Manuel Jr., Sherwin (or Sherman; also Ogie), Dad, Lucky Ryan & Kate, Mom, Me, & Ms. Sheryll Ignacio (soon-to-be hmmm...)
Monday, April 24, 2006
Family picture
Manuel Jr., Sherwin (or Sherman; also Ogie), Dad, Lucky Ryan & Kate, Mom, Me, & Ms. Sheryll Ignacio (soon-to-be hmmm...)
Monday, April 17, 2006
The “other love” on center stage
With their demanding career and inclination to science, doctors cannot possibly have time for “trivial” things or be creative — or so we think. Two renowned physicians prove us wrong, on both counts.
Sherma E. Benosa
They are on call 24/7. They rush to the ER upon summon. Their best weapons are the scalpel and the stethoscope. Saving lives is their ultimate goal. Failing a patient is their greatest woe.
We think of them as men and women clad in all-white outfits, stetho- scope hanging loosely around their necks. We visualize them barking orders to their assistants during surgery, or patiently listening to their patients and carefully giving out prescriptions during consultations.
They are the ones we turn to when we feel physical pain. We count on them to deliver us or a loved one from death’s door. We hang on to their every word — a word of assurance fills our hearts with hope; a “sorry” coupled with a shake of their head makes our hearts burst in despair.
But beyond their role as human “gods,” we don’t really know them as individuals. And with their busy medical practice, it’s easy for us to think of them as nerdy, all-work geeks who have no (other) life to live. And thinking that their vocabulary consists mainly of unpronounceable diseases and tongue-twister drug names, it may really come as a surprise that they can express themselves — loud and clear — through a language we all understand — the arts.
Stroke of a pen
He has made a name for himself in the field of medicine. While doing so, gastroenterologist Atenodoro Ruiz, Jr., is also making a name in medical and creative writing. Writing about medical updates, health education and other pressing medical issues, he has been published in numerous national and international medical journals, as well as in local dailies and magazines, including H&L.
“Writing is a very important medium of communication of ideas and insights, and sharing of knowledge and expertise,” says Dr. Ruiz. “Being in the medical field, I truly recognize the impact of dissemination of scientific breakthroughs and landmark trials in medical publications. …”
But his passion for writing transcends his love for medicine, to his other passion — music. A music magazine may seem an unlikely venue, but yes, his byline also appears in one. Reviewing new songs and artists, listing the winners and losers in the music scene and writing pop quizzes, who would associate him with the person who writes technical, rigid articles? “I have a diverse interest in the spectrum of music. I usually listen to top 40 radio stations, surf the internet and regularly visit the billboard website. I also watch concerts. I think I know a lot about the trends and achievements in music, and I just want to share it with readers,” he says.
But isn’t it hard to switch from scientific to non-technical writing? “Writing nonscientific articles requires more effort and research on my part [than writing technical papers]. I need to be not busy with my medical responsibilities to switch to a different style of writing. But it (writing light-read articles) can be more fun and it allows me to show a different facet of my personality,” says the physician-writer.
Lasting imprints
Besides medicine, Dr. Alberto Daysog, Jr., renowned nephrologist, respected medical educator, and multi-awarded medical researcher, has one great love: ceramic painting.
His love for the art started in 1961, but it was in the ‘90s that he finally “gave in” to his creative inclination, hence, the beginning of his “love affair” with ceramic painting. “Ceramic painting satisfies my artistic needs. It keeps me busy. It is a form of therapy and relaxation and it adds to living,” he says.
But for Dr. Daysog, his art is not just a means of creative expression. It is his life’s statement. He uses it to achieve higher ends — to help indigent patients and the homeless.
Once a year, he holds a one-man exhibit of eighty to ninety paintings in hospital lobbies (UST Hospital, Ospital ng Maynila, San Juan de Dios Hospital and Makati Medical Center, among others) and donates the proceeds to charity. “Ceramic painting is the venue through which I am able to do charitable work,” says the philanthropic doctor.
At present, Dr. Daysog is still finding ways to improve his craft. “Since I have a grasp of the art and the resources to manipulate it, I’m finding ways to make it easier, faster and economical. I still keep improving and discovering new facets of ceramic painting. It is the researcher in me — researching on what you have and what is affordable. I hope to someday write a book on ceramic painting, the easy, rapid and economical way.”
It is said that ceramic paintings can outlast a millennium. But more lasting than the impressions Dr. Daysog has glazed upon his pieces are the imprints he has left in the hearts of those he has helped.
Health and Lifestyle
May 2005 Issue
Sherma E. Benosa
They are on call 24/7. They rush to the ER upon summon. Their best weapons are the scalpel and the stethoscope. Saving lives is their ultimate goal. Failing a patient is their greatest woe.
We think of them as men and women clad in all-white outfits, stetho- scope hanging loosely around their necks. We visualize them barking orders to their assistants during surgery, or patiently listening to their patients and carefully giving out prescriptions during consultations.
They are the ones we turn to when we feel physical pain. We count on them to deliver us or a loved one from death’s door. We hang on to their every word — a word of assurance fills our hearts with hope; a “sorry” coupled with a shake of their head makes our hearts burst in despair.
But beyond their role as human “gods,” we don’t really know them as individuals. And with their busy medical practice, it’s easy for us to think of them as nerdy, all-work geeks who have no (other) life to live. And thinking that their vocabulary consists mainly of unpronounceable diseases and tongue-twister drug names, it may really come as a surprise that they can express themselves — loud and clear — through a language we all understand — the arts.
Stroke of a pen
He has made a name for himself in the field of medicine. While doing so, gastroenterologist Atenodoro Ruiz, Jr., is also making a name in medical and creative writing. Writing about medical updates, health education and other pressing medical issues, he has been published in numerous national and international medical journals, as well as in local dailies and magazines, including H&L.
“Writing is a very important medium of communication of ideas and insights, and sharing of knowledge and expertise,” says Dr. Ruiz. “Being in the medical field, I truly recognize the impact of dissemination of scientific breakthroughs and landmark trials in medical publications. …”
But his passion for writing transcends his love for medicine, to his other passion — music. A music magazine may seem an unlikely venue, but yes, his byline also appears in one. Reviewing new songs and artists, listing the winners and losers in the music scene and writing pop quizzes, who would associate him with the person who writes technical, rigid articles? “I have a diverse interest in the spectrum of music. I usually listen to top 40 radio stations, surf the internet and regularly visit the billboard website. I also watch concerts. I think I know a lot about the trends and achievements in music, and I just want to share it with readers,” he says.
But isn’t it hard to switch from scientific to non-technical writing? “Writing nonscientific articles requires more effort and research on my part [than writing technical papers]. I need to be not busy with my medical responsibilities to switch to a different style of writing. But it (writing light-read articles) can be more fun and it allows me to show a different facet of my personality,” says the physician-writer.
Lasting imprints
Besides medicine, Dr. Alberto Daysog, Jr., renowned nephrologist, respected medical educator, and multi-awarded medical researcher, has one great love: ceramic painting.
His love for the art started in 1961, but it was in the ‘90s that he finally “gave in” to his creative inclination, hence, the beginning of his “love affair” with ceramic painting. “Ceramic painting satisfies my artistic needs. It keeps me busy. It is a form of therapy and relaxation and it adds to living,” he says.
But for Dr. Daysog, his art is not just a means of creative expression. It is his life’s statement. He uses it to achieve higher ends — to help indigent patients and the homeless.
Once a year, he holds a one-man exhibit of eighty to ninety paintings in hospital lobbies (UST Hospital, Ospital ng Maynila, San Juan de Dios Hospital and Makati Medical Center, among others) and donates the proceeds to charity. “Ceramic painting is the venue through which I am able to do charitable work,” says the philanthropic doctor.
At present, Dr. Daysog is still finding ways to improve his craft. “Since I have a grasp of the art and the resources to manipulate it, I’m finding ways to make it easier, faster and economical. I still keep improving and discovering new facets of ceramic painting. It is the researcher in me — researching on what you have and what is affordable. I hope to someday write a book on ceramic painting, the easy, rapid and economical way.”
It is said that ceramic paintings can outlast a millennium. But more lasting than the impressions Dr. Daysog has glazed upon his pieces are the imprints he has left in the hearts of those he has helped.
Health and Lifestyle
May 2005 Issue
Wednesday, April 12, 2006
Question # 1
Why is it that when you are too damn busy you need all your energy and attention focused on your task at hand, it would be then that your mind would choose to drift?
So it happened that while I was working on something that was rather rush, I got flagged down with so many thoughts — all leading to different directions, none pleasant.
'Kakaloka…
So it happened that while I was working on something that was rather rush, I got flagged down with so many thoughts — all leading to different directions, none pleasant.
'Kakaloka…
Bullshit personified
Warning: This is a shitty entry. If you’d rather have a feel-good article, read no further.
Dr. O didn’t list it as a requirement in the class syllabus she gave us at the start of the semester. Neither did she mention that it was important when she encouraged us to write and publish an opinion piece on the new bill on bilingual education. Not even during the long months we met every week did she say something that would have given us a hint that it was necessary. But after our group had fulfilled all the class requirements and we were ready to party, it was then that she announced in class that the only way for us to have a grade of one is to get published, and that only one among us has made it — Pao.
Damn! Magpapa-publish lang pala, uno na?
Why then did we have to conduct an in-service training? Why the hell did we have to do interviews, surveys and class observations and find out the needs of the teachers of a public school the existence of which we did not even know about until three months ago? Why the hell did we have to spend a lot of money, waste much of our time, exhaust our energy, and go through weekly meetings, brainstorming sessions and planning when all we needed to do lang pala was flip through files of studies, sit a couple of hours writing a one-page opinion piece, email our output to a broadsheet, and presto! — UNO na?
Oh! Before you go thinking that I’m merely sour-graping, let me tell you this: that isn’t my way. I know when I deserve something and when I don’t. And right now, I am not saying that I deserve a grade of one. But I dare say that if no one in my group deserves it, then Pao deserves it much less.
I don’t have any problem if she’d choose to give Pao a bonus grade for having his work published. Maybe, he deserves it. But uno? No way!
Yes, Pao may be the brightest student in class. He can easily outshine anyone. He is smart, intelligent and articulate. And he is a fulltime student. It helps too, that he has a knack for befriending teachers (a skill I lack, and never bothered to acquire).
Still, I maintain that he doesn’t deserve a one. Why should he? As the leader of his group, he has failed big time. Their in-service training was not quite good — our bitch of a teacher said so herself (They made a big mistake of hiring a professional as a speaker in their training when it should have been one or two among them who did the talk. Now, who should the teacher grade, the speaker whom they hired?) Even before they concluded their in-service training, their group was already divided into two — with him on one side, and the rest of the group on the other. And to top it all, their documentation/written output was still not ready when the original submission date arrived.
So where did Pao’s grade of one come from? It could not have been from the in-service training, which, we were made to believe all throughout the semester, was the main requirement in class.
(Oh, I forgot! He got his opinion piece published nga pala! Patawa naman o! Kukunin ‘yung grade niya sa extra work na pinagawa ng teacher? Extra, kasi hindi naman bilingual education ang description ng class! And ha! Ha! What’s the fuss nga pala about his opinion piece having been published? Was it a major article? Was it a literary piece? Neither. So what’s the big deal? It’s not as if it’s so difficult to have something published. I should know, because I happen to be in the publishing industry.)
And, as if the racket of a news about Pao already assured of his top marks — long before his group drafted and submitted their written output — still wasn’t enough, the piece of vermin sitting on the teacher’s desk further elicited my group’s annoyance when, as we were submitting our output on the day of submission, she suddenly realized that there are specific things she wanted to see in our documentation (Oh… let’s just say she simply forgot to tell us beforehand, OK? I’m sure it was an honest mistake on her part).
So needless to say, she extended the deadline to another two weeks. However, one week to go before deadline 2, she again realized she wanted us pala to follow a certain format. (Now, of course it would be too bad of us to think she’s stalling things so that her favorite student’s group could catch up, so let’s just think she’s really forgetful, shall we?)
But damn… damn… damn!
I’ve been trying to justify her actions since her announcement; I’ve been trying to see things from her perspective to understand the whys of things; but until now I still think that we (my groupmates and I, including Pao’s group members) were unjustly treated.
To this date, I still feel I've been cheated.
Maybe if it were just the grade we are talking about, I would not have cared one bit. I’ve grown matured enough to know that grade isn’t everything; that in fact, it doesn’t mean anything in most of our endeavors. But the issue isn’t just about grade. Neither is it about Pao. It’s about a teacher who thought she could subject her students to her whims and get away with it. It’s about favoritism and power play.
Oh! I may never be a genius like Pao. But dammit, I know bullshit when I see one.
Dr. O didn’t list it as a requirement in the class syllabus she gave us at the start of the semester. Neither did she mention that it was important when she encouraged us to write and publish an opinion piece on the new bill on bilingual education. Not even during the long months we met every week did she say something that would have given us a hint that it was necessary. But after our group had fulfilled all the class requirements and we were ready to party, it was then that she announced in class that the only way for us to have a grade of one is to get published, and that only one among us has made it — Pao.
Damn! Magpapa-publish lang pala, uno na?
Why then did we have to conduct an in-service training? Why the hell did we have to do interviews, surveys and class observations and find out the needs of the teachers of a public school the existence of which we did not even know about until three months ago? Why the hell did we have to spend a lot of money, waste much of our time, exhaust our energy, and go through weekly meetings, brainstorming sessions and planning when all we needed to do lang pala was flip through files of studies, sit a couple of hours writing a one-page opinion piece, email our output to a broadsheet, and presto! — UNO na?
Oh! Before you go thinking that I’m merely sour-graping, let me tell you this: that isn’t my way. I know when I deserve something and when I don’t. And right now, I am not saying that I deserve a grade of one. But I dare say that if no one in my group deserves it, then Pao deserves it much less.
I don’t have any problem if she’d choose to give Pao a bonus grade for having his work published. Maybe, he deserves it. But uno? No way!
Yes, Pao may be the brightest student in class. He can easily outshine anyone. He is smart, intelligent and articulate. And he is a fulltime student. It helps too, that he has a knack for befriending teachers (a skill I lack, and never bothered to acquire).
Still, I maintain that he doesn’t deserve a one. Why should he? As the leader of his group, he has failed big time. Their in-service training was not quite good — our bitch of a teacher said so herself (They made a big mistake of hiring a professional as a speaker in their training when it should have been one or two among them who did the talk. Now, who should the teacher grade, the speaker whom they hired?) Even before they concluded their in-service training, their group was already divided into two — with him on one side, and the rest of the group on the other. And to top it all, their documentation/written output was still not ready when the original submission date arrived.
So where did Pao’s grade of one come from? It could not have been from the in-service training, which, we were made to believe all throughout the semester, was the main requirement in class.
(Oh, I forgot! He got his opinion piece published nga pala! Patawa naman o! Kukunin ‘yung grade niya sa extra work na pinagawa ng teacher? Extra, kasi hindi naman bilingual education ang description ng class! And ha! Ha! What’s the fuss nga pala about his opinion piece having been published? Was it a major article? Was it a literary piece? Neither. So what’s the big deal? It’s not as if it’s so difficult to have something published. I should know, because I happen to be in the publishing industry.)
And, as if the racket of a news about Pao already assured of his top marks — long before his group drafted and submitted their written output — still wasn’t enough, the piece of vermin sitting on the teacher’s desk further elicited my group’s annoyance when, as we were submitting our output on the day of submission, she suddenly realized that there are specific things she wanted to see in our documentation (Oh… let’s just say she simply forgot to tell us beforehand, OK? I’m sure it was an honest mistake on her part).
So needless to say, she extended the deadline to another two weeks. However, one week to go before deadline 2, she again realized she wanted us pala to follow a certain format. (Now, of course it would be too bad of us to think she’s stalling things so that her favorite student’s group could catch up, so let’s just think she’s really forgetful, shall we?)
But damn… damn… damn!
I’ve been trying to justify her actions since her announcement; I’ve been trying to see things from her perspective to understand the whys of things; but until now I still think that we (my groupmates and I, including Pao’s group members) were unjustly treated.
To this date, I still feel I've been cheated.
Maybe if it were just the grade we are talking about, I would not have cared one bit. I’ve grown matured enough to know that grade isn’t everything; that in fact, it doesn’t mean anything in most of our endeavors. But the issue isn’t just about grade. Neither is it about Pao. It’s about a teacher who thought she could subject her students to her whims and get away with it. It’s about favoritism and power play.
Oh! I may never be a genius like Pao. But dammit, I know bullshit when I see one.
Monday, April 03, 2006
Life is a performing art
An unseen hand turned an unusually bright spotlight upon a darkened stage. Out of nowhere, a figure stepped onto the platform, with no idea how he got there or where he came from. Neither did he know what to do. But in his mind, he seemed to be hearing a voice fainter than a whisper, giving him a vague instruction to act and to say something.
Half-bewildered, half-suspecting someone was pulling his leg, the figure looked to his left and right, and realized that he wasn’t alone; that he shared the stage with several other beings — puppets, marionettes, dolls, and stick figures — who, like him, had no idea why they were there.
It was as he turned to his right that the figure noticed something peculiar: the arena where he and the other beings were to perform had no seats for spectators.
AFTER HOURS OF walking to and fro the stage — many times crossing paths, a few times colliding, and sometimes walking alongside the others — the figure just knew, though he couldn’t explain how, that he was being called off the stage. So he delivered his last lines, bowed to the other beings, and started to make his exit. As he retreated to the backstage, he heard some kind of noise erupt. Whether it was a collective applause or booing, he wasn’t sure; he didn’t turn to see.
Reaching the backstage, the figure saw a silhouette making weird gestures as though he was conducting an orchestra. Thinking that the silhouette was another actor about to step onto the platform, he gave him a sympathetic look and exclaimed, “Whew! That was some kind of a play. A scriptless one! Would you believe that? And undirected, too. Weird, isn’t it?”
Receiving no response, the figure persisted, “By the way, are you an actor, too?”
The silhouette shook his head, not taking his gaze off the invisible orchestra. “No, I’m the director.”
Stunned, the figure exclaimed, “The director? You are the director? Why then aren’t you directing? I would have been spared of all those collisions. I would not have gotten lost. I would have been able to put in a better performance; I would not have a-fretted and a-strutted upon that weird platform like some kind of a drunk!”
The silhouette momentarily turned his attention to the figure. “I was. You just weren’t listening.” [seb/july2005]
Half-bewildered, half-suspecting someone was pulling his leg, the figure looked to his left and right, and realized that he wasn’t alone; that he shared the stage with several other beings — puppets, marionettes, dolls, and stick figures — who, like him, had no idea why they were there.
It was as he turned to his right that the figure noticed something peculiar: the arena where he and the other beings were to perform had no seats for spectators.
AFTER HOURS OF walking to and fro the stage — many times crossing paths, a few times colliding, and sometimes walking alongside the others — the figure just knew, though he couldn’t explain how, that he was being called off the stage. So he delivered his last lines, bowed to the other beings, and started to make his exit. As he retreated to the backstage, he heard some kind of noise erupt. Whether it was a collective applause or booing, he wasn’t sure; he didn’t turn to see.
Reaching the backstage, the figure saw a silhouette making weird gestures as though he was conducting an orchestra. Thinking that the silhouette was another actor about to step onto the platform, he gave him a sympathetic look and exclaimed, “Whew! That was some kind of a play. A scriptless one! Would you believe that? And undirected, too. Weird, isn’t it?”
Receiving no response, the figure persisted, “By the way, are you an actor, too?”
The silhouette shook his head, not taking his gaze off the invisible orchestra. “No, I’m the director.”
Stunned, the figure exclaimed, “The director? You are the director? Why then aren’t you directing? I would have been spared of all those collisions. I would not have gotten lost. I would have been able to put in a better performance; I would not have a-fretted and a-strutted upon that weird platform like some kind of a drunk!”
The silhouette momentarily turned his attention to the figure. “I was. You just weren’t listening.” [seb/july2005]
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