Friday, March 14, 2014

An Omnibus of Anecdotes of a Young Newsman


There are stories within a story. There are chapters within a kilometric novel, there are stanzas comprising a poem, there are anecdotes for a much longer anthology; our life is a one whole omnibus, a compilation telling a lot more strains of stories.


Born to Write

“Ink runs through our veins,” that is what our department shirt shrilling out loud on every street we are seen strolling.


I am just turning three when I first ascertain on how to write my whole name legibly and read phoneme out loud. When I was two, I was submerged with pile of tabloids and broadsheets formerly wrapped on our family’s favorite viand, smoked fish “tinapa.”
Its stinky odor may have not been a hindrance for me not to play with those odd toys of mine in my childhood. Yes, I am a different kind of kid; serious and not that playful. I have found my first love before I have set my mind into its proper tone.
After receiving the fishes from the peddler, I segregated the fish from its wrapper. Excitedly, I usually ran with the pieces of paper and left those fishes unattended; however how many cats strolling inside our house hover over it.
On our wide- cemented floor, I lay the paper as of how I lay flat on the newly- waxed cement.
I always scrutinize first the graphics, those gray images are painting a wild scenario in my mind, weaving a sort of picture cinema of imaginary stories I ever perceived, and those are mainly from a toddler’s eye view.
Next, I roll my eyes around the words printed in the sweet-scented paper for my nose. In that early age, I am with this desire to know what I am reading about. I know that time that I have a lot of misconceptions with all the stuffs, like car accidents, all I know that they were just toys being bumped with each other by one of my playmates, but I never stop reading. I want to read the newspaper from top to bottom, from front to back, word by word, and cover to cover.
After reading the stuff, I always snatch a pen from my granny, the same pen she used to list the debts of her tenants in her rooms for rent.

And this is what I consider my very first writing exercises. I just rewrite everything, every word I can in the space provided in the margins of the newspaper. I just copy it and I do enjoy doing it.

But suddenly, I always came into a halt whenever the paper was already full of my messy ink or the old woman already seized the pen I stole.

Born to Speak

When I was send to preschool and elementary, they had already found me as a shy person. Along with my power to public speaking is the ironic part of it, stage fright.

Actually, in my first graduation rites away from kindergarten, every graduate was in need to prepare a one-sentence speech on what we want to be when we grow up. I fully rehearsed on what I am going to say but when my feet aboard on the stage, in front of all the people in white, I spoke wrong words in the wrong syntax, with tottering voice exploding because of nervousness and fear. My period to halt the seconds of introverted exposure inevitably caused for the mob to burst with laughter, a wrong thing to do in a usual solemn ceremony.
But when I was in grade three, I was prodded to represent the school to a poem recital to be participated by the whole city. I successfully won the tilt. But more than the medal was the giant leap I had made toward conquering the what-so-called ‘performance anxiety’.

Later on, I became one of the schools pride in terms of declamation and recitals. I won various awards out of that newly- discovered talent.

As I graduated from elementary level, I was tasked to deliver the speech being the valedictorian. I don’t know what’s with a graduation day that for the record, it was still an epic fail.
You know what I mean.

Born to Fail

In my journey as a young journalist, I had been part of Schools Press Conferences in my elementary and high school days. But in most competition, I failed to win.

Everybody expected me to win the affair because as what most of my journalism advisers had told me, I am innate and creative as a writer.
In the lower school, I competed twice as an editorial writer both in English and Filipino but in both tourney, I am defeated.
In secondary, I shifted to feature writing to try my luck for a much subjective and creative form of writing. I jumped up to regional finals by placing 6th in Valenzuela.
And in that highly- prestigious competition, obviously I fail to won.

It came a time in me that I doubted if I could really write.


Born to Lead

Though my young years as a journalist bloomed and brimmed with failings, it was also a high time for me to lead group of people being an editor-in-chief twice in my lifetime.

I became the EIC of The Bud, the official school paper publication of Arcadio F. Deato Elementary School. Seeing a published article of mine and even my name on top of the editorial board is a real satisfaction.
But yet a grade six student making a newspaper is not a serious matter for me before.
After three years, I am chosen again to lead another paper which is The New Hope (Filipino), the official school paper publication of Polo National High School.

Though the job is that demanding, I don’t really think I had given my best out of it since I am also the president of the Student council.

As an EIC, I had mentored wannabes for the publication. I had also trained the school’s radio broadcasting team, had designed the page lay-out for our single issue and the most exciting of all, seeing the single issue materialized, the product of a year of news gathering and brainstorming.
EIC’s job is the leadership side of being a newsman and press management is the heartbeat of my veins.

It came a time I erased the fact that I couldn’t really write. But there’s a demon inside of me who kept on reminding that I hardly write, hinders me to write. I don’t know who the real demon was.


Born to Grow

"Para po!” I pronounced to catch the driver’s attention to halt the vehicle. A signage suggested that I’m already here in my destination, Pureza. That time, June 25, 2013, was my first time to set foot on its quite busy street.

Students, vendors, face from different walks of life strolling down the street welcomed as I pace through the crowded sidewalks. I am walking towards nothing. I do not know where to go. I call a pedicab to drop me by COC, the college where my classes are going to be held, the college in that time; I don’t know where it is, and the college wherein I must belong.
It was the second week in the university calendar but it’s my first day brought by a skin disease that jailed me to bed rest for a week. I feel strange of what the college will surprise me then.
Inside the pedicab, my imagination travels, weaving a sort of prediction of what probably will I see there. I thought of my classmates, what would they look like? Are they like my peers before? Are they approachable and easy to be with? How about the college? Will it be as grandiose as my high school alma mater? My professors? Are they strict? Or a sort of a monster? 
My head shook wildly inside the close pedicab as it trekked the path toward COC and…
A hand is now waiting for my fare and a yellow sign board printed on it, “Polytechnic University of the Philippines, College of Communication.” This is my new school and just like a kindergarten toddler, I ran excitedly through the corridor after I gave the money to the panting driver.
Before I could enter the premise, I stand before the building, with my knees shaking, as I stare down to its wholeness. This is the college where will I spent four years of my bachelor’s degree in journalism, I will be here day to day and eventually will became a part of my life. Before I lose control, I managed to look over my watch finding it’s already 7: 25 am, too late for an early bird like me.
I ran with wide eyes scanning room numbers that are creatively- printed above the doors. And as soon as I got in Room 202, I mindlessly enter the room as if there’s nothing. All eyes look at me offering an awkward silence broken up by a voice shouting out a passage,” an angel seemed had passed through.” Though, I’m not angelic at all. I sat as my back hungers comfort as it reaches the nearby chair. Time drops and one by one, my new classmates reaching before me like a sea of new faces inquiring my name, lending a ‘hi’, and a friendly smirk.
Sweat started to trickle down my face. It’s very hot. I can’t breathe. I’m easily getting uncomfortable of how hot it is inside the four cornerstone of that classroom, catering 61 students of BAJ 1-1D, its far way worse than what I have in high school, because we are actually in air-conditioner.

I just thought that this is what they are really saying of what I would expect in a lesser than 1.5K for fees. But however I grumble to show my complaint, I will just contribute in this irritating ambience warming. It is much better to shut up my mouth. It pushes me to observe of how I can last throughout the four years of my stay in here inside the hell-hot rooms.    Messy boards, vandalized chairs, corroding paints on walls, these old pillars are truly not good for studying. All of these things are not conducive to learning but it makes me wonder of how PUP produced such great graduates and established itself as a premier state university of the country? Have they set low standards?

Professors walked in; they enter to and fro. All my doubts and misconceptions were vanished and were readily answered. Greatness comes from greatness. It was just passed as of how DNA passed on from generation down tom another generation. Our set of professors are really awesome and of high quality. There is no wonder that despite of the unfavorable environment given by degraded facilities, instructors of the campus can easily overpower each by their amazing strategies and higher order skills in educational management integrated specially for the ‘iskolar ng bayans’.

They can be much superior than the big mouths of Broadcast Communication Students, ease in installing harmonious student- teacher relationship and above all, getting rid of the spoon- feeding stuff, but instead of giving us the experiences that could itself teach what a book can teach.

COC… the College of the Champions, College of Celebrities, the College of Communication; a family that consists the growing PUP community, the college which really cares for each COCians as they lend their arms as they strive toward excellence. No one will be left out for if one is excellent, everybody must be excellent as well. There will be no more losers in the college that exercises excellence at its finest.

And this is the goal of COC oriented on us, that as a premier college, it flourishes hard toward a highly-competitive world, to produce students that will graduate as rich: rich in experience, in friends, in memories, in learning, in life skills, and above all, in fruits that epitomizes of how hard they harvest in the vast field beyond its gate.

I will never be ashamed if our rooms have only two electric fans, no projectors to be used for presentations, that we lack of necessary materials, tools, equipments, and facilities, if I only pay 1 K for my fees. I will always be a proud COCian not because were liberal as we think, but because we are blessed to have those things that are so priceless, even a private university couldn’t even afford to buy. I swear.

Born to Succeed

Now I am going to wrap up my first year in college. After the ten months of eyelash burning, pitfalls, stressors, depression, success, triumph, accomplishments, and growth; I don’t want to rest on my laurels. I would endeavor hard to reach my dreams because I deem that not too far and obscure in my vision that I’m going to end this journey, reach the finish line, anytime sooner.

I am born to write, I am born to speak, to lead, to grow and to succeed. My story is not yet ending. I am acquainted with the fact that there are more anecdotes to come in this never- ending anthology.


I will never get exhausted and no one could ever perturb in this race I’m ought to won.

Tuesday, March 11, 2014

Inside its Pale-Painted Pillars



Experience is our own best teachers;  our classroom is our own best training ground.
I am palpitating. My lungs are throbbing hard inside my chest, gasping every piece of air escaping inside of me. My panting keeps on yearning as I stroll down the street. It is already 9:15 am and I am still on my way to Room 201.
As my already-exhausted legs reached the second floor of the College of Communication Building of PUP, my heart ran wildly like a horse galloping faster than my stride.
The corridor was filled with an awkward silence but the serenity of the place was continuously shrilling as a loud noise in my ear. I know the exam has already started and the silence keeps me on reminding to hurry up, to catch up to the exam as fast as I can, if I can be.
My fast pace came into a halt. I stopped unconsciously in front of Room 201. My eyes could not help to wander on the mob of familiar heads getting crazy over a piece of yellow paper.
Everybody may have not felt my presence. As I stood there in the twilight of the pale-painted pillars, my feet felt numb.
“Last ten minutes!” that old man balefully reminded the mob of people.
My nerves get shocked; I shivered on the three words spewed out by the somewhat wicked professor. The numbness dwindled suddenly, causing the excruciating worry to punch me out; making me fully-awakened.
“Good morning, sir,” I spelled out nervously. The three words seem like grinding my teeth. But however how soft I delivered it out, the busy bees and their king paid a second or two to peep on me at that portion of the room.
In that time, I feel like a quicksand was going to swallow me. It was very embarrassing. “Sorry I’m late.” I shamefully added.
I am not expecting for a whole-hearted pardon for that action but on his evidently disappointed face, I entered the room.
Slow-wittedly, I even forgot where I sit. Upon realizing, my back eagerly searched for my chair.
Upon obtaining the nirvana I ever longed for, I never thought that my journalism professor was now already reciting his melodious litany about my tardiness.
Someone lend me a paper so I can start my exam but I can’t hardly resist to not to listen on Sir Viduya’s speech.
“In the world of media, everyone is working under time pressure and you must comply with deadlines. You must come early to be with the flow. They will be not waiting for you. There is no room for your tardiness!” he said.
I feel weak by the pierce of his word. With a tap on my shoulder, I fast awakened that our exam will end in 5 minutes. I hurried up and fortunately got finished.
But then, I know that not at all times I could do the same.

Indeed, Room 201 could not be the room for my tardiness, so do other rooms.

It’s High Time for QC


The Script, Incubus, Jason Mraz, Bruno Mars, Train, All Time Low, Super Junior, Taylor Swift and even NBA Stars had made to set foot here in the country and had even proliferated noise by posters shouting out that they had been live here in Manila. But where is their real Manila?
Smart Araneta Coliseum had almost staged most of the country’s remarkable concerts. It had already established itself as the center for most of the much- awaited events in our history. Its center stage had already served as a cradle of world-class entertainments and of the finest of all the arts here in the Philippines.
Famous celebrities, sport athletes, orchestras, hardcore bands, dramatic operas and many other more personalities who mainly deserve its hot-melting spotlight had set their own foot in there. The big dome located in one of the country’s busiest center point may have set itself as a landmark no one could ever deny.
But one may have not notice that promotional ads and posters posted every time there is an event to wait for promoted a different place to where it was actually conducted. Printed in bold type- faced stated “Live in Manila” but the fact was that the event will be held in Smart Araneta Coliseum located in the highly-urbanized place of Quezon City.
With QC’s mission through its executive chief, Mayor Herbert Bautista, to uplift the city’s status as an “ideal place for such events and in line with the city’s efforts to promote QC as an important tourist destination,” its legislative council finally approved a measure that will penalize producers and organizers who fail to use the phrase “Live in Quezon City, Philippine/ Live in Quezon City, Metro Manila” as a surrogate other than the old practice, obviously wrong cliché, with a fine of P 5, 000.
The measure authored by sixth district Councilor Roger Juan wasn’t yet signed by the City Mayor but the author assured that the fines collected will be directed for the perpetuation of the city’s tourism programs.
With the said measure, the city’s efforts will never be put in vain as they uplift the name of Quezon City in mainstream, sharing the limelight with top personalities, concerts, events and other exhibitions.

It’s high time for the city now that it is live in QC.

Expanding his Own Legacy


“Everything that you would write, even if is thrown into the waste basket by your editor redound to your benefit.”
This grain of wisdom was once pecked by an aspiring journalist from his managing editor. But now, we are sharing the granules of the thought when the once rising journalist before had now reached the paramount, the peak of all of his aspirations, parceling out every piece of what he had learned in the field through the years.
It is true, no one could have ever taught whatever he never experienced, someone could have never preached whatever he never practiced.
Having exercised journalism within a score of years, this old, brown Pangasinense may have nothing to prove on how competent he is to face hundreds of students, mentoring them, molding them to the shape of the new generation of press people.
His eyeglasses may have not said it wrong when once he spotted errors being a proofreader of the late Philippine Daily Express.
His quick thought and stenographies may not be that slow to follow the fast pace in covering sports events when once he became an assistant sports editor of Pilipino Express.
He may look not that strong but his steadfastness is enough to catch like an eye witness all crime and breath-taking police operations within his beat when he has been promoted to be one of its police reports.
Being a graduate of Bachelor of Science in Journalism at the Lyceum of the Philippines University, he hold some of the most important assignments every journalists desire to attain, a privilege for every reporter to hold like the Malacañan, the Senate and the Congress beats.
His few white hairs may have represented the long years of his struggle in school. After graduating the basically four- year- course, he chose to enter the law school of the University of the East and pursued a Master's degree for Mass Communication and a Doctorate in Public Administration both in the Polytechnic University of the Philippines.
His adeptness in media ethics and of the law regarding this may have helped him to hold the Justice beat in Manila Times.
His journalism career had bloomed and was refined into gold. Inside the two decades of exercising what he had learned, he had established a remarkable stain in the industry.
Upon reaching the peak of all he had ever dreamed of, he then decided to enter a new line of nobility, a profession beyond journalistic stereotypes; teaching.
He crossed the threshold in PUP to share all of what he had learned inside his 20 years behind the walls of the newsroom to all who aspires to be bequeathed with the common job in the near future.
His expertise made him to lead the university’s journalism department and its official publication, PUP News. As part of his legacy are the two books he had written, the Basic Journalism Handbook and the Feature Writing Handbook.
The professor once shared that those book are specially written for Filipino Students and was subjectively adapted to the current Philippine set-up. The book that was just before an imagination from a dreamer thirsty for a learning material that will easily cease his hunger was now materialized into a book that will abridge journalism students’ journey toward their respective workplaces.
This professor once made fun with his own professor with the same subject when he told in one of his article that it was “makulit at parang sirang plaka.”
Now that I’m his student and he’s my mentor. I am boldly saying that my mentor is the type of that quirky professor and his mouth was like a broken cd repeatedly advising things he had already said before.

Indeed, teachers mold their students into their likeness. And this is Professor Filemon Viduya’s legacy. Sooner or later, will I be as successful or as ‘kulit’ like him?

DOTA vs. own grandma


A 17- year- old boy would have needed to choose whether to quit DOTA or quit on having a grandma.
After being scolded and interrupted from playing a mainstream computer game, Defense of the Ancients (DOTA), a teenager chose to shut his own grandma to death rather than to turn off the computer and obey his granny.
It was around 6 pm at Batasan Hills, Quezon City when a worried grandmother, 68, fetched his grandson in a computer shop nearby their house. Upon returning home, the youngster was scolded and suddenly busted with anger resulting to an unconscious attack.
The old woman died on the spot due to serious wounds sustained in the head, chest, neck and arms.
The young boy, having no idea on what to do next, cleaned all the evidences of the crime and went to his aunt in Pantranco to seek help.
The boy and his aunt returned to the scene of the crime and the latter mightily sought assistance from the barangay officials and police operatives saying that the victim lived alone with lad.
She added that the youngster, who came from a broken family, was always scolded by the elderly.
Based on investigation, blood-stained ceramics obtained from a trash bin in the front yard appeared to be the deadly weapon used by the boy to kill his own granny.
He may have chose to quit living with a rude grandmother, he may have also quit the former having been turned over to the custody of social workers.



Saturday, March 8, 2014

Something to Cherish

yung feeling ng katawan after pasadahan ng bulldozer...

ang sakit parang lasog lasog na ang lahat ng buto ko. my back has lost its stability, parang tutumba.. and my legs could not even afford to stand up.

sa mga nagtataka kung bakit ako nagkaganito./.... 

hahaha... dahil ito sa mala buwis buhay na performance all-day long sa team-building activity ng buong BAJ 1-1D sa Quezon City Mem. Circle.

Congratulations sa officers who had served as our facilitator.. JOB WELL DONE.. na pasakitin ang katawan namin but above all... to successfully rebuild and reverse former misconceptions ng bawat isa sa block.

grabe.... for me,, this is the most memorable and the best team-building and leasdership development activity na naattendan ko...

all the memories are continuously flashing back in my mind like a loud noise unstoppably shrilling behind my ear.

mula sa pagkaligaw kung nasaan ang entrance ng circle,
yung magpaikot ikot sa mga exercise equipment,
yung buko ng mga late na hanggang natapos ay wala kaming natikman,
yung cr na magsasalamin ka lang 5 pesos na agad,
yung nakahiyang presentation namin sa cheer and yell.hahaha, ( Blutooth Connect) ( pero mas bet ko yung sa Tangerine Orange ni Lorenzo)
yung trust fall ni Ella ,
yung sharing kay Nepthalyn kung saan naudlot ang pag-iyak ni toot dahil sa kaguluhan sa food,
yung art activity kay Jer,
yung paglabas ng alter ni Lorenzo Nicolas,
yung lovelife ni Pauline,
yung romansa sa kangkungan/ romansa ni kingkong ni Connie,
yung di maubos na boodle fight,
yung race toward a station na hindi mahagilap,
yung pagkanta ng PUP Hymn,
yung pagligaw samin ng ibang grupo,
yung last challenge na favorite ko,
yung awarding   
yung first singing award ko talaga at ang pagkapanalo ng aming grupo sa over-all..
gravity is that day at hindi ko ito malilimutan kahit humilom pa ang lahat ng mga sugat ng kahapon.... hahha

thank you for a day well-spent and now i'm back to hell...
term papers and research paper na wala pang nasisimulan...

Wednesday, March 5, 2014

How desperate they are!




2016 Presidential Election may would be an exciting round for the battle in a stadium of popularity and credibility as critiqued by the nation led by wider mass. The election two years from now is expected to be the country’s most awaited event of the year being the Asia’s cradle of democracy, the hammock who kept us rocked through the years of stability and independence.
Two years is such a long span of time but in their thrive to got the most-coveted seat of presidency and other office positions, these highly-desperate aspiring candidates to be, since they are not yet official without the filing of candidacy, are noisily campaigning that early primarily on provinces.
It was really a vibrant reality in our country’s political set-up is the existence of this people who take advantage on their power and wealth to promulgate their fame and to obliviously win the hearts of the people who will put them on the place they desire.
It’s a nice tactic to execute their campaigns in this time that however how huge the amount they release there will be no COMELEC to check and snoop on their finances because of the fact that campaign period is still not in.
Another is the cost-effectiveness of doing such since the period allotted by the law would be not enough to permeate their names throughout the archipelago.
These aspirants may have this earnest desire to serve the country but doing such stuffs just prove on how much they can take advantage on any other persons, just like on what they are now doing to their other future opponents. They are evidently playing dirty with the game.
Politics was often quoted as a dirty stuff of the state but what really make mess of it are those wild animals that constitute this vast jungle.
It is true; Man is by nature a political animal, as Aristotle quoted. But the person I had featured in this article could be the wild boar who thinks he could be the lion who is the king of the jungle, but he can never.


Pre-marital Sex docu Video

https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=601436963243024&l=3745915848392256362

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

Ang Binhi ng Kabalukyutan


                         Simula pa man noong mga unang panahon, naging isang mahalagang pag-aari ng tao ang pera. Simula ng nagamit ito sa sinaunang kalakala't merkado, umigtaw ito ng malaking bahagi sa isa sa pinakaprogresibong sangkap ng estado... ang ekonomiya.

          Henerasyon sa henerasyon, iba't- ibang mga anyo; tulad ng ebolusyong tinahak ng tao ang dramatikong transpormasyon sa sistema at moda ng pananalapi. Mula sa isang simpleng buto ng kakaw tungo sa isang kumprehensibong papel, tunay na naging kabahagi ng tao ang pera sa pakikibaka't pakikipagsagupa hanggang sa ito'y humantong sa modernong panahon.

         Hindi na nga siguro maiaalis ang pera sa pitaka ng bawat tao. Ano nga kaya ang isang araw sa ating buhay na wala nito?

       Totoo, ito'y isang lintang di na kailanman maiaalis. Tayo'y naigapos sa tanikalang tila ba'y hindi rin natin nanaising magpumiglas at humiwalay. Tayo ay naibuhol sa isang buhay kaakibat ito: ang umani, ang gumugol, ang kapusin at ang muling pag-ani tungo sa isang walang hanggang siklo sa mundong pinapagulong ng barya. 

          Ang parteng ginagampanan nito sa bawat isa ay siya ring nagpasidhi at nagpasukdol sa bawat pagpupunyagi na umani nito; isang layunin upang makapanatili sa gitna ng sagupaan.

      Sa mundong pinaaandar ng salapi, ang tao'y tila ba nabubuhay sa paulit-ulit na paghagilap sa mga paraang hantad nito. At sa sanlibo't isang paraang binigay ng Diyos, sa kasamaang palad ay binulag ng kakarampot na masasamang paraan ang mata ng sangkatauhan.

        Ang katotohanan, ang salaping marapat ay magsilbing bunga ng ating pagpapagal at pagsisikap ay naging bunhi na pinagsikaran ng iba't- ibang tinta ng kadiliman; pinag-ugatan ng kabalakyuta't kasamaan ng sanlibutan.

        Tunay nga, money is the root of all evil, ika nga ng Bibliya.

         Gayunpaman, ang salapi ay nananatiling materyal na bagay na walang buhay at malay. Ang tao pa rin ang may angkin ng pinakadakilang dominasyon at pagkontrol sa paggamit nito. Nasa sa atin pa rin ang kapangyarihan. Ang salapi'y nananatiling binhi, binhing di mag- uugat sa kawalan ng katalist upang ito'y lumago, magbunga.

        Kahirapan o pagkagahaman? Kakulangan o kasibaan? Kakapusan o katakawan? Ano ang tunay na ugat ng kasamaan?

          Pagnanakaw, patayan, masaker, kidnaping na may ransom, kaliwa't kanang holdapan, pangangamkam, korapsyon at katiwalian, pandaraya; ilan lamang ito sa mga buhay na patotoo sa kung gaano kalaganap ang kasamaan, mga malalagim na bangungot na gumigising sa bawat umaga, ang mga malulusog na bunga ng binhing ating pinahahalagahan, lagim na nangangalampag sa telebisyon, radyo at pahayagan.

          Ngunit ano nga ba ang puno't dulo ng kasamaang sumaklob sa sangkalupaan? Ang perang sanhi ng kahirapan at karukhaan, ng walang hanggang pakikibaka sa buhay upang makamtan ang inaasam, ng kawalan at ng kakulangan, ng isang pagpupunyagi mula sa pagkadusta, ay sapat nga bang dahilan upang pairalin ang pagkagahaman?

          Anu't anopaman, ang kahirapan, kailanman, ay di sapat na dahilan upang gumawa ng kasamaan. Ang bawat isang problema ay may katumbas na tone-toneladang solusyon. Kahit pa ibigay ng kasamaan ang mas madadaling tugon, nananatili ang bundok-bundok na mas mabuting opsyon.

          Samantalang ang pagkagahaman, ang paghahangad higit sa nararapat, ang pagkamkam sa mga bagay na hidi pagmamay-ari, ang pagtakas sa pagkakuntento sa kahirapang inilatag ng mundo; ang siyang puno at dulo, ang ugat ng kasamaan.

          Gaano pa man kainam ang kariwasaan ng daigdig upang punan ang ating pangangailangan, hangga't nananatili ang mga taong gahaman, mga taong naghahangad ng higit sa katakdaan, maghahari't maghahari ang kasamaan sa mundo.

          Patuloy na lalaganap ang krimen upang makalamang, pandaraya upang kumita, ang pagnanakaw upang sumagana; ang mundo ay mananatiling puputaktihin ng mga taong nag-aagawan sa yaman, nakikibaka't nakikipagsagupaan, ang sumikad tungo sa pag-unlad sa ilegal na pamamaraan.

          Sabi nga ni Mahatma Gandhi, ang yaman ng mundo ay nakasasapat upang punan ang ating mga pangangailangan, ngunit kapos upang tupdin ang ating mga naising sakim at pagkagahaman. (“The world has enough for everyone's need, but not enough for everyone's greed.”)

          Aanhin pa ang bulsa kung wala namang lamang pera. Tunay na hindi maaaring mawaglit ang bagay na ito sa atin. Ang halaga nito ay napakasensitibo sa bawat isa dahil maging ang mundo ma'y pagtaub- taubin, mananatiling dito nakasandig ang buhay natin.

          Atin lamang alalahanin na hindi lamang ito ang bumubuo sa buhay ng tao. Marapat na tayo'y maging responsable sa paggugol nito.

          Nawa'y maging maalam ang bawat isa sa pagpapaikot nito sa ating mga kamay at huwag hayaang ito ang magpaikot sa ating mga buhay.