just blabbing...

People are still talking about them.... Edward Kennedy, Corazon Aquino, Michael Jackson. Old photographs, old articles, and past events are being dealt preponderantly with the description and analysis of past political and creative activities. The analyses being highly-opinionated and biased.

I am not criticizing anybody. I am merely stating that there seems to be a need for perspective in assessing the importance of events. Such events which often appears questionable. And what about the utter disregard for, you know, like which ones deserves relating, what should be analyzed, and for what purpose?

Media should be careful about what they air and publish because there are ignorant people out there who are open and susceptible to absorbing everything being said on the tube and on paper (that apparently appears to them) as The Truth. The commercial aspects of this media circus along with new means of communication, is leading to something horrible that I can not put my finger on. One of them being hate perhaps?

Enough already! Enough with the funerals, and the so-called documentation of that historic moment. I say, let the dead bury the dead.

interview (Dutch-style)

When you go to an interview in the Netherlands, always remember that it's not enough that you speak Dutch. You should also speak their language --- their body language. Meaning, get into their minds and think like they do. If you have to, wear a klompen (wooden shoes). lol All right, that was uncalled for.

I went to another job interview. I applied for a teaching position. And I did not get the job because they said that I didn't have the eligibility diploma.

I spoke to Dutch friends and here's what they told me.... mostly, to comfort my wounded pride. lol

Anneke: if they didn't see your potential, they are not worth your time. Look for another school.

Geert: This is Holland. The land of diplomas. It is not enough that you have a masteral degree, or a certificate from Oxford or Yale. It is also important that they validate your diploma and see if it is of any use here.

Ben: Remember that in the Netherlands, people would like to think that we are all equal, although some are more equal than others. So if you go to an interview here, and act like you have more to offer than they asked for, you are automatically disqualified. In effect, you eliminated yourself. Why? Because you are no longer equals.

Irene: Most schools here are old-fashioned. They want to think they're progressive, but they're not. Educators and teachers can't think outside the box.

Sophie: Teachers at my school can be so chaotic. Teaching is just a job for them. They do it, and then they go home. You are too organized ... too good to join the faculty staff there. (don´t you just love Sophie? I do! lol)


At the end of the day, you realize that it's not about what other people have to say. It's about how you feel. Honestly, I felt that I could really make a difference there. But don't we all, think that we can make a difference? LOL

I am trained in both western and non-western music. I was, once upon a time, a faculty member of UP, the state university in my country. I actually belonged to the crème de la crème there, the intellectual elite. Whatever that means. LOL

But they are right in pointing out to me that I don't have the onderwijsbevoegheid (eligibility). Of course. Rules are rules (regels zijn regels).

Oh well.... next please.

Welcome to Holland.

Whenever I feel sad, am whining, or am wallowing up in self-pity because of a job that I didn´t get, or am simply being ungrateful ..... I often turn to a poem by Emily Perl Kingsley. The poem is entitled WELCOME TO HOLLAND. It´s beautiful so I´m sharing it with you.... :)

Welcome To Holland...... by Emily Perl Kingsley

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It’s just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

new lingo.

When we were growing up, my siblings and I came up with this language that only the 5 of us can understand. You know, when we want to sneak out of the house and leave grandma in the dark....we speak in that language. Or, that time when we plotted against the maid. Or sometimes, when we just feel like conniving at winning a game.

So when we want to communicate with each other and isolate a playmate, a stranger, or grandma, we speak in our own lingo. The more vocabulary you have, the better it is. Oh yes, we were wicked and naughty then! lol

Years later came another sister. We initiated her of course with our lingo. And so, all 6 of us now speak that lingo with eloquence. My mom joined the ban-wagon and now speaks the language fluently as well. I guess she didn't want to be excluded, especially when we were talking about her. LOL

But this morning, my older sister emailed all of us that her only child came up with her own lingo, and practices on her! HAHAHAHAHAHA I guess, the 8-year-old poor girl got sick and tired listening to us whenever we speak to each other in our secret language. I don't blame her. I feel exactly the same everytime my students talk to each other in Twents. That's the local language in this region.

Anyway, my sister was complaining about it. Not only has she tried cleaning her ears to understand every single word that her child says, but she also must understand the meaning of each word. I pity her. LOL

I tried consoling her and told her that it goes without saying that her daughter has her genes! lol Ach... ya... as we say in my mother language, bilog an kinab-an (the world is round). Meaning, what goes round, comes round.

Minding one's business.

I got up early today... at 6:30 AM. That's early for a night owl like myself, who is restless and constantly moving around the house like a mad man afer midnight. My friends tease me about it, and call me a white witch. hahahahaha

But last night, I decided again (for the nth time) to go back to the morning rhythm and enjoy the sacred, early morning hours.

Hubby was already up by the time I got up. He was busy getting ready for work. I went to the kitchen and decided to boil water for coffee. Oh yes, I can't survive a day without a cup of coffee. It's not that I'm addicted to it. I simply can't go about my usual routine without a cup of good, strong, black coffee.

Years ago when I still used to smoke, breakfast is the best meal of the day for me because I only drink coffee and have cigar. But I stopped smoking 7 years ago, after being addicted to it for 17 years. Oh yes, I started young. lol

Anyway about this morning, after hubby left... I decided to take my laptop to the living room and check my mail from there. Normally, I do it upstairs, in our study room. But I was trying to wake up... and I wanted to hear good news from friends and relatives via e-mails, and NOT the ones you see on TV and make you wish that they have better things to say than those bloody, horrible things they show all the time.

I am getting sidetracked again. lol

As I was saying, I was enjoying the morning, drinking my coffee, reading the post of Grace... when I suddenly heard the sound of an ambulance. I looked outside the window. The ambulance stopped right outside our house. I was apprehensive to check. Who could it be now?

I waited... and then came another car. This time, the GP's car. A doctor in white suit rushed to the house of my neighbor who just moved in April last year, had a baby by July, and a divorce by December. I think the guy has a drinking problem. Anyway...

I looked around. I was happy to see that there were other neighbors looking through their windows too. But surprise, surprise... nobody went outside to check what was going on. Like me, they were simply looking out through their glass window.

This reminds me of a story. About a year or two ago, an elderly woman was found dead, lying in her kitchen, with broken wares around her. She was probably preparing a meal when the angel death came to fetch her. I stood outside her house, said a little prayer... and waited for her other neighbors to come out and say "goodbye" to her. Nobody came out, except for the mortician.. or was it the funeral director? I don't know. They were all wearing black suits. I can't tell who is who. But nobody from the neighborhood came... except for me, who was passing by, for my usual afternoon walk that day.

The thing about living in developed countries is that, in situations like this, people tend to stay indoors. They don't want to "pry" ... to show interest. It is as if, showing interest and being "compassionate" is unacceptable. Oh, and here's another thing. You are not welcome in the wake IF you do not receive a card from the family. How weird is that? Hubby said that it's not that they don't care. They do. It's just that there's really nothing they can do about it. He has a point, of course.

Here's another incident. One time, another neighbor had a baby and I wanted so badly to go there and congratulate the couple (I know the husband, and he had always been friendly to me). But my Dutch friends and acquaintances told me that I am not welcome there since the family did not send me a card, announcing the birth of their child. By neighbor I meant, two houses away from us! Pretty close, isn't it? Yet, no card.

Now, about this neighbor who was fetched by an ambulance just a few hours ago... my prayers and thoughts are with him. I hope that he'll be just fine. I really do. After all, he is only 26.