Kailangan mo ba ng webspace?

If you do, just ring me up or beam me a message.  I've got bajillions to spare.  =P

YM: blitz_krieg47 (I'm mostly invisible, so just message away)
Text:  09266830106 (text ka lang, i'll find a way to reply :P)
Email: jm.tuazon@gmail.com

Libre pramis.  =)  Friendship ang kapalit.  Wahaha.  Anubayun.  Bangag ko na talaga.  Pero seryoso, sayang kasi yung space ko, di ko masyado nagagamit.  =P  Best if you have a domain and you know FTP.  =)

Literary Challenge: Six-Word Short Stories

Let's keep our creative juices flowing this summer!

While the usual dose of short stories compose of lengthy paragraphs and chapters that never seem to end, the real challenge lies in achieving extremes:  the longest and the shortest.

Ernest Hemmingway was challenged to write a short story using only six words.  This is what he came up with:  "For sale: baby shoes, never used."  Now you can see how a few powerful words can create a world of stories.

The challenge is this:  think up of six words that can be weaved into one such story.  Remember, it should communicate a central thought and should be understood by the reader.  Now, that's a challenge!

Here're some more examples to keep you thinking:

• Irvine Welsh: "Eyeballed me, killed him. Slight exaggeration."
• Robert Olen Butler: "Saigon hotel. Decades later. He weeps."
• Norman Mailer: "Satan--Jehovah--fifteen rounds. A draw."
• Tobias Wolff: "She gave. He took. He forgot."
• David Lodge: "I saw. I conquered. Couldn't come."
• Augusten Burroughs: "Oh, that? It's nothing. Not contagious."

Here's my first try:  Upstairs Room.  Footsteps.  Screams.  Sixth Sense.

Day 07 - Of Slow Days and New Skills

I was so tired last night that I wasn't able to write my journal entry for the day. Anyway, pardon this late entry, but here goes.

I met Marlon again at Kamuning Police Station at around 10am, but sadly we didn't find any stories there. So we headed straight to Camp Karingal to look for possible news stories.

When we arrived there, still, there were no good stories. Only minor reports here and there. We talked to the colonels and seargents present for follow-up information on cases we did last week, but still, no word. God, this is a tough day, I thought.

We headed to a different division of the QCPD this time: the District Tactical Operations Center. This is where all the dispatch goes through. We browsed through the journal and lifted a few reports here and there. We even found the report on Sir Marlon's co-beat reporter having her bag stolen but subsequently recovered somewhere in Cubao, Quezon City.

Stories in hand, we proceeded as usual to the NUJP Headquarters and wrote our stories. Sir Marlon assigned me to do this story on a robbing incident in QC, and guess what? Only minor editing! I think I'm getting the hang of this. Sir Marlon always gave me reminders about Inquirer's style and certain ways to write certain stories, so somehow I get an idea how to write different topics whenever I encounter them.

Too bad that story wasn't published. Hehe.

When I was about to go to the office, Sir Marlon informed me that a good story slipped under our watch, so he contacted several people here and there and pieced the story. It's a semi-scoop because only a few broadsheets graced the story in their pages. Sir Marlon's quick thinking can now be seen here.

The MRT ride to the office was surprisingly pleasant. I guess it's because we were able to finish at the Police Beat early. The train's weren't that packed, the aircon was full blast, I was sitting inside, and the cab I was in really smelled good, like newly-cleaned good. I also noticed that the interiors were newly-painted. Either I'm too happy a commuter or the lack of a companion during these rides (Claire!!!) is taking its toll on me. Hehe.

Upon reaching the office, I immediately started my work. Today is the day I learn new skills. I sent a fax message to some of the schools asking for official communication letters from our office regarding our Tuition story. So I asked Ate Cyril to teach me how to use the fax machine.

Funny thing is, I'm usually perceived as the techy guy, yet I don't know how to operate a freaking fax machine. Haha. I guess backwardtechnophobic, in a way. =P

After sending the fax messages, Ate Kate asked me to photocopy some papers to be sent to the Jaime V. Ongpin Awards Commission. At first I noticed her a bit apprehensive to give me clerical work, but when she asked, I said with whole zest that I'd be glad to the job. So she taught me how to handle the office photocopying machine and woop-dee-doo! I was photocopying by myself in no time. Aside from some minor mishaps, I guess I did well with that one.

So, two new skills developed today: Faxing (if there's such a word) and Photocopying. Hehe.

Several minutes after the photocopying task, Sir Gani Yambot came to our office and gave a sheet of paper to Ate Kate. She passed the paper to me and asked me to look for reviews, summaries and other important articles about the book written on the paper. Whew. So off to research I went.

The book is entitled "How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read." I think this is an interesting book, because it says that reading a book is just as important as non-reading it. Meaning, the collective importance of a certain book in the world's history plays a significant role in the discourse about the book. Interesting, eh?

The next task that landed on my lap is to look for statistics about families consisting of six members who are taxpayers in the Philippines. Whew, this is a tough one, and unfortunately I wasn't able to find information from the archive. Good thing Ate Kate was able to find something on the net.

While working on some task, Ma'am Miner, my supervisor, asked what date the graduation would be. So I told her UP's graduation will be on Sunday. She then stared in space in bewilderment and asked, "Eh pano si Claire? Di sya aattend ng graduation?" I just had to laugh the thing off and told her we're not graduating yet this year.

Today was a bit slow, and not having a co-intern is dawning upon me. Somehow, there's this comfort in knowing that you're not alone in whatever taste of heaven or pile of shit you're in. With Claire gone, I'm practically on this thing alone. Sigh... I know it's not fun to mope but what the hey! Haha.

Hours covered today: 6 1/2 hours on the field, 4 1/2 hours in the office (total of 11 hours)

On Unrequited Love

Hi guys!  I'm just here to ask your thoughts about this certain topic that I know, in one time or another, has befallen us all.  What do you think of Unrequited Love?  I think a healthy discussion on this matter would be beneficial to us all.  Wala lang, just one of my whims.  Sakyan nyo na lang!  =P

Anyway, on topic:

Is it right to blame your unrequited love for not reciprocating the love/attention you're giving her/him?  Or is the act justified because as they say in Filipino, nagmamahal ka lang naman?  Wala nga namang masama sa pagmamahal.

Pero do you think one should draw the line somewhere?  If yes, when and where?  Who's the victim and who's the one who can't get a clue?  The one who doesn't seem to notice, or the one who doesn't seem to understand?

A penny for your thoughts.  =)

Day 06 - Of College Tuition Rates and Creepy Office Silence

Today's the day I tread this internship trail alone. Claire has gone off to Eastern Europe on a two-week family vacation she couldn't squeeze herself out of, and so I'm stuck to being the single intern for the rest of my internship hours.

Sir Marlon texted this morning, amid alarm clocks buzzing at 9am, that we won't meet today. So off I went to get some more precious snooze which I'm missing a lot on these days. But somehow, I couldn't get myself to go back to sleep and got up instead.

I decided I'd go straight to the office for the 1pm-9pm shift. I passed by UP first for some errands but found out that offices were closed, thanks and no thanks to the four-day work week being implemented in the university. Frustrated, I hopped on an MRT jeep and went straight to the office instead.

Somehow taking the trip to the office alone was a bit... depressing. No, wait, that's such a heavy word. It's not that depressing, but more like, lonely. Ugh Claire why did you have to go??! I'm having withdrawal symptoms of you. Hahaha. Just kidding.

When I arrived at the office, only Ate Cyril and Ate Eliza were there. Ate Kate and Ate Schatzi (wahoo, finally found out what the spelling of her name is!) were on their respective day-offs. I sat on my post and read the newspaper. Minutes later Ate Cyril gave me some tasks to accomplish.

Sandiganbayan Ate Cy asked me to call this Sandiganbayan division and ask them about the status of a certain case. Whew. First task of the day is quite chilling to the spine. I looked for their telephone number online and called their office. At first try, I was transferred to another line. On the second try, I was able to talk to someone from the division but she transferred me to another lady, maybe somebody of authority. I asked her about the status of this certain case and, in all adult-ish tone and conviction, she said that she can't give me that information and it would require a letter of permission for us to obtain it. I told her I wasn't looking for details, but merely the status of the case. She said, I can't answer that positively or negatively for you." So yeah, that was a major bitch slap, but what the heck. I promptly thanked her and hung up the phone.

Somehow there's this air of confidence that using the name of a major broadsheet gives you whenever you talk to officials or anyone famous for that matter. When I mentioned that I was from the Philippine Daily Inquirer, I somehow felt that the voice on the other line turned from soothing calm to a bit nervous. Haha. More on this later.

After that task, Ate Cyril told me to start calling colleges and universities to ask for their tuition rates. We'll run a story on this sometime soon, so we need to get the figures.

Colleges and Universities So off to calling people I went. At first try, I was a bit nervous. I was stammering between words and was sweating like crazy because the office aircon was only half-on. I didn't know what to say when confronted and had to think of quick ways to evade my integrity being questioned.

After a dozen calls, I got used to it. As I said a few paragraphs before, the name of the company somehow gives you that much-needed push. Whenever I introduce myself as someone from PDI, the voice on the line would either turn concerned, listening, or, as I said above, a bit nervous. Hehe. Some of the people I talked to gave me the information I needed. Some of them told me to call so-and-so to obtain the information. Some, still, asked for formal letters of communication before revealing vital data that they have. It's okay, I understand.

Somehow, I got a feel of the usual people from two ends of the line: one, I felt like a citizen being trapped in this bureaucracy of things, judging by the number of times I've been passed from person-to-person, department-to-department. It's a bit teeth-gritting at first but just like before, I got used to it. Two, I felt like a call center agent with the number of times I had to repeat myself to n number of people just to get the information I needed. Again, it's a gruelling task, but I guess somebody has to get used to it.

There's also one more thing I was forced to get used to: the different accents and tones and enunciations of several voice recordings whenever I call their schools. I'm telling you, this part is the most gruelling of all! I'd cringe at the way they'd pronounce a certain word, and would just have to laugh at the different tones they used. One was a bit alluring, others, well, just plain irritating. Haha. But the one from San Beda definitely stood out. While other schools would open the line with "Welcome to chever chever school, if you know the extension number...," San Beda's trunkline welcomes you with "Peace be With You." I swear I almost fell off my seat when I heard that manly voice say Peace be with You on the phone. It felt... weird. Haha. Like God talking directly to me, except in an eerily-deep manly voice. You should try it!!! Search for the number in google. Hehe.

After being the office call center agent for the afternoon, I ended most of my tasks at 5pm, since offices were closed already. Ate Cy and I prepared the letters of communication to be sent to the different schools tomorrow. After that, it was just all laid back tasks here and there.

And the office became eerily quiet at around 7pm, when only three of us were left in the department. I'm so not used to this.

Hours covered today: 7 1/2 hours

HEEEELP!

Good evening!

Friends, family, countrymen, people sa tabi-tabi... nais ko pong hingin ang inyong tulong.  I know that some of you know that I write for a youth/family magazine entitled CodeRed (subscribe kayo!  Maganda sya pramis.  ^__^).  We are a quarterly publication that focuses on different values that the youth should ideally possess.  Yes, we have Christian/Catholic roots (because our publisher are the Salesians of Don Bosco through Fr. Armand Robleza) but our stories transcend religious boundaries, and can extend to as far as social responsibility.

In every issue, I do a story focusing on the issue's theme (most of the time it's a certain value like Hope, Justice, Community, Belongingness, etc.)  My editor has a knack for right timing, because most of the time, she sends my assignments whenever I'm in the busiest time of my life (say, Finals Week or Presentation Week).  Good thing that for the next issue, she sent it to me just now, when I'm a bit lax with school even though busy with internship.

Now, onto the part where I need your help.  Here's my assignment for next issue:
YOUR ARTICLE: “It takes a village to raise a child.”
• Feature a young achiever whose integrity has been shaped by the community he grew up in.  (take note: not his family.)
• Highlight his community involvement and how he became more aware of his goals in life.
• Maybe you can find someone from a minority tribe who left his roots and found himself a better person in the city; OR vice versa; someone who left a comfortable city life to volunteer in a remote area (someone like of Jika David.)
• Please include relevant photos.

Since ganito ang theme, I'm thinking something more on the lines of somebody leaving his bonggacious lifestyle to pursue social work or community development or cultural integration elsewhere.  I'm also thinking along the lines of The Coconuter, what do you think?  Or pwede rin namang SK Kagawad/Chairman, since community involvement, no?

Uggghhh...  this is excruciating.  Please do email me or send me a text message (you know my number) if you happen to know someone who fits the description.  May libreng chocolate saken ang malaki ang maitutulong.  Hehe!  =P

Day 05 - Of Bad, Bad Doctors and The Pope Wearing Prada

What a way to conclude my first internship week.

But before we proceed, may I just express sadness over the fact that yesterday's shift will most probably me my last internship shift with Claire, because just this morning she went on a FREAKING WESTERN EUROPEAN TOUR and she won't be coming back until two weeks or so.  By the time she returns, I'd have already finished working my internship hours.  So yeah, basically, it's a bummer that my partner-in-internship-crime won't be here anymore, and what sucks even more is that it's all because she'll be touring one of the parts of the world I've been dreaming to visit one of these days.  Wuh.  Anyway, enough with the bitterness, let's proceed to the kwento, okay?

Before heading to the Kamuning Police Station 10 in the morning, I dropped by MassComm first to fetch a few documents I needed for the internship.  Apparently, both Claire and I were too lax about our internship that we forgot about certain documents we had to submit.  After MassComm, which was eerily quiet that day, I rode a bus at Central on my way to Kamuning.

Unfortunately, when we reached East Avenue, traffic was really bad.  Claire called and asked where I was, and we found out we were about meters apart from each other, stuck in traffic.  By the time we got to EDSA things got even worse, so when the bus was a stone's throw away from the station, I just decided to walk the remaining distance to the station.

When I arrived, Claire was already there and we proceeded to the Press Office, where we saw Sir Marlon.  Apparently the blotter wasn't available for viewing at that time, because the policemen are doing something with it.  I didn't know, and we didn't bother to ask.  So we decided to proceed to Camp Karingal instead.

Camp Karingal is a quaint, little police camp tucked in the middle of a not-so-posh village in Quezon City.  One would be surprised this strange little place actually housed a camp with real policemen, real guns, real criminals inside their prisons.  When I first got here I was surprised--because there were residents (considered illegal settlers by the camp) at the back portion of the camp, so anybody could go in and out of the camp without being suspected of anything.  Back then I thought police camps are exclusive to policemen and their ranks.  Camp Karingal was different.

We proceeded to our usual stop, CIDU, and browsed the blotter.  There was a report about two motorists being gunned down along Litex Road; then there was the shocker of the day--a 13-year-old boy killing another 13-year-old, no less than his friend.

When we found the report, we--all four of us--were abuzz with interest and curiosity.  Claire and I immediately took notes.  Once in a while somebody would be bemused by a certain detail in the report--an ice as big as his palm, complaints of headaches, possibilities of internal hemorrhage.  For us, who were merely there to look for stories, this was just another case of police incident worthy of being published in the papers.  Everything changed when we turned our backs and saw, to our utter horror, the 13-year-old suspect, sitting just behind us, his mother in tow, apparently tired from all the crying.

And not only that.  Seated beside the two was--to more of our aghast--the mother of the victim, feeling lifeless from all the tears cried just hours before.  I instantly felt bad.  In front of us is a mere document reporting the incident, and just behind us are the actual people involved.  I couldn't have felt more guilty for being so insensitive about some of my comments a few minutes ago.

Since the people were there anyway, we decided to ditch the blotter and interview them instead.  The mother of the suspect had crimson swollen eyes, apparently from crying.  But she managed to speak, anyway.  I don't know why but from the look in her eyes I felt really bad.  When we interviewed the mother of the victim, she looked lifeless but was surprisingly able to narrate the incident that transpired.  The usual inquiry into the details of the incident transpired.

Here's the 411:  Boy1 was asked by his mother to buy some ice from a nearby sari-sari store.  On his way home, he chanced upon Boy2 playing water guns with the little kids.  When he passed by, intentionally or unintentionally, Boy2 doused him with water from his water gun.  Boy1 retaliated and hit Boy2 in the arm and on the head.  Boy2 suffered a gaping wound in the head.  They both headed home.  Boy2 complained of headaches and was vomiting blood.  Mother of Boy2 was still in the hospital (where she works), and was being texted that her son has a severe headache and was vomiting.  She wasn't told her son had a wound from being hit by ice.  When she came home, she found out what happened and rushed the boy to the nearby district hospital.  But the mother thought better and took the boy to the hospital where she works, but they were given estimates of the projected costs of the operations, asking if they can pay that much money.  Seeing as to how they're being intimidated because they didn't have the money, they transferred the boy to PGH.  Unfortunately imaging devices in PGH were all broken, so they had to order CT Scan outside.  But it was midnight.  They had no money.  They couldn't do anything.  The boy died at around 4:30 in the morning.

Mind you, they live in Novaliches and they took the boy all the way to PGH in Taft because of the incidents they had to grapple with.  Somehow I took pity on the mother, because had quick actions been taken instead of intimidating people with large sums of money and the possibility of not being able to pay, then the boy would have survived the tragedy.

Then again, I can't go on pointing fingers at anybody.  For all I know I don't understand the intricacies of the medical profession, but somehow I feel that giving highfalutin estimates of probable hospital costs isn't at all proper.  And what's even more disappointing is the fact that the mother works in that hospital (although not as a medical crew, but as maintenance).  They could've just taken the bill from the mother's salary or whatever.  Don't they have hospitalization benefits for their employees?  It's disheartening, really.

After interviewing the mother, who miraculously didn't break into tears (thank God 'cause I would've cried as well), both Claire and I felt... lifeless.  Claire was almost in tears when we rode the taxi.  I didn't know what to do.  I wanted to scream.  I thought, if this is the kind of things I'd have to get used to at work, then I don't want to get used to it at all.  I secretly wished not being assigned in the Police Beat when I finally get to work, because I don't want to endure that kind of torture just to get a good story.

This incident got my mind really thinking.  Is it the pursuit of a good story, or the need to air out people's basic needs to the public?  With this recent incident, we decided to focus on the angle that the mother was practically refused hospital care because they didn't have the money.  Sigh... good thing I wasn't assigned to write this one, otherwise I'd find it really hard.

So we went back to the NUJP headquarters, two stories in hand, feeling defeated, hungry, lifeless... we worked on our stories and by 2:30 PM were already finished.  I waited for Claire to finish her survey story, then we strode off to the office.

If it weren't for Claire's quick thinking, we would've been run over by approximately three vehicles while crossing different streets because of my absent-mindedness.  What can I do?  I've had merely 4 hours of sleep yesterday and all I gulped to keep me awake were one can of nescafe iced coffee and a large cup of Coke Zero from 7-Eleven.

When we arrived at the office, sleepy and all, Ate Kate gave us our tasks.  Claire looked for articles about NAIA and PIATCO, and I helped Ate Kate search for figures (for Sunday Inquirer Magazine's Figure It Out section) about Philippine Festivals.  It was quite an easy task but once again, I drowned in all the numbers I couldn't make sense of.  That was basically how the night went.

In between, however, we gobbled tons and tons of food.  In one instance, Ate Shiatsi (somebody tell me the correct spelling of her name!!!  Haha) received a call from a higher-up, telling her to go outside.  She quickly grabbed pen and paper, thinking she'll be given an assignment to do.  When she returned, she said, "Ate, Kate, mukhang mahirap nga." referring to the task at hand.  When we saw her, she was bearing a box of pizza on her hands.  "Mukhang kailangan natin ng tulong nila..." referring to us interns.  Hehe.  Teamwork is fun, especially when food is involved.

A few hours into my work and I received a call from a friend who's also in the office, Gibbs Cadiz.  I've known Gibbs from the blogosphere and didn't even realize he's a Lifestyle Editor for the Inquirer until a few months back.  He told us to come over the lifestyle department and grab some dinner.  Obedient interns as we are, Claire and I obliged.  We came back with two heaps of different food, plus an awesomely delectable cake to boot (the one that melts in your mouth that I've heard so much of).  Now I know what they meant when they said that working in the PDI Office can really make you gain weight.  I now understand why that spiral staircase from hell was placed there.  Hehe.

The remaining hours of the night was spent laughing over an assignment given to Ate Shiatsi.  She was asked to research about the Pope wearing red Prada shoes.  The first time I heard it, the only thing that came to mind was The Devil Wears Prada. So I told them, if we go by the screwed logic of the universe, since The Devil Wears Prada and now we know that the Pope wears Prada, does it mean that the Pope is The Devil??!  Sacrilegous Horrors!!!  Hahaha.  Of course I was kidding.

All in all the first week of internship had been a blast.  If you've been religiously following this internship blog, then you already know that even though we break our backs to work off 12 hours, we're still happy with what we're doing.  Of course there's some amount of sugar-coating added to it ('cause hello, jumping from one city to another in a mass transit system definitely isn't that fun), I believe the general feeling is more of happiness and fulfillment.

Now I can say that I'm more than prepared to tackle the week ahead!  (Sad, though, because Claire won't be around)