My friend Tina was recently engaged to a nice Irish fellow, Andy, who has taken the effort to immerse himself in Philippine culture. Sweet. It is in honor of their engagement that I wish to provide this little guide (developed from this opus) to picking Filipino names – just in case this dear couple plans to procreate any time soon.
1. Calendar Method. This technique popularized during the 300 years of Spanish occupation of the Philippines involves taking the name of the Catholic saint whose feast day coincides with one’s birthday. Works well for most people, except for those born on the Feast Day of St. Guthlac.
2. Forever Cute Method. This technique assumes that one’s child will not grow ugly, be taller than four feet or attempt to be taken seriously. Examples: Babes, Darling, Lovely, Precious, Sweapea.
3. “Ng” Method. This technique involves adding “ng” after any two consonant-vowel combo. Popular examples are: Bing, Bong, Dang, Ding, Dong, Ping, Pong, Ting. These names can also be in a repeated form: Bingbing, Bongbong, Bangbang, Tingting. Why? It’s one of the country’s biggest mysteries – way up there with “Who killed Ninoy Aquino” and “How long is Dolphy’s p***s?”
4. Theme Method. This technique is applicable when you plan on having more than one child. While I do know sisters named Peachie Pie-Cherry Pie-Apple Pie, and my sisters and I are also known as Suzzette-Monette-Nanette, my favorite “theme method” case is a family of alphabetically named children. My friend Michael’s parents did this. Their eldest is “Alfred.” The youngest is “Peter”. I heard the couple originally wanted to make it to “Zachary.”
5. Chip-off-the-Old-Block Method. This technique is reserved for couples with a prominent ancestor they wish to emulate, as well as for couples who just don’t have the energy to think anything original. Children who take on the suffixes “Junior,” “II,” or “III” are also most likely to be nicknamed “Jun” or “-ito” (e.g., Raul-ito, Miguel-ito, Jose-lito).
6. Composite Method. This technique involves throwing in several names into one. They can be generic, such as: Luzviminda for Luzon, Visayas, Mindanao (3 Major Islands of the Philippines) or Melgazar for Melchor, Gaspar, Baltazar (The Magi). They can also be a combo of the parents’ names: Danny-Carol make Danica and Lorie-William make Lowill. Not a good idea for couples named Assumpta-Oliver or Demi-Whitney.
7. The “Unnegotiables”. Rex Navarette recently decoded a name pattern unique to Filipino extended families. Each Filipino family must have a someone named: Boy, Baby or Bong. It’s an ancient law, or something.
Go ahead, Tina, choose a scheme. Or you could always name your son John.
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11.18.2002
MY REASON FOR BEING?
Going to a mall with my boys (aged 2, 10 and 38) with the intention of buying new clothes is an empowering experience.
Me: Which shirt do you want?
38: What do you think looks good?
10: The blue one.
2: **doesn’t really care **
Me: Which slacks do you want?
38: What do you think looks good?
10: The blue one.
2: **doesn’t really care**
Me: Which trainers do you want?
38: What do you think looks good?
10: The blue one.
2: ** doesn’t really care**
Me: Which black shoes do you want?
38: What do you think looks good?
10: The one in the blue box.
2: ** doesn’t really care**
I get it now. I was put on this earth to ensure that there will be three less potential baggy-pants-with-crotch-at-the-knees-sporting, white-socks-with-black-shoes-wearing and underwear-displaying men in the world.
Ever have one of those days when you just feel “nice”?
It starts off with a leisurely drive to work where the pedestrians you give way to, actually salute their thanks. It makes you feel you’re about to have a fine day.
When you step into your office, you are keen on doing the world some good. You read your inbox and instead of communicating with your colleagues via email or SMS, you decide to walk around and actually talk to people. It’s a beautiful day after all.
You see a guy you used to work with but haven’t seen in a while. You exchange pleasantries and he tells you his ticklish baby son you once played with is now 5 years old. 'Amazing how time flies!
An engineer on the eighth floor walks up to you to tell you he appreciates the extra care you took in sending him the information he asked for. The fact that he noticed made you happy.
You feel good. You feel no one can get on your bad side this morning.
Then you go see one of the office jerks, with the hope that for one moment, he can act like a human being. You’ve always wanted to see him set aside his power tripping, his arrogant manner and his conniving attitude – and you think this is probably the day you see him in that light. The second before he opens his mouth, you pray against all odds that he is a misjudged man with a gentle side and noble heart.
You soon find out you were oh-so wrong. You go back to your room and remember why you prefer to just email some people. And you hit yourself on the head, wondering what possessed you to be temporarily naive.
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11.14.2002
UA&P REVISITED
Since we marveled at UA&P’s policy of non-acceptance of women to their BS Entrepreneurial Program because of our “frequent brain synapses” last June, the program’s Q&A page has moved; but contains pretty much the same crap. And sadly, the program is still only open to males.
Very recently, the UA&P folks I have offended with my observations have found a voice in ‘Habits’, a polite (I’m not being sarcastic here, he is -- considering I "attacked" his alma mater ) young gentleman who left me this comment:
first may i remind that although it can be tempting to do, its wrong to generalize and over generalize at that. i go to uap and not all of the men or people for that matter are inane. not to defend the em program, the answer that we get when we ask why girls cant enroll in this course? its because girls dont need to study em because its innate to them. i dont fully subscribe to that but its more of tradition than other reasons that its an all male course. but anyhow, there are MORE intellectualy fulfilling courses in uap than em.
‘Habits’, in my years as a student in UA&P, I have met many brilliant minds and kind souls. My commentary is not a personal attack on the UA&P undergrads or alumni but a wake-up call to young women most affected by this policy and others like it. This sad fact remains: there is something amiss about a prominent educational institution, breeding a new generation of Filipino leaders, yet tolerating a backward culture of “subtle” discrimination.
You tell me the answer you get to why girls are not accepted in BSEM is “because girls dont need to study em because it’s innate.” Let’s ignore that THIS is over-generalization, shall we? Do you personally believe this patronizing rationalization is enough to ban women from studying what they want?
You tell me women cannot be accepted because “it’s tradition.” Tradition does not legitimize segregation. In Afghanistan, it is “tradition” not to provide education to girls over the age of 12 -- should we prolong that?
You tell me “there are more intellectually fulfilling courses in UA&P,” inferring that girls ought to just choose something else. The point was never the lack of alternatives. Being barred from making this choice was.
Seeing what is wrong is the first step to making things better, ‘Habits’. It saddens me that even young supposedly more open-minded Filipino men like you do not see a thing.
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11.11.2002
GUARDING MAMA
My children have bright futures in the management of penal facilities, if the way they monitor my movements on weekends is any indication.
When I go to the bathroom Saturday morning, they huddle:
D: “She’s going to take a bath. She must be going somewhere without taking us again.”
C: “Let’s sit by the bathroom door – just to make sure she doesn’t slip by us.”
While I get dressed, they whisper:
C: “The moment she opens that closet she doesn’t want us to play in …”
D: “Which one is that?”
C: “The one you emerged from the other day covered in nail polish.”
D: “Oh, that one.”
C: “When she opens that, it means she's going out. We've got to run for our bedrooms and get dressed too, okay?”
D: “Who will help me put on my diaper? Ah, who needs it anyway?”
When I mention the word “car,” they discuss:
C: “Ah, she must want to drive the van off somewhere.”
D: “I’ll go attach myself to her leg. You go guard the key cabinet.”
When I walk out the door to check the mail, they holler:
C: “She’s making a run for it! Quick, do something -- cry!”
D: “Mamaaaaaa! Waaaaaaaaah!”
My love for my little angels is as unfathomable as motherly devotion goes -- but I am SO looking forward to "paying them back" when they become teenagers. **dastardly grin**
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11.08.2002
CASUAL FRIDAY
I looked at my closet this morning and noticed I only had 2 pairs of blue jeans and about two-dozen black dress pants. My suits hung in a pack of black, gray, blue, beige – with a yellow trench and one red blazer standing out from the gloom. My denim jacket is in black. My dress shirts were black, blue and white. I had four “Breakfast at Tiffany” dresses in black, gray and pink. My shoes were in black, blue, gray and beige. I only have one pair of rubber shoes (in black!) and half a dozen 4-inch-heeled slip-ons.
My college yearbook write-up talked about how "colorful" I was -- when did my wardrobe become so blah?
Disheartened at my failure to see the spunk in my casual wardrobe, I braided the hair on the front of my head into dozen braids, went to work in black and imagined I had more color than I did.
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11.05.2002
CORPORATE SLAVE LOG 017: DEAR MR. M. ALLTHAT
I know you’re a brand new slave so let me walk you through some things you may not know yet.
One, your European education doesn’t make you special around here. Half of the people in the company have engineering and business degrees bursting out our butts. Post-graduate education doesn’t buy respect in these parts. Good old-fashioned business “street-smarts,” common decency and getting customers drunk enough to sign $200M contracts do! The sooner you learn that, the sooner the engineers on the eighth floor will drop the “Paeng” (pa-englis-englis) Project. They plan on scratching your nickname on the hood of your "ultimate driving machine" and hanging the damn thing off a radio base station tower. Tip: Do not underestimate their understanding of modern hydraulics. Park the extension of your manhood with prudence.
Two, I heard the women in Lithuania or Iceland or Greenland (or wherever the hell you worked as a consultant) thought you were one exotic hottie. Guess what? The water cooler poll results are out. We. Don’t.
Three, when you confirm your attendance to a meeting, it is customary to cancel if you are not showing up – no matter how short-notice. Lifting your receiver before dropping it and pressing “no” on your mobile phone when the organizer calls (twenty minutes into a 45-minute meeting!) to check whether your entrance should be awaited is not good. In fact, it is downright nasty. Being the new guy, you do not have the leverage to get away with the "I'm-so-busy-I-can't-even-pick-up-the-phone" act. Your sins will haunt you in a huge karmic way, and bite you in the butt when you least expect it. Ricochet time can speed up, especially since I was the organizer. **extro: revenge music**
Remember to read that “Manual for Living on Earth” you alien life forms were issued at Immigration, ‘kay?
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11.04.2002
SHE’S ALIIIIIVE!
Hey there, folks! Did you miss me?
Aside from being my first day back writing on-line, it’s also my first day back at work after a self-awarded birthday vacation. Over the last week or so, I vegged like I never vegged before -- I slept until noon, pigged out on junk food with my 2-year old (my son taught me the art of snorting artificial cheese-flavored powder), challenged my 10-year old on the Playstation (got myself numb thumbs and a bruised ego) and … that was it. That’s all I did. And here’s a bunch of stuff I DID NOT do: do the Halloween party rounds, tidy up the house, do my bills, go on-line, go shopping, think about work – a landmark feat for an OC girl like me.
Oh – almost forgot -- my darling husband threw me a surprise birthday party! Unfortunately, it wasn’t one of those things, where I get dressed up to meet my husband for a nice intimate evening and when I get there, people jump out of the dark screaming “Surprise!” At around 6 pm of October 31st, I was sleeping on the couch, wearing the cruddy pajamas I slept in the night before, dizzy from too much video games, and my fingers yellow from wolfing too much Clover Chips, when 25 or so friends and family started driving up our street, in a major party mode. “Dear, it’s a surprise party,” Mel grinned at me. Right-o. I have to remember to show him how these things are supposed to be done ... for his birthday, perhaps. Despite the initial “surprise,” it turned out to be a great way to cap my birthday week.
Happy. Purrr…
Sidebar: Ben, didn't I mention how old I was? You need to round 650.485 to the nearest multiple of fifty. Then divide it by the quotient of the numeric ANSI code (or numeric Macintosh character set) for 4 and the inverse hyperbolic sine of 6.5. When you get that, round it off to the nearest odd integer*. THAT's how old I am. You can do the math or believe me when I say I am forever 23 -- nyehehe.
* While it would have been really cool if I was mathematical enough to come up with this formula myself, ah no -- she did.
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