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Hi guys,

Hope everyone is ready to go back to work. Here is a Ghazal verse for you. I have my name included in the last couplet, not only because traditional ghazal verse requires it, but also to remind me that I have to look forward for a better tomorrow and let bygones be bygones.

So, here it is. May you have a prosperous New Year.



A NEW YEAR FOR A NEW YOU


Winter’s here welcoming a new you.
Hoping that past year has not glued you.

Look forward for the new day rising…
Leaving behind… actions that screwed you.

Past, like a ghost, will keep on haunting.
Be careful! Do not let him chew you!

Strong will to nurse, a new babe to rise.
Act swiftly, don’t let Past subdue you.

Don’t get discourage; keep looking up.
Reaching the zenith is up to you.

Remember, Edmund, show the true you.
Shine forth! Let the New Year glow through you.

(c) edmund melig industan, 2008

NOTE: This ghazal is included in my upcoming book, THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG (Hey Poems) and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS.

Also, I really would appreciate it if you could get a copy of my newly published gift book, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses at http://www.comfortpublishing.com.  It will soon be available on Amazon.com and other book outlets. 

Tags: Ghazal New Year Poem Poetry Blog

I am enjoying my Christmas holiday. And I am blessed, not only for having a healthy family and another published book, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses, but also for having online friends who did not mind spending precious money and time to personally greet me a happy holiday season.

Worth mentioning here are my online friends in England, UKFox and company. They took time to call me at 7:30 on a chilly Christmas morning for personal holiday greetings and inspiring message about my first published book, KOILAWAN: Letters and Poems of a Jungle Dad-Mom. Being a late-bloomer in creative writing, to hear people telling me that they consider KOILAWAN as their #1 Book of the Year, to the extent that 'I am their Idol', is very humbling and encouraging.

I just hope that you all will find "PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG" a very good inspirational and comforting gift book of verses, especially this time of economic crunch. Price is only $9.99 +s/h and currently available on Comfort Publishing online store. In a few weeks, "Praising..." can be ordered in other online book outlets, and, hopefully, in a bookstore near you.

As a gift to all my online friends, here's the short story that I was working on when I got the call from England. This story is part of my book project, BEDTIME-PASTIME:Collection of Short Stories and Bukidnon Folktales.


The Shotgun Romance of
Agah and the Stranger
Edmund Melig Industan


He heard the roosters crowed twice already and, without looking his alarm clock on the corner table, he knew it was two in the morning. Still, his eyes were wide-opened staring at the ceiling.

He remembered his first night at the log pond a month ago. He was awakened at midnight, because the domesticated roosters in most homes, some of them cared for cockfights every other Sundays, and those in the wilds were crowing like a three-part round sing-song: one group sings first, the other repeats right after the first group was at their very last note. Then, those in the wild create the echo from afar. The crowing takes around a couple of minutes. As a city guy, born and raised in a gated community in Metro Manila, his night was never bothered of crowing roosters, except by vehicle honks and engines from spoiled kids of wealthy families, who sometimes have fun racing in the street. It took him three weeks before the crowing became a melodic symphony that finally can lull him to sleep after a long day under the tropical heat as he checked logs brought in by the trucks from the forest.

That night, though, he was one of those logs rolling to the river. He often times pulled himself up, sometimes pushed himself down, many times covered his ears with his pillows. The crane were his arms; the skids…his hands. The lady he saw at the river during the day: an oblong-shaped face, dewy-eyes with long curly lashes, and a long nose with a thin nostril was disturbing him. He definitely saw in her some spilled over blood from the Spanish Conquistadores. Simultaneously, he had been bothered with the words of Ligut.

“Be tactful when you interact with the villagers, Pare. Your culture is different from theirs,” Ligut, the host, advised his friend, Mario, during his first night at the log pond.

“They are Filipinos like me, aren’t they?” Mario asked.

“Certainly, they are; however, we are thousands and thousand miles away from Manila, separated by the sea and dense forest,” Ligut answered.

“Does it mean I could not speak to them in Tagalog?” Mario continued.

“You could, but the intelligibility, from the scale of 10, would be from 0 to 1. You might as well talk to them in your household tongue. Anyways, besides me, there is this 20-year old beautiful lady. She lives three villages up. She used to be one of those “tribal scholars” who were taken to Manila, housed in a mansion by their multi-millionaire benefactor, and was sent to an exclusive girl’s school as a second grader at the age of fourteen.”

“I remember you telling me that when we were in college. You told me they were bussed to and from the school with an entourage of security officers. Instead of school bags and lunch boxes, they have shoulder purses with make-up kits. And on the first day of school, their 8-year old classmates stood up right away when they entered their respective rooms and greeted them ‘good morning, ma’am’,” Mario said laughing.

“Yeah…funny; but one thing we did not know until this girl was allowed to come home for a one-week summer vacation. While at the mansion, they were treated like girls in a harem. They have classes in social graces and etiquette. Actors and singers were invited to entertain them every weekend. But the sad thing, Pare, each of them had to keep a strict schedule when to see their millionaire patron in his bedroom,” Ligut said shaking his head.

“And I know this man. His wife left him and she now lives in Madrid. I heard my dad mentioning that to my mom. That was before my dad took you to our house as our ‘tribal scholar’.”

“But I was very lucky, Pare. Your family really treated me as a scholar, not a slave or whatever. And I was very lucky to come from the Bukidnon tribe that has valued the importance of education since I can remember. My mom was even sent by an American missionary to Manila for her ETC, elementary teaching certificate, few years after World War II. Anyways, when this girl came home, she was completely changed…very sophisticated…she felt out of place...other village girls disliked her, and men shunned her for that prima-donna attitude, but one slip of her tongue made her parents angry and ended her Manila days,” Ligut shook his head and a chuckle.

“And what’s that…?” The eyes of Mario stared intently at Ligut anxious to hear it.

“As she was proudly “singing” about her life in Manila, she mentioned that, one night, a fellow scholar came out from the benefactor’s bedroom so tired, famished, and disheveled, and she asked others to get her a glass of water to drink and gargle.”

“And…,” Mario raised both of his hands, more intently with a slight smile on her face, his heart teetering with excitement, and mouth salivating to know what happened.

“Well, no one really knew what happened to that “scholar”.

“Wow, Pare, bitin! You cut me off. I am dying here to know the details,” Mario stood up stumping with a grin of frustration. He turned his back away from Ligut and quickly brushed his hair with his bare hand.

“Just run your imagination wild, Pare, just like the villagers did when they heard it. But let’s go back to the language issue. Look, the lingua franca here in Mindanao is Bisaya. Tagalog or Pilipino is taught in school, but how many elementary schools did you passed by this morning, from the last town to this village?”

“Two!” Mario abruptly answered , still not looking at Ligut.

“Yes, and those are the barrios of the lowlanders. Most of the tribes in the Philippines are denied of education and other government programs. Probably, because of the remoteness of the villages, but I believe it is more on culture and language barriers. Teachers fear of not being understood, so nobody dares to teach the villagers. And for this tribe; the story of this pretty “tribal scholar” has derailed their trust with government programs, including education. So, be careful out there,” Ligut advised his friend.

Mario, a 22-year old guy, was the new assistant operation manager of a logging company operating in the jungle of central Mindanao. It’s his first assignment of hard work. Ligut left Mario’s house after he graduated and was already working full-time as a senior clerk of the logging company. Nevertheless, they hang out together, almost regularly, on weekends. Ligut knew his cockiness and weakness on women.

“But you are right, Pare, I saw beautiful girls passing by the office this morning.”

“Wow, Pare, hinayhinay lang! (Just take it slow.) You don’t want to have a shotgun marriage or be killed for not marrying one, do you?”

“Why so?” Mario asked.

“See, unmarried women here are well-protected. They are not allowed to socialize with men. If they have male guest in the house, the girls would have to stay in a room where the male guest could not see or touch them,” Ligut said.

“What if a guy accidentally touches a girl?”

“That guy has devirginized that girl; hence, he has to marry her,” Ligut answered.

Mario realized that he had to contain his libido.

“However, Pare, like any other society, there are single women here, who go against the norm. If they like somebody, they would do something to get him. I cannot reiterate this enough…be very careful out there, Pare.”

Mario cannot take his mind off that girl. He still can see that long neck on that 6-foot slender body. “He could qualify in a “Miss Universe” pageant. And being a virgin is a triple plus,” Mario sighed and closed his eyes. He tried to sleep, but cannot. He remembered that when the young woman got up, she put the washed clothes in an enameled basin, balanced it on her head, and started to catwalk like a fashion model. He was flabbergasted. He cannot believe that this young village woman can walk with finesse. He had stereotyped tribal women as uneducated and unrefined, who walk either like ducklings or with petulant swaying of their behind. Not anymore. This woman has proven him wrong. As she was walking, she dropped a handkerchief. Mario got scared, so he pretended not to see it.

The following day, Mario saw the woman again walked by the office. He immediately called Ligut to ask for her name.

“Her name is Agah, the daughter of a chieftain, three villages up. She is here visiting her brothers.”

“She is so beautiful. I wanna bef…,” Mario did not finish his sentence, because he saw Agah dropped her handkerchief. He wanted to pick it up and hand it to Agah, but Ligut patted his shoulder; then shook his head.

“Ignore it, Pare,” Ligut advised him.

However, to ignore the sweetest and most appealing girl at this isolated log pond was to ignore her favorite crispy fried chicken drumstick. So, he walked right to that handkerchief, picked it up, and followed Agah to give her the hankie. As if betwitched, he handed the handkerchief to Agah staring at the pair of dimples on her check. He was enamored and nervously touched the fingers of Agah. Suddenly, the Agah’s concave lips turned convex. She covered her face with the handkerchief and run back to her brother’s hut. Mario wanted to follow her, but Ligut hollered to come back to their office, instead.

“Well, Mr. Casanova,” Ligut said as he shook his head, “now you are trapped. It’s either you runaway right now or accept the brunt of her brothers.”

Mario opened his mouth, about to say something.

“Uh-oh,” Ligut wagged his index finger at Mario, who was quiet for a few seconds. The whistling interference in the side-band radio was tearing his emotion apart. “Don’t say anything. Accidental or intentional, you have to face the music, otherwise, you will put the company’s operation here in jeopardy,” Ligut said in his harsh bossy voice, which Mario had’nt heard from him before.

Mario was stunned and did not say anything. He sat in his rattan chair, tucked his arms under his head, and shook his head once. He knew that despite Ligut’s willingness to stick his head out to protect him as he did in Manila, while he got caught by his girlfriend making out with another woman, he cannot do it now. He has the entire logging operation in the region to protect.

“Log Pond Mindanao, this is Manila. Log Pond Mindanao…Over!” the single sideband company’s radio interrupted the silence. Ligut looked at Mario. Just as he was about to pick up the microphone, they heard a commotion outside their office.

“Agah’s two brothers are coming with a spear and a rifle,” one logging worker hollered.

“Stand-by Manila. Log Pond-Mindanao has a serious problem to attend to. …Will call in thirty minutes. Over and out,” Ligut hanged up, went outside the office to meet the brothers.

“Where is that maniakis? Bring him out!” the older brother shouted as he clucked the rifle.

“Calm down, Gali`, let us settle this problem peacefully,” Ligut, the pacifier, responded raising both arms forty-five degrees to stop the two brothers.

“That maniakis must marry our sister, or else…,” he pulled the trigger and off went a loud rifle crack.

“Gali`, there’s nothing to worry. He knows the consequence of his action. Blood does not have to flow. Expect us at eight tonight,” Ligut assured the two brothers.

“I’ll take you on that, Sir Ligut. Better be at my house at eight and Mario on a leash that this log pond won’t turn into a mess,” the older brother yelled as he walked away from Ligut’s office.

Ligut peeped in to check on Mario before he went inside the radio room, “Manila, this is Log Pond-Mindanao; over.”

“Log Pond-Mindanao from Manila, update us what’s going on; over,” a lady’s voice came loud and clear.

Ligut knew who was talking. He heard the voice before, even in early mornings. The voice was from the company’s vice president.

“Roger Manila. It’s one of those cultural nuances, ma’am; over.”

“…Copy on that, Log Pond-Mindanao. Hope it’s not a matter over life and death… elaborate; over.”

“Negative…Manila. Our new assistant operation manager here had blundered by picking up a lady’s handkerchief; over,” Ligut tried to make the report as specific as possible.

“Negative copy, Log Pond-Mindanao…seems not a serious matter…elaborate; over.”

“Roger Manila. Mario helped a lady with her handkerchief. He handed it to her and accidentally or nervously touched the lady’s fingers; over.”

“How could that be a serious problem, Log Pond-Mindanao? Over,” a louder lady’s voice showed a sign of a slight annoyance.

“Touching a lady’s body part by a man is big and serious matter here, Manila. Have to settle this ASAP; otherwise, some of our workers would get killed. Over,” Ligut explained.

“Stand by, Log Pond-Mindanao; over and out!” Then, the main office in Manila was in complete silence. The crackling of the radio took control. Instead of sitting idly with the microphone on hand, Ligut went to the other room to talk to Mario, whom, while talking to Manila, he saw, through the glass partition, sometimes staring blankly at the ceiling and sometimes with a trace of smile.

“So, Mr. Casanova, what’s in your mind? I saw your ambivalent spirit through that glass. C’mon, enlighten me,” Ligut said.

“I’m on a roller coaster ride, Pare.”

“And…?” Ligut looked at Mario with a raised eyebrow and wrinkled forehead.

“I still cannot make up my mind, Pare; …still cannot see myself settling down with this woman…but I also feel something very good right here,” Mario hit his left chest with a fist.

“Ah…a sign of a 22-year old Casanova hit by cupid’s arrow. The arrow just missed the core. Here, allow me to push the arrow a little bit to quell the kinks,” Ligut was about to hurl his fist onto Mario's chest when they heard the vice president's voice.

“Manila to Log Pond-Mindanao, can you copy? …Over.”

Ligut went back to the radio room, pressed the red button on the side of the microphone and replied, “Roger, Manila. Go ahead; over.”

“Is your assistant manager there? …Over,” the lady’s voice asked.

“Roger!” Ligut answered as he signaled Mario to come to the radio room.

“Put him on, please; over.”

“Roger, ma’am,” Ligut handed the microphone to Mario.

“M-m-ma-ma-manila…over,” Mario quivered.

“ Hijo mio... que paso? …Over,” the lady’s voice asked gently.

“Lo siento mucho, Mama`, I got very nervous as I handed her the handkerchief; over,” Mario replied.

“Could we not settle this with grease money? Our public relation officer said that we could, over,” the mother asked.

“I don’t think so, Mama. Ligut told me that we could appease the family’s anger with money if I just shamed them, but my action was like raping this beautiful girl. …Over.”

“Que barbaridad…que desgracia! But did you say, “She’s beautiful?” the mom said.

“Si, mama… muy hermosa, mama…beautiful than the current Miss Philippines-Universe; over,” Mario answered with a spark in his eyes.

“Your voice is insinuating that you like her…Over?”

“Would you like to have a daughter-in-law from the jungle, Mama? …Over!”

“Hijo, it is so risky to run away from it, according to our public relations officer. We cannot give up our logging operation there, either. A daughter-in-law who is una Tarzana? Well, as long as you love her…No problem with that, hijo; over.”

“Copy you loud and clear, Mama. But Mama, she does not act like Tarzan; okay? A village wedding will take place tonight; over.”

“Por QUE, hijo…hijo mio… Por QU’E?” Mom’s voice cracked.

“Si, Mama`, I have been given until eight tonight to marry her; …Over.”

Mario heard her mom’s sob, competing with the squeaks of the radio. He knew that his mom was upset. He knew that she has started worrying how to relate with Agah when Mario takes her to Manila, how her friends would take the news, and how to deal with her pride and prejudice. Like him, the mom seemed awakened from a horrible dream and there’s no way out. It was her plan to send him to Mindanao to learn the rope of their family business.

“Hush, Mama; it’s not your fault. I am love-struck. It’s love at first sight. You’d be surprised when you meet Agah. …Over.”

“Okay, then, tell the family tonight, that a formal wedding will take place in a few weeks. I will be sending a priest and a wedding planner down there this weekend. I am waiting for your dad to come home from his business trip in China. Adios, hijo. …te amo, hijo mio. Por favor, hijo mio…take care; over and out.”

“Love you, Mama. Bye… over.”

Mario hanged up and asked Ligut to look for a pig to butcher for his meeting with Agah’s brother later in the day.

“Everything is taken cared of, Pare. And don’t worry with that pig. If your parents are coming for your formal wedding later this month, then, a chicken and some bottle of San Miguel beer would be sufficient for now,” Ligut said.

Sunset came. The stumping pestles on mortars replaced the sounds of incoming and outgoing logging trucks. There were lots of people already sitting in the yard at Agah’s house. The village chieftain was seen walking fully dressed with his beaded headgear. One truck came studded with people from Agah’s village. Every lowlander at the log pond knows that a simple tribal wedding is to take place: An augury by prying the liver of a black-feathered chicken, and an exchange of fistful of rice with some white meat between the bride and the groom following a nuptial agreement between Agah’s relative and Ligut and Mario in the presence of the village chief. Everybody would soon know that Mario is an heir of the logging company, that Agah would soon be living again in Manila, and an en grande wedding would soon takes place on a sandy bank of Agusan river, where the shotgun romance had started.

HAPPY HOLIDAYS, everyone.

Tags: Philippine Short Story Ethnic-themed Story Story

"SEASON'S A HAIKU.
IT'S SWEET, BUT SHORT AND CONTAINED.
GLEAN AND ENJOY IT."
e.industan

There are many events in a season. Often times they are sweet; sometimes bitter. The good ones, like the holidays, we wanted them extended. The bad ones, like winter storm and devastating wild fire, we wanted them shortened. And if we couldn't, we express our discontent.

Truly, life is a season and season is a haiku. It is short. Events are generally, with some exception of course, contained. We need toenjoy every bit of it and hope that when the next cycle comes, it would b e much better than the past.

Problem is...patience in us is too short. Before we know it, we already are yawning...then, whining...then (to some extreme) wining. We forget the best of the season. Many forget God. We try to overcome our worries without God,just to realize later that without God,we really can't do much better; hence not completely satisfied, because we are nothing, just an aging economic man.

Why am I saying this? Because I have experienced it. And the only thing that made me overcome and regained my strength was to look at what's going on in every season and see the goodness of God in them and in me.

The book, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses, says it. Praising has just been off the press yesterday and can now be purchased through COMFORT PUBLISHING website store. It is a good gift book this holiday season and throughout the year. Price is just $ 9.99 +s/h. I would appreciate it if you could get your copy. Thanks.

I hope and pray that may God uses the book, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses to bless you and others.

Merry Christmas.

Tags: Praise Haiku Haiku Seasons Haiku Winter Haiku Praise

For you, my friend, this Christmas time.

MERRY CHRISTMAS
(A Shakespearean sonnet in Acrostic)

Melodious carols playing in the air.
Exciting lights that make the world so bright
Rekindling hope for those in need of care
Rejoice! It’s Christmas! Show your heart’s delight.

Yes, yuletide’s here, let’s raise our voices high.
Christ’s birth proclaimed, ye, people of goodwill.
Hear ye, oh people, sadness you’d get by.
Rejoice! It’s Christmas! New hope to unveil!

In times like this some need a little aid.
Show them some love, portray the love of God.
The joy you’d feel so dear you won’t dare trade.
Must do this deed in truth, not just façade!

Ah, Christmas is the time to share and cheer
So share it now and all throughout the year.

(c) Edmund Melig Industan, 2008

Have a blessed one.

NOTE: 1) This sonnet in acrostic is included in my upcoming book, THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG (Hey Poem) and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS.

2) This Christmas, I am wishing that you, my friend, will get a copy of my gift book, PRAISING ALL SEASONS LONG: Haiku Verses, which will be in the market in early January. I just finished proofreading the final galley. "Praising..." is published by Comfort Publishing. Please take a look at its front cover. Thanks to you, my friend.



Praising All copy.jpg - Gmail

Tags: Christmas Poem Sonnet In Acrostic Christmas Greeting

College football game is on fire. So even if the state of California has been disturbed by devastating wild fire from Santa Barbara county to Orange county, I cannot help but watched the game between Notre Dame Irish and Navy Midshipmen.

Well, I am a Bruin, having completed a professional program at UCLA; however, I begun to admire the Navy Midshipmen since I have watched its game against the Army last season. The Navy lost today, however they came out with a very good game and left the stadium humbly proud, accepting defeat.

Here's a Hey Poem (Dasang) that I wrote last year on the game between the Navy and the Army.

Hope you would like it.



CELEBRATE WITH FLAIR!
Edmund M. Industan

I tell you this, the way I felt…
Watching the Navy-Army game,
It’s twelve-one-seven football game.
My eyes were moist with joy of tears.

The navy won the game that day.
They cheered so extraordinarily.
Though I was no fan of either one,
I owed them hats off and respect.

The cheering fans and stalwart arms;
The weary seats and bowed heads,
So disciplined…accepted their fate,
Arms in bosom as Navies sang their hymn.

Hey!
Wish society be this way today,
Playing the game living life fairly!
Hey!
Make fantasy a reality,
But face the music with humility!

Sports have so many followers.
It squeezes juice from loans and moms.
It’s almost a religion to some,
A must to attend; acts as heroin.

It makes men act like wild animals.
Some howl as apes with letterheads;
Others come shirtless even in a cold night
Showing support for their muscled men.

For others, they’re like flowers needing rain…
Wilting, dragging their weakened limbs.
They’d stop by a watering hole before going home;
They’d gulp to drown their beat up souls.

Hey!
It’s just a game! Show your sportsmanship!
If you’d go wild, don’t spew fire with your lips.

Hey!
If your team wins, celebrate with flair.
Don’t pour the salt on a wounded soul!

Remember, the ball isn’t flat! It rolls!
It doesn’t stay on your side forevermore.
Try to wear the shoes of those who lost and
Celebrate! Like the navy cadets, so well-disciplined, that…
Peace and joy will reign for good.


NOTE: This Hey Poem is included in my book, THE EXPERIMENTAL DASANG (Hey Poem) and 45 OTHER POETRY FORMS.

Tags: College Football Navy Midshipmen Dasang Hey Poem Football Game

November 11 is the Veterans Day to honor over 25 million military veterans in the U.S. In other countries, Nov. 11 is called Armistice Day or Remembrance Day in observance of the signing of the Armistice Treaty hurriedly signed between the Allies (Russian Empire, British Empire, France, Italy, U.S.) and Germany to end World War I. Allied Commander-in-Chief Marshall Ferdinand Foch and Germany representative Matthias Erzberger were principal signatories.

It was the 28th US President Woodrow Wilson who first proclaimed an Armistice Day dedicated to the cause of world peace. It was change to "All" Veterans Day in 1954, when Al King, a shoe vendor of Emporia, Kansas, campaigned to include all other military veterans. The 34th US President Dwight David Eisenhower who signed the name change to Veterans Day into law on May 26, 1954.

As US celebrate "the eleventh of the eleventh of the eleventh", I cannot help but remember my visit to 6 Filipino WW II veteran couples, who migrated to southern California after the 42nd President William Jefferson Blythe Clinton signed a law granting US citizenship to Filipino war veterans. (Of the 200,000 Filipinos, who responded to the 1941 call of the 32nd US President, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, to help the Americans preserve peace and democracy in the Philippines, more than 17,000 war veterans came to US hoping that they would be recognized and treated fairly in terms of rights and benefits. Unfortunately, this has never happened.) These 6 Filipino veteran couples, whom our church visited in 1995, have been living in a small one-room studio, because the $500.00 pension benefit (a fraction of what the non-Filipino veterans have been receiving)was not sufficient to rent a one-bedroom apartment. So, imagine a room partitioned with curtains to give each couple their much-needed privacy. Imagine these couples with very little money left for their food, because they have to send money to their families in the Philippines, most likely, to pay the money they loaned to migrate. Tell me where the parity right lies.

The Filipino-American war veterans have been trying to demand equal rights since then. Some of them went on a hunger strike, some chained themselves to the fence of the White House and to the monument of Gen. Douglas MacArthur in Los Angeles in 1997 in order to be heard. Unfortunately, they still are fighting for their rights until now.

Currently, there is a bill known as "the Veterans Benefit Enhancement Act" (S-1513) in the US Congress. It is assumed that the bill is on the verge of natural death, because many US representatives are playing deaf and dumb. Some of them consider that Filipino war veterans are not entitled to equal benefits, because they were mustered during World War II to defend their own country. This argument is blatant lie. Philippines was still an American colony during World War II. These Filipino war veterans were fighting for the interest of the American government, not for the Philippines. It was only on July 4, 1946, when Philippine was formally proclaimed as a Republic. Don't you think they ought to have that parity rights that they have been demanding as promised by the 33rd US President Harry S. Truman that "these surviving Filipino World War II veterans will received equal treatment as American veterans?

I just hope that the US Congress and Senate will open their eyes and ears to realize the tough living condition of the Filipino-American war veterans.

In the spirit of Veterans Day, I salute the war veterans, particularly those who still are fighting for their rights to be heard.

Tags: Veterans Day Armistice Fil-Am Veterans Equal Rights

Proposition 8 was the most expensive and controversial proposition in California during the Presidential election. An estimated total of $80 million were spent during the campaign. Sadly, those who opposed Prop. 8 are still spending more money to support protest march, which has been going on from San Francisco to San Diego. It is even believed that this protest rally would reach Salt Lake City, Utah.

If this proposition was for the State of California, how come the oppositions are going to hold protest rally in Utah? It is because they are specifically angry at the Mormon church for chipping in too much dollars to campaign against same-sex marriage.

Yes, Proposition 8 is a bill sponsored by those who are against same-sex marriage. It won over a slim margin, 52.3% yes to 47.7% no.

I know why the oppositions are having protest marches. They wanted to influence or delay the decision of the State to go ahead with the constitutional amendment. This follows the idea of the U.S. political scientist Robert Dahl (1956, 1963), one of the beautiful characteristics of democracy.

Come on, the election is over. Face defeat. Blame yourself. Oppositions should have spent double-time, triple-time, or gazillion time campaigning against Prop. 8 before the election if they really wanted to win. Unfortunately, they didn't. Probably, they were so over-confident that they could muster the popular vote of Californians after the State Supreme Court thwarted their 2004 decision, that annulled the 3,995 same-sex marriages allowed by Mayor Gavin of San Francisco, on May 15, 2008. Since May almost 18,000 same-sex marriages licenses were issued, according to a UCLA study. They probably never thought that many Californians are still highly into their religious values. Many Californians still cannot divorce marriage from their Christian belief that marriage is ordained by God to be a man-woman relationship.

I just hope that those who are for same-sex marriage would look at it differently. Even though an amendment to the California constitution to specifically acknowledge that marriage is a bond between a man and a woman, their right to cohabit, their right to display their love in public, their right for hospital visitation, their right to own and share property together are still not taken away from them. It is only the privilege of tying a knot in marriage that are not freely given to them.

Every Californians has rights. Oppositions of Prop. 8 were just out-voted during the election. So, let's get over it.

Tags: Same-sex Marriage Civil Rights Religious Rights Proposition 8 Marriage

It would still be monumental and historic to say that the 44th President of the USofA is a mixed race and not be labeled solely as African-American. In fact, it would be more fitting to the American society. Why? I tell you why.

It would mitigate race relation and racial divide. It is a non-domineering term. It embodies the real USofA as a melting pot. It symbolizes the real democratic country populated by migrants. It helps everyone to identify and, hopefully, unite with, and support Obama administration as it faces challenges in solving pressing problems. It brings hope and aspiration to everybody.

As we probably have known already, the term African-American was revitalized in the late 1980s to replace the term, Afro-American, a self description popularized by the black community in 1960s. The former is well-accepted by many, because it does not send a picture of nappy hair. However, others, like the Haitian, who are of African descent, would not identify themselves as such. Haitian still prefers to be called black. Some members of the African-American community, like Malcolm X and Martin Luther King, Jr. have described this as America's "hypocrisy". And so until now the 1944 classic study of Swedish economist, Gunnar Myrdal, on the American Dilemma still exist.

It is true that the 44th President of the United States of America has an African father; however, he has a Caucasian mother, and an Indonesian step-dad. He is not only an African-American. He is a United Nation, personified. That's one thing, besides his smartness, confidence, youthfulness, and intelligence, that made him very attractive to everybody. Remember, more than 50% of those who voted for Barack Obama were Caucasian. And Asian have voted for him, too.

I just hope that the media and, Barack Obama himself, would start using the term mixed race, so that the incoming administration can truly represent equality and indivisibility among the citizens of the United States of America.

Tags: Pres Barack Obama Race Race Relations Mixed-race Obama

Well, Halloween is over. Today is the UNICEF day... time to donate some "Old Presidents" as this United Nation's organization helps educate and nourish young minds in developing countries.

Yes, I still cannot forget those years in the early 60s, when I helped my grade school teacher-mom, opened those huge tins of golden cheese and bags of powdered whole milk from the UNICEF. To many Filipinos, who live in the rural areas, cheese was never a part of their meals; hence, cheese was absolutely introduced by the UNICEF program to them. Initially, many kids did not like the taste; however, teachers like my mom, patiently educated the kids of its nutritional value. Slowly, the kids begin to like it. Before the end of the school year, most wanted to have a bigger share of it so that their parents could have some, too. And the powdered whole milk? Oh, the schoolchildren loved them. Kids were always ready with their cone-shaped paper for that powdered milk. They wanted to be the first person in the line. As the kids were going home from school, most of them were sipping the powdered milk through a small hole at the tip of those cone-shaped paper. So, friends, I, for one, would like to see the UNICEF program go on. Hope you are, too.

Meanwhile, here is the last part of my special story blog, The Curse. This is the poetry version. You also can read this in my book, KOILAWAN: Letters and Poems of a Jungle Dad-Mom. Enjoy!


(14) SAVING A DEAR CHILD
Edmund melig Industan

The wailing stopped! Some gasped in disbelief.
Seems it's the last oink at a slaughterhouse.
It slowly faded, hush was all around
Not one in jungle wailed again that night.

I won't forget that rainy night of yore.
A mom with ember cried in pain…for help.
An infant was about to see his grave,
For jungle culture is in darkest night.

The smoke of death had passed through villages.
The child's mom inhaled, kicked the bucket.
With culture so unique and so mundane,
This nursing child, considered the culprit.

The ember left, I followed it in haste.
…Unmindful of the muddy narrow trail.
My thought was on a roller coaster ride.
The prayer I made, the only calming state.

The chanting wail got loud as loud can be,
…As I edged closer to that bark-walled shack.
The soft and somber tune of bamboo lute,
I now can hear amidst the oinks and barks.

Just as I started climbing that chipped log
The shaman yelled a yapping, 'wo-wo-wo!'
Warding the evil off with frond of palm
That village could be freed from frightful woe.

Just as my head surfaced that squeaking floor…
The child, I saw, half-naked that cold night.
As he saw me, he cried with opened arms…
As if to tell me, 'Please, save me tonight!'

I tip-toed 'round the corpse that lay in state…
Around the spouse, who's laid there fetus-form.
Picked up the child and swayed him in my arms…
And calm him from a dreadful crying bout.

As soon as comfort came to this poor child,
The wails of kin and chants of shaman rolled.
Consoling words I gave, but not enough!
Most kin would like to see the child dead!

'He's curse! He'd kill again someday.
Our forebear wouldn't want… see him alive!
The pestle's ready! Press his neck tonight!
That curse will end and joy… is here again!'

As catalyst, I tried and tried so hard.
I gave them reasons known in heaven and earth.
But shaman's word's so strong, and mine was weak.
Until I stood and said, "I'd take the curse!"

The chirping crickets stopped; the silence heard!
And there's no hooting owl was overheard!
Right then, I knew, I'd stop! The battle's won!
Flee darkness! Flee! Oh, light! Illuminate!

At last, the grandma's nod was quietly given.
The tapping rain had stopped; the stars have shown.
The grips, I felt, from teeny-tiny hand
Seemed saying,' Thanks! You're here…now I'm alive!'

I left the stilt shack with a swaddled child…
Feeling the stares of eyes in darkness loomed.
A force seemed pushing me to a sure doom.
In prayer I whispered, 'Thanks…now, be my guide.'

Maybe you wonder after two decades.
I'm still alive! Still Kicking! Humbly proud!
The jungle came to know what's wrong and right
…The child? Oh, yes! My child is still alive.

(c) edmund industan, 2007

NOTE: Those who still have not gotten a copy of KOILAWAN, check it out now in your favorite online book outlets. The book is still available in 21 countries. A portion of my royalty fee will go to the Ata Manobo Literacy Fund of the Translators Association of the Philippines, a non-profit Christian organization that I used to head before I migrated to the USofA.

Tags: UNICEF Culture Infanticide Poem On Infanticide Missionary Life

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