Plasticity

One of my favorite websites provide: "Plasticity generally means ability to permanently change or deform. (It differs from 'elasticity', which refers to ability to change temporarily and revert back to original form.)"

The ability to permanently change or deform. Permanent meaning "lasting for an indefinitely long time", or in the extreme sense, it may mean "without end, eternal". Change. Deform. IMHO, these words don't sound too good. While "change" is a neutral word, "deform" on the other hand is definitely a negative one. Deform may imply a change of shape through stress, injury, or some accident of growth. As a verb, "deform" means "to spoil in the form of; or, to become mishapen; or to be misfigured.

In view of all the foregoing, it is not incorrect for me to say that "Plasticity" may be defined as the ability to spoil, to become mishapen or misfigured for a lasting or indefinite period of time which may encomapss eternity.

Now I have a word for that pehonomenon which occurs to almost all (if not all) people who enter into Philippine Government Service.

After I finally became a lawyer (or in other words "a priveleged member of the distinct and noble legal profession") a lot of people were somewhat surprised why I chose to serve in the Judiciary as a Branch Clerk of Court. I always answer, "Serbisyo Publiko po muna in my first few years as a lawyer, as a way of giving back to society." or "Gusto ko lang pong tumulong sa administrasyon ng hustisya sa mga unang taon ko bilang abogado." I knew in my heart that although my answers were honest, they were incomplete. The truth of the matter is that I opted for a job in the judiciary also because I want to practice law (in the traditional sense) in the near future. And what better place to learn to swin than in the shark-filled ocean? Nevertheless, not a few people who receive such answers from me do not take such replies seriously (even though I say them out loud in a straight face that could make a world series poker player cringe). These people either think I was only joking or perhaps, label me as another hypocrite who preaches a certain belief or way of life, but do not in fact hold these same virtues oneself. Still, a few others just think that I am ridiculously out of my mind and believe.

BTW, the Greek word "Hypokrisis" is applied to any sort of public performance, while its counterpart noun "Hypokrites" was a technical term for a stage actor and was not, therefore, considered an appropriate role for a public figure. In Athens in the 4th Century BC, for example, the great orator Demosthenes ridiculed his rival Aeschines, who had been a successful actor before taking up politics, as a hypokrites whose skill at impersonating characters on stage made him an untrustworthy politician. This negative view of the hypokrites, perhaps combined with the Roman disdain for actors, later shaded into the originally neutral hypokrisis. It is this later sense of hypokrisis as "play-acting," i.e. the assumption of a counterfeit persona, that gives the modern word hypocrisy its negative connotation.

Anyway, I do not consider myself to be a hypocrite. I am just a someone who wills himself to become a man who earns his daily bread with dignity and respect, and someday make the retreat and disappear into the legal fabric of society as one of the pillars of the family. I entered in the service of the judiciary not to start a revolution of sorts. I am not here to drastically alter the state of things. I am not here to weed out the corrupt, to stop the graft, or even prevent it. There would be too much unneccessary risks on my part. And those who know me well know that I do not like unneccessary risks. I have chosen to work for the government to learn, earn, and at the same time fulfill my duties the best way I can in the service of my country whose soil I cannot leave out of pride and love. I'd rather be issuing subpoenas and signing warrants of arrests all day than taking care of old geezers in London or in the States or walking strange dogs owned by strange people in NYC. Five (5) years shall pass and hopefully by then I have done my share of duty towards the country and start making some real money to wet the beaks of my family. Then perhaps, I could finally afford a cozy little house and real car like a Mercedes and a personal driver cum bodyguard that comes along with the purchase.

Plasticity sets in at different times depending on the branch of Philippine Government where it occurs. Sadly, it is wide-spread in all branches and in all agencies. In the BIR, Customs, and the DPWH, I have heard that the same sets in in a matter of minutes. In the legislature, a few months, and in the Judiciary, a few years. Hopefully, I can get out before I catch it too bad. I just need to stay focused and try to keep my eyes on the goal. I'm way too near the basket to miss.

One way to get home

Since the price of gasoline has been continually skyrocketing at a dizzying, if not mindblowing pace, many motorists-who, like me cannot be considred rich by all acceptable social standards (not yet, anyway)-have devolved into being work-week pedestrians. Yesterday marked my first jeepney ride home from work. Since there are no FXs plowing the route towards my parents' house, the worsening economy have done the impossible. It turned back time and made me a 15 year-old kid again commuting his way home from high school. I always wanted to be a teen-ager again but I guess there is an ounce of truth to the cliche, "be careful of what you wish for..."

Like most Filipino males who ride jeepneys, I opted to acquire a seat in the front, riding shotgun with the driver. Luckily, I got to the front seat first before anybody else could squeeze in. When I got inside the king-of-the-road PUJ, I instantly noticed that the cabin was more cramped than I had expected and imagined. Perhaps, over the years I have gained too much weight for my own good. To be sure, even a ninety pound (90 lbs) old lady wouldn't fit beside me and the driver in that particular PUJ cockpit. Apparently, the seat was cannibalized from an old, early 90's Toyota Crown or Corona--if I'm not mistaken. Meaning, even if the seat is initially designed to accomodate one (1) passenger, it is now living its second life constantly seating two (2) commuting passengers at a time. Further, there was too much clutter around the cabin: a toolbox, a water jug filled with what seemed like diesel fuel, a pair of old pliers, etc., etc..

I decided that I would rather sit alone in the front with the driver and pay for what is the equivalent of another passenger's fare than pay only for myself and get squeezed into extreme discomfort all the way home to my parents'. I asked for how much is the fare and with no sruprise on my part, it was almost three (3) times more than what I used to pay when I was a thin, rocker-wannabe school kid from UST High. I paid twice that amount and told the driver not to let anybody else sit beside me para hindi masikip. I wouldn't mind at all if someone who resembles Ara Mina or Angelica Panganiban would sit beside me, but in all probability, it could be someone closer to the looks of Max Alvarado or Tommy Abuel at the least. Hell, if an Ara or Angelica attempted to sit there, maybe I'd even let her sit on my lap. On second thought, maybe not. My lovely and loving wife might just kill me faster than GMA's government would eventually kill us all if I did such an immoral and distasteful thing.

In our profession, we are required to dress up every single God-given day as if we are getting shot by a TV or Movie camera. Lawyers must be at all times dressed to kill. At least, those of us who give a damn about proper decorum anyway. So its either a barong or a suit. No other kind of professional except a lawyer would be crazy or pompous enough to wear a tailored suit in this tropical weather. I have been taught in my law school days that wearing the same is an acquired taste, just like the taste for beer. Personally, I enjoy wearing barongs and tailored suits. I had five (5) barongs made at a time by "Exclusively His Tailors" a few months back and a nice charcoal black Brooks Brothers replica of a suit also made by the same tailor. On the questioned date with the jeepney ride however, I was just wearing an embroidered but comfortable yellowish "Onesimus" polo barong together with RTW pinstripe slacks that my wife bought at the local SM mall just a few days back.

Among the lessons in life that I have learned is this: Filipinos judge people they don't know by the way they dress, by the car they drive, by the watch they wear, etc., etc.. There is no distinction. The same is true whether rich or poor. In my mind, I saw that manong driver thought I was not the daily passenger type. Seldom must he have a passenger wearing formal leather boots and pinstripe pants. Conceited as this observation of mine may be, but this is a hard fact of life. During the course of our approximately half-hour journey, we stopped at a gas station. My earlier guess about the water jug was correct. It contained diesel fuel. Apparently, manong customized his beloved jeepney to employ this jug as a makeshift fuel tank instead of the proper one. At this point, I made my sort of a mistake. "Sort of" because I'm not really sure if it indeed was a mistake: I started talking with manong driver.

Evidently, I sensed that he talked to me with an air of respect, in contrast to the rude way he treated some of the passengers. Whenever a student passenger would say "bayad po, isa lang," he would ask, "ano 'to estudyante?" And whenever the student answers "opo," he would retort "dapat kasi sasabihin n'yo kaagad hindi 'yung ginagawa n'yo akong manghuhula!" Also, each time when an old geezer pays, manong would ask "senior ho ba?" After the old folk answers in the affirmative, manong would murmur loud enough to be audible something to the effect of "ayaw kasing sabihin, gusto talaga pahirapan pa ako'ng mag-tanong..."

The Rainmaker (TRM for brevity): 'nong, bakit n'yo diyan kinakarga ang diesel? I was referring to the water jug cum fuel tank.

Manong: Eh kasi ho eh masyadong malaki yung tangke ng krudo nitong jeep, yada, yada, yada. I was not really paying attention but only pretending to be. I remembered that I forgot my paperback copy of Mario Puzo's "The Last Don" at the office.

TRM: Mas ok yan, kitang-kita nyo kung paubos na ang krudo nyo, at at the same time, ma-cocompute n'yo pa konsumo n'yo. Kaya lang, hindi ba delikado 'yan? At that moment, I remembered that when I was a kid, I tried to light a small automotive oil canister filled with diesel fuel with a lighted match but unlike gasoline, diesel doesn't light-up so easy. I figured I'd be safe and I better stop talking to manong. So, I shut my pie-hole.

Unfortunately, it was too late. The series of subsequent events could best be described as similar to the tale of Pandora's Box. Manong did not shut up as I did. In fact, he must've seen an opening--an opportunity to have someone to talk to from a different envronment. Sad but true, I got treated to what me and my freinds call a Nobela ng Talambuhay. Honestly, I didn't really care about what the poor schmuck was saying, but I could truthfully say that I was listening and enjoying the conversation for solely entertainment purposes. Sometimes, when the circumstances and the conditions are right, shooting some bull with a jeepney, taxi, or tricycle driver could be more entertaining than watching a movie. Surely, talking with manong was far more entertaining than all the movies featured on the VIVA movie channel on cable.

Real life is much more fun and exciting than the run-off-the mill, illogical and over-acted local movie flicks. Particularly so when manong talked about local gossip involving local politicians and personalities whom I know on a personal basis or at least those who I have heard of through other sources in the past. John Grisham said, "Lawyers thrive on Gossip." As testament to that remarkable statement, I can say with conviction that almost all lawyers are chismosos and chismosas. Nevertheless, they are of a different breed of chismosos and chismosas than that of those who dwell on the barberias and palangkes. Chismis, or in another word--gossip is a source of information. To the untrained, it has more harmful effects than good, if any at all. But to those versed with the practical working knowledge of Relevance and Materiality, much valuable information could be strainered even from the most outrageous and unbelievable hearsay story.

When it was finally my turn to alight the PUV, I said "salamat, manong" and he answered, "thank you po, sir." Know that I haven't verbally revealed anything about myself and what I do for a living. I just listened to him (or at least tried to listen and at some points, pretended to) while he blaberred on what is the meaning of life. Manong is a regular Ted Failon, who always have an opinion of everything. He's an experienced expert on Saudi Arabia's culture, having worked there for a decade. He's afraid that when his daughter grows up to be sixteen (16), the latter might want to go and work in Japan. And like most Filipinos who are naghihikahos sa kahirapan ng buhay, he's the government's number one (No.1) critic.

"A man could live his life as a slave to earn his daily bread without dignity or hope, or he could will himself to be a man who commanded respect."
-Don Domenico Clericuzio, Mario Puzo's "The Last Don"

The Gospel according to the Rainmaker

Jesus told His disciples a parable of a Sower who went out to scatter seeds in his field

Afterwards Jesus told another story to the people. This time he said: "The kingdom of heaven is like a man who sowed good seeds in his field; but while men slept an enemy came to the field and scattered bad seeds everywhere. These bad seeds are called tares. By and by the good seeds and the bad seeds both began to grow.

And after they became stalks, and heads of grain appeared, the servants of the man came to him and asked, 'Did you not sow good seeds in your field? How then are these tares growing everywhere beside the stalks of wheat?' The man answered, 'An enemy has sown the tares.' Then the servants asked, 'Shall we gather out the tares?' but the master said, 'Wait until the time for harvest, lest while you pull up the tares you also pull up stalks of wheat. When all are ripened together, I will send reapers to first gather out the tares and tie them into bundles to be thrown into the fire. Then they will gather the wheat and put it into my barn.'" When Jesus finished all his stories he sent the people away, and afterwards he left the boat and also returned to the city. Then the disciples asked him to explain the meaning of the story about the tares. Jesus said: "The good seed are the people of God; the field is the world; and the man who sowed the good seed is the Son of man. The bad seed, or tares, are the people of the wicked one, and the enemy is Satan.

The harvest is the end of the world, and the reapers are the angels. Just as the tares are gathered in bundles and thrown into the fire, so the wicked people will be separated from the good people at the end of the world. Then the good people will shine as brightly as the sun in the kingdom of God, their Father."

(Matt. 13:1-53; Mark 4:1-34)
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I was born a Roman Catholic, raised in Catholic schools, and like those kids who read the Holy Bible daily when they were kids, I once dreamed of becoming a priest. No kidding. In this poor country, not unlike doctors and lawyers, priests are one of those who belong to a vocation which guarantees daily bread and freedom from starvation. And unlike doctors and lawyers, priests do not have to look for work or apply for a job. When a man becomes a priest, he does what a priest does: he officiates masses, administers sacraments, and count the donations of the faithful. The faithful never fails to provide the church of its daily bread. Banks may go bankrupt and governments may sink neck-deep in foreign debt but the church will never run out of money. There is only one catch: a priest may never know the many mysteries behind married life. Probably, there may be some hoodlums who disguise themselves in robes and secretly enjoy the best of both worlds under the cover of night and shadow of convents and nunneries, or even sick and perverse ones who prey upon innocent sacristans to satisfy their hunger for lust, but percentage-wise most priests, IMHO, are faithful to the custom of clergy celibacy and remain content with masturbation or in the alternative, perhaps some serious pillow-fucking.

Anyway, I have been invariably going to church again every Sunday, thanks to my wife, who wouldn't have things go any other way. Usually, we hear mass on the local SM mall, but this morning, due to a series of coincidental events that I rather not describe in detail in this post, she decided that we go to Chapel 1 inside the defunct Clark Air Base. The Bible passage above is the topic of the priest's homily. Common in parish priests are the giving of bland homilies. Unless they are bishops or one of those TV priests, parish priests give sermons that only the slow-witted or those not listening would not know its defects both in logic and in the interpretation of scripture. Also, when delivering their sermons in English, they have the tendency to utilize language cliches like "in the final analysis" (Was there a first one?), "firstly" (not following up with "secondly"), etc., etc.. This particular priest, after telling some stories which are boring enough to make an acute insomiac sleep on the pew, interpreted this Sunday's Gospel to the effect that he's saying that the good grain are the good guys and the weed are the bad guys. I cannot help but explain the ridiculous folly of that interpretation.

Let me try to go and tinker with this priest's interpretation of the 2nd parable of the sower. He said the good grain are the good people (perhaps the faithful of his church, but no innuendo was made by him, or none was needed in a crowd of similar faiths), and they are sown by God. He also concluded that the weeds are the bad guys, sown by the enemy who is the Devil under the cover of night. And, in the end time, the grain shall be separated from the weed and the weed shall be put to fire. Meaning, the good guys will be kept by the Lord and the bad guys shall burn in hell.

If this is the case, then we will all go to heaven. Aren't we all good from the very start of our lives? Does not the holy sacrament of Baptism purge the vile consequence of Adam and Eve's original sin? If we are sown by God as grain, we will not turn into weeds. A grain seed will never become a weed even if it grows amongst weeds. In the end of time, God's angels will reap us all and keep us in God's company away from the evil weed.

What are the weeds? This priest concluded that the weed are evil men who will burn at the day of judgment. If this was true, then he is saying that all men do not come from God's grace--that some men are spawn of the Devil. Further, these evil men, from the moment they were born, are destined to burn in the fires of hell and suffer eternal damnation. If he is correct, then are we God's grain living with those of the devil on this earth? Some people may actually spawn of the devil.

To me, the priest's interpretation of this gospel is pure bullshit. Why, because it contradicts the very foundation of my faith. I believe in God-given free will. In the words of Don Domenico Clericuzio, "You could will yourself as a slave to earn your daily bread without dignity or hope or you earned your bread as a man who commanded respect." No man is ever destined to become a good grain or become an evil weed. No man is ever destined to become a fisherman or a lawyer. He wills himself to become a fisherman, or he wills himself to become a lawyer. Man is not an animal who live only through instincts and reflexes. To those who are familiar with the study of Criminal Law, this is called the "classical school of thought," to those who have been educated by Dominican friars, this is similar to Aquinas' concept of free will, and to those who do not fancy such bullshit, this just means that "every man is responsible for the consequences of his actions." This is the only dogma that I believe in. This is the stuff my faith in God is made of. God is the owner of an aquarium we call the universe. We are but man, we do not and cannot know His nature, just like the fish we have in the tank who cannot know ours.

This is the meaning of Jesus' gospel for this Sunday: God was the sower of the grain. The grain are all men he put in this earth, for no man is a sinner the day he is born. The weed are all the evil in this world--temptations, hardships, and the attractiveness of sin. Since we are good grain seed, having been chosen to be given life by God himself, we have the capacity to live amongst the weed and survive until the day of the harvest. Meaning, we have been given free will, or the capacity to resist evil and avoid sin. Perhaps this is the reason why God forbade His angels to weed out his crops. Those who chose not to shall die before the harvest, and their useless remains shall be burned along with the weed.

"The world is what it is, and we are who we are."

You hate me, I hate him

Hatred or hate is a word that describes intense feelings of dislike. It can be used in a wide variety of contexts, from hatred of inanimate objects to hatred of other people. Prejudice or Bigotry against an entire class of people (e.g. racism) are examples of hatred.

Philosophers have offered many influential definitions of hatred. Rene Descartes viewed hate as an awareness that something is bad, combined with an urge to withdraw from it. Baruch Spinoza defined hate as a type of pain that is due to an external cause. Aristotle viewed hate as a desire for the annihilation of an object that is incurable by time. Finally, David Hume believed that hate is an irreducible feeling that is not definable at all.

In psychology, Sigmund Freud defined hate as an ego state that wishes to destroy the source of its unhappiness (source: wikipedia).

I say fuck faggot Freud and his gay shit. Descartes is right. (Now I know the etymology of the word, diskarte). You see something you don't like, you hate it. You withdraw from it. You stay away from it. You want it to have nothing to do with you. That is how simple the emotion of hate really is. You don't necessarily want to annihilate it like Aristotle would suggest, nor is it always a pain as described by Spinoza. Aristotle was gay too and Spinoza, well, was a Jew. My grandmother taught me when I was a small boy that Jews are bad people as they are the ones who crucified Christ. It's not that I really care about that shit, but hey, that's my grandmother who taught me that. She also told me that the Jews are like the Chinese, who are shrewd and cunning businessmen who kept to themselves and cheats the government on taxes. To her, all Jews and Chinese were evil merchants who tried to give her a bad bargain. God rest her soul in heaven. That's the reason why I find it hard to trust a Jew, or a Chink for that matter. No, my grandmother was not a Nazi.

(I am aware of the fact that the arguments I used against Freud, Aristotle and Spinoza are ad hominems but hell, I'm too lazy to do otherwise.)

Hate is cyclic and a common emotion felt by all people. Hate is cyclic because there is an orderly relation or a pattern of hate that progresses in a describable circular manner. Hate bites its tails, so to speak. It is common because all people have felt and will feel hate their whole lives. Now don't tell me somebody does not hate. Priests hate the devil, and in turn, (some) Muslims hate priests.

Hate is present in all aspects of our daily lives. It is present from the time we wake up, to the time we close our eyes to sleep. When I wake up and go to the bathroom to piss, I hate it when somebody is in there when I'm about to go, or whenever somebody did not flush to goddam toilet especially when there are still some residue of crap floating around fortuitously in the fucking bowl. When I eat my breakfast, I want to turn the TV on and watch the morning news show Unang Hirit, because I hate that SOB named A.T. on the other channel. I almost threw my plate once on the small screen after watching that fucker deliver his opinions on national TV like he knows shit. I hate that guy with a passion. I mean, who the fuck does he think he is? He's got absolutely no respect to the people he interviews on air and some of those people have made their bones probably when he was still sucking her mom's blackish tits. Not only that, he talks about issues and stuff that he doesn't have any inkling about like laws, government policy, and in general, the goddam English language. The only people who does not hate him are those folks who are as dumb or ever dumber than him. A.T. is one of the people in the media who thinks that they are gods and they can do whatever the fuck they want and say whatever the fuck they want to say. If I ever get a chance to meet him personally, I will probably collar him and whisper, "be very careful boy, this is the Philippines, where journalists and reporters get shot in the head or cemented alive in steel drums. This is my country, you just live here."

Then after breakfast, I drive to my wife and myself to work. I drive a sleeper Honda Civic Ferio from the mid-nineties, and I don't hate my car. I actually like it. But I absolutely hate most capampangan drivers. They are the absolutely the dumbest drivers in the world, tied at the bottom with Koreans. They have never heard of the signal light switch, or if they do discover the same serendipitously, they don't know how to properly use the damn thing. When they use the signal light to turn, they do it after making the corner. They haven't heard of the horn button too. But what kills me is that they drive insanely slow, especially on open roads. They speed up in traffic but they go 20-25 kph in a clear, well paved, and rain-dry national road. Sometimes I tell myself that the driver is getting a blow-job from his bitch and that's the reason why he's so slow. Then I pass him only to find out that he's intensely concentrated on driving with the driver's seat pushed forward so much that there is no space between the steering wheel, his chest and the seat. I'm serious. Almost all drivers from Pampanga drive like that. Like they all have difficulty seeing the road so they have to sit ridiculously upright, hugging the steering wheel.

Don't get me started on motorcycles. As a self-respecting motorist and car affecionado, I hate most people who "zoom-zoom" (my apologies to the Mazda Corp.) in their crotch rockets. They simply think they are invincible. (My wife always tells me that as she drives too. And mind you, she doesn't drive like a lady.) They have no sense of road courtesy and think that they own the fuckin' road. Perhaps they are of the seriously erroneous belief that traffic rules do not apply to them. To me and others like me (like my brothers and cousins), they are like big roaches on the street, crawling and infesting the highways with filth. The worst are the 4-stroke mopeds and tricycles. Those fuckers mostly do not have licenses to drive anyhow. A Chinese or Korean moped designed for 1 to 2 passengers over-loaded with 4 passengers one or two of which are children is a common sore sight all over Luzon. Indeed, that is a recipe for disaster. I have known and heard about senseless deaths via motorbike accidents over the years but the number of casualties still increase over the years. I do not hate the motorcycle per se, as I have driven one in the past (which ultimately led to an accident and injuries, of course) but that shit is totally dangerous if not driven with a clear head and responsibility. It is a mode of transportation like any other vehicle on the street so the same amount of responsibility should be practiced in driving the same. A couple of weeks ago, my car was rammed in the back by a big bike style motorcycle. It smashed my right tail-light. Immediately after impact, I got out of the car and got psychologically ready to beat the guy down if he made any remark I didn't like hearing. Turned out, he was a really nice guy and admitted his fault instantly. My car sustained no other damage apart from the busted tail-light. He made areglo and gave me 1400 Pesos to buy a replacement headlight. I got a perfect fit JDM (Japanese Domestic Market) one for a thousand bucks. Good thing I didn't shower him with profanities when I came out of the vehicle as I usually do in times like those, or took a swing on him with my big and heavy Maglite flashlight that I keep under the driver's seat--or I wouldn't have emerged from that situation with a small profit.

Since we're talking about cars, let me tell you that I hate clueless ricers. They give a bad name to self-respecting, Japanese car loving fellows like myself. They are the people who put huge-ass speakers in their cars or graphics and worst, those enormous but dysfunctional rear wings. Fuck Fast & the Furious and Pimp my Ride, man. That ain't the right shit. I also hate people who think they hate ricers but in reality, they don't really know what's a ricer. These are the people who drive American and European cars and hate Japanese cars. These are the people who lump Honda and Hyundai in the same category. (Just because they both have an [H] in the hood does not mean they are both made by the same manufacturer and have the same qualities.) These are the schmucks who look down at Civics but wonder why their gas-guzzling V6s and V8s get smoked on the freeway by a 2.0 K series engine-swapped early nineties Honda CRX. So people in BMWs and Chryslers must hate me a whole damn lot because I pass 'em all the fucking time like they were parked on the road.

But all these hating stops when I get to work. There, I have got to do my duty as a public servant and live according to my oath as a lawyer. I have learned to channel my hate and my aggression to more productive things. Hate is everywhere, all around us, present even without our knowledge. That is acceptable. What is not is when we get consumed by our hate and fail to function as a rational human being. Remember the lesson of Descartes:

"You see something you don't like, you hate it. You withdraw from it. You stay the fuck away from it. You want it to have nothing to do with you. That is how simple the emotion of hate really is."