WHO’S YOUR DADDY?

The SJABI Hustle

Part 1 of 3 in a Series

Saint Joseph Academy of Barugo, Inc. (SJABI) is a private school offering nursery and K-12 basic education. This is SJABI the School.

Incontrovertible Facts

“Facts are stubborn things; and whatever may be our wishes, our inclinations, or the dictates of our passion, they cannot alter the state of facts or evidence.” – John Adams 

Articles of Incorporation:  St. Joseph Academy Barugo, Inc. (SJABI the Corporation) was incorporated on 4 April 2011 as a non-stock, non-profit corporation. It was incorporated under the provisions of the Corporation Code of the Philippines and was duly registered with the Securities and Exchange Commission.

The primary purpose of the corporation, per its Articles of Incorporation, is “to establish and operate a school for pre-elementary and basic education…”

The Founders:  Fifteen (15) members constituted SJABI. They are the founders, trustees and owners of the Corporation. The members/trustees and the amount each contributed as capital share at the time of its incorporation are (in alphabetical order):

1.    Nestor R. Astilla – P10,000.00

2.    Inocentes A. Aruta – P10,000.00

3.    Conchita P. Avestruz – P10,000.00

4.    Felina A. Avestruz – P25,000.00

5.    Janet M. Avestruz – P20,000.00

6.    Lucela A. Benusa – P10,000.00

7.    Erlinda C. Buendia – P10,000.00

8.    Erlinda C. Calzita – P10,000.00

9.    Ester M. Eslira – P10,000.00

10. Aluino A. Maglinte – P10,000.00

11. Carl A. Magsoling – P10,000.00

12. Socorro T. Ponferrada – P10,000.00

13. Esperanza A. Quintana – P10,000.00

14. Rev. Fr. Loreno Robles (incumbent Parish Priest at that time) – P10,000.00       

15. Msgr. Jaime C. Villanueva (representing the Archbishop of Palo) – P10,000.00   

The By-Laws:  Like all lawful corporations, SJABI has its By-Laws, duly ratified by all its members, from which all acts of the corporation must be grounded. 

The Board of Trustees:  One the provisions of its By-Laws is the formation and vested powers of the Board of Trustees, composed of the above-mentioned 15 members.  The Board of Trustees is the governing body of the corporation.  Simply put, the Board of Trustees is the BOSS.  It gives life to SJABI, which is a juridical person or entity.  The Board of Trustees sees, hears, talks, acts for the Corporation.  Article II, Section 1, of its By-Laws provides that “The corporate powers of the association shall be exercised, its business conducted and its property controlled by the Board of Trustees.”

To date, there has been no action taken by the Board of Trustees that has changed its composition.  Except when a new Parish Priest assumes the incumbency, as is provided in the By-Laws.  It also provides that one of the trustees must be the Archbishop of Palo.

The Corporate Officers:  There is a set of corporate officers, namely: President, Vice-President, Secretary and Treasurer. Except for the President, the officers are elected by and among the members of the Board of Trustees.  The incumbent Parish Priest, according to its By-Laws, must be the President of the corporation.  At present the officers are Rev. Fr. Ronnie Sotico Mora as President; Conchita P. Avestruz, Vice-President; Socorro T. Ponferrada, Secretary; and Janet M. Avestruz, Treasurer. 

Article IV – Functions and Powers of Officers, Section 1, provides:  “The President, who must be a Parish Priest of the Parish of St. Joseph of Barugo, Leyte, shall be the Chief Executive Officer of the association.  He shall preside in all meetings of the members of the association and the board of trustees.  He shall execute all resolutions of the Board of Trustees.  He shall be charged with directing and overseeing the activities of the association.  He shall submit to the Board as soon as possible after the close of each fiscal year, and to the members of each annual meeting, a complete report of the activities and operations of the association for the fiscal year under his term.”

The Department of Education (DepED):  DepED is responsible for the K-12 basic education and exercises full and exclusive control over public schools. It also regulates private schools and enforces the established national curriculum.  DepED’s regulatory mandate on private schools in basic education is spelled out in DepED Order 88, Series of 2010, entitled as “2010 Revised Manual of Regulations for Private Schools in Basic Education.”  It was issued on 24 June 2010 “for the guidance and compliance of all concerned stakeholders in basic private education.”  For brevity it is referred to as the “2010 Revised Manual.”

The establishment of private schools requires the prior approval of DepED and must be pursuant to law and the 2010 Revised Manual.  A private school being proposed to be established must incorporate as either a non-stock or stock educational corporation in accordance with the provisions of the Corporation Code of the Philippines.  The Securities and Exchange Commission will neither accept nor approve the Articles of Incorporation and By-Laws of any educational institution except upon favorable recommendation of DepED.

DepED is the government agency that has the authority, accountability and responsibility for approving the establishment of private pre-school, elementary and high schools.

The School:  After its incorporation, St. Joseph Academy Barugo, Inc. established the school now known as Saint Joseph Academy of Barugo, Inc. or SJABI.  From the capital shares contributed by the 15 members and gifts or donations from here and abroad, it was able to build classrooms. It formally opened and started operation in the School Year 2011 - 2012.

In the later part of 2013, the Archbishop of Palo entrusted the administration of the school under the Franciscan Sisters Adorers of the Holy Cross.  Without any expressed authority from the Board of Trustees.

The Contract of Service:  On 27 June 2014 a “Contract of Service” was executed by and between St. Joseph Academy Barugo, Inc., represented by its President, the incumbent Parish Priest Rev. Fr. Loreno N. Robles, and the Franciscan Sisters Adorers of the Holy Cross (FSAHC), represented by Sister Marilou Quijano.

The Contract of Service provides the following responsibilities of each party, listed verbatim below:

FSAHC:

1.    Teach/handle SJABI elementary/secondary level of education of at least 45 pupils/students values education subjects and religion classes (catechism).

2.    Assist (in) the administration and supervision of the school specifically on the implementation of the school policies, rules and regulations.

3.    Perform such other functions required by the SJABI Board of Trustees provided however it is in community with their missionary work from Monday to Friday only.

SJABI:

1.    Supervise the teachers of SJABI elementary/secondary classes to ensure that classes are implemented according to the standard set.

2.    Provide the necessary support to the elementary/secondary teachers.

3.    Certificate of attendance and payments of teachers’ salaries

4.    Maintain active linkage with the Archbishop of Palo and other GO’s to draw in support to the elementary/secondary education.

The consideration?  “SJABI shall pay Fifteen Thousand Pesos (P15,000.00) per month.”

So these are the facts. 

So far, so good!  But wait for the hustle….

Deliver Us From Evil

Deliver Us From Evil

(An Open Letter To Mayor Rodrigo Duterte)

Dear Mayor Duterte,

I haven’t met you yet but from what I’ve read and heard about you, I like you personally and even more so I’d like for you to become the next President of the Republic of the Philippines!

I have my reasons for saying so. In your long years of public service your name has not been tainted with corruption, the root cause of all evils in our benighted land. You have exhibited leadership skills that this country desperately needs from its President – decisive, firm but fair, and utter disregard for what others may think or say when the purpose is for the greater good. I will not bore you with your marked achievements in Davao City, you know it and most importantly the Filipino people know it!

Do not deprive us of a choice of a true and tested leader!

Right now we are reduced to a choice of two evils who have clearly declared their intention to run for the presidency of this republic. One is Jejomar Binay, he of Makati infamy, who has promised to do for the entire country what he did for Makati. Susmariasep! (Is it any coincidence that his first name is some sort of acronym for Jesus Joseph and Mary?) We should all cower in fear if he is given that chance. If his “basketball team” did it in the billions in Makati alone, it is beyond everyone’s imagination what he can do in a much larger playing field. True, he has been bullied in the Senate and unjustly tried in the court of public opinion, all in the guise of “in aid of legislation.” But I have a simple question. His family does not belong to any old-money pedigree and I am not aware that he owns a large business conglomerate. So, simply put, where did he get his billions? Thank you, but I’ll buy my own birthday cake.

Deliver us from evil.

The other one is Mr. Corina Sanchez, disguised as Mar Roxas, descendant of a former President of this republic and, unfortunately, has yet to find his big cojones. Sure, he has got balls only when he tells the Mayor of Tacloban that unless he signs his surrender document, “hindi kami tutulong, bahala na kayo sa buhay nyo” right after that devastation of epic proportion called Supertyphoon Yolanda! Remember?

(While you, Mayor Duterte, without fanfare brought your legion and relief goods to the distressed and hungry Leyte folks. We remember!)

First, in 2010 he gives way to his own ambition so the people could vote for Cory Aquino, but instead got Noynoy! Look where it got us!
Then they left out poor Mar in the hush, hush discussions that turned out to be Mamasapano. He had his chance to show his BIG cojones then. He could have resigned in disgust. He could have had my admiration. But it didn’t come to pass.

This time he desperately waited for the blessing of Pnoy before officially declaring his intention to run for President. Why would someone want the endorsement of an unpopular President? I could only venture three guesses. Money, lots of money and lots and lots of money. Unfortunately, it’s our money at the disposal of the incumbent President. In the budget, disguised as “savings.” Some say Mar Roxas is not corrupt. If that is not corruption, then I don’t know what is. Tuwid na daan my ass!

What about the overpriced police patrol cars? And the even more overpriced fire trucks?

And let’s not forget that the anomalous MRT maintenance contract was awarded to PH Trams by Mar Roxas while he was DOTC Secretary. And it was also during his stint as DOTC Secretary that the $30 million extortion attempt by DOTC officials allegedly occurred, as revealed by the Czech Ambassador. Underlings do not do things of this magnitude without the knowledge or tacit approval of the boss. Tuwid na daan my ass!

Deliver us from evil.

Of Grace Poe, this I’ve got to say. She could be the best choice for President in 2022. Unless you want Chiz Escudero to be our next President.

Mayor Duterte, we know you’re not perfect. You are human just like us and have your own frailties. But whatever imperfections you may have, those are just mere specks in the large sphere.

You are the best choice we have now.

This I pray:

Our Leader from Davao City,

On the ballot be thy name;

Thy wisdom come

Thy will be done

On our country as it is in Davao City.

Give us today your candidacy;

And forgive us our tenacity

As we forgive those forever robbing us;

And lead us not into corruption,

But deliver us from evil.

And if still you’re not convinced, I could give you a dose of your own medicine.

If you don’t run, I WILL KILL YOU!

Sincerely,

Jesse Cabanacan

Coming Home

Most of us...become prisoners of our dream and the pseudo-convenient lifestyle we become accustomed to."

---------oOo----------

It was one lazy afternoon about two years ago. The annual organizational meeting of the Barangay Pongso Power Association was scheduled for that early afternoon. Since I represent the town of Barugo in the board of the electric cooperative, my presence, more in form than in substance, was required.

Barangay Pongso is both near and remote. It is near and easily accessible, crossing Pongso River from Barangay Pikas if not for the typhoon damaged and now impassable spillway or submarine bridge. So you have to take the circuitous route going through several barangays. From my home in Cabarasan I rode my dirt bike, the better to feel the simulated freedom of the wind, through mostly rough and some short portions of paved roads along Busay, Calincaguing, San Roque and interior barangays Roosevelt and Pitogo. In between these villages the topography is mostly coconut trees and hectares of rice land. The deeper you go inland, the vista is lush vegetation with sections of uncultivated thick forest. Reminds you that you’re here and not there somewhere longing for the day you’ll get back. Quando, quando…

After the meeting, which took only about an hour, I was invited by a friend who happens to be the resident kingpin of Barangay Pongso. He is the former barangay chairman who ran unopposed in his last term and was succeeded by his wife who also ran unopposed. He can deliver almost the entire vote of the barangay to a candidate.  I know so. Three elections ago, my younger brother got 95% of the vote in that barangay when he ran for councilor. Behind his back his friends refer to him in jest as the local warlord.

Over bahal and hinatukan nga manok our conversation centered on politics, my friend’s favorite topic. His tuba was close to perfection, clear of the usual impurities. It was just the right bahal, not before its time, mildly bitter to the palate, and most importantly without the rancid smell, proof positive of the sanitary practice by the manunggiti (or manung for the shorter term of endearment) in its production. Just like me, my friend has a very discriminatory taste in his choice of tuba. Reminds me I am home!

The devil in me wanted to stay until whenever but I had to leave with about an hour of sunlight left. I thanked my friend and bid him goodbye but, always the gracious host, he reprimanded me for thanking him. There will always be the next time, he says.

I took a different route on my way back. From Pongso I followed the right arm of the fork that leads to barangays Hiagsam and Can-isak. The only female manung known to mankind happens to be from Can-isak. If there be another one from de las islas Pilipinas, please speak up now or forever hold your peace. She is for real. I met her recently and she is pregnant. (But I swear I had nothing to do with it.) She looks like she’s in her late 30’s. She became a manung (manang?) by necessity, when her first husband died and this was the only means she knew how to support the family. A crew from the TV network ABS-CBN came to Can-isak to interview her for a feature story in one of its telemagazine shows.

From Can-isak I crossed the bridge over Amahit River onto Barangay Astorga of the neighboring town of Tunga. Once in Tunga proper I made a right turn towards Sitio Pasakay of Barangay Amahit. Sitio Pasakay is well known for producing perhaps the best tuba from Barugo. Apparently, the ideal tuba production is dependent on a combination of geography/climate and art form, similar to that of French wine. The skills of the manung in the extraction and preparation of the concoction with the right quality tungog or baruk is just as important as the quality of the soil from where the coconut trees grow.

Art and science, but I would not discount religion. Seems like an oxymoronic trinity. Twice a day, every day except Sunday, very religiously early morning and late afternoon the manung has to climb each tree and retrieve the juice from the lakub. He pours the fresh tuba (bag-o nga hiwat), yet to be aged and not ready for prime time, into the kawit he carries on his back. He then cleans the kawit with the hugas or wooden brush using clean water. After cleaning, he puts enough amount of baruk, grated to the precise granularity, into the lakub. He dismounts from the tree and on to the next one. Depending on the number of sanggutan, it could be dark by the time he’s done with his afternoon round. Most of these are tall indigenous coconut trees, not the dwarf hybrid type. So there is the obvious inherent risk. So many have fallen but only a few quit, if they survive.  (The lazy manung, who doesn’t care about his tuba and is more into commercial production, uses powder baruk. He also cleans the lakub with the newly extracted juice, not clean water. Grating the baruk sticks is extra work and carrying clean water is extra baggage on his belt.)

The barangay road network, or farm-to-market roads, of Barugo now provides arterial connectivity and motor vehicle accessibility. In most barangays there is a fork that leads to other barangays. If you follow the bend of the paved road along Amahit, it will take you to that long stretch of road that is barangay Pikas. At the other end of Pikas you will cross the bridge over Himanglos River onto Calingcaguing. That takes you to the national highway; you make a right turn towards San Roque (formerly Ibiron and Mag-asawa) straight to Hinugayan and Sta. Rosa. If you turn left instead, that leads to Cuta, New Road and the town proper of Barugo. But from Amahit if, as you approach the bend, you turn left onto the rough road you’ll be on your way to Bukid and either San Isidro or Hilaba, both ending up on the Barugo-Carigara highway going right towards the town proper after you cross Himanglos Bridge, or the other direction towards Santarin, Minuswang and Canomantag. However, coming from Amahit just past the Bukid boundary you can turn right, and another right turn after two kilometers takes you to Tutug-an where there’s an old hanging bridge over Himanglos River that takes you to the national highway in Calingcaguing. If you don’t make that second turn and keep going straight towards the old Spanish road you’ll end up in historic Sitio Nasunogan, where the first Barugo settlement was originally located.

My poultry farm sits on a 6.5-hectare property, sentimentally named Himanglos Farms, located in Sitio Nasunogan. Less than two hundred meters from Himanglos Farms lay the ruins of the 16^th century Spanish stone church, close to the bank of Himanglos River. Across the road is where once the old cemetery was. Across the river from Sitio Nasunogan is Barangay Cuta. The late Joel V. Aruta wrote, based on his extensive research, that after this first settlement was burned down, the settlers “moved to another place which is now called Binongto-an, meaning a place abandoned as a town, now a sitio of Barangay Pikas. The settlers did not stay there long and moved eventually to the present site of the town.”

The present site of the town is along the coast of Carigara Bay. As a small boy I played with my friends along the shore chasing and picking up karas. But the shoreline is now gone, swallowed by large mangrove trees planted, wisely or otherwise, sometime in the 1980s. Sadly, from the sea there is no town to be seen and, inversely, from the town there is no sight of the sea. Thankfully, I have my childhood memories but, unfortunately, our children of today will never know the difference.

Residents of the coastal villages are engaged mainly in small-scale fishing and aquaculture. These are barangays Santarin, Minuswang and Canomantag to the west of town and Domogdog, Minuhang, Balud and Duka to the east. The fish supply from Carigara Bay, especially the once abundant area encompassing the towns of Capoocan, Carigara, Barugo and San Miguel has been shrinking at an annual rate that is grossly scary. Some species are at the brink of extinction. Some have completely disappeared. Sustainable fishing is hardly ever practiced anymore except by the small-scale fishermen. Illegal trawling, which destroys anything on its path including precious coral reefs, and other forms of illegal commercial fishing are the main culprit. Dynamite fishing is rampant in Balud and Duka. The blast is hardly heard in town and so it is done with impunity. Minuhang used to be the epicenter of the fishing industry in Barugo. It is still a fishing village but no longer of the same scale as of yesteryears. It has the largest population of all barangays while Balud is the only village inaccessible by motor vehicle. A foot bridge over the mouth of Cabarasan River connects it to Minuhang.

The planned road that is supposed to connect Balud to Duka is just what it is, still in the drawing board questionably yet to be accomplished. So is the economic zone in Duka, where supposedly a big seaport and an international airport are to be built. Definitely maybe. Perhaps something on a smaller scale should be built first, like the bridge to Balud. One that is similar to Himanglos Bridge.

Himanglos Bridge is the gateway to the town of Barugo. In grade school my friends and I used to cut classes in the afternoon to go for a dip just below the old, wooden bridge. This is where I learned how to swim, self-taught. The water was not quite, but close to, pristine. But folks swim no more in the now murky waters of Himanglos River.  Years of sand-and-gravel quarrying, legally and some illegally, and combined perhaps with the indiscriminate cutting of trees somewhere up in the mountains, has resulted in the heavy sediment carried by the river flowing to the sea. But who will ever know the difference? I cherish my childhood memories.    

Next to tuba, the other cottage industry in Barugo is roscas, delicious pastry made of flour, sugar, eggs, anis, baking powder and shortening made from pork-belly fat. Using margarine is almost a crime. There are two producers’ cooperatives in town engaged in the commercial production of roscas. Oftentimes you can buy better made roscas from independent makers whose product is more traditional than commercial. Some copycats from the neighboring towns of Tunga and Carigara do try to compete. But the resulting product is perversely dismal, more like machacao in its resistance to your bite. And the taste is, oh well, so like machacao dipped in sugar. Well, it’s true; imitation is the best form of flattery, so they say. Maybe Tunga should stick to chicharron and Carigara to pastillas.  The texture of our own Barugo roscas is brittle, and once it crumbles from a light bite, almost instantly melts in the mouth in a creamy state and spreads in your taste buds with a mouth-watering effect fit for the gods.

The secret to making roscas is in how the ingredients are mixed and prepared. It is a very closely guarded secret, similar to the code required to launch a ballistic missile. Water used in mixing the ingredients is part of the secret. Something mysteriously simple is done to the water short of becoming holy. In Barugo the Holy Grail of roscas is passed from generation to generation, mother to daughter. In unusual circumstances, intra-generation, wife to husband. But never mother to son.  

I so miss my mother.  She died over a year ago just six months shy of 90. Fortunately I had settled down in Barugo eighteen months before she died. It let me have a relatively long bonding time with her. I am glad. There has to be some deeper meaning in being here and not there somewhere pretending to be here. After over 33 years in the land of milk and honey, my decision to settle down in Barugo was not easy, but unwittingly a good one.  I was 21 and young when I left, part of the “huddled masses yearning to breathe free,” aptly like those alluded to in the sonnet “The New Collosus” by Emma Lazarus.  “Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"

Most of us who leave for greener pasture endeavor to escape the harsh realities from whence we come, real or perceived, only to become prisoners of our dream and the pseudo-convenient lifestyle we become accustomed to.  It is so easy to get caught in this trap. But for some of us it could be, for a lot of different reasons, by necessity that we endure being prisoners of our dream.

Funny that it was the same “yearning to breathe free” that gave me reason to come home. “Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to.” A simple yet insightful reflection by John Ed Pearce.

I have lived in Cabarasan since I came home three years ago. It’s a modest 3-bedroom house surrounded by mango and dwarf coconut trees in the middle of a rice field. Recently, I finished building a one-bedroom house on Himanglos Farms. I thought the small house would be a nice getaway, somewhat of a vacation every now and then. Not to be the case. I now spend most of my time here in this God-forsaken place that seems to be in the middle of nowhere, yes, far enough for solitude but close enough for solace. 

Perhaps I pretend to be on vacation every day. In my own make believe world. Perhaps not… 

SURVEY SAYS!!!

Our Facebook group started with a suggestion from Pablo “Bombom” Alberca and Aileen Asoy that we form a group that will serve as a cyber social support system and circle-of-life inspiration for fellow Barugon-ons. Being the good servant that I am, I reverently obliged. So in the summer of 2009, Salog Himanglos Group was born. The name means Himanglos River, the river that runs through the western edge of Barugo town proper. But that is another story (see The River Flows Upstream).


Like any activity bereft of responsible adult supervision, the group discussions have deteriorated from intellectually refreshing when it first started to funny and not-so-funny jokes, some pathetic attempt at humor and, worse, perverted sexual discourse that I have been forced to participate in. Abhorrently divergent from my strict Catholic upbringing (Lord, forgive them for they know not what they do).

But censorship is the worse evil so I have gone along this path of intellectual descent in an attempt to stay socially connected. As the famous saying goes, “When in Salog, do what the swimmers do” or something like that.

So I have been waiting for something that I could use to raise the intellectual level of the group discussion in a very subtle manner lest I come across as utterly pompous. Lo and behold, it came a few days ago in a posting by “Menchie” Venus Comb. Ingenuous but funny, I’ve reproduced it below along with my serious rejoinder for the benefit of those who missed it.

Venus Comb

A one night stand: The woman got out of bed after several rounds of lovemaking and said to the partner, I'm going to the bathroom to make myself beautiful!!!! Man said, I know you wouldn't come out of that bathroom...

Like • Comment • Unfollow Post • Follow Post • April 17 at 5:18pm via mobile

Jesse Cabanacan

I find this "several rounds of lovemaking" intriguing.. now let's do an informal survey. I'd like to encourage all the women here in Salog to participate. Survey Question 1: What is the most number of rounds of lovemaking (one round = one ejaculation, pre-mature or otherwise) has any partner of yours achieved at any time in any one event? Survey Question 2: What is the most number of orgasms that you have experienced in any one event? Please don't worry, just answer the questions and you will remain anonymous. NOTE: We treat all information from survey respondents with utmost confidentiality and we never sell and/or release any such confidential information to any third party without your consent. However, your consent to release such information not only releases us from any liability whatsoever but also implies your consent to engage in perverted sexual activity with any of our favored third party.

April 19 at 11:24am • Like


The phrase “several rounds of lovemaking” caught my attention. Being somewhat naïve when it comes to sex, it intrigued me. Just what exactly does a “round of lovemaking” mean? What does it entail? I know a round of golf is 18 holes. You play a hole until you hole in and then move to the next hole. A round of boxing is three minutes. A round is considered a round whether or not there is a knockout.

Another reason it fascinated me is because I always hear big talk from small men about how often and how many times they’re capable of doing “it.” Well, I always tell them I can still do it 70 times with my woman. 69 plus one, that is.

In the absence of a clear cut definition I decided to give it a number. For men, one round is one ejaculation, premature included. For women, one round is one orgasm, fake excluded. Multiple is many.

And to find out with an acceptable level of confidence how many times is a man capable of ejaculating, and how many orgasms does a woman experience, in any one event, why not conduct a survey. One event is defined as the time when both undress to the time both put their clothes on. Time does not matter.

I was quite skeptical that even with ample assurance of utmost confidentiality there would be any takers to the considerable challenge ahead. Boy was I wrong. I guess these women of Salog who participated were just as intrigued as I was. Some pseudo Lothario emailed me – why ask only the women with the question on ejaculation? Duh! The answer is obvious, go back four paragraphs.

I can proudly say that I have the results of the survey. Although this was an informal survey, I decided to apply some statistical tools I learned from a Statistics course in college. I actually had to find the old book and dust it off.

First I had to calculate the percentage of women in the Salog Himanglos membership roster so I could determine the sample size needed. There are a total of 620 members in Salog of which 65% are women, or a Population of 403. Based on that number and the better to give the survey a confidence level of 95% and a margin of error of +/- 5, the survey Sample Size needed was 197 respondents. So after receiving survey answers from 197 respondents I stopped the survey.

It took me a few days to compile the results so I could present it to the group in a way that’s easy to understand.

To the first question (What is the most number of rounds of lovemaking (one round = one ejaculation, pre-mature or otherwise) has any partner of yours achieved at any time in any one event?), here are the answers:


1 ejaculation = 75.1% (or 148 respondents)

2 ejaculations = 12.7% (or 25 respondents)

3 ejaculations = 4.1% (or 8 respondents)

4 ejaculations = 3.0% (or 6 respondents)

5 ejaculations = 2.5% (or 5 respondents)

6 ejaculations = 2.0% (or 4 respondents)

7 ejaculations = 0.5% (or 1 respondent)


Now it can be told that 75% of men (3 in 4) are capable of only one ejaculation during any given sexual intercourse.

To the second question (What is the most number of orgasms that you have experienced in any one event?), the answers are as follow:


0 orgasm = 16.8% (or 33 respondents)

Fake orgasm = 13.7& (or 27 respondents)

1 orgasm = 56.3% (or 111 respondents)

2 orgasms = 10.7% (or 21 respondents)

3 orgasms = 2.0% (or 4 respondents)

4 orgasms = 0.5% (or 1 respondent)


So there you have it. 30.5% of the women respondents have never experienced an orgasm (though 37.7% of those women fake it)!

Only 13.2% of the women have actually experienced multiple orgasms as compared to 24.9% of men who had more than one ejaculation as reported by the women respondents.

What’s even more surprising are the graphic narratives (though not required by the survey) some women respondents wrote. Because of the wholesome image our beloved town promotes, I will spare everyone from such generous dose of TMI (too much information).

But a narrative from one respondent caught my undivided attention. It would be unfair for me not to share it with you. It goes like this (unedited): “I will never forget for the rest of my life this experience I had with this one guy (naturally his face and name are forever tattooed in my mind). Long story short, we met at this resort about six years ago. I was alone and so was he. I had just broken off with my boyfriend and I just wanted to do some serious soul searching that weekend. But as fate would have it, we hit it off. He was tall, dark and oh so charming. He told me I was simply irresistible and how stupid my ex-boyfriend was for letting go of me. That night was a night that never was again. We started with a prelude to foreplay on that moonlit night on the beach just at the back of the hotel, drink on one hand and holding hands with the other. We eventually ended up in my room and made love. Not your ordinary lovemaking, mind you. It would be a lucky day for me whenever I had an orgasm with my ex-boyfriend. And after one ejaculation he was done. It was always Wan Dang Sweet Poon Tang! This guy (I will not mention his name) came seven (yes 7, not a typo) times! And he made me come 4 times. Never before and never again has it happened for me! Oh, you, I know you’re just out there, if only I can have you again. Just one more night…”

Whoa! Now I get it. The same respondent answered 7 ejaculations for her partner on the first question and 4 orgasms on the second question. Maybe she was just trying to be funny. Maybe I should confirm her answers as a follow up to the survey.

Since I had her information on the survey sheet, I sent her a PM (private message) asking if her answers and the narrative were serious and accurate. She responded in no time and our PM went like this (for her privacy I have redacted her name):

Jesse: Hi my name is Jesse and I want to thank you for participating in the survey. Just wanted to confirm your survey answers and your narrative…

Pauleen: Yes, of course it’s true.

Jesse: I thought for a moment there that it was some kind of a joke.

Pauleen: I’m hurt. Deeply hurt. Been following your posts on fb and I joined Salog Himanglos hoping u’d spot my name and maybe remember me and the night we had six years ago. I have not and will never forget it nor will I forget u. How could u, Jess?

Jesse: I’m really sorry but it doesn’t ring a bell.

Pauleen: Maybe I should hit you with a bell when I see u. Here’s the picture u took of me that day in the resort six years ago.  This might jog your memory.  Remember how I was uncontrollably screaming my lungs out?  Kainis ka talaga, u don't even remember! 

Jesse:  Hmmm....

Pauleen:  And you even took a picture of my sister also.  Remember her?  Well, u should, cuz remember how sometimes u got confused sa sarap ay sinisigaw mo pangalan nya?  So very naughty of u to tukso tukso me with her name.  But I loved it...

Jesse: Oh I’m terribly sorry Pauleen. Now I remember! I’ve had so many things happen to me over the last six years. Had several medical procedures done on me that required general anesthesia. And it has somewhat affected my short-term memory.

Pauleen: I forgive you, Jess. How could I not? See u soon?

Jesse: Ahh, will PM you. Got to go. Ciao…

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Paunawa:

Ang lahat ng ito ay pawang mga kathang isip po lamang ng taong kulang ng pagmamahal sa buhay. Subalit ang kwentong ito ay hango sa tunay na mga pangyayari, para doon sa mga naniniwala at mukhang gawa-gawa lamang po para sa mga hindi naniniwala. Totoo man o hindi, sana po kayo ay naniniwala.

Astorga Clan of Barugo (Leyte)

In the beginning there were eight.

We still do not know their father’s name but he was an Astorga. He sired six sons and two daughters. Their names were Ramon, Tomas, Salvacion, Gertrudes, Segundo, Juan, Vicente and Agustin; not necessarily in that order.

They are the known first generation Astorga of Barugo, Leyte.

All we know of Ramon as of yet is that he stayed in Barugo. Of Juan, we do not know anything.

Tomas went to Zumarraga, Samar, and begat three children that we know of: Francisco, Isidro and Benito. Isidro and Benito remained in Zumarraga but Francisco went to Alangalang, Leyte, and became Capitan del Pueblo. He was otherwise known as Capitan Engkoy.

Salvacion stayed in Asog, Calingcaguing, a barangay of Barugo. She is most likely the ancestor of the Astorgas in Barugo who own land in and originated from Asog. Itay Albino (Aruta) told me that the mother of his grandfather (Apoy Poroy) was an Astorga from Asog. Their family has landholdings in Asog, Calingcaguing.

Gertrudes had an illegitimate child named Gregorio. Gregorio had a son, Valentin Astorga. Valentin’s daughter, Ramona Astorga, married Lucas Acuin.

Segundo went to Calbayog, Samar. Only one of his children is known, a certain Dinay who married a De los Reyes.

Vicente married a Decena. We only know so far of some of his grandchildren: Antonio, Vicente Jr., Jose, Julian and Takoy. Antonio is the father of Aning (Tarzan) and Atty. Sabas Astorga. Vicente Jr. was the father of Encarnacion Astorga Espos, mother of Dr. Robert A. Espos Jr. Jose Decena Astorga was most likely the father of Nicomedes Astorga and grandfather of Trinidad Astorga (Jezza Astorga Penaranda’s lolo Trining). Takoy was the grandfather of former Manila vice-mayor Herminio Astorga.

Agustin is my third (great, great, great) grandfather. He also married a Decena, the sister of Vicente’s wife. Agustin had five children: Anunciacion, Prudencio, Adoracion, Eugenio and Josefa. (I come from the Josefa Decena Astorga lineage.)

Nothing is known of Eugenio. Of Adoracion, we only know that she married an Alcober.

Anunciacion married a Ponferrada. They bore four children: Pedro, Cristito, Ambrosio and Maria Astorga Ponferrada.

Pedro Astorga Ponferrada married Joaquina Candaza. They had three children, namely; Emilia who married a Cubilla, Carolina who married an Estil, and Gonzalo.

Cristito Astorga Ponferrada (wife not known) had four children: Engracio, Tomasa, Isidro and Ambrosio Ponferrada.

Another son of Anunciacion, Ambrosio Astorga Ponferrada, married Maria Ariza. They had six children: Domingo, Jose, Matilde, Victorina, Conrada and Antonia Ponferrada. Domingo Ariza Ponferrada is the father of Dr. Virgilio Ponferrada and Judge Rodolfo Ponferrada.

Anunciacion’s daughter, Maria Astorga Ponferrada married Amboy “Calamay” Penaranda and they had four children: Potenciana, Bruno, Rafael and Restituto.

Prudencio married an Avestruz (first name unknown). They bore three children: Josefa Avestruz Astorga, Marta “Mantay” Avestruz Astorga and Eugenio. One of Prudencio’s grandchildren (Josefa’s son) was the late Juan “Anit” Astorga Tiu, in his time one of Barugo’s prominent citizens and businessmen.

Josefa Decena Astorga (my great, great grandmother) married Rufino Astilla Avestruz. They had nine children: Apolonio, Rosalia, Gavina, Justino, Santiago, Jose, Dominga, and priests Mateo and Alejandro. All of Josefa’s children carried the surname Astorga instead of Avestruz. Anecdotal accounts have it that in their time something despicable was associated with the name Avestruz.

One of Josefa Decena Astorga’s grandchildren was a very prominent Barugon-on, Emilio A. Astorga. He was a pioneer educator and philanthropist. He founded or co-founded three private schools - Leyte Colleges (Tacloban City), Samar College (Catbalogan, Samar) and Leyte Institute (Barugo, Leyte). A Street in Barugo is named after him. He was the only child of Justino Avestruz Astorga who married Juana Acuin.

Dominga never married and there is no evidence that Rev. Fr. Mateo and Alejandro sired any children.

Apolonio Avestruz Astorga married Juana Ayaso Ponferrada. They had three children: Lucia, Rufino and Basiliso Astorga.

Lucia Ponferrada Astorga married Francisco Bunales Cabanacan. They begat six children: Vicente (my father), Natividad, Gloria, Maria, Angeles and Alejandro.

Atty. Rufino Ponferrada Astorga married Manuela Ruiz and they had five children: Josefa, Rufino Jr., Manuela, Rita and Juana.

Basiliso married Prima de Veyra and had two daughters, Milagros and Ma. Jesusa.

Rosalia Avestruz Astorga married Miguel Alcober. Their children were Caridad and Esperanza.  Caridad married Evangelista de Guia and produced four children: Anita, Faustino, Rosalia and Gloria.  Esperanza married Cirilo Escober and had six children: Mateo, Eriberto, Loretta, Estelita, Macario and Elnora. 

Gavina Avestruz Astorga married Pedro Apostol and they had four children: Eduardo (married Otelia/Lucia(?) Veloso), Segundo (married Mercedes Salas), Dr. Silvestre (married Sofia Villasin Penaranda) and Rev. Fr. Gerardo Apostol.  Corazon Apostol Moya is the daughter of Eduardo.  Segundo had four children; Arturo, Segundo Jr., Lourdes and Artemio.  Dr. Silvestre Apostol did not survive the Bataan Death March; he had a daughter (Consuelo Apostol Regino) with Sofia.

Santiago Avestruz Astorga had seven children with Justa Penaranda: Teresa, Asuncion, Santiago Jr., Rev. Fr. Manuel, Pedro, Pablo and Filomeno.  Teresa and Momong Neri had three children: Renato, Estelita and Norma.  Asuncion married Amado Tiu and had two daughters: Elena and Regina.  Santiago Jr. married Sofia Villasin Penaranda, the widow of his cousin Dr. Silvestre Apostol.  They produced two children: Victoria and Eduardo.  Rev. Fr. Manuel Astorga sired a son named Santiago.  Pedro was married to Ma. Lourdes Ponferrada Urmenita.  They were the parents of Alvin and Edwin Astorga.  Edna V. Astorga is the only child of Filomeno and Patrocinio (Villaflor).  Pablo died young and had no child.

Jose Avestruz Astorga was married to Juana Ponferrada and they had a son, Filemon. Jose also had a son (Deogracias) with another woman.  Filemon's children are Lesmes, Elvira, Erlinda, Milagros, Jose, Gemma, Manuel and Febes.  Deogracias had three children: Jose, Rev. Fr. Aresio Astorga and Lydia.

For the sake of brevity, I left out most of the details from the list that I keep. On the Agustin Astorga lineage my list goes all the way to the 8th generation.(1) I belong to the 6th generation.

For the young Astorgas who are not able to trace their lineage to any of the first generation ancestors and feel they are at a dead end, despair not for this is a work in progress. There are a few of our first and second gereration ancestors we know nothing about.  I am sure one of them is yours.  It has taken me several years to get to this point and it is still far from being complete.(2) There are a lot of missing links. Every answer generates more questions. It is hoped that some of you will be able to provide some of the missing links to this living document.

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Notes:
(1) I use a computer software program, RootsMagic, to store all the information I gather from interviews. The program can generate different types of detailed reports. Please email astorgaclan@gmail.com if you want a copy of a detailed narrative report sent to you.  It is about 30 pages long.

(2) Over the course of several years many Astorga clan members have helped me with my family-tree journey. But I would like to give special mention to three individuals whose help was vital. First is my late father, Vicente Astorga Cabanacan, whose pride in his heritage inspired me to search. Second, my aunt, Manuela Astorga Laure, who initially provided me with a lot of names from sheer memory. Last but not least, Manuel ‘Tito Marny’ Astorga, who, unbeknownst to me, for years held the critical list of names of the known first and second generation Astorga of Barugo. Something that was as close to the Holy Grail as there is.

To Where I Am

It was still dark outside on that April morning but from our bedroom window I could see, just a few feet away, the leaves of the mango tree giving contrast to the lighter shade of darkness.  My deep slumber must have been interrupted by the silent trees trying to capture the sporadic noise from the distant roosters’ crow.  Ten after four, as I glanced at the clock.

By the time I pedaled my mountain bike outside the gate, through the long driveway towards the narrow road, weak sunlight had permeated the horizon intimating the break of dawn.  Against this backdrop I could barely see what remained of the rice stalks from the recent harvest. And, oh, the ever so pleasant smell spawned by the gleanings bathed in early morning dew was unmistakable.  Some things are priceless.

Eighteen months prior I grabbed the opportunity knocking on the door.  A friend was selling this property in Cabarasan, a small farming village just outside my home town of Barugo on the north coast of Leyte province.  I saw an island in a glimmering sea of green.  Six months later we started to build a small octagon-shaped, three-bedroom house with yard space aplenty.  Rice fields all around.  Maybe in five years or so we would permanently call it home.  This time is supposed to be a trial balloon.  Four months, April to August this year.

It was early October the year before in “the land of milk and honey.”  The splendor of fall was becoming evident, autumn leaves changing color to shades of yellow, red and purple as the days started to get cooler.  I noticed the white oak tree in my front yard just beginning the process as I drove away.  Just shy of eight o’clock, I’m in the midst of morning rush-hour traffic in suburban northern Virginia.  In my car on the way to work, with the radio tuned to the traffic station, I can only listen to my own thoughts.

Eleven years now in the corporate world.  Twenty-one years in the service of my adopted country as a hard-charging Naval Officer.  I enlisted in Subic Bay as a seaman recruit; a young man lost, perhaps in a hurry but unsure of where to go.  Seven years later, I was commissioned an Ensign.  In Navy lingo, I was a “mustang” – the moniker for those who jump from enlisted rank to commissioned officer.

I had made it to Lieutenant Commander before l’affaires de coeur cut it short.  A few more years and I could have stitched four gold stripes on the sleeves of a Navy Captain’s uniform. It was not to be.  Cliché or not, they say things happen for a reason.  But that is another story.

So I pick up the pieces and before long, I find relative success.  In one company, I became vice-president for government services.  Director of Program Control is the label I have now, whatever that means; and I do independent consulting work on the side.  My two children are on their own, college education and stable employment under their belt.  There is also this bundle of joy from my son, a lovely granddaughter – Colombian-Filipino by blood, American by birth.  Simone Kyra is her given name.

My thoughts incessantly hounded me as I inched along heavy, nerve-racking traffic.  Why am I doing this?  When do I stop this madness?  How big a house and how expensive a car?  How much more money to make, to save, to pay the bills?  Save for the grave or spend to live for the day?  Someone said wisely that money imparts value only in parting.  I adjusted the rear-view mirror, looked into my own eyes and asked myself:  What makes you happy?  Methinks this is a simple question with no simple answer.

I figured four months would help me find the answer, enough to savor the good along with the bad.  In five years or so, we would be ready.  Proper planning always helps, so I thought with a tinge of pride.  Thus the trial balloon would be suitable this year as house construction was finished.  We had just missed the rice harvest by the time we arrived in mid-April.

So here I am.  From the grass and gravel driveway I turn left and start the uphill ride towards the junction a half kilometer away, where the barangay road meets the highway.  I then turn right towards the town proper.  Maybe I’ll visit mother when I get to town.  She lives in the same house she and my father built.  Father died six years ago.

I see friends and familiar faces every day.  I wake up early in the morning because I want to, not because I have to.  Vegetable plants in the garden are plentiful and fish comes fresh every day.  A thirty-minute leisurely walk leads me to the seashore.  Fruit trees, including mangoes and dwarf coconuts, provide shade and nourishment.  All around me is green and the air that comes in a breeze is cool and pure.  It seems like I am in the middle of nowhere, far enough for solitude yet close enough for solace.

When the days of August came, I had this indescribable feeling.  I cannot say that it was loneliness, fear or despair.  Maybe it was all of those, and more.  I will not attempt to describe what it feels like to face imminent death, but if I were to venture a guess, the very thought of having to leave so soon was pretty close to it.  I desperately wanted to stay put in the same place I so eagerly left 33 years ago.

“Home is a place you grow up wanting to leave, and grow old wanting to get back to.”  Pulitzer Prize winning journalist John Ed Pearce captured it so well.  Now I know what he meant, precisely.

We left for Virginia in late August not long after rice planting.  I continued searching for what was really in my heart.  I may have found the answer to my question.  I was right, there is no simple answer.  I cannot find the exact words to express it.  But I know it.  And I feel it.  After four months, yes, the answer was not that simple but the choice was rather easy.

At 54 I’ve decided not to wait five more years.  The decision was made swiftly.  Trade my pseudo-comfort zone for the price of happiness.  The best healthcare system will be beyond my reach.  But if I were to use my mother as benchmark, she has been properly cared for by local doctors, mind still alert and body in relatively good health.  She moves rather slowly now but that is par for her 88 years.

So we decided to sell the house in Virginia.  We lost money on the deal but that’s quite all right.  Too, I’ll be giving up a sizeable chunk of income.  But it is never only about money.  Money may be a factor but not the be-all and end-all of living life to the fullest.  It is but a minor element.  I refuse to be held prisoner of lifestyle convenience.  And when November comes, we will be home for good.

The Waray dialect has no exact equivalent for the English word retirement.  Perhaps the concept is alien.  Maybe I will become a farmer instead.  Gentleman Farmer has a nice ring to it. 

My conscience gave me a choice, die young happy in my motherland or grow old comfortably in some foreign land.

I chose to go to where I am.  And I may yet get lucky and grow old happy.

Assunta’s Dream

Assunta is an underprivileged but bright and ambitious young girl who got caught up in the game of dirty politics, power play, and the insatiable desire of the superciliously powerful to remain in power. This is her story, a very sad story.

I had been back but three days to the place whence I came and the familiar smell of rice fields during harvest season reminded me so. Serenity in all its color green now surrounds me and in my solitude I sometimes hug the wind.

I am at the crossroads of the thoroughfare that takes you to Duka and the narrow barangay road that leads to Cabarasan. Less than a mile to the north is the quiet fishing village of Minuhang, the largest barangay of my beloved town of Barugo in Leyte province. My mother taught the first grade there for a few years. Except for many houses now made of concrete the place have not changed much. I remember the topography for it was here that I spent my pre-school years tagging along my mother. One lazy afternoon while mother was busy with her class I sneaked out and crossed the street towards the shore. Out of curiosity and mischief I walked toward the shallow water as the tide was rising and was knocked down by the waves and almost drowned.

My sluggish motorcycle ride on the coastal road of Minuhang was disrupted by a minor commotion along the shore. My friend and I stopped to find out the cause of the commotion. A wounded dolphin beached. Several villagers were trying to help her get back to deeper water. And in the midst of the commotion and the noisy crowd a small group of teenage girls seemed unmindful of the attraction. As we passed by I overheard their conversation and, again, I couldn’t help but stop. I had to stop and listen some more.

I’ll just say her name is Assunta(1) to protect her innocence. And this is her story. She comes from a poor family. Her father worked as a caminero, the lowest of unskilled temporary workers for the government public works and highways district, the second district of Leyte. Casual worker is what someone like him is called, and he made just barely enough to put food on the table. He couldn’t even afford to send Assunta to the public high school so she had to live with and be supported by her aunt. This year she graduated from high school and wanted to pursue her dream of going to college.

Assunta is a bright young girl with ambition and determination. On her own she found out about Colegio de Sta. Lourdes of Leyte Foundation, Inc. in Tabontabon, Leyte. Colegio de Sta. Lourdes is not an ordinary school. All students are on full scholarship. Applicants whose parents’ annual income does not exceed 200,000 pesos qualify by passing an entrance examination. It also offers free living accommodation in the school’s spartan dormitory. Sounds like a perfect fit for someone like Assunta. She heard about the entrance examination scheduled on the second Saturday of April 2010. She told her friends about it and they obtained application forms for the entrance exam.

The school is a foundation established by Dr. Rustico Balderian(2), the incumbent mayor of Tabontabon, Leyte. He started the school before he entered elective public office. He is currently a candidate for the congressional seat for the 2nd district of Leyte running against the politically powerful and financially formidable Apostol political dynasty.

The Apostol husband-and-wife team has represented Leyte’s 2nd district for 18 years. The wife is the incumbent representative on her third and last term but she is running for mayor of Carigara, Leyte, where she is from. Before the wife, the husband represented the district also for three terms. He is now running for the same congressional seat. Their daughter is the incumbent mayor of Carigara, Leyte, on her second term but is giving in to mother and is running for the Leyte provincial board as the 2nd district member. In the town of Barugo, where husband is originally from, the wife of a relative, who used to be the mayor for three terms as well and is the incumbent vice-mayor, is running as the Apostol candidate for mayor. You may draw a wiring diagram if you find it a little complicated, as I did. If some alien from outer space were to land in one of the 2nd district towns of Leyte, he would think there is a dearth of capable political leaders in the 2nd district and more so in the towns of Carigara and Barugo.

It’s as if this is all a game of musical chairs and for millions of reasons they’re the ones lucky enough to sit on the chairs each time the music stops.

Apparently, someone heard about Assunta’s plan to take the entrance exam for Colegio de Sta. Lourdes. Somebody told somebody and before anyone could blink, Assunta’s father had been fired from his job. The family, fearful of other repercussions, like compromising the job of a member of the extended family, decided it was to their best interest that Assunta must forego taking the entrance exam. Poor Assunta, she had to miss out on the exam while her friends took it.

It seems like this is someone’s version of serving the public. Anyone gets in the way of someone getting elected to public office must be dealt with regardless of the consequences, intended or unintended. Everything is quid pro quo. This for that; no that, no this. The devil may care!

My heart bleeds not for Assunta because I am confident she will endure and somehow pursue her dream some other way. She has boundless potential and has her life ahead of her. Rather, my heart bleeds for the heartless people who put a façade and pretend to serve the less fortunate. I believe in karma.

Wouldn’t it be interesting if you were a fly on the wall listening to what these people admit as sin during confession? Lest I be accused of claiming to be pure of heart, I admit to being constantly in a state of mortal sin so I don’t bother receiving communion at all. I am WYSIWYG. With me, what you see is what you get.

And in the periphery of Assunta’s dream, others, whose only motive was to do the right thing, have been implicated. The principal of the elementary school that was used as the venue for the entrance exam likewise became the object of scorn. It is said that the queen commanded the rabidly loyal princess to summon the principal and be presented before her court for an inquisition. Of course there was no trial for the only purpose of the appearance was to promulgate the sentence. Guilty as charged, the poor principal was summarily castigated by the queen.

For the venue of the next entrance exam two weeks later, the organizers tried to obtain permission from the principal of the other elementary school. Politely, she refused for fear of incurring the wrath of the queen. Neither the king nor the queen shalt thou displease, or suffer thou the consequences. Public service! The devil may care.

The end of the Minuhang coastal road on the northeast direction leads to the mouth of the Cabarasan River. The place is called Balaurte, well-known as the site of an ambush of a large contingent of Japanese soldiers by a small band of courageous Filipino guerillas during World War II. There is a historical landmark memorializing this famous local encounter.

There is another landmark in Balaurte, albeit infamous and a testament to the arrogance of power and the vindictiveness of the powerful. It is the remnants of the wooden Balaurte Bridge. Across the river is barangay Balud, a few minutes’ walk from Balaurte. Villagers have mastered the art of balancing on wobbly, single wooden planks about a foot wide between each section of the bridge foundation to get to the other side of the river. They make do with what they got. I tried but the balancing act after the fourth plank was too much of a challenge. I gave up and hired a boat to cross the river.

Apparently, the people of Balud have incurred the wrath of the powerful as well because in every election for over a decade now, only a very small minority voted for the powerful. No vote, no bridge. Quid pro quo. This time, as a show of love and concern for the people of Balud and Balaurte, the ever so powerful orders a palliative. Perhaps it is pure coincidence that it is election campaign period. Perhaps not.

It would have been funny if only it is not pathetic and insulting. On top of the wooden planks, a metal frame about a meter wide with a handrail was built on top of the wobbly planks. Two-by-four coco lumbers were used as steps bolted to the frame. The spacing of the steps is dangerously wide you have to look down every step of the way. And it is incomplete, only halfway through. Perhaps the second half will come after the elections, the better to show their "love and concern" for the villagers. To the people of Balud and Balaurte, it is more of a joke and an insult to their intelligence. They wonder what mind would think they would buy the love charade!

My heart bleeds not for Assunta and the people of Balud and Balaurte. They may be downtrodden but their spirit is not broken.

I believe in karma.

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Notes:
(1) Assunta is not her real name.
(2) “Toti Balderian – Change We Have Seen” – www.himanglos.blogspot.com January 2010