Rediscovering the Jologs in Me: The Buglasan Festival Experience

Saturday, October 24, 2009

FOREPLAY

The Province of Negros Oriental is celebrating its Buglasan Festival this week up to October 25, 2009 with the theme "Building Stronger Alliance Among Tourism Stakeholders of Negros Oriental". Different towns and cities around the province showcase the best of what they have to offer. From their different agricultural produce, delicacies, to their handicrafts, they're selling their STUFF at a low price (bought frozen Durian for Php80.00)!

You can still visit the Sidlakang Negros Village and catch the remaining activities lined up for tonight and tomorrow. You can check this site for the remaining activities.

THE EXPERIENCE

Last night, I was effin' bored in my room (as always). So, I decided to check out the booths myself at the Sidlakan Negros Village. I had to nail down first the pedicab driver who over-charged me with the pamasahe. Maybe he thought I was a tourist since I was holding a camera and was tourist-ishly dressed.

Anyway when I arrived, I was surprised that the place was packed with people from the National Highway down to the Village. I had no choice but to literally brush elbows with them. So there I was brushing elbows (and my other body parts) while checking out the booths of the different towns and cities. The pictures below show the different sights you can see in the Village.


The booth of Valencia is a crowd magnet. Fruits (papaya, mango, rambutan, lanzones, etc.) are being sold at a low price.

These are real squashes, by the way.


I heard that the governor wanted to ban smoking and drinking inside the Village. But as you can see in the picture above, people were drinking beer while watching the program. Can you spot my fellow jologers?



The two kids were probably helping their parents earn money. Tats, anyone?


Okay. So I got thirsty while walking around the booth area. I decided to go inside one of the booths and ordered iced tea. I thought I paid for one glass of iced tea but instead, look at what the lady gave me - a pitcher of Lipton Iced Tea for only Php20.00. Talk about getting your money's worth!










I never went inside Pamplona's booth. Got intimidated with the crowd inside.

Another crowd magnet. If you want to experience caving, visit the Mabinay booth. They have this cool replica of a cave. Entrance is free, by the way. Just be patient to fall in line.

Canlaon's booth was one of the best. They have this cool exhibit inside plus an accommodating Tourism Officer. (rawr)


Truly enjoyed my evening even if I was alone!

Basta Driver, Talagang Sweet Lover

Friday, October 16, 2009

This startles me.

It seems that my luck never runs out when it comes to having unusual pedicab drivers. That's part of living in a small town, I guess. Last week, I shared to you guys about pervy manong pedicab driver. Well, guess what? Yesterday, the gods bestowed another creepy pedicab driver. No. Unfortunately, he did not turn out to be as perverted like the one I had. In fact, yesterday's driver was the domesticated and discreet kind.

Here's the story. I was going home after work when I rode this pedicab. There were already two people inside - Inday chimay and her broodling (her alaga) who were also going home from school. For no apparent reason, Inday chimay and manong pedicab driver started to talk like they've known each other for years. Of course, who can resist Inday chimay's face radiating with chin chan su?

"Okay. Maybe it's love at first sight.", I said to myself.

So, these two were sharing stories and laughters. Inday's tambuchingching and I just sat there and listened to their conversation when all of a sudden, the pedicab driver started to sing Eric Clapton's Tears in Heaven.

"OMFG. Manong's making THE move."

(FAST FORWARD)

Okay. While I do admire people showing off their talent, manong pedicab driver's an exception. You see. I hate it when I get caught in between two people flirting with each other; worse, singing to each other! Gad, I even felt that I was riding BANG BUS (for the curious mind, google is your friend).

Manong, okay, you have the voice. But you had me as well. Please spare me from your intentions next time.

My Stand On Climate Change

Thursday, October 15, 2009

So a while ago, I joined Blog Action Day. To my understanding, it's a ballyhoo to have all the bloggers worldwide to make a stand and raise awareness about a certain issue. This year: Climate Change. I've read some blogs on how they can raise awareness and all that jazz and none of them (from the blogs I've read) concentrated on what they can really do or what they are doing to curb climate change. Some of them blamed the government and our politicians, talked about the Kyoto Protocol, and all that stuff. Hey I can practically google all about climate change, I don't need those stuff na.

But we're obviously missing the point here. Making a stand isn't just throwing all the facts about climate change. One of the bloggers noted: "People have grown tired listening about climate change, etc." Maybe we are. We love to complain but we don't really do anything.

Okay. I will spare you from my holier-than-thou platitudes. So anyway, what can I really do about climate change? I've been using body deosprays from quite some time already. From what I heard, they contain this certain thing which harms the ozone layer. Crap. I forgot basta there's this thing inside these sprays that can damage that layer. Ah basta yun na yun. Perhaps shifting from deobody sprays to deo-lotions can make a difference. So, there. This is my contribution. How about you? What can you do? Participate now.

Contrary to my neighbor's popular belief, my front lawn in not a COMFORT ROOM

Wednesday, October 14, 2009

Okay. I understand that this week starts the semestral break. During this time, students start to congregate in every gimmick place (disco houses, bars, coffee shops, etc.) around town. But, you see. There are also some who prefer not to go out. Instead, they would stay in their houses and celebrate. Sex, booze, drugs and so on. Name it. They do it in their homes!

"It is essential to college life", my friend says. Yeah, riiiiight! Tell that to my parents.

So last night, my neighbors decided to celebrate and parteeh. Their pimped motorcycles boomed with party music – Paradiso Girls, Pitbull, and my gad, even the batchu batchu of the Wondergirls. Their tables were filled with food and drinks – Red horse, Tanduay, and Angelica’s The Bar. Tagay sa kanan. Tagay sa kaliwa.

Typical post-semestral college life.

Crap. And I just sat there. Alone. The number one loser.

And so while I sat outside our boarding house and watched them enviously from afar, lo and behold, drunken dude went straight to our fence and – voila – opened his zipper and out came this thing.

OMGSHT. He peed in our bush and right in front of me!

You f***ing bastard! Hey! I do understand that alcohol can cloud the judgment of partyphiles like you and make you unaware of the people around you but dude if you’re going to take a piss, do it in the confines of your own comfort room and not in public! Crap. And I forgot to tell you. Koya, you might want that stick of yours check out. Surgery, perhaps?

God, save the bush! And my eyes!

My Dear, Enunciate

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

Guess what. I took my final exams in our Advance Software Engineering class last Saturday. I won't tell you how bad I did because I know for sure that I did really bad. But I ain't going to rant about the exam just yet.

You see. Sometimes, I do forget things – the worst part is not having a pen right before taking an exam. So right before I had to give in to misery, I had to buy a pen at a local convenience store right beside our college. I asked Inday for any available pen and asked her how much.

Inday said, “Sex, sir.”

“Ha? Ah, six.”

My dear, inasmuch as my species would want to hear indecent proposals from complete strangers, please enunciate properly so you won't be giving out the wrong signals, okey enday?



I knew it! My real mom did not come from a tribe!

Monday, October 12, 2009

Back in the days when I was much younger – in the days when my life revolved around X-men, Popeye, and The Flinstones, my father used to tell me that they're not my real parents.

Of course, you wouldn’t doubt? You see. I was born white, with curly hair, and yes, I was a sumo wrestler stuffed in a baby's body – nine pounds to be exact. None of these traits are imprinted in my parents’ genes.

Later on, I found out that I also did not inherit their ability to sing. They love music. Music loves them. Mama can sing. Papa can sing. Brother can sing. All of my relatives can sing. Even our neighbors can sing. As for me, well, I despise music. Music feels the same way to me, too. Whenever they would sing with the videoke, I just sulk and lalala in the corner. I cannot sing. I never sang even a single note. I only sing when I’m constipated.

Mama and Papa also kept a piece of my brother’s umbilical cord in my brother’s album. My album, on the other hand, only showed pictures of me crying.

My father used to tell me that my real parents are from a certain tribe (which probably explains why I look this way). Sometimes, he would tell me that my parents are Badjao or T’boli or Manobo – depends on what tribal name that would come first in my father’s mind. My real mom, according to my father, left me at the pier. He said that one day my real mother will come back.

She never did.

As I matured, I knew that my father was only kidding. You see. Papa is sometimes crazy - only to the extent that he can throw out jokes like he means it.

I never listened to them, though. I am quite positive that I am their offspring - a product of their honeymoon in a hotel after the wedding. Even though I did not inherit my mother’s charm or her ability to sing, I am sure that I'm not Badjao nor am I T'boli. I AM YOUR SON. And there's no chance in the world that you just picked me up at the pier.

So mom, on your 52nd birthday today, let me greet you Happy Birthday! Even at 52, may asim ka pa rin. I love you.

I Know It's Raining Cats and Dogs Lately But Please Return My Underwear

Thursday, October 8, 2009

Although this blog can be viewed publicly, this post is sincerely dedicated to you and only you, my sweet and loving boardmate!

You see, I've been living in our boarding house for four years now and never did someone dare snatch my black Carter underwear. I know that it's raining cats and dogs lately, but please do return my black Carter underwear. And if you feel the sudden urge to return it, please do so by washing it first.

There. Ktnxbai.

Admiring Manong’s Testicular Fortitude

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Two weeks ago, I rode a pedicab along with two fine bebots going to downtown Dumaguete. I sat in front of these bebots and so I had 180-view of the entire pedicab. I noticed that the manong pedicab driver kept on staring at his mirror. At first, I thought that manong pedicab driver was just following the basic rules in traffic by looking in his rear-view mirror from time to time. Talk about responsible driving.

A few minutes gone by and, still, manong pedicab driver kept on staring - oftentimes with eyes glaring – until a hint of sarcastic smile drew in his face. Aha! Right then and there, I knew that there was something special about manong pedicab driver. Manong pedicab driver did not care about obeying traffic rules. Manong pedicab driver had chameleon-like eyes with one eye on the road and the other on the ladies. In fact, pervy manong pedicab driver was busy watching the ladies’ crotches all along! Well, at least, he wasn’t watching mine.

So, these two young ladies finally told pervy manong pedicab driver to stop near Chowking along Perdices Avenue. I didn’t mind as those two fine ladies went out of the pedicab. I had my eyes fixed on pervy manong pedicab driver. But pervy manong pedicab driver’s eyes were no longer fixed on the two bebots’ crotches. No. Pervy manong pedicab driver’s eyes – at that angle – were staring at the two bebots’ asses!

I just couldn’t help but admire you.

And so now that his eyes had nothing else to fix on but the road, pervy manong pedicab driver and I pressed on with our journey. Every second, every turn of the pedicab, and even every stare of pervy manong pedicab driver at me, was torture.

Pervy manong pedicab driver became mute. So did I. Suddenly in that 3 minute journey alone with my pervy manong pedicab driver, at last, he opened his mouth and began his ancient teachings. Of all things that manong pedicab driver and I could possibly discuss, manong pedicab driver talked about Oral Sex 101 and how busy he was watching those two unfortunate bebots. Pervy manong pedicab driver also talked about his sexploits.

You see, up to now, I still wonder why he ended up being manong pedicab driver. Pervy manong pedicab driver could have been a great teacher. As he discussed, I realized that not only he has chameleon-like eyes, he was also ambidextrous. With one hand driving the pedicab and the other demonstrating the actions done during S-E-X (Gad. He's as good as those friends I had, in terms of demonstrating, when we were still living in the slums.), pervy manong pedicab driver is, indeed, THE master of all masters.

I left the pedicab stunned. Never did I expect that my journey going to Jollibee was going to be a one hell of a ride. To you, oh great and all-knowing pervy manong pedicab driver and to the people of your kind, thank you for making my 10 minute pedicab ride truly memorable. I admire you and your testicular fortitude to flaunt your perversions in public. Really.

Thing I Do When Bored During Class

Tuesday, October 6, 2009



Irony

Define irony. Number 1 liquor brand making a signage of a sari-sari store, which has a name that supposedly implies the Word of Wisdom.

(Name of the store misspelled. Someone must had been effin' drunk.)

Lesson Numero Uno: Secure Your Blog

Monday, October 5, 2009

So much for the posts from my previous blog site. To my avid hacker, congratulations for successfully infiltrating my host.

You have served your purpose very well. RIP.


Varying Hues of Motherhood


Yesterday marked another milestone for three promising students of Dumaguete when they won in the poster making contest sponsored by the City Government of Dumaguete thru the City Social Welfare and Development Office and the City Family Week Steering Committee in celebration of the National Family Week with the theme “Si Nanay Matatag sa Lahat ng Bagay” at the Dumaguete Press Club Ground, Rizal Boulevard, Dumaguete City.

Basically the said activity aimed to give importance to the family as the basic unit of society. The participants from different Dumaguete high schools and the out-of-school youth also portrayed the importance of mothers and their influence in shaping and molding the children, the family, and ultimately the community.

So I was at the contest venue judging the works of these young Vincent Van Goghs when three art works caught my attention.

The entry of Mark Lester Nero from Silliman University depicted nanays‘ important role in protecting and providing basic needs of a child. Done in craypas, Mark creatively showed why mothers deserve to be called Ilaw ng Tahanan.

However, Mark’s entry was overshadowed by Erika Mayo’s artwork placing Mark in 3rd place, which proved that there are also promising artists from St. Paul’s University. Her entry, which was also done in craypas, creatively and artistically showed a simple masterpiece but can be interpreted to have a deep meaning on the subject matter. Erika’s own rendition of Mother and Son depicted that mothers are like mountains that provide protection, nourishment, and unconditional love.

Armi Martinez from Negros Oriental High School, on the other hand, grabbed the 1st place. Her winning entry showed that mothers are the real champions in every aspect in the family. From budgeting to household chores, mothers clearly have a great influence on the upbringing of a child and in the holistic growth of a family.

Armi, Erika, and Mark received a cash prize of Php 2000, 1500, and 1000, respectively. A consolation prize of Php 200 were also given to the rest of the winners. To the winners, congratulations and keep up the good work! Pa-cheese borgor naman kayo mga koya at mga ati.

A Brief Declaration of Love

Well, whoever said patience is a virtue really knew their stuff, because this is exactly what will help you if you want someone back.

If you’re reading this, thanks for coming back. I love you.

I Never Thought I’d Get Too Much Attention

That’s it. Now I’m overly concerned with receiving 100+ spam comments a day. So to my lovely spammers, I’m raising my hand with no intent to care what you say about me or to my posts.



This Time I Talk About Genesis and Apollo 11

So I’m a 24-year old straight guy who happens to have one sibling. Top it off with me being the eldest; I make the perfect target of my mom to ask one of dreaded questions a son can expect from a fifty-something-already-retired mother — “When can I have a grandson?”

This happened a few weeks ago when my mom and I had a chat. It started with the usual hi-hello-how-are-you’s then boom-boom pow, mom came out with the question, “Anak, may anak ka na ba?”

I understand that parents — especially at that age — start to worry about the future of their children. Who wouldn’t? Middle-aged parents actually worry on how their children at a marrying age and with the skyrocketing testosterone and estrogen levels would live after they are gone. I also understand that by me being the eldest, it is only logical that I am the savior of our species – our kind – to spread the seeds of the Hernandez blood, the first man, the first handsome son to give them a grand child.

Ok. But first, let me get this straight. I do not want to get any indecent proposals after writing this post. I hope that’s clear to everybody (Although a part of me is wanting). Second is that I am not in a hurry. Yes. The idea to be tempted to have a child is easy. Making a child is even easier. But raising a child? Well, that’s a different ball game. But with nearly half of my friends already having thoughts on having their own families or have a child already, that’s pressure. “Hey, when are you getting married?” “L.A., will I be invited to your wedding.” “L.A. the clock is ticking, where is it?” “L.A., are you impotent?” L.A. here, L.A. there. You know, being bombarded with these questions sometimes scare the shit out of my Willy Wonky.

Why? Well, let’s dive in first to the possibilities on how the twenty-four-year-old-L.A.-under-pressure-with-balls-shaking can have a child. The most common but probably the “stupidest” possibility is what Ade Magnaye calls paid relationship. Prostitutes! Really. But come to think of it, I don’t want to have a child with some prostitute. Do you? I don’t. I do not want to play with my child while my prostitute-slash-wife smokes like there’s no tomorrow while I scratch the intolerable itch I got after making my Apollo 11 glide through the vast intergalactic space commonly known as the female reproductive organ of a prostitute. Hell, no!

And then there’s surrogacy — to impregnate someone and give the offspring to somebody. Dammit! I am not a sperm bank!

Third possibility is to have someone agree with me to have a child minus the wedding bells and the commitment. At first, this sounds ohhh-summm but later on, I’m gonna have a problem with child custody and the legitimacy of the child – not to mention the complicatedness of my relationship with the f-buddy.

[Other possibilities removed because it might scare the hell out of my future wife.] :p

So mom if you are reading this, please don’t expect to have a grandchild soon. I assure you that I am straight and I do have plans to have my own family. This is just not the right time. In 10 years max, you will see your little apo play around my house, eat your delicious baked macaroons, and listen to your bedtime stories you once told me. Patience is a virtue.

And to the girl who will provide me with a child in the future, Apollo 11 doesn’t have a problem. So there. Rawr!

So I’m a 24-year old straight guy who happens to have one sibling. Top it off with me being the eldest; I make the perfect target of my mom to ask one of dreaded questions a son can expect from a fifty-something-already-retired mother — “When can I have a grandson?”

This happened a few weeks ago when my mom and I had a chat. It started with the usual hi-hello-how-are-you’s then boom-boom pow, mom came out with the question, “Anak, may anak ka na ba?”

I understand that parents — especially at that age — start to worry about the future of their children. Who wouldn’t? Middle-aged parents actually worry on how their children at a marrying age and with the skyrocketing testosterone and estrogen levels would live after they are gone. I also understand that by me being the eldest, it is only logical that I am the savior of our species – our kind – to spread the seeds of the Hernandez blood, the first man, the first handsome son to give them a grand child.

Ok. But first, let me get this straight. I do not want to get any indecent proposals after writing this post. I hope that’s clear to everybody (Although a part of me is wanting). Second is that I am not in a hurry. Yes. The idea to be tempted to have a child is easy. Making a child is even easier. But raising a child? Well, that’s a different ball game. But with nearly half of my friends already having thoughts on having their own families or have a child already, that’s pressure. “Hey, when are you getting married?” “L.A., will I be invited to your wedding.” “L.A. the clock is ticking, where is it?” “L.A., are you impotent?” L.A. here, L.A. there. You know, being bombarded with these questions sometimes scare the shit out of my Willie Wonky.

Why? Well, let’s dive in first to the possibilities on how the twenty-four-year-old-L.A.-under-pressure-with-balls-shaking can have a child. The most common but probably the stupidest possibility is what Ade Magnaye calls paid relationship. Prostitutes! Really. But come to think of it, I don’t want to have a child with some prostitute. Do you? I don’t. I do not want to play with my child while my prostitute-slash-wife smokes like there’s no tomorrow while I scratch the intolerable itch I got after making my Apollo 11 glide through the vast intergalactic space commonly known as the female reproductive organ of a prostitute. Hell, no!

And then there’s surrogacy — to impregnate someone outside of marriage and give the offspring to somebody. Dammit! I am not a sperm bank!

Third possibility is to have someone agree with me to have a child minus the wedding bells and the commitment. At first, this sounds ohhh-summm but later on, I’m gonna have a problem with child custody and the legitimacy of the child – not to mention the complicatedness of my relationship with the f-buddy.

[Other possibilities removed because it might scare the hell out of my future wife.] :p

So mom if you are reading this, please don’t expect to have a grand child soon. I assure you that I am straight and I do have plans to have my own family. This is just not the right time. In 10 years max, you will see your little apo play around my house, eat your delicious baked macaroons, and listen to your bedtime stories you once told me. Patience is a virtue.

And to the girl who will provide me with a child in the future, Apollo 11 doesn’t have a problem. Rawr!

I Was About to Make Love in the Toilet But Shit Smiled at Me Share

Did it ever…

Hold on, pervs. Sorry. No sex involved. Continue.

So did it ever happen to your miserable lives in the toilet that you are so full from a heavy lunch that you needed to release your anger in the toilet then all of a sudden, your 36-24-36 board mate’s floating shit smiled and said, “Hi, honey. There’s still room for ya. Wanna join?”

F**k! Like I’m gonna dump my crispy pata in the clogged toilet!

This happened to me yesterday when my a-hole was just about to explode mercilessly right after my boardmate used our CR and unloaded her sweet-smelling-oh-so-yummy choc’late coco puffs.

Fuu@!$?#$:”*&+

Okay, I’m calm. Really. I am.

But for the love of whoever or whatever god you may have in your Nursing life, pleeeeease, dimwit, flush the toilet! And by the way if we happen to use the comfort room at the same time (Don’t worry I won’t look. I’ll just bite.), let me introduce you to our toilet buddy – the TRASH CAN. Darling, that’s why people made those so you can throw your sanitary napkins there.

Congratulations, baby! At least you’ve earned my attention. Now, I’ve got my eyes on you.

And since we’re talking about toilets, here’s a video I took inside Ocean Jet.

Confessions of an Admirer of Fat

I am guilty.

I love women who can outstandingly bring the best out of themselves despite their size with chunks of flab and all. This was another epiphany brought by talking to a friend who is about to get married to someone who is, uhmm, fat. So I’m not like any other guy who falls for Olive Oyl or has a thing with women who have bodies made for the billboards in EDSA. Now, is there a problem?

Sadly, our society today instilled in our minds what an ideal woman should be. From cover magazines to TV advertisements, a woman who is thin, probably with blond hair, ginormous breasts, 6 footer, fair complexion, is considered to be beautiful and because the society placed this standard, a lot of women nowadays go on a diet, buy beauty products, or worse, do plastic surgery – a complete physical makeover. A living Frankenstein, as I like to call them.

Look. I have nothing against these women who go on plastic surgery or who go on a diet or who buy beauty products. Really. I don’t. The fact that these women have seen their self-established flaws apart from what they see on TV or in the magazine and by acknowledging these flaws and the very fact that they are doing something about it, well, you just have to admire them. At least these women have the balls to do something about it. It’s not wrong to want to feel good. Everybody wants to feel good. Even myself wants to feel good.

I’m just bothered why other women should conform to this standard, why some women mourn over their excess weight after eating a few boxes of chocolate, why some women frantically worry about their zits and why they need to spend thousands of moolah just to be “ideal” — to look “perfect” for others.

The world is a big place and not everybody is the same. For every shape and size, there’s got to be someone who will find it attractive. Being fat or being chubby is not entirely an imperfection. In fact, I love them. I love being loved by them. I love to cuddle them. I love their chunks of flab. I love the warmth of their embrace. I just love fat women. My point here is simple. It doesn’t matter if you or other people think you are fat or chubby or whatever you/they want to call it.

It’s the confidence that exudes in every fat woman that makes them truly attractive.

Why, Hello There, October! Thanks, September, for Ondoy!

I guess you’re wondering why I had to thank September for Ondoy. Believe me. I was wondering myself why I had to at first. I’m not going to join the bandwagon found around the Philippine blogosphere about posts talking about how devastated they were during the freakin’ typhoon nor write about who’s to be blamed nor write about how to survive a croc attack during a flood. No. I’m through with that. I already swamped my Twitter account with calls for donations, rants, raves and other stuff about Ondoy (including the croc in Pasig and Jacque). I gave away my used clothings, gave away my one day’s budget for food to Globe Telecom, and even slashed my budget intended for a short vacation 2 weeks from now. Shit. Maybe I should consider running for public office instead. Anyway like I said, I’ve even done my share of pointing fingers and laughing at our lousy government officials, praising GMA for her relenting effort and unquestionable desire to help the poor and the needy, and etcetera.

While I was being patriotic and at the same time thought how Ondoy f*cked up the lives of my countrymen, I still have to thank Mother Nature for Ondoy. Call me crazy or insensitive or whatever you may want to call me but, if we can only take a look on the lighter side of things, we can see that despite this epic tragedy, there are lessons to be learned – lessons, in which everybody must learn from.

So, Ondoy, here’s a tribute to you. Because of you, at least, I:

  • Have seen how great and noble our politicians are in times of crisis. Machinery. Financial resources. Man power. And even the GUTS to campaign during this time. Politicians never fail to amuse me;
  • Realized that the taxes I pay were able to buy a dozen rubber boats. Good job, Gibo! For heading a NATIONAL council, a dozen rubber boats were truly enough to cover the places that were affected by Ondoy. Many people were saved because of your rubber boats! Gibo for president;
  • Applauded GMA’s unquestionable desire to help the poor and the needy at the height of the typhoon. Thank you for always being there for them;
  • Learned that hell hath no fury like Mother Nature scorned;
  • Affirmed that Vincent Van Gogh was right when he said that “Great things are not done by impulse, but by a series of small things brought together”;
  • Learned to appreciate every small random act of kindness;

These being said, I’ll end my blabbering by leaving you guys with a statement from an American who lives here in country who witnessed how Filipinos rise from this tragedy.

“I wish you all could see the amazing community spirit, charity and compassion in the Phils. What I see happening here totally blows away the response to hurricane Katrina. People here have less to give, yet they’re giving ABUNDANTLY. There’s such a greater story than just the ‘death toll’ that the lame american media fails to capture.”