The curse of being good

 Recently, my dad and I had a simple conversation on FIBA and the Philippines’ lost chance of making it to the finals because of team Iran. “We didn’t win, Dad,” I muttered as he was saying the game was really good. “Yes, but at least we showed them we can. We almost made it.”

Almost.

I was astonished at how my dad accepted the defeat as if it was victory. He even continued by saying that we should take pride in being good at basketball despite our height deficiencies.  

A few months ago, the Azkals made a name by defeating the defending champion, Vietnam, in the Suzuki Cup. People got suddenly interested with the team. They made headlines everywhere – something only Pacquiao does regularly. But during the play against Indonesia, my heart burned as I saw the promising young team got defeated. People, though hurt, celebrated the Azkals’ defeat like it was all the team’s worth – making it to the semi-finals. I wallowed in dismay, honestly, because I saw the game and it was so heartbreaking. I was never really a football fan until a friend showed me how left out the Filipinos are in terms of the most popular sport in the universe.

The conversation with my dad brought me to remember the quote I often hear in the church. “The good is the worst enemy of the best.”

Onyok Velasco

People often get contented with being the second best, and as I have observed, the Filipinos are all too excited for it, like we know we are good, but always only second to something better. When Onyok Velasco lost the gold in the 1996 Olympics, we tried to contest we deserved the win, but we slowly sank in the reality that we can always be cheated at – after all, we’re just a third world country with a booming population of achievers who always almost make it.

Miriam misses the title

We have a long list of “Almost-but-not-quite’s.” We have Marian Quiambao, in a win I know she deserved so well. It was followed by Venus Raj, losing to the title of Ms Universe by a (couple of) notch. The list is endless (though I can't seem to find them all hehe). Our history has been bombarded with seconds that being first is too alien, too farfetched that upon achievement, we create demi-gods, a testament to our seemingly unbelief for our talents.

Venus Raj

I think one of the things we should get out of is our acceptance at being second. Second is never first. Never forget that. I was asked by my boss who the second best golf player in the world is. I said I didn’t know. I had no idea. He said, “Exactly.”

Filipinos are good. We deserve to be number one. This is not being arrogant, this is being truthful. Facts that we are second continue to plague our lives that I get tired of hearing it. The truth is that we are good - and I pray for the day that when asked again by my boss who the best person in the world is now, I can proudly say, a Filipino, “that’s why you hired me.” Then he can unabashedly say, “Exactly.”

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To the man who did and does it again: Pacquiao da man

CNN's news report on Pacquiao's latest victory

He fights like a madman. He conquers the ring like a king. He's swooned over by ladies and men alike. He sings. He acts. He drinks beer. He is the best pound for pound boxer in the entire universe (given there are no Pacquiao Venusian counterparts). He currently holds a seat in the House of Representatives. When he tweets, people go nuts. He speaks better English than your seatmate. He has a loyal family et al. Anything that has to do with him and his face and his knuckles and his shorts sell like diamond in sporting houses.

He is known all over the world even with those who don’t have TV.

And he’s a Filipino.

Just in case you don’t know.


Read more on Pacquiao defeats Mosley on CNN.

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On flaps

The time was unbelievably early, but it was no surprise. I actually reminded God that night to wake me up at the right time. I prayed at around 4:15 and finished early enough to get to Ch's house at 5:25. She was up already when I arrived - another surprise. For some strange reason, only the sky did not surprise me, it was still half empty and no stars were apparently awake that time.

We did 1 KM only. Then the next half kilometer was done chitchatting. Ch is preparing for a marathon so she needed to shape up. I am, well, her best friend and jog buddy. It was our first time to run together again. It was nice. I've been jogging alone and having someone beside you is welcomed.

Right before we took off, I saw the sole of my right shoe moving from its place and I feared it would fall off from its attachment.

It didn't. The after thirty minutes of running, and French chatting, I managed to survive the possible ordeal of running with a dysfunctional shoe. But as I walked further, I felt a salient flapping below my right foot. It was falling off. Good job. I basically dragged my foot to the end of the street where Ch and I were to part and walked alone to draw way too much attention to myself. By then, tricycle drivers were out, vendors were on their way to their stores from the wet market, tambays were still out off course, students were on their way to school, and my shoe was the best thing to be seen that boring morning. It was a pair of blue Nike running shoes and without the flapping thing underneath it, it already was an attention-grabber.

I thought of taking it off, but I couldn't stand the mud on the road, so I made sure I dragged it beautifully til I reached the Jrl residence. Upon arrival, I immediately called after Hny and asked for a pair of slippers.

"Need it. Emergency."

I took off the shoes and changed into one of the pink floral slippers I saw. The pinkness of the slippers was better. I went home and asked my mom to ask our helper to glue the sole back for tomorrow, Ch still has to run again.

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Of Love and Other Drugs

Sorry Lovi Poe, but it sure is your fault why your beloved “Cong”  - now that I mentioned it, I don’t actually know how to call him anymore – Singson is going to spend his cold nights behind bars for 18 months.

It was your fight that drove him to do drugs that day. Or Usher. Either way, he’s in, you’re out and left crying over what-could’ve-been’s and whatnots.

 I wonder how your professed love for each other will grow as you get separated by those steel bars (or not, because I have no inkling as to how HK jails look like, most especially for the big names getting jailed for “justice’s” sake.) Will your love, as my old yaya would call say it, grow ponder?

18 months is a long time. Imagine, a woman houses her baby in her belly for nine months, by the time he gets out, you could have gotten two babies, provided of course that you’re not human and are too excited to make babies you disregard nursing your first baby on its first few months.

18 months and a baby is enough to have your baby develop words and ways of communication.

18 months and it’s the birthday of two of my former friends.

18 months and some Filipinos might forget we voted for a president and demand a new one.

18 months and another AFP-related case will be colorfully dissected in the upper and lower houses – unless we find Cha-Cha a nicer topic to stress our already stressed political arena in which case, we’ll be welcoming a possible new contenter for Phillippine domination: her excellency, Gloria MacapagalArroyo. (Oh, she’s not new? But she hasn’t become a prime minister yet right? This one’s different.)

18 months Pacquiao could have fought Mayweather already.

18 months and Donaire could have been the 2^nd pound-for-pound king, after Pacquiao knocking out Mayweather.

18 months and a new singing Hollywood sensation could come out and be featured in Ellen or Oprah (hello to the Fil-Canadian girl who made Lady Gaga cry).

18 months and you could have found a new love, Lovi. Someone who takes after your father (or any of the movie characters he once portrayed.) I’m not saying you should dump him, Lovi, oh no. It’s not in my position to dictate love. I am merely saying this: you might want to spend more of your time focusing on your career, prayer meetings and spiritual reformation. Who knows that in those 18 months, he a reformed man, and you of course, may find yourselves more in love than ever, end up in each other’s arms and make-up for the lost time. By then, you will have said no to premarital sex – which I’m not insinuating you’re engaged in for I know how good a girl you are – and you will have rejected posing for sexy print ads.

Now will not that make a beautiful Philippines?

For related news, please read the following links:

1. Recap of Songson's case (and his love for Usher).

2. Singson pleads guilty (of loving Lovi).

3. Singson sentenced to 18 months (without his Lovi).
4. The source for the image. 

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Blogging Theology

Just when I thought my life has its clear writing purpose, here comes Rick Warren with his slight stab telling me,

"Blogging theology is far easier that living it.Writing on ministry is easier than actually being a servant.Beware of self-deception."

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