Bottled Brain

Week 8, 2012: Produce

2012-02-25T14:05:00.001+08:00

Went to around Old Manila with Mike Tan, globe-trotter, photographer, and chronicler of rocky roads. Had a great time, Mike! Next time liwat!

Pag-ibig

2012-02-25T09:11:00.001+08:00

We did a cover of Yeng Constantino's Pag-ibig for our Valentine's Day surprise for the Class 2014 ladies. I myself would have opted not to join the production had it not been for Franco's insistence that everyone be involved. They needed a bald man. It would feel morally wrong to refuse Franco.

We had a great team, many of them suffering from RHD (~~rheumatic~~ romantic heart disease), usually aggravated by the February 14 celebrations. They went out of their way to conceptualize, direct, shoot, and I don't know what else to come up with this video.

Production Team
JC, Pito, Bryan M., Jonas, Gino, Franco

Editing Team
Pito, Bryan M., Aeron, Joreb, JC

Camera Crew
Gino et al.

The Band
Joey, Pito, Franco, Rich, JC, Godfrey, Aries, Bryan M., Jay S.

Enjoy.

The best mother in the world

2012-02-24T17:32:00.001+08:00

During idle moments at the Labor and Delivery Rooms of the OB Admitting Section, I try to imagine what it must have been like on that April night in 1987, when my mother gave birth to me, her smallest little boy.

Nanay tells me there wasn't too much drama during labor and delivery, which explains her amazement at the "unrealistic" portrayal of childbirth in the movies. She practically just expelled me into this world without fanfare. What she truly meant, perhaps, was not that childbearing is painless, but that it's nothing compared to the difficulties of actually raising children.

I almost forgot to greet her today until I asked a friend what day it is while I was filling out one of the forms at the Out-Patient Department. February 24. How could I have forgotten? Immediately I walked out of the clinic and called her up. "Happy birthday, Nay," I said. "You truly are the best mother in the world, and I thank the Lord for giving you to me."

She laughed to contain her surprise and happiness before she said, "Thank you, sweetheart." She calls me sweetheart during these special occasions, or when she asks me to wipe the windows or trim the grass in the yard or scrub the bathroom floors clean.

What I wrote on this same day in 2010 still rings true today.

Over the years, I've realized how bad a son I am, and how tender, gracious, and loving my mother has been to me. I like to joke around that I'm the prodigal son, the proverbial black sheep, because, when I think about it, I have received more reprimands, more corrections, more tongue-lashings from my parents than any of my brothers.

Because I was too unruly, my mother described me as "incorrigible"—my mother's exact words, believe me, and because my seven-year-old vocabulary wasn't vast enough, I had to ask her what it meant. "Beyond correction," she said. A lot of the big words I know today I learned from Nanay.

If I had another woman for a mother, I wouldn't have turned out this way. I would have been a lot more proud, bursting with self-adoration, deceived with illusions of self-sufficiency. My mother knew the right time to burst my bubble, to help me see myself for who I am. And yet, in her own weird way, she also gave me the sweetest pat in the back for a job well done.

My mother has never been one of those who aspired to have over-achieving children. What she desired was for my brothers and I to grow in the love and fear of the Lord.

Happy 56th birthday, Nanay! May the Lord bless and keep you all the days of your life!

To the first baby I have delivered

2012-02-20T20:25:00.004+08:00

Dear Andriel,

I asked your mother what your name was going to be. "Andriel," she said, her voice hushed, almost like a sigh. I told her I hadn't heard that name before, but that it sounded good on you. Whether your name is a combination of hers and your father's, I don't really know, because I decided not to probe further that night. Your mother was too tired. But she was good, a rarity these days: her contractions were strong. She was able to push you out efficiently, sans the melodrama. She smiled when I congratulated her for a job well done.

I'm writing you now because you're the first baby I've ever delivered. I didn't do it alone, of course; I had a far more experienced OB resident beside me. You may never understand this, but for a person praying for a career in medicine, that event is a milestone, a bookmark in the colorful history of my training. The Philippine General Hospital calls you and your mother charity patients, but I think you were the ones who were being more charitable by allowing me to learn so much from my experience with you.

I was overjoyed when I saw you. My delight was a combination of anything that accompanies a memorable first experience and of the sheer sight of a living human being seeing the world for the first time. All my stresses disappeared momentarily when I heard your noise, an announcement to everyone that you have, after 37 months of being in the womb, arrived. 9:30 PM, February 18. I will mark that date forever.

You were slimy when I held you. You emerged out of your mother without the cardinal movements I was expecting. Your skin looked grayish, and you seemed more like an alien creature than a cuddly human being. You should know that babies who've just come out of the female introitus do not look desirable at first. Fortunately you became pinkish a little while later, and I wanted to carry you around, but the pediatricians were busy measuring how long your limbs were. You were quite small. Your limbs were wispy. But your voice screamed of defiance. You had that.

Minutes after you had come out, your placenta emerged. I delivered that one, too. There were thickened blood clots that came with it. And didn't I tell you your mother was good at delivering babies? She had no lacerations; we didn't have to stitch anything. That made our lives easier.

You may never get to read this letter, but on second thought, you probably will, years from now, if and when you decide to search your name in Google—if it still exists—and this blog entry comes up. By that time, you will have gone to school, made new friends, discovered the thrill of having crushes, and found out what you really want to do with your life. You will not recognize me, the once-ignorant doctor who participated in your delivery, when you see me on the streets. I will not recognize you, either. Such is life.

Perhaps we will never meet again, and I will only have your pictures as reminders. I can only hope that, by God's grace, you will become an obedient son, a good friend, a person who loves the Lord above all. I pray that you take into heart what David wrote in one of his Psalms.

"You make known to me the path of life;

in your presence there is fullness of joy;

at your right hand are pleasures forevermore."

Psalm 16:11

O, that someday you would personally know God through Jesus Christ and commit your life fully to Him.

Thank you, Andriel—and this gets really cheesy, but it's true—for showing me the wonder of childbirth, and for reminding me of the miracle of life. Welcome to our world.

Week 7, 2012: OB, Valentine's, and a walking pawnshop

2012-02-19T20:05:00.000+08:00

We're halfway through our OB-Gyn rotation, but it already feels like forever. Our day begins at 7 am, the summary rounds, where clinical cases are endorsed to the next rotating service. The Chief Resident often calls us to enumerate, among others, the criteria for vaginal delivery after cesarean section, signs of placental separation, and the different types of abortion.

There are occasional small group discussions, too. This is how we all look like during waiting time.

After our Bible Study Workshop-cum-Prayer Meeting on February 14, we headed to Suzhou Chinese Restaurant along Mabini Street, a couple of blocks away from campus. When we arrived, our tables were waiting for us. Apparently Ruby, our trusted organizer, had them reserved hours before (thanks, Rubs!). We had a great time of fellowship. The food was overflowing.

I had tofu + century eggs, the others had noodles (in amounts that could feed a crowd), and spicy meat (I don't remember the names anymore). We had a so-called demo-return demo in eating the Xiao Long Bao (Chinese soup dumplings). We, the men, surprised the ladies with simple origami artworks with Proverbs 31:30 written on them. "Charm is deceptive, and beauty is fleeting; but a woman who fears the LORD is to be praised." Praise be to the Lord for these brothers and sisters in Christ, my family in the College of Medicine. What a great way to celebrate Valentine's Day!

Here's a random photo of a man I saw during lunch time. Notice the number of gold rings he has? He's like a walking pawnshop.

Hair color

2012-02-16T20:53:00.001+08:00

I haven't done a proper blog entry on Valentine's Day¹. Let me share a brief episode in the life of my favorite couple in the world. It's one of those times when my parents misunderstand each other, usually about insignificant things, and their reactions are quite amusing.

I called home and asked my father what he did today².

"I went to KCC (the local grocery store) to buy hair dye for your mother, as she had requested, but when I got to the clinic, the secretary informed me she was already in the parlor, having her hair dyed."

"You know how Nanay is too picky when it comes to these things," I said.

"I know—but she should've told me, so I didn't have to spend money."

"At least you have an entire bottle all to yourself, Tay."

"You're right. It can last me months."

^{1. I invite you to read last year's February 14 entry, in which I wrote about—guess what—my parents.↩}

^{2. We speak Ilonggo (Hiligaynon) at home. I have to make this clear, lest I make the impression that we talk like grammar-conscious American book characters.↩}

Week 6, 2012: Paco Park

2012-02-11T09:54:00.002+08:00

In rapid-fire succession

2012-02-11T05:04:00.000+08:00

I'm at the OB Admitting Section (OBAS) where I'm posted for the entire day. Patients come in waves, occupying all the benches in the hallway. Meanwhile, clerks, interns, and residents do a hundred things, all at the same time—taking patient histories, doing internal exams, extracting blood for analysis. I'm lost in the frenzy.

Fridays are usually like this. Charts overflow with names of pregnant women branded as high-risk, many of them referred from the out-patient clinics. They have either hypertension, diabetes, ascending infections, or are in danger of pre-term labor—situations that can potentially harm the mothers or the babies inside. Patients who bleed due to abortions—self-inflicted or otherwise—are also a mainstay.

"You're free?" a resident asks me.

A patient is whisked towards me. I take her vitals before I grab the forms, which I complete in duplicates. Thankfully I have carbon paper. I write as fast as I can. The clerks and interns help me get through the process, teaching me how to make sense of the abbreviations and telling me where to go next.

As soon as I'm done, I refer the patient to one of the residents. The patient is asked to remove her clothes before the examination begins. I look at her, the anxious patient, and wonder what's going on in her head. I do my best to reassure her. Before I come up answers, the exam is done.

My superior dictates her findings to me. "You can confirm those, if you want," she tells me.

I perform the internal exam again, with great difficulty that comes with anything that happens for the first time. Suffice it to say that I had a hard figuring out the orifices—after all, gross human anatomy differs starkly from its plastic model.

"Don't worry. You'll get used to it," the resident says.

For the next hours or so, I learn how to insert an IV line and palpate for an adnexal mass in a suspected case of ectopic pregnancy.

I lose track of time until I hear my stomach grumble. I haven't eaten anything, really, except for a tuna sandwich in the canteen.

"How are you holding up?" I ask Lennie as we monitor four patients lying on stretchers. She tells me she's exhilarated.

I say, "Me, too." I show her the dry specks of blood splattered on my uniform when I inserted an IV line, like they are my battle scars.

Week 5, 2012: Meetings

2012-02-04T21:20:00.000+08:00

We had the second week of our Rheumatology-Orthopedics-Rehabilitation Medicine rotation. This was taken during the case conference, where Krushna Canlas discussed avascular necrosis.

We launched our Bible Study Workshop in Agape Christian Fellowship, with Jana Mier introducing the OIA method—observation, interpretation, and application. This will continue for the next three weeks. Please pray that the Lord would use this to deepen our understanding of His timeless Word. If you'd like to join us, feel free to visit on Tuesdays.

Early morning breakfast at McDonald's, UN Avenue cor. Taft Ave. There's nothing quite like a good breakfast to perk me up in the morning.

Lunch with the guys at Chicken Charlie along Adriatico Street. Since its opening about a year ago, this has been a major lunch destination by the gang.

Calderon Hall, UP College of Medicine. Note the ghostly portrait of the walking lady.

Early morning snacks (at 2 AM!) at Suzhou Chinese Restaurant along Mabini Street. I ate my first xiao long bao (小笼馒头) here.

The view from my balcony, taken just this afternoon.

How to prepare for interview for admission to the UP College of Medicine

2012-02-04T03:18:00.000+08:00

I got an email from a reader asking me for tips for the UP College of Medicine interview. I don't know how else to respond, except to say the standard disclaimer that I was only interviewed once. That singular episode pretty much sums up the wealth of my experience.¹

The idea behind these interviews is for the admissions panel to evaluate the applicants' interest in taking up Medicine, not only as a degree but as a profession. By observation, only half of those who qualify for interview eventually make it to the College. So, yes, it gets really competitive. An inherent flaw of the process is that the interviews are largely subjective. Different people will have different impressions. But the panel members somehow follow a standard questionnaire. There's room for flexibility because they can ask follow-ups to clarify vague responses. They actually jot down the applicants' words for further assessment.²

So what do the panel members want to see in you, the applicant?

I honestly have no idea—there's no handbook for this—but they probably want to see passion. Medicine is a discipline that takes so much time and energy, so maybe, they want to see that desire in your eyes. I also think they want to evaluate if your personality is compatible with the study and practice of medicine.

What kinds of questions do they ask?

I'd rather not tell you. If you knew the questions beforehand, you would have prepared your answers, and you would sound rehearsed. That might go against you. Besides, the questions are practical and personal; you can answer them without too much cerebral power. Which is why it bothers me that some organizations hold symposia on how to prepare for these interviews—I wonder how these so-called meetings could be of genuine help. Except, of course, to allay anxiety. But believe me: if you want to get into med school, it would be difficult to hide.

May God grant you the right words to speak during the interview sessions. I'm excited to see all of you next academic year.

^{1. I feel schmaltzy recalling that afternoon when I left my thesis lab work, donned a business attire, hailed a cab, and waited for minutes at Paz Mendoza Hall before I was ushered to a wood-paneled room, with three intimidating Medicine professors looking at me right across the table. I hardly recognize any of them, but I still remember the questions I got asked.↩}

^{2. I probably said a lot of things because they were busy scribbling most of the time, a situation that made me more self-conscious of my subject-verb agreements.↩}

The Story of the Phone that Was Lost and Now Found, Part Two

2012-02-01T17:14:00.003+08:00

My cheap Nokia, the one that went fell off my pocket during a commute, the gadget I thought I would never see again until someone picked it up in the FX, did the very thing it does best: go AWOL temporarily.

I knew I left my phone near the MSU Cafeteria in campus, but I still got worried. I didn't want to lose all the important contact details. I wanted to spare myself the hassle of having to ask for everyone else's numbers, posting all about my demise in Facebook or Twitter.

But God is good. Glaiza¹, among of my closest friends in med school, must have picked it up somewhere, and wrote this funny note, handed to me via my roommate, Bryan Jay.

Thanks, Glai!

^{1. As in, Madame Glaiza de Guzman, tiger-lady of Block Three.↩}

Week 4, 2012: Treks

2012-01-30T06:29:00.002+08:00

View from Cambulo River, Cambulo, Ifugao.

View from the Batad-to-Cambulo path.

View from visitors' registration area in Batad, Banaue.

View from the Batad-to-Cambulo path.

View of Banaue town center.

View from Straddle Point.

Collage of pictures at the Cambulo Inn where we stayed.

To kill time I used to manually stitch the photos via GIMP. But there's hardly time to kill these days, so imagine my surprise when I chanced upon Autostitch, a no-nonsense, no-brainer Apple app that does the trick—only more seamlessly.

Also, I'm a little bit schmaltzy from this entire experience, mindlessly running through photos posted over Facebook, realizing of course that spontaneous trips are unlikely to happen once clerkship kicks in.

I'm back to being a dweeby, stationary medical student, struggling to overcome the vapid rhythm of flipping through my inch-thick textbooks. And for the regular student like me, this academic exercise is the sure beeline to sleepiness. Ooops, do forgive the adjective overuse.

Banaue, Part 2

2012-01-25T18:12:00.000+08:00

We got up close and personal with the Banaue Rice Terraces. When I was younger, during Sibika at Kultura class, I thought one could step on the terraces as if they were in an ordinary staircase.

Jil was really happy. Everyone was.

Traditional huts were meant to shade the farmers from the sun.

The rice paddies weren't that green because the harvest season was already over. Our guides told us that the perfect time to visit is on March or April, but then again, one has to contend with the deluge of tourists from all over.

We were happy there weren't too many people, but we spotted quite a number of foreign tourists hiking around.

We then took an hour and half hike to Tappiya Falls. This was by far the hardest trek of all. The inclines were steep and the path seemed all uphill.

The water was clear.

And the warnings were serious.

And there it was: Tappiya Falls!

With some hesitation we changed to our swimming gear. The water, after all, was freezing—like water left in the fridge for hours. I felt numb for a minute there. "Wear your glasses so you can see clearly in the water," said my brother. It worked.

After having a picnic of sorts—our late lunch—we took the same route, only in reverse. We were so tired all we wished for was a helicopter to take us back to the Inn. It was around this time that my companions began alluding to the Lord of Rings. Some had walking sticks similar to Gandalf's to help them stabilize. Because of fatigue and dyspnea, I found myself crawling like Gollum, screaming, "My precious!"

The day after (Sunday) I woke up to a cold morning.

And the view from my window was this glorious sight. I was praising the Lord.

After breakfast we had devotions. Manong had a short exhortation, and Kuya Dingdong led us in singing. It was a treat to tired and weary souls.

After packing our bags, we started on our trail to Cambulo, the neighboring village. This was a two- or three-hour trek from Batad.

Gary B—as in, Gary from Batad—was one of our guides. We all had a lot of laughs with him, especially Jil.

Joan discovered her fear of heights while traversing steep and potentially life-threatening gorges. What an interesting self-discovery.

She sang familiar songs along the way, and I often chimed in.

Ate Leah, who was behind me most of the time and who was responsible for organizing this trip, took great delight in asking me to pose many times, with various views of the Palayan in the backdrop. This trip could not have gone smoothly without her.

This is the view from the highest point of Banaue Rice Terraces. Glorious.

I took a video:

Hello!

Cedric, one of our guides, left school for a year to work. He plans to go back to college this year and take up Hotel and Restaurant Management. We wish you well, Cedric!

Didn't I tell you ABS-CBN was documenting our trek? I'm kidding, of course.

Because the trail is rough, rocky, and occasionally muddy, the guides strongly advise against wearing slippers without straps. Hiking shoes or sandals with straps are recommended.

Ate Liw was doing her signature pose again. This was a makeshift bridge where we had a 10-minute breather.

We had our own moves, of course, like this shadow portrait. It's always more fun the Philippines.

I like this composite photo. The brown object below is my right thigh.

Here's Jil again, risking her life for a good portrait.

Finally we got to Cambulo.

We stayed at a local inn and had freshly picked vegetables for lunch.

Ifugao kids gladly performed for us. What a cultural celebration! They were so graceful.

Kuya Dandi was showing us the Chap-Ayan (I don't know how to spell this correctly), the area where the elderly leaders of Cambulo tribe used to gather to pass judgments on thieves, murderers, and other law offenders. This has been here for hundreds of years already.

We had the entire afternoon to do whatever we wanted, so we headed to the nearby river. I didn't want to swim. I took a nap beside the stream and talked with friends about career, literature, and the overflowing grace of God.

I'm sharing my favorite composite in this set.

For dinner we had tinola. Our guides demonstrated food preparation—from killing the chosen fowl, to draining the blood from the neck, and removing the outer skin. Katie had to go somewhere so she couldn't hear the chicken scream, while Sally watched the process at a distance.

At night the Cambulo children sang rhymes for us, and we had a surprise for Frances. It was her 27th birthday.

The locals serenaded her. The song was "Perfect Strangers."

In the morning we began packing. Outside we saw someone selling this, a literal double-edged knife.

Here were some photos of tourists who stayed in the Cambulo Inn. What fun they must have had.

I didn't want to opportunity to pass, so I decided to try out how betel nut chewing felt like. It tasted a lot like mint or uncooked leaves. I was spitting everywhere. Studies have shown that this practice increases the risk for oral cancers, but the locals enjoy their nganga anyway. A pack costs cheaply, around five pesos.

The trek back to Batad Junction took us five hours. These wild berries were a refreshing sight.

There were still thirty minutes left to go. I was cheering for myself. I was glad the trail was mostly flat or downhill.

Finally, Batad Junction! The finish line!

I'm still nursing thigh and calf pains, about 5/10 in severity, relieved by rest, and aggravated by movement, but I keep looking back at the past four days of this rather spontaneous trip to Northern Philippines and ask myself what made this trip awesome. Was it the view? Of course, that was a major factor. Was it the fulfilment at having survived the longest treks I've done in my life? Yes, that one, too. But more than these, I think it was the company.

It was a blessing to have met all of them in this trip. Praise be to the Lord for His goodness.

Banaue, Part 1

2012-01-24T22:11:00.001+08:00

My brother invited me to join him on a trip to Banaue Rice Terraces with friends from our church and his workplace. Anxious that I might be missing class (I didn't know January 23, Monday, was already declared a non-working holiday), I said "yes" at the very last minute.

The email, detailing the itinerary for the next three days or so, had clear instructions, but this one particularly stood out: pack lightly.

I met the rest of the 14 members of the Kaladkarin Society (also the name of the Facebook group where various announcements were posted)—Liw, Lheiya, Ralph, Josiah, Katie, Sally, Me-Ann, Liana, Frances, Jil, RJ, Dingdong, Joan, and Celle—at the ~~Ohamiya~~ Ohayami Bus Terminal at 10 PM, Friday. I hadn't met all of them yet, so I was really excited. They were very warm and welcoming.

It was a good thing we had booked our tickets days before. The bus was packed. And I mean really packed. Chance passengers were seated in monobloc chairs in the aisle. Some Dutch, possibly German, tourists did not have enough leg room, so they decided to sleep on the floor, oblivious of us who frequently stepped on their bags during stops.

I slept for most of the eight-hour ride, and when I woke up, this scene greeted me. We were on top of the mountains.

Finally we arrived at the center of Banaue and had our breakfast at People's Lodging. The trick is to order 30 minutes to a hour because it takes them that long to prepare the food. While waiting, we decided to explore the area. The air was cold and refreshing.

Banaue is a fourth class municipality of Ifugao Province. Worldwide it is widely known as the home of the Banaue Rice Terraces, a UNESCO World Heritage site.

This is a panoramic view from where I stood. I took about 14 pictures, and stitched them using the Autostitch iPhone app. Neat.

Manong, Josiah, and I went exploring. We crossed this old, rusty bridge which, at first glance, resembled the Golden Gate in a way. I felt it wobble when I stood in the middle. Below was a gorge and a stream carving its way through.

Hey, Josiah.

Hello, Manong.

Minutes later, we found the rest of the pack following us. We were quite a crowd.

True to our form as Filipinos, we didn't miss any photo opportunity. Hey, Ates Liana, Liw, Jil, Me-ann, and Manang!

The local houses and establishments are built on cliffs and steep inclines. One can imagine the strength of the locals' leg muscles, all hypertrophied because of their going up and down the stairs.

We came back to the restaurant to have a quick breakfast. I had the local longganisa and egg. The longganisa tasted really good with vinegar. The rice was brown. No, it was not grown on the Terraces.

Later, our head tour guide, Dandi, explained to us the route. We were amused because he carried with him a board with a map painted on it. He was serious. He explained that we should not take pictures of children without asking their permission. Believe it or not, some locals still believe that when a photograph is taken, a person's soul is taken it with it.

We got on a rented jeepney to take us Saddle Point. We rode on top of the roof and had the most spectacular panoramic views.

Note, for example, this house, suspended on a cliff, supported by thin pillars of concrete. An architectural wonder.

The pine trees were thriving in the colder climate.

Meanwhile my feet were dangling.

Hey, Sally! Hey, Joan!

We met Nina, a twentysomething backpacker from Denmark, travelling alone. We invited her to our group. She was on her "gap year"—that free year after high school, just before college—roaming the globe. We would spend the next four days with her.

Jil, Liana, Nina, and myself, with the Terraces as our background.

Bestfriend Jil's zombie and this native Ifugao woodcarving had so many similarities.

Hey, Kuya Dingdong!

After 45 minutes we reached Saddle Point. From there we took a one-hour hike downhill to Batad.

This was the foretaste of a couple more hikes that would leave us all exhausted.

On the road I stumbled on these—were they coffee beans or wild berries? Were they even edible. Clearly I'm awful at taxonomy.

I was panting for air, and my muscles began aching. But the beauty of God's creation seemed to cheer me on. There was still, after all, so much to see.

During our 10-minute stops, Ate Liw saw these Ifugao children and immediately established some rapport with them, offering them sweets and gospel tracts. Had she decided to pursue medicine, she would have made a great pediatrician.

At the end of the road we saw the Banaue Rice Terraces. We stood there in awe.

Of course we had the mandatory photo op.

It did not happen if it's not on Facebook.

(Photo by RJ)

I was amused when I saw Frances taking a picture of the 1000 Philippine Peso bill, featuring the said wonder of the world.

We ~~had lunch and~~ loitered for a while at Highway Inn, a comfortable lodging place, where I had an entire bed to myself. This was going to be one of the most memorable adventures I've had in a while. And the fun was just beginning.

Next post: the trip to Tappiya Falls and my experience walking along the edge of the Hagdan-Hagdang Palayan.

Road Revolution in Ongpin Street, Binondo

2012-01-20T17:34:00.002+08:00

Vanessa Gumban, my high school classmate and former partner-in-crime, asked me to promote this event, sponsored in part by her class in the UP College of Law. I don't normally promote events in this blog, but this is Vanessa, and I happen to like going to Binondo. I go there when I'm bored or broke.

I'm pasting the promo material in its entirety. It's worth reading.

Congested Ongpin Street to be Pedestrianized
The impossible is going to happen.

On Sunday January 22, 2012, the day before Chinese New Year, the entire stretch of Ongpin Street in Binondo will be closed to motor vehicles. A revolution is about to take place. It is called “Pedestrian Day in Chinatown”, a project launched by the Chinese Filipino Business Club, Charity First Foundation and with the assistance of the City of Manila and its Mayor Alfredo Lim.

It is part of the Road Revolution, which is literally a revolution that is waged by individuals with a concern for the future, against a current road system which favors only 3% of the population (those who have motor vehicles) while occupying 99% of road space. This present road system has caused tremendous damage to the environment. We are poisoning the air we breathe, polluting our land, sea, air, communities, and lungs, paving over precious soil with hard concrete, and causing rainwater to flood in bigger volumes and at a faster speed.

The Road Revolution is a “road-sharing” program which calls for a road system that will allow equal sharing of roads for pedestrians, bicycle lanes, and efficient mass transit systems, relying on the principle: “THOSE WHO HAVE LESS IN WHEELS MUST HAVE MORE IN ROAD.” It is a movement of ordinary people around the country who are demanding their share of public space.

The Road Revolution Program encourages “Pedestrianization” of the city’s streets by discouraging the use of motorized vehicles through closure to motor vehicle traffic, and compelling the government to act upon it. Countries around the world are beginning to realize the benefits of such a system, and some examples include:

Shanghai’s Nanjing Road, and Beijing’s Wangfujing Road, where entire streets are appropriated only for pedestrians
Bolivia’s “National Day of the Pedestrian”, where two million cars were taken off the streets on Sunday in nine cities
Jakarta’s main avenue where Car-free day is held every 2 weeks on Sunday
Mexico’s Ciclovia where miles of major boulevards are closed to auto traffic and taken over by cyclists, rollerskaters, walkers, dogs, and children
Brazil’s Curitiba where a major street in downtown Curitiba was transformed into a Pedestrian St.

Pedestrian Day in Chinatown is meant to give people a firsthand experience of what it would be like to have no vehicles on the road, less pollution, cleaner air, and more road to themselves. It will also allow them to enjoy the activities planned for the day, and to have a sense of community and interaction with other pedestrians, without the obstruction and inconvenience caused by motor vehicles. Indeed it will be MORE FUN IN CHINATOWN.

As January 22 is the day before Chinese New Year, there will be a lot of cultural activities and festivities. There will be several tents showcasing Chinese culture and tradition such as: Chinese Calligraphy, Fan Painting, Paper Cutting and Paper Folding, Abacus Demo, Chess Demonstration , Feng Shui and Fortune Telling, Lantern display, Acupuncture Dragon and Lion dances and Wu-shu exhibitions. There will also be dance competition among participating schools, a Zumba dance instruction, Chinese cultural dances, Tai-chi exhibition, Diobolo (Chinese yoyo) demonstration. There will also be some Chinese song and dance numbers

“Pedestrian Day in Chinatown” will be the first of its kind to be held in the heart of Manila’s busiest street and district. Charity First Foundation Inc and Chinese Filipino Business Club enthusiastically INVITE ALL to participate in and celebrate this momentous event with us!

It is difficult to imagine a place more appropriate for this project than the bustling and congested district of Chinatown, and what better time than on the day before the Chinese New Year, indeed a fresh start for everyone.

KUNG HEI FAT CHOY!
Contact Person:

Mr. John Boitte Santos
Student in Environmental Law, UP College of Law
Email address: jbbroy40@yahoo.com
Cell Phone No: 09277532293
January 12, 2012

The “Road Revolution Program” is a brainchild of Atty. Antonio Oposa Jr., Harvard law graduate, and a multi-awarded, internationally acclaimed environmental lawyer, a Ramon Magsaysay awardee and the founder of the Law of Nature Foundation. He is also the lawyer in Oposa v Factoran, cited worldwide for its recognition of the right to a better environment and intergenerational responsibility.

Charity First Foundation Inc is a non-stock, non-profit organization committed to improving the quality of life of the marginalized sectors of society through its Education, Medical/Dental, and Livelihood Programs. It also has an Environmental Program, and through various activities, aims to raise environmental awareness.

Week 3, 2012: The amazing Pharmacology elective

2012-01-19T08:33:00.001+08:00

I became more studious these past few weeks. I actually read books and searched PubMed for systematic reviews. It felt weird making and doing real reports again, but there was a lot of learning—and free food. The Pharma elective isn't what I would call breezy, as my classmates would probably refer to their elective choices. While we only meet for one or two hours a day, much of the work is done at home, at our own pace. But it's been a fruitful endeavor. I'm glad to have spent the Pharma elective with my classmate, Carbs, who's really hilarious without intending to be. Clearly the guys are jealous of me. I regret it that I haven't recorded her witticisms since day one.

Today I'm giving my final report on a case of a four year old suffering from epilepsy. Carbs is working on a pediatric case of glomerulonephritis. By God's grace I hope we get through this. And then . . . it's the long weekend ahead. Thank you, Doctors Casanova, Sio, Tiongco, and Sison for your time and inputs.

I might have been mistaken as a Corona supporter

2012-01-16T11:25:00.001+08:00

On my way to the barber a couple of minutes ago, I saw mass being held at the Supreme Court compound. This is in light of Chief Justice Renato Corona's impeachment trial, which has hit the headlines recently.

The crowd along Padre Faura Street was big. The media people were there, some lawyers, and loyal supporters, I suppose, many of them carrying black balloons and wearing black shirts. Unfortunately I had a black shirt on, too, only without the catchphrase, "Hustisya Para Sa Korte Suprema." (Mine read, "No Bands, No Glory"). I blended right in. I got to take a couple of pictures, too. This was history unfolding!

But lest I be mistaken for a supporter—which I am not—I walked faster. Clearly this was the wrong time to wear black.

I just learned that Sen. Miriam Defensor-Santiago has written the Senate President that she shall be absent from the trial starting Monday. That's unfortunate: it's Miriam who adds color to the otherwise dreary, liturgical proceeding.

And so my friends, such is Philippine politics. And I live right at the center where the circus is happening.

Week 2, 2012: Food for the sick

2012-01-14T08:30:00.005+08:00

I'm thankful that I don't get sick often. Once or twice a year is my personal quota. A year can pass by without me getting sick at all.

Doesn't sickness remind us of our mortality? For instance, I want to read a book the entire night, for example, but I can't because of the nagging, throbbing headache. I want to finish schoolwork, but I'm distracted by the mucoid nasal discharges running down my upper lip. And I have a hard time dealing with the fever, a perennial reminder that somewhere in my body an offending agent is lodged—a virus, I'm certain—multiplying by the second, and my immune system is doing its best to win the war.

I had systemic viral infection—the common flu—this week, but I can't complain. God gave me the chance to savor good food, thanks to family, friends, and mentors who treated me. I realized, for example, that pumpkin soup tastes delicious even when I have nasal congestion. Either that soup was so overpoweringly flavorful, or that my nasal passages were so big some flavor still managed to allow some form of taste.

I'm on the way to recovery now. Thank You, Lord, for the healing.

Everlasting

2012-01-12T18:38:00.000+08:00

I was in Pasay City East High School this afternoon, facilitating a small group discussion on infectious diseases, explaining what the kids should do when they have cough and colds. When I briefly mentioned diarrhea—which I translated in the colloquial as "pagtatae"—I saw them automatically turn towards one another, high school teenagers that they were, and they threw fart jokes, generating quite a hilarious commotion. "O, tama na 'yan, balik tayo sa pinag-uusapan," I said aloud.

I had only been speaking for three minutes, but my throat was already aching. I had to compete with the incessant chatter of oily-faced adolescents in my midst. For a teacher to thrive in such an environment, day in and out, is nothing short of noble.

I recall that months ago, during the first time my group and I visited the class, Everlasting, located right up in the fourth floor of the newly erected building, thanks to a politician whose name I can't recall, I was shocked at how chaotic the scene was. "Were we ever like this in high school?" we asked ourselves. I come from a special science program of a public high school, but I was familiar with scenes like this happening in the regular and lower sections. My other groupmates, all of them girls, mostly graduated from conservative private Catholic schools, so it was more a shock for them than it was for me.

So picture us there, helpless and useless. Students were coming in and out of the classroom. Male students formed a huge cluster at the back, almost resembling a fraternity. I could hear invectives and coarse jokes being spewn like geysers. Meanwhile some girls were busy combing their hair. They were insulting each other with harsh words. But what surprised us was seeing both male and female students applying too much baby powder on their faces. Since then we jokingly referred to them espasol girls and polvoron boys, but only when we spoke among ourselves. The times had changed.

When we spoke in front, it was as if we were never there. We felt bad—horrible, even—that we weren't being paid attention to. And we were speaking at the top of our lungs. We went home feeling defeated after that.

Since then we resolved to make the lectures as short as possible. We shouldn't hold too much activities. We shouldn't take things too personally as well. We should keep things short and simple.

In the succeeding meetings, though, we felt them warm up to us. Everlasting, the rowdiest class ever—it was almost unbelievable. They were still inattentive, casually listening or participating in the activities, but at least we had fleeting moments of quiet, and we could finish the modules assigned to us. Whether they learned something from us or not was something we couldn't determine properly, since they didn't take the quizzes seriously.

This afternoon I was assigned to handle an all-boys' group. I asked them about the remedies for fever, cough, colds, and diarrhea. They gave good answers. I was impressed. "What about in cough?" I asked, "What should you do?"

"Mag-kiss, para mailipat mo ang ubo mo sa hinahalikan mo." These kids, they never fail to amuse.

We were just wrapping up the session when, out of the blue, the student seated beside me, Ronnie, asked, "Kuya, ilang taon po ba pwede nang mag-asawa?"

My words came out automatically, "Ang bata mo pa, ah. Sabihin mo sa akin: may nabuntis ka na?" I still shudder in shame at my first reaction.

We desperately wish these students learn important things from us, but isn't it true that learning is also two-way? We, too, get something from them—like this reminder of asking ourselves when to eventually settle down. In med school, I noticed, that question always hits the hardest.

Week 1, 2012: Beginnings

2012-01-10T05:13:00.001+08:00

That graffiti you see on the railings of the footbridge—I suspect that must be a warning against suicide by falling.

Sherlock in love: A Scandal in Belgravia

2012-01-09T07:23:00.002+08:00

There are so many things I love about Sherlock, the TV series produced by BBC. Each episode takes about 1.5 hours, almost as long as a short film, but equally as engaging as the best thrillers. While for many shows, adapting classical themes to their modern versions has posed some problems, we don't see that kind of dilemma here. The show is never trying too hard to be the modern rendering of the classic detective stories by Arthur Conan Doyle.

The challenge for any viewer is to dissociate previous mental images of Robert Downey Jr when looking at this Sherlock. In the BBC series, Sherlock is so British he's almost a snob. At first glance he's hardly charming but you go on to like him—it's inevitable—especially when he rattles of the list of clues he's used to deduce a particular detail. Benedict Cumberbatch is perfect for this role.

Martin Freeman stars as Dr. John Watson. If he's not assisting Sherlock on investigations, we see him blogging often in their shared apartment at 221B Baker Street, typing slowly using his two index fingers, with Sherlock occasionally moaning the stupidity of his posts. It's hilarious.

Season Two opens with A Scandal In Belgravia. Sherlock is summoned by the British government to take on a case of stolen photographs, which can be used to incriminate a high profile official. He goes to Buckingham Palace naked, covered by a white blanket. "What are we doing here?" asks Watson in disbelief, and they both laugh. This scene is so memorable to me because it shows that they've become really close friends.

Later we see the outline of a woman carrying a whip, wearing fishnet stockings . . . and someone familiar with the Sherlock stories will suspect that this must be Irene Adler (Lara Pulver). Her face is eventually revealed.

Sherlock sees Irene stark naked when he visits her place to do some investigating. For some reason, Sherlock cannot deduce anything from her, and he is taken aback by this strangely beautiful yet powerful woman.

And Sherlock falls in love. It's almost unbelievable, but he drifts to deep thinking and resorts to composing songs on a violin when he receives the news that she, the baffling Irene, is dead.

But is she, really? Can't wait for The Hound of the Baskervilles to be featured in the next episode.

2011 in Photos

2012-01-08T15:03:00.000+08:00

I have poor memory. No, really. In a sense, this explains my visceral need to keep a diary, an online journal, an organizer, to write both significant and random things down on paper. Who is it who said than pen and paper are better than the sharpest memory?

Now that my Week in Photos Project is over—and let me say I enjoyed the challenge of taking seven pictures a week, even if I started rather late in 2011—I find fulfilment at seeing all the cameraphone photos I took. Not that I think they're exceptional, but that they have in some way captured the fleeting moments of the year . . . moments that would otherwise have been buried in the floating annals of forgetfulness. Not only once did I feel like quitting this project, but I'm thankful I persevered to the end.

Photography fascinates me. My wish is to someday own a huge, heavy camera with lenses that are meters long. But the Lord only gave me a humble one-megapixel cameraphone, and I couldn't complain: it has done the trick.

Together let's look back at the year that was. I picked my favorite photos in the Project, arranged according to theme.

Medical school

1. View from my building's rooftop, showing the Philippine General Hospital where I'm currently training.

2. Panoramic shot of my classmates during break. Taken at the 1972 Theater in Calderon Hall.

3. Migz Catangui and I are sharing a pata during our suturing drills in Surgery.

4. A pharmacist prepares chemotherapy drugs for cancer patients. Taken at the Cancer Institute, UP-PGH.

5. Bon Buno drifts to sleep while studying for an exam. Taken at the Medicine Library.

Manila

1. Trees at the CCP Complex. Taken during the Aliwan Festival.

2. A man tries to catch fish at Manila Bay.

3. The huge Christmas tree at Rizal Park, Manila.

4. The Old Senate Building inside the National Museum is being renovated.

5. Colors at the CCP Complex during the Aliwan Festival.

Trees

1. An empty basketball court, with old trees in the perimeter. Taken in Cavite.

2. A log of wood. Taken in Camp Jabez, Cavite.

3. Kalachuchi flowers, taken inside the UP Manila Campus.

4. An old tree stands in front of Jade Vine Restaurant along U.N. Avenue.

5. View of Rizal Park from the National Museum.

Food

1. Cinnamon for breakfast.

2. All-American breakfast served at Midtown Diner, Padre Faura Street, Ermita, Manila.

3. Some random illustration I'm fascinated with.

4. Green-tea flavored pastry at Binondo, Manila.

5. Fresh catch. Taken at Dampa along Macapagal Boulevard.

Koronadal

1. The Round Ball marks the center of the city.

2. Indoor plants at home.

3. Taken at The Farm, operated and maintained by the owners of Ace Commercial, the local department store.

4. The Catholic Church along Alunan Avenue.

5. Tropical garden at The Farm. Taken during the Bocobos' visit.

The Week in Photos Project continues in 2012.

Thanks so much for reading.

Viewing Picasso

2012-01-07T00:41:00.000+08:00

I dragged Manong Ralph to the Met Museum today to view Pablo Picasso's The Suite Vollard, a collection of the Spanish artist's etchings between 1930 to 1937. Halfway through the commute (we came from Quezon City), he realized he forgot to bring any money. I intentionally didn't bring any cash so he'd be forced to treat me. Should we go back and get his money? We realized that if we pooled what what left in our wallets, though, we could still eat a quick brunch at a fastfood--nothing fancy--pay for the Php 100 entrance fee each person, and just have enough to pay for an FX ride to QC. But that meant we had to walk all the way from Roxas Boulevard to Taft.

In my brother's words, “One minute my brother and I were at the Metropolitan Museum of Manila marveling at the Pablo Picasso exhibit like the faux intellectuals and pseudo art critics that we are. And then the next minute, we were walking to Taft Avenue under the unforgiving heat of the noonday sun, because we didn't have enough money to get on a jeep. How quickly did we morph back to our old, impoverished, plebeian selves!”

Still, we have so much to thank the Lord for. He knows just what we need.

My Reading Year 2011

2012-01-04T07:07:00.001+08:00

Another year has gone. Praise be to God.

I've had the opportunity to read a number of books in 2011 mainly because of two things: my academic load is much lighter now, and I own a mobile reading device. In this entry I hope to document each book I had a chance to read. Each of these has contributed to my personal growth in some way.

1. Amsterdam (Ian McEwan). I read this book before going to Amsterdam to get a feel of what the city was like. It turned out only the last chapters were set in Europe. The novel opens with two old friends attending the funeral of their lover, Molly. In the process they make a pact whose consequences have major moral implications—can euthanasia, for instance, ever be justified? I'm a sucker for McEwan's prose; he can both be comical and philosophical at the same time.

2. Cantor's Dilemma (Carl Djerassi). This one's about politics and integrity in the scientific world. Professor Isidore Cantor—Isidore, can you believe it?—is about to receive the Nobel prize, but how far can he guarantee the reliability of his experiments? I sympathized with his young assistant, Dr. Jeremiah Stafford, who felt enormous pressure to come up with groundbreaking scientific results. Having been a science major myself, I enjoyed this work immensely, and not just because the main character is my namesake.

3. The Green House (Mario Vargas Llosa). I must say I had a hard time reading Llosa's writing. After all these years, I still haven't gotten the hang of the stream of consciousness style. I'm not sure I really understood the story—this is one of those books I plan to read someday, when I become a more mature reader.

4. Wordliness: Resisting the Seduction of a Fallen World (edited: CJ Mahaney). How must a Christian view and deal with technology, movies, and television? This short book addresses vital issues confronting the Christian in a modern world.

The following are the books I read during the summer break. I've written about them here.

5. Man's Search for Meaning (Viktor Frankl)
6. Light Years (James Salter)
7. Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins)
8. Never Let Me Go (Kazuo Ishiguro)
9. The World is Flat (Thomas Friedman)
10. Anna Karenina (Leo Tolstoy)
11. The House of God: The Classic Novel of Life and Death in an American Hospital (Samuel Shem)
12. Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West (Gregory Maguire)
13. Things Fall Apart (China Achebe)
14. God Has a Wonderful Plan For Your Life: The Myth of the Modern Message (Ray Comfort)
15. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (Steig Larsson)
16. A Sport and A Pastime (James Salter)
17. Confessions (Augustine)
18. On Death and Dying (Elizabeth Kubler-Ross)
19. The Man Who Was Thursday (GK Chesterton)
20. Orthodoxy (GK Chesterton)
21. Saving Faith (AW Pink)

22. A Wind in the Door (Madeleine L'Engle). The young Charles Wallace sees a dragon, and he tells his sister Meg about it.

23. Catching Fire (Suzanne Collins). This is the second in the Hunger Games trilogy. Go, Katniss!

24. Mockingjay (Suzanne Collins). The gnawing question was: would Katniss Everdeen choose Peeta or Gale in the end? I thought this book was a proper ending to the trilogy. I highly, highly recommend Hunger Games, especially to young readers.

25. The Corrections (Jonathan Franzen). I'd call this a portrait of the American family. Enid Lambert wants to bring her family together for Christmas. Meanwhile her husband Albert suffers from Parkinson's. Their children live colorful lives, as well. Gary suffers from clinical depression, Chip loses his job in the academe, and Denise recovers from a failed marriage by falling in love with another married man. Franzen's prose is just magnificent.

26. All Quiet on the Western Front (Erich Maria Remarque). This is a searing and moving account of a young German soldier, Paul Bäumer, in the trenches. Shortly after World War I, he and his classmates are drafted for the war. To this day, I still wonder if his life ever got back to normal, after the death and suffering he saw in the fields.

27. Finally Alive (John Piper). What does it mean to be born again? What is the new birth? John Piper takes the reader back to Scripture as he unravels and meditates on the answers to these questions. This is my favorite Piper book so far—a grand feast for the soul.

28. The Narnian: The Life and Imagination of C.S. Lewis (Alan Jacobs).* I'm not yet done with this book, an unofficial biography of my favorite author, CS Lewis.

29. Gravity's Rainbow (Thomas Pynchon). Except for James Joyce's Ulysses, which I never got to finish, I've never felt so exhausted after reading a novel until I got to the last page of Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow. They say only ten percent of people who start reading this work actually finish it. And I see why: the writing is simply overwhelming, featuring some 250 plus characters, many of whom disappear after a few paragraphs, only to resurface again in the ending chapters. There are unpredictable shifts from first- to third-person, and these occur quickly. Poems and song lyrics (95% of them I couldn't understand) are interspersed in the long sentences that remind me of the works of Gabriel Garcia-Marquez (One Hundred Years of Solitude) and Mario Vargas Llosa (The Green House). Read more about it here.

30. Waiter Rant (The Waiter). Thrill came over me when I saw this book in the store being sold at a discount. I've been a reader of The Waiter's blog (www.waiterrant.net) since 2004, when the writer was still shrouded in anonymity and not a lot of people knew him. Of course, his writing, a gem in cyberspace, was bound to get famous, and this eventually earned him a book deal. It brought me such joy, reading the fruit his labor. To this day, though, I have no idea where the Bistro really is.

31. The Ground Beneath Her Feet (Salman Rushdie). I mean, this is Salman Rushdie, you guys. He can adapt a timeless mythological account to a modern story—which he did in this book, and quite masterfully at that. A song writer falls in love with a beautiful singer. Together they make music that change the world and themselves.

32. Christ the Center (Dietrich Bonhoeffer). There'll be no Christianity without Christ. Christianity is all about Christ. This is Bonhoeffer's emphasis in Christ the Center, a compilation of sermons he gave at the University of Berlin.

33. George's Wonderful Medicine (Roald Dahl). A boy despises his grandmother who complains a lot and asks him to do many unreasonable tasks. One day he combines all household cleaners, solutions, medications, and fluids to make a syrup. He wants to fool his grandmother into believing that the syrup is her cough medicine. Little does he know an adverse drug reaction is bound to happen. The moral of the story? Children should learn pharmacology.

34. King of Torts (John Grisham). When was the last time I read a Grisham paperback? I don't remember at all. Here Grisham takes us to the world of a young, almost anonymous trial lawyer, who gets famous overnight when he wins a class action. A really easy and fun read.

35. The Hours (Michael Cunningham). At first we read of three women—Virginia Woolf, Clarissa Vaughan and Laura Brown—each living colorful yet dreary lives during different time periods. Their stories eventually intersect in the end, an "aha" moment for me. Michael Cunningham's mastery of words really got me going.

36. Portrait of Calvin (T.H.L. Parker). One of the best books I've read this year. T.H.L. Parker strictly did not write a biography (which is otherwise told chronologically). Instead he's come up with a painting of sorts, a portrait, snippets of of one of the Reformation's foremost preachers and scholars, John Calvin—his life as a student, a teacher, a preacher, a man zealous to live out and proclaim the truth of God as revealed in the Bible.

37. The Road (Cormac McCarthy). The world is beyond repair. Depressing. A look into the human condition. Short book, but a hard one to finish. You should watch the movie, too, a faithful adaptation to McCarthy's novel.

38. 1Q84 (Haruki Murakami). It's 1984 in Tokyo, and Aomame—which means "green pea"—notices that the world has changed when she gets out of the taxi. There are two moons in the sky. Meanwhile, Tengo, an aspiring writer, decides to take on a challenge: rewrite a novel written by a weird, dyslexic teenage kid. This novel about the so-called Little People wins a top literary prize. Aomame and Tengo's fates become intertwined as they both realize that the novel, now a hit in the market, is coming true. The plot is weird: a cultic movement in the mountains, a wealthy dowager who rescues abused women and children, a gentle yet ruthless bodyguard, and an unrelenting television-fee collector. I'm told this is Murakami's most ambitious work thus far—a compilation of three books separately released in Japan, totaling about 1000-plus pages. Good thing I read this in a mobile device. There's nothing impressive with Murakami's writing, of course, but it's the story that gets you.

39. Be Myself (Warren Wiersbe). The book is replete with reminders for would-be pastors and preachers. This book, though, would benefit not just pastors and pastors-in-training, but any ordinary Christian. I highly recommend it. (My review.)

40. The Sense of An Ending (Julian Barnes). Tony Webster, a middle-aged Englishman, does some recollection. How has his life been? What mistakes has he made? Memories can be harsh. They, too, are affected by biases. This is my first Julian Barnes book (also one of the shorter ones in this list).

41. Humility: The Forgotten Virtue (Wayne Mack). In this short but important work, Dr. Wayne Mack attempts to "understand pride and humility from a biblical perspective" in the hope of diminishing the "destructive pride factor" and to increase the "true humility factor" in our lives. The book follows the 4D outline: a biblical definition of what pride and humility are, the display of pride and humility, how humility can bedeveloped, and how pride can be diminished. At the end of each chapter are simple guide questions that readers are encouraged to answer. (My review.)

42. The Thousand Autumns by Jacob de Zoet (David Mitchell). Set in the 1800s, during the time when Japan's only connection to the rest of the world was her trading relations with the Dutch East India Company (Vereenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie), the story revolves around Jacob de Zoet, a twentysomething clerk set to check and document the corruption going on in the Company's transactions in Dejima, Nagasaki Bay. There he meets Orito Aibagawa, a midwife, who rises to fame after she successfully saves the lives of both the Magistrate's wife and son after prolonged labor. To tell you the truth, what initially drew me to this book was David Mitchell's scientific descriptions of obstetric techniques in the first chapter—how the attending Doctor Maeno and Miss Aibagawa-san determined the fetal lie, what they did when they suspected a possible cord strangulation, with an illustration so reminiscent of those seen in William's Obstetrics. These details were mixed so expertly with the author's prose. (My review).

43. Solar (Ian McEwan). A Nobel-prize winning physicist (having discovered the Einstein-Beard Conflation) takes on the challenge of designing energy-efficient, solar-powered generators to save the world from global warming. His previous five marriages have failed, his present wife is having an affair, and his personal life is crumbling. If he cannot solve his own problems, can he save the world's? I never get tired of Ian McEwan.

44. The Wapshot Scandal (John Cheever). I was told to read John Cheever, so I did. The Wapshots of St. Botolphs are rich and hilarious. The two grown children are struggling with the drudgery of their lives. Their old cousin, Honora, goes to Europe to escape the IRS. An ambitious and well-written work, this deserves to be read at least once.

45. Memoirs of an Ordinary Pastor: The Life and Reflections of Tom Carson (D.A. Carson). You should've seen me in the airport, crying inconsolably, while reading the final chapters of this book. Good thing no one who knew me was around. Here Dr. D.A. Carson writes a biography of sorts of his father, Tom Carson, who pastored in the French Canada region from 1950's to the 90's. We read of the struggles of evangelicalism in Quebec, a place with strong Roman Catholic influence. We understand these things from the perspective of an unknown yet faithful pastor. The most moving parts were the deteriotation of Tom's wife to Alzheimer Disease, and the final chapter where D.A. Carson tried to piece things together. This will profit not just pastors but other Christians as well.

46. Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother (Amy Chua). Why are Asians so smart and successful? Amy Chua writes about Chinese parenting and how she brought her children up with this worldview. She has very high expectations for her children. One incident I can't quite forget is that during a trip to Europe, she reserves a piano so her children don't miss their piano drills. The book has become controversial because, in a sense, Chua has critiqued the American way of child-rearing. This is an interesting read.

Here are My Top Ten Books of 2011:

Portrait of Calvin (T.H.L. Parker)
Anna Karenina (Leo Tolstoy)
The Thousand Autumns by Jacob de Zoet (David Mitchell)
Finally Alive (John Piper)
The House of God: The Classic Novel of Life and Death in an American Hospital (Samuel Shem)
Gravity's Rainbow (Thomas Pynchon)
Memoirs of an Ordinary Pastor: The Life and Reflections of Tom Carson (D.A. Carson)
The Corrections (Jonathan Franzen)
1Q84 (Haruki Murakami)
Hunger Games (Suzanne Collins)

Week 49: Tapos na!

2011-12-31T14:25:00.000+08:00

It's the final week of 2011, and my Week in Photos Project has ended. I started late in the year, but I so far I've been pretty consistent in taking a variety of pictures, thanks to my trusted iPod Touch.

I'm starting the Week Project anew for 2012, so keep yourselves posted. Pictures, after all, speak louder than words.