Emily,” she continued with an accusatory glare at the student, “has to stop answering because… she CHEATED.”

Because of the school’s zero tolerance on cheating, Emily would get zero in the final examinations. She would not pass the course because the examinations comprise 30% of her final grade. She would not graduate.

“Ma’am, … please believe me, I did not cheat. I have been missing that paper for days. I did see it until you waved it to me just now…” Emily tearfully protested as she slowly sank to her knees in supplication, “Please… Ma’am, I beg you, let me continue. I need to graduate…”

Miss Enriquez mercilessly pushed the weeping Emily out of the room. The girl gripped the grills of the classroom’s window as her tears kept on falling.
As though she was not aware of anything happening outside, Miss Enriquez stapled the crumpled sheet of paper to Emily’s examination paper and pointedly stared at the rest of bewildered examinees. The remaining students stole confused glances in Emily’s direction and at Miss Enriquez’s stony face until the bell signaled the end of exams.

“CONGRATULATIONS!!!” the big voice shouted in Miss Enriquez’s ear as soon as she went out of the classroom. “You have just exacted your sweet revenge upon the heartless Dhekla Simon. Let us see how that woman will grovel at your feet, so that her precious lovely granddaughter can graduate… let alone pass this course… Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”

Then, Graduation Day came. Just as soon as the last strains of the graduation song was heard, happy family members proudly escorted their young graduates out of the Catholic Church, where the Commencement Exercises was held.

A girl screamed. A terrible uproar was heard outside the church.

Miss Enriquez, hearing the commotion, rushed outside.

From the lowest branch of an avocado tree, Emily Simon hanged pale and lifeless. Her eyes bulged from the sockets and her tongue stuck out of her once pinkish lips.

Miss Enriquez could do nothing else but stare at the results of her handiwork. Because she planted the evidence and made it known to the whole school community that Emily cheated, the girl was shamed, did not pass 8th Grade Math and did not graduate from Elementary School. Although she knew some Ponapeans commit suicide when severely punished, she never thought Emily would go that far.

“Killer… killer… killer…” the voices kept on ringing inside her mind. Her head ached as the accusations kept on and on and on until she could not take it anymore.

“NOOOOOOOooooo!” Miss Enriquez screamed and went down like a log to the ground.

“Ma’am…” small hands shook her.

Miss Enriquez slowly opened her eyes and saw curious young faces looming over her. She looked around and realized she was inside the classroom.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” a sweet voice melodiously tinkled. “You fell asleep for a while and screamed as you fell.”

“Emily!!!” Miss Enriquez thought as she heard the voice and she saw Emily smiling at her as the child held her hand.

“Shall we call someone?”

“Please ask Sister Andrea to come,” Miss Enriquez said and slowly stood up to sit on her chair. “I am not feeling well.” She reached inside her pocket and crumpled the piece of paper, which bore Emily’s notes in geometry and which she stole from Emily’s bag days ago.

As soon as Sister Andrea came, Miss Enriquez apologized and went straight home.

She hurriedly lit a fire to the crumpled piece of paper from her pocket. As she watched the paper burn, she felt a hand pull out a huge thorn from her chest. She never heard voices in her head from then on. She found peace.

Tribute to My Grandmothers

My brother Mark Carlo and I have an offbeat way of calling our grandmothers. We call our maternal grandmother "Lola Mommy" (Grandmother Mommy) because ouor mother calls her "Mommy". Since our father refer to his mother as "Mama", we call our paternal grandmother "Lola Mama" (Grandmother Mama). Thanks to my brother's inventiveness and my "blind obedience", he made us both sound funny to our cousins. Not that we mind, anyway. We are surely remembered by our grandmothers because we are the only ones who call them as such.

My Lola Mommy was born as Leonor A. Griño on June 14, 1906 in Jaro, Ilo-ilo. She was the only surviving child of parents. Both her father an mother died before she turned 13. Her maiden aunts raised her. She was a nurse by profession and became the first nurse to serve in General Santos City as a pioneer. There, she met my grandfather Diosdado Gonzales of San Narciso, Zambales and raised their two children - my mother and my uncle. When she was just 49 years old with a 15-year old daughter and 13-year old son, she became a widow. Before she died in November 13, 1990, she stayed with us and so, our family have so much fond memories of her.

I love my Lola Mommy so much because we both liked eating any variety of ripe mangoes. We were also gaga over sweets and movies. She was a fighter - a characteristic which she passed on to all of us. She was fashionable although she was a bit conservative. She was simple and yet very mindful of details. I admired her most especially because she was very much organized and a careful planner - both traits which I do not have. I remembered her mostly because she doted on us, her grandchildren, and she taught us not to fight with each other.

Since my Lola Mama lived in Quezon City, which is far from my home city, I do not have much memories of her. All I can remember is that she is a willowy, beautiful lady, who speaks softly. For me, she could have been a fashion model in her youth because of her height, long legs and classic features but I guess she was raised to be a homemaker and a mother and so, she never thought of pursuing a career other than these.

She was born Inocencia Decano and was also orphaned by her mother at an early age. When her father remarried, she and her two sisters were left in the custody of maiden aunts. After she and my grandfather had their colorful courtship, they married and had 8 children. My father was their second eldest child. She died on June 3, 1995 after being widowed for decades.

I want to thank these great women for giving me their labors of love - their children whom I proudly call my parents. I pray that both of you, Lola Mommy and Lola Mama are now in heaven. I love you both and miss you still.

My Favorite Story: A PASSION IN THE DESERT by Honore de Balzac

Like many women, I have a thing for love stories. In fact, I have read countless romantic novels and short stories and seen a lot of romantic movies and soap operas.

You might be thinking A Passion in the Desert is a form of erotic literature for women. Contrary to what the title may suggest, the story I am about to tell you is not steamy nor packed with graphic descriptions on how the scared act of procreation was carried out by lovers in the desert. The truth is, the lead characters did not even exchange a French kiss. Honest! I am not lying.
True to its form, this love story followed the usual boy-meets-girl-and-they-fall-in-love thing. Of course, like all love stories, the characters faced problems in their relationship.

During an expedition in Upper Egypt under General Desaix, a French soldier was captured by the Arabs. While his captors were asleep, he managed to escape and stole one of their horses. Eager to get away from the Arabs and to be reunited with his regiment, he wore the horse down until it died in the desert. He wandered for hours, got thirsty for a long time and spent a night beneath the stars in the wilderness. Then, voila! There was an oasis. He greedily drank water and nourished himself with unhoped-for manna: dates. By sundown, he slept in a cave.

Savage sounds jolted him from sleep. The unmistakable breathing of a wild animal came nearer, chilling him to the bones. Later on, as the animal positioned itself at a mere two steps from him, moonlight offered him a better view of his new companion, a panther – the possessor of the royal dwelling he trespassed.As the panther slept, he thought of so many ways of getting rid of his predatory roommate. Since all of them were technically unfeasible, given their proximity and his ineptitude of using the weapons with him, he decided to wait till morning.
When the sun came up, he saw that the panther’s muzzle was smeared with blood and realized that the formidable animal had dinner. He watched his probable killer in its peaceful slumber and admired its animal perfection. It was a regal female panther.
The she-panther woke up and stared at him with a gaze of horrifying steel. Terror gripped him as their gaze met. Attempting to be gracious, he ventured to play the part of an amorous man and tentatively caressed her majestic, golden coat. Much to his surprise, she responded to his touch – like a coquettish woman.
That was the beginning of their love story.
On their fist day together, he very well knew he can be its next meal and thought of all the possible ways of getting rid of her dangerous presence. The she-panther never let him out of her sight and conveyed her mistrust to him with her eyes. She even went as far as making a show of her agility – just to make him shudder at the grim prospect of being outran by her.
As days went by, they learned to live with each other peacefully in the oasis. The desert provided the panther enough game to eat. Dates and water kept the soldier alive. The she-panther grew more and more accustomed to the soldier’s loving touch. The soldier likewise admired the panther deeper and deeper and his thoughts of killing her came farther apart. As their trust for each other grew, so did their love for each other blossom.
He called her “Mignonne”, after his first sweetheart, and she loved the sound of her new name upon his lips.
Mignonne tried to communicate with him. He soon learned what she was trying to say with the tone of her voice. She seduced him with her playfulness and her warm friendship. He bound her to him with his caresses and his devotion to her playful wishes. She filled in for his loss of hope for being found by his comrades. He in turn, became the slave and companion she wanted.
Once, he tried to run away from her but failed to go far enough. Mignonne made sure of that. Upon discovering his sudden absence, she bounded at him on the golden sands. As though he were an errant kitten, she dragged him by his collar all the way back to their “palace” in the oasis.
Unfortunately, some good things never last. Like all cats, Mignonne also would love to take playful bites on her playmate. Of course, the she-panther would not kill her playmate; for her, it was just a game.
One time, when the soldier curiously gaped at an eagle which visited the oasis, Mignonne got jealous of his suddenly divided attention. She turned on him as if enraged with what he did. Without warning, her sharp teeth caught his leg. He was totally, absolutely unprepared for her attack. The soldier was terrified that Mignonne would devour him. All the trust he laid on her were drowned by his instinct for survival. When he got hold of his hunting knife and lethally slit Mignonne’s throat, she gave a cry that froze his very being.
As she lay dying, her eyes asked him why he tried to kill her and at the same time, told him she still loved him despite that. Then, it dawned on him, she meant him no harm and he awfully misunderstood her intention. In his helplessness, he thought he would even give the world… just to bring her back… but she cannot be resurrected, not even by his remorseful tears. By her side, he sat crying and felt very, very sorry for his deadly mistake even long after she breathed her last… until his fellow French soldiers found him in the same oasis, where Mignonne once ruled.

Among the numerous stories I have read, seen on screen and heard of, this has the greatest pull at my heartstrings. I have never forgotten this story from the time I first read it 20 years ago.

Since I was a baby, I grew and lived with cats all around our house. But after reading the story, I understood and loved my cats much better and grew more appreciative of the privilege of raising them and sharing their relatively short lives. I also became more enlightened on the fragile relationship man has with wild animals. In my young mind, when the soldier killed the she-panther because he thought she was going to kill him while in fact Mignonne only wanted to play with him, I learned that the loss of trust in a heartbeat can overturn one great love.
Sad to say, as I carried deep in my heart A Passion in the Desert, along with the precious memories of my pets and the unfortunate times with some undesirable characters, I learned not to entrust men with my love.
As tides turned and so did my fate, I met a very special man, He melted all the barriers I built and I fell in love with him. Just like the soldier and the panther in the story, we were both suspicious of each other’s intentions; we always thought that one day, we would break each other’s hearts. Yes, our relationship was never spared from trials. The more doubts came, the more our trust for each other diminished but then, the more doubts were clarified, the more our trust for each other grew. The strength of our relationship once reached its breaking point because he confirmed my worst fear. I did let him go. Immediately after my boyfriend and I went to our separate lives, I thought at first that the loss of my trust in him totally eliminated my love for him and that even if he would crawl his way back to me, I would no longer give him another chance. After reading A Passion in the Desert once more, Mignonne proved me wrong and caused me to change my initial decision.
You know why?
As I reminisced the events in this story and analyzed them more deeply, I have felt a certain degree of resemblance of the soldier’s and the panther’s relationship with that of ours. Mignonne, even when the soldier confirmed her suspicion that he will one day kill her, she still accepted the soldier despite what he did to her and did not stop loving him to her very last breath. In my case, even when my worst doubt about my boyfriend was confirmed, but still I accepted his decision and what he has done to me as part of the risk of loving. Deep in my heart, I know, I will never stop loving him.
Thanks to Mignonne, we are a couple again and I do not regret the change in my decision in taking him back. If we part again (God forbid!), I will still never forget the more meaningful and more important lesson this love story taught me.Contrary to what I have previously learned from A Passion in the Desert, the loss of trust can never overturn one great love. If that love is just set aside and not killed by pride, that same love will bring back the lost trust and will later on nourish the same trust. Like the oasis in the desert that nourishes both man and beast, trust will keep love alive and so will love keep trust going.

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I wrote this article in September 2005.
I and the boyfriend I was referring to in the article already broke up in March 2006. Well,I still didn't have regrets... I did what I can and I am still thankful of Honore de Balzac's story, "A Passion in the Desert."

What Am I Doing in FSM?

I am teaching Accounting and other Business Courses in the College of Micronesia - National Campus. I joined the college in Fall 2006. On the 8th of September, I will celebrate my 2nd year here.

My teaching experience in Pohnpei is so unlike with what I had in the Philippines. Here, we have to be much more focused on the learners - which is the different from that in the Philippines, where the schools set the standards and the students meet that certain level of excellence.

In motivating the students in Micronesia, I have to consider the difference in Philippine culture and values with that of the theirs. Good thing, feelings are universal and so, Micronesians and Filipinos alike love to talk about love, courtship and marriage (LCM). Hehehe...

What does Accounting and other Business Courses have to do with LCM? Believe me, there are just some too technical terms that can be better explained by LCM - like the different types of business combinations. Really??? Yes. Truly. Absolutely, yes. If you want to know, please enroll in my Finance class.

By the way, this is not what I wear when I come to work. :)

Where Am I?

I am in currently in Pohnpei State, Federated States of Micronesia (FSM) - the Garden Island of this country.

I am soooo happy to be here. Why? Here, there is an abundance of fresh air, beautiful scenic spots and pure, unadulterated seashore with white sand beaches and lots of mangroves. So far, I have already been to swimming much too many times on some weekends. I have gone canoeing in a lagoon with turtles, reef fish and a manta ray swimming in the waters. My plans? To go fishing and gather shells in the future. I have not tried diving into the deep yet. Maybe, never... I am scared of being eaten alive by sharks!!!

Anyway, to get a glimpse of this Eden in the Pacific, please see some pictures in this blog. (Hey, FSM Tourism doesn't pay me...)

Please do not be surprised, one day, you will read stories that are set in this place. Well, there are lots of stories to tell here... Besides, what better a place as a scene for a story than an exotic one?

Till then...

Hello World!

Goodness, finally I have a blog. You know, it seems like ages since I wrote a short story or any literary work.

I have a story coming up soon. I hope you enjoy reading it.

Till then...