Discovering Jewels

This was an assignment for OT 100.
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The Filipino society has always been perturbed whenever the word “disability” slithers into conversations. The uneasiness brought by the word disability escalates to the 89th power when Filipinos see disability’s twin, “disabled” going across Ped Xing in crutches or worse, sharing a few laughs with Rajah Soliman’s statue at Luneta.

A great number of Filipinos (I didn’t generalize since not every citizen with Filipino nationality stamped on their birth certificates has the same twisted notion about disability) view persons with physical dysfunctions as pathetic, incapacitated, and all synonyms in between, individuals who are the less, if at all, productive members of the society. The society is even more unforgiving to persons with psychological dysfunctions, carelessly and heartlessly stereotyping them all together as deranged and should be locked up anywhere but near the comfort zone of the self-righteous-typically-developed sector of the Filipino society. On the other hand, caregivers of PWDs are often pitied for being martyrs. Normal people usually offer unsolicited sympathy to the caregivers because they think of all caregivers as the shorter and darker version of Atlas and the PWDs is the globe they are carrying.

Before I entered CAMP, I have a passive attitude towards PWDs. It was like, they were just there then I would pass by, feel sorry for their hapless state, and a few minutes later forget about the whole thing. Also, with physical dysfunctions, I admit that I used to look at, and we mean really stare at the PWD especially if the dysfunction is really noticeable. I was not able to help it because it was second nature to me, especially growing up in a society quite insensitive and condescending. With psychological dysfunction, most of my pre-CAMP encounters were with schizophrenics and I would just react if I felt threatened that they would attack me, but aside from that I really didn’t care about them at all. In a nutshell, I was apathetic. Furthermore, I had no idea about other psychological problems that’s why whenever someone is acting atypically but still short of being insane by society’s standard, I would dismiss it as a mere case of weirdness. And like the majority, I can’t help but feel sorry for the caregivers. I knew even then that it was no joke to take care of someone with special needs.

But barely after four months into this semester, I felt ashamed of my actions, or lack of it in most cases, towards PWDs and their caregivers. Aside from the new appreciation of the realization that I am normal and I should really be thankful of that, I’ve also learned to look at PWD more positively. I now know how to care, genuine caring that is…one that is not fleeting but for keeps.

I feel really happy that there is a profession focused on reaching out to PWDs, with physical dysfunctions and psychiatric problems alike, with a human touch willing to help and to radiate warmth into their icy orb that has been alienated from the rest of society. With the help of OT, these individuals are flown back in to the main stream of society after a hibernation epoch of wading helplessly in creeks. I personally think, bias aside, that OT is one of the world’s most noble professions... helping individuals, that were once looked down because they hardly contribute to the society, to engage in occupations to support participation in their respective contexts. Molding or rehabilitating, whichever is applicable, a seemingly unproductive individual into someone that can contribute something to the society despite being atypical is one tough job and a very satisfying one too.

It feels great to be a part of the OT team. And it feels good not to look down on PWDs but rather think of them as gems, uncut, yet to be polished, and potentials still untapped. And OTs are nearby willing to discover the jewel within.
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Sometimes, I need reminders like this to keep me going in OT. There are times that the college demands A LOT from us that I just want to give up and get a life. But assignments like this make me feel guilty. I'm too self-centered and preoccupied with my college-caused miseries that I often forget that there are a lot of special people waiting for my help in the finish line.

PWDs stands for Persons With Disabilities

Freudian Defense Mechanisms

This was an assignment for our OT 151 class.
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I would probably be in purgatory by now if not for defense mechanisms. Really, how much heaps of anxiety can my poor ego take? Thanks a lot id and superego. Defense mechanisms, lots of them, are what kept me sane and alive all these years, especially in the unforgivable extremely torturous, and radical academic arena so distinctive of UP education.

Even before I entered college, during those times when Freudian defense mechanisms were as alien and as distant as the Andromeda Galaxy to my juvenile mind, I was already using defense mechanisms to cope with the stressing life of a preschooler. No kidding. And as I progress into what I call the education bureaucracy (uhm, I mean hierarchy) the intensity and frequency of my desperate calls to defense mechanisms' intervention to my anxiety-laden academic life had dramatically increased. No, I'm not a neurotic. But let's face it, in the Philippine context of education, the more anxious a student is, the more normal he is regarded. Every student I knew was (and is) just as harassed as I am; save for those born geniuses who knew by heart Shakespeare's works and the Theory of Relativity while swimming in their mothers' wombs. So, for a typical student like me, I guess nothing to worry about except wrinkles invasion even before I graduate from college.

When I entered in UP I realized that one or two defense mechanisms wouldn't last my sanity long enough. I might have used all those defense mechanisms for all I care. But I have my set of Hall of Famers, those that I often use and those that are easy to use (whatever that means.) The top spot goes to Denial. Wow. As if this is not overrated. Denial is the most famous of them all and I'm part of that huge Denial cult. I am in denial that I have attitude problems, particularly time management. I've been denying to my parents and to myself that my procrastination and mañana habits are becoming alarming as my stay in CAMP is getting longer. Probably because I refuse to seek help or I just don't want to confront it. I hate confrontations anyway. Well now I'm finally admitting it. So I guess that would make denial void from my hall of fame.

Coming in close second place is Displacement. I'm pretty aware that if I vent my anger onto the professor that caused it I'll be in big trouble. So I just take out my anger onto other people who are not as harmful as my professors like family and friends. I also throw my books away, stomp over my notebooks, and tear down my handouts. After my explosive episode with anger, I would form my handouts again like reconstructing a 3000 pieces puzzle while cursng myself for doing something stupid.

In the third spot, which I'm quite proud that I'm using it, is Sublimation. When everything is overwhelmingly out of control, as if the heavens are conspiring against me, Lady Luck decides to file a leave of absence, and I want to scream until my lungs rip off, run somebody over with a bulldozer, or set the College of Art and Sciences on fire (especially when departmental exams in chemistry, physics, and algebra are scheduled a minute after the other) ... I read. I read until my eyes threaten to walkout on me. I also post entries in my blogs (like I said in one of my blogs, writing is my catharsis, my virtual and less expensive psychiatric couch.) My entries' incomprehensibility mirrors my messed-up emotions. I think that an unreadable essay and bloodshot eyes are better than being jailed for arson and murder.

Fourth place goes to Rationalization. Rationalization always pays me a visit after an exam that I'm "very prepared" of. After seeing a grade lower than the Marianas Trench or a mark saying "Study Harder!" in bloody red ink, my ego automatically prepares a very long list of rationalizations: the calculator's batteries ran out in the middle of a physics problem, my chemistry module was vacuumed by an alien spaceship, there's no more space in my brain to memorize 2386 and 1/4 Arabic and Jewish terms, the OT handouts were stolen by the Mafia, I can't distinguish a gluteus maximus from a masseter, and so on. I cannot possibly blame myself that on the eve of the exam I was out partying with friends. That would not be fair. Really.

Sometimes, I also use Regression. I don't know what early developmental stage I am fixated but I always end up crying and sulking when I had a really, really, really bad day. Yes, even worse than the Pearl Harbor. This doesn't concern academics though but more of relationship problems with people that leave me emotionally drained and stressed.

One way or the other I might have used other defense mechanisms, and other defense mechanisms I made up like using humor and avoidance, in my daily battle in life (and also the daily raging war among my id, superego, and ego.) I know it's not healthy to always call one defense mechanism to be my lifeline. I know that I'm distorting reality and though it temporarily offers me escape I know one day all those anxieties that I've ran away from will come crashing in front of me.

Defense mechanism is innate human nature. We are born with it. But it took a genius like Freud to discover its immense capabilities in helping the ego cope with the demands of id and the conscience of the superego. But something will go really wrong if we rely too much on defense mechanisms that we will forget how to face reality and confront the evils and anxieties that are inevitable in our mundane existence.

Balance. Balancing reality and escapism will help us get through life without being doomed in a psychiatric hospital. I wouldn't mind using defense mechanisms to buy me another day away from purgatory. It's all a matter of learning the art of using defense mechanisms and believing in the power of the Big Loving Man up there in heaven.

Friday Afternoons

I found my first exam in STS (crumpled yellow papers sentenced to be exiled at Payatas). I'm a semi-sentimental person so I reread it again.

I realized two things. One, my penmanship is awful. Second, my penmanship is even worse when I'm taking an essay-type exam.

Anyway, I thought you might want to share some of the insights I gained while taking that subject. Naks! One of the essay questions goes something like, "Why is it important to take STS?" Drumroll please... Behold! My profound answer! Just kidding. LOL;)
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I do admit that I loathe having to take STS (Science, Technology, and Society to the uninitiated.) I was given an impression that I really don't need it and I'm just wasting 3 hours of my precious Friday afternoons looking blankly at endless powerpoint presentations when I'd rather be preparing for a night-out. What do I care about fiber optics and robotics anyway? Even before classes started I made it official that I hate STS. Period. It is going to be a waste of time and a waste of my much needed neurons for other more cortically-challenging subjects like Bowling, uh, I mean Neuroanatomy.

But the lessons I have learned from STS humbled my condescending first-impression. More than the nose bleeds in fiber optics and pre-historic technologies lies a larger than life reality - that STS is a celebration of humanity. The history of Science and Technology is a testament of the amazing intellect and ingenuity used by civilizations to tame the immensity of nature's power, and to preserve the discoveries of their age for future generations. STS reawakened my belief and trust in our species, that we are capable of great discoveries and our capability to amass great knowledge for our self-preservation.

The things I've learned in STS will surely be of help in case I'll get stuck in an elevator amidst a society of scientists. They will surely be amazed of my fluency in Science and Technology - from the shadoofs of the Iron Age to the integrated circuits of the computer era. But seriously, it's not about the details and the awe-inspiring ideas that made me appreciate STS. Rather it is the realization that man is very lucky to be given such untapped abilities that had sustained his existence as well as propelled him to strive for and achieve great things. He discovered the wonders of his mind step by step, taking baby steps everytime...no rush...just small sure steps - from his discovery of fire up until he reached the heavens and the cosmos.

There's a lot more in store for him. But he's taking it slowly. STS made me see this. I'm happy to be taking STS because I was able to see (really see this time) the greatness of the human race.
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I know the title is sooooo off-topic but I'm running out of ideas;)

Political Hypocrite

I'm turning 19 in a couple of days. I was already eligible to vote last Monday, May 14, the country's midterm election. I didn't. I was not registered. I had all the chance last December to register but I decided not to. I don't believe in the system.

So until the next election I technically have no right to complain against our government. I don't care anyway. The government can continue doing its rotten ways and I would still exist. After all, I existed for almost 2 decades without minding the government. Ooops, I forgot, I'm studying in UP. Somehow, the government and I have a little connection because it pays for my education.

But as I was browsing my files earlier, I accidentally opened this essay. It was a requirement for our History 2 class. This is a reaction paper about the movie Iron Jawed Angels. It's about fighting for the right to vote. It hit me hard. I realized how much of a hypocrite I am. Read the latter paragraphs and you'll know why. I intentionally did not edit this.

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Iron Jawed Angels may not be a flawless masterpiece but it was just a few points shy of scoring a perfect 10. What has been a chapter or two of this historical account in dusty history books was ripped-off and amazingly metamorphosed into a dramatic success and critically acclaimed TV-film. And that’s putting bias to my sexuality aside.

It was a stirring real tale of a group of women dedicated on campaigning for the full citizenship of women and their right to vote. Political campaigner Alice Paul and social activist Lucy Burns head a radical party of suffragists, which includes lawyer Inez Mulholland and senator’s wife Emily Leighton as recruits, committed to fight for a conclusively worthy cause. Famous among the group’s artistic crusades was a street parade led by Inez, dressed as an angel-warrior, on horseback, on the day of President Wilson’s inauguration.

The pivotal incident and one of the bravest thing they did was picketing in front of the White House during the onset of war in Europe, arousing public anger as they kept on “pushing” a wartime president. After contending with physical abuse and verbal insults from outraged hecklers they end up in prison charged with “obstructing traffic”, the best that the Wilson Administration can think of to cover for its embarrassment and condescending attitude towards the women’s plight.

The latter half of the movie painfully portrayed the barbaric and groundless punishments Alice has to endure, after leading the other agitators in a hunger strike, including tortuous sessions of forced-feeding and isolated incarceration in a straight jacket in a sadistic psychiatric ward; proving the adage that extreme courage is often mistaken for insanity.

The heartbreaking prison scenes made the culminating scene truly an inspiring and triumphant event. I was simply swept away with a sense of profound feeling of being proud and sincerely happy for these ladies, with faces of that of angels but with determination as hard as iron, for winning the elusive fight for equality, which women have been continuously struggling for, ever since chauvinism made its way to dictionaries.

A history film always comes along with a warning label for juvenile viewers: “boring, keep off!” But this movie steps off from this stereotyping and emerged victorious as it was well received and highly appreciated by contemporary audiences. A filmography success attributed to its enthralling mix of humor and heartbreak and a bonus was its modern soundtrack, which startlingly blended well with the movie’s historic context. As in Joe Friedrich words, “…the film [Iron Jawed Angels] positions itself to embody a spirit as timely as it is timeless.”

This movie was definitely an eye-opener. I’m turning eighteen this year and in the next election I’m already eligible to vote. But seeing the hapless state of our terminally ill nation, thanks to our greedy leaders, I’ve been considering the thought of totally abstaining from elections. It seems to me that no matter how many elections we hold and no matter what electoral system we employ, we always end up choosing the same bunch of worthless dorks.

But after watching this movie, I’m reconsidering my options. I can’t help but feel lucky that the Filipino women of our history didn’t have to go through a lot of torment to fight for something, which is legally and rightfully, should have been uniformly accorded to all, regardless of sexuality. I’m fortunate that our usually rotten government system has amazingly allowed both man and woman to vote. Now that in a few months I can exercise this right, why should I waste something so precious? I may cast only one vote but a single ballot truthfully filled-up will somehow make a difference.

My pessimism about the state of our country was given a glint of light after watching this movie. These suffragists were able to make a hard president contemplate about their plight for equality in a society dominated by men. If they made something impossible became a reality then there is still hope that someday, election might produce miracles to cure our sickly country.

Yes, I am a woman but I’m not a fan of feminism as I am very much against chauvinism. I am for equality. I know it’s a cliché but there is a reason why things are cliché, it’s because they are true. I have been and always will be firm in believing that no sexuality was created superior than the other because men and women were created to supplement each other’s weaknesses.

This movie might be a bit feministic but everyone, men and women, would certainly agree that this film has given us a long-overdue reminder about our constitutional right, which significance is habitually forgotten, that is, to appreciate and exercise our right to vote.

The iron jawed angels’ courage have inspired a nation almost nine decades ago but their legacy still resonates in every voter’s heart.

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I still can't believe that I'm such a hypocrite. It's so shameful. Then, you may ask, why did I post this in the first place? This is to remind me, everytime I open my blog, that in the next election, I will cast my vote and nobody can stop me. Nobody. Not even Prince Pierre. I owe this to our country and to the Filipino people who are paying for my education.

I don't believe in the government and the electoral system. But I do believe in the Constitution.

Funny Mommies

My last minute tribute to all the moms out there! Belated Happy Mom's Day! Especially to the best mom in the entire universe...my mom! Hey, every kid thinks that her mom is the best in the world:) Allow me to be a little boastful.

Behind every famous person is a mother who believed in her child first before the world found out of their genius. Yes, a mother will always be a child's greatest fan.

I'm speaking from experience. Do you know that my mom keeps a copy of all my essays?! And she rereads them a lot! Lol! Talk about Ellafanatic. The world may think that I'm the lousiest writer but I can always count on my mom to say that I am better than all Pulitzer winners combined. See? She even distorts reality and tries to believe in them too. The world can go on and think anything it wants about me and I wouldn't give a damn. Because at the end of each day, the whole humanity may snub me, and no matter how I trampled my self-esteem, I know that my biggest fan is sitting at home, only a phone call away. And she's the only fan that matters:)

I asked her before to stop keeping my essays because it's SOOO embarassing. She told me, "Do you know that moms are excused from the law of humility? We are allowed to be extra proud of our kids." I rest my case. But I do wish kids are given extra inch of thickness to bear the embarassment caused by this exemption from humility law. But I'm not complaining:)

Happy Mother's Day Ma! I love you!

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Abraham Lincoln's Mom:
"Again with the stovepipe hat, Abe? Can't you just wear a baseball cap like the other kids?"

Barney's Mom:
"I realize strained plums are your favorite, Barney, but you're starting to look a little purple!"

Mary's Mom:
"I'm not upset the you lamb followed you to school, Mary, but I would like to know how he got a better grade than you?!"

Batman's Mom:
"It's a nice car, Bruce, but do you realize how much the insurance will be?!"

Goldilock's Mom:
"I've got a bill here for a busted chair from the bear family. You know anything about this Goldie?"

Little Miss Muffet's Mom:
"Well, all I've got to say is if you don't get off your tuffet and start cleaning your room, there'll be a lot more spiders around here!"

Albert Einstein's Mom:
"But, Albert, it's your senior picture. Can't you do something about your hair? Styling gel, mousse, something...?"

George Washington's Mom:
"The next time I catch you throwing money across the Potomac, you can kiss your allowance goodbye!"

Jonah's Mom:
"That's a nice story, but now tell me where you've really been for the past 3 days!"

Superman's Mom:
"Clark, your father and I have discussed it, and we've decided you can have your own telephone line. Now will you quit spending so much time in all those phone booths?"

Thomas Edison's Mom:
"Of course I'm proud that you invented the electric light bulb, dear. Now turn off that light and get to bed!"

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If I am Thy child, O God, it is because Thou gavest me such a mother.
- St. Augustine

A woman's love is mighty, but a mother's heart is weak, and by its weakness overcomes.
- Lowell

Mother - the essence of loveliness,
The beauty of a rose,
The sparkle of a dewdrop
And sunset's sweet repose.
- Lydia M. Johnson

No Poet's pen. Nor artist's brush
In Justice to her fame
Ever could reach high enough
To write a mother's name.
- Anonymous