When You Miss the Signs

Signs everywhere.Signs from people.Signs from yourself. Many times we miss them. I had a disease.

I had a very short attention span and often my thoughts became a blur even before the next sentence is uttered. My close friends point this out because as hard as I tried, I don’t get to follow the whole course of the conversation. When I go for a stroll, I become easily distracted by what I see especially bright lights and gorgeous men. However, I always offered my profuse apology to my companion when the symptoms of my inability to focus surfaced.

This was evident in my writing too. It is extremely rare that I make a draft. I let the thoughts flow because I fear of losing them instantly. I have improved on this, thanks to my editred friends who help me understand the importance of editing and revising. In the case of poetry, I write like I am running on flames of thunder.

A short attention span means trouble. I stared blankly on the balding heads of my professors, I misunderstood directions, I say the wrong word and of course, at the end I was the ultimately clueless block.

I thought my case is hopeless until….

My best friend, Pina introduced me to sign language. The intricate movement of the hands and the facial expressions immediately entranced me. I have completely fallen in love with it like an ardent suitor to his muse. I enrolled in a sign language class and I was fortunate to be given a chance to teach students with hearing impairment and to be an interpreter for a university. It was not easy, my arms hurt and my fingers felt like twisted vines. I took every cost because I wanted to learn it and I discovered many things in life that I never knew. These are the signs I missed.

 

The eyes speak a thousand words. I learned the power of eye contact.

In the non-hearing world, you cannot lie easily. There is a specific word for a feeling or situation.

We want to listen but to be heard is a stronger human need.

Patience is indeed a virtue. I realized I needed it because I was with my friends who need to “listen” through me.

This is my simple way of showing my gratitude to the people who welcomed me in their world.

Bobby, Donna, Claro and Jason, you are always close to my heart. It has been four years that I have not used sign language but I have not forgotten our own special sign- friendship that surpassed even the speed of sound.

 

** This is also a promotion to raise awareness to find a cure for AIDS in Africa. Whenever you purchase a limited edition Red Ipod Nano, part of the proceeds help in finding the cure to this epidemic. BE AWARE, BE RED** The New Ipod Nano supports videos with subtitles so it can be used by anyone.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z0o57DGxIzw

 

Visit www.filteany.com and www.youtube.com/filteany

Filipina Teacher in The Big Apple

 

A big thank you to www.pinoycentric.com for featuring me. Check out the link so you can read about where I live in New York and even get to see pictures of my humble apartment.

I look forward to your messages and comments.

http://pinoycentric.com/2007/09/04/a-filipina-teacher-in-the-big-apple/

 Have a great weekend everyone.

Lifting The Petticoat

Lifting the Petticoat

Whenever a form to fill out is in front of me, I always need to tick that box next to F. Being a female is another form of identification. It is my permanent imprint in this world. It is my joy and at one point it was a curse when society thinks that being a woman is a disadvantage.

I believe in the empowerment of women and girl power. Yet I had my share of imprisonment as a child and as a growing woman.

The month of May of each year is a time I abhor. See, it was a time when I am obliged to accompany my grandmother to her daily novenas in the church. Do not get me wrong, I love her dearly but I hated the itchy, rough and uncomfortable petticoat that I had to wear. I am a complaining child but she reasons out that it gives my cute dress the much needed puff. I also saw it on other girls my age who painfully scratch their legs and alas! they get slapped on the wrist. Whenever I try to reach out under my skirt to scratch my thigh, I get those stares from people. Those stares connote you are displaying “unbecoming behavior”. It was a neon billboard sign that stopped me and then the two hours in the church became my own living hell. Today, I seldom wear a dress. Probably, the thought of that itchy fabric is still embedded in my psyche.

I would never forget my senior year in college. During that time, I was already honing my skill as a writer and poet. When our club president announced that a poetry contest was lined up as part of the activities for the university days, I was automatically invited to join. I do not see myself as a radical person or a follower. I just wanted to make my readers notice my work. One night in front of the computer, I wrote a poem entitled “Sex for the Very First Time.” I put my soul on that piece and the next day, I handed in my entry. The president loved it and immediately posted it on the hallway. As expected, the piece got attention. Students poured in the fourth floor of our building to read the controversial piece. I got numerous praises and of course, silly grins from the men. I liked the feeling that my piece made an impact on people. However, I unintentionally overlooked the impact on the university’s administration. I was summoned in the office and was made to sit in front of a panel. Swirls of thoughts like the inquisition, being accused of heresy and being burned at the stake plagued me. To cut the long chase, I was asked to make a choice. That was their term but to me I did not even have the time to explain my piece. Either I withdraw my entry or risk not graduating. I was young and fearful so I opted to surrender. I cried for days and the only consolation I had that my poem was stolen from the display board. The club president was apologetic but I just smiled. My poem made history. I was behind that history.

I watched a documentary in CNN about the plight of women in Afghanistan. In the middle of doing my lesson plan, I saw the faces of women battered by the brutal war. I could not understand the reason men in their society subject them to ridicule for being widowed and for wearing the burqa. These women beg for measly change in the streets endangering their lives and in addition, their children have slim chances of being educated. A poet was mysteriously murdered and the primary suspect was her husband. She was another casualty of the struggle of women to be heard. I had to fight the urge to throw a mug at my television. I am not thankful that I am not in their shoes but sadly I was losing hope for them. Something has to be done. The veil may have been lifted but the gates of freedom remains closed for these women.

I am making a niche in the city that never sleeps. It is tough here but I am able to express myself without fear of being persecuted. I write to my heart’s content about any topic my brain comes up with. I swim in the bliss of freedom which women ages ago fought and died for. In my heart, I aspire that women all over the world would be able to dive into the same water I am in.

 To my readers and viewers, I would like for you to share at least 5 of the most influential women in your life. 

I look forward to your responses.

In the name of Girl Power, tell me what you think on my latest Vlog. Comment, Rank and Subscribe

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1wBBbFCX01A

Help Thyself for Another Serving of Tomato Soup for the Damned Soul

Writing is my gift and curse. I believe that if I would ever be reincarnated; even if I will be George Bush, I would still thrive on writing. (This means I need to take grammar books and common sense literature to aid me in my next life). Being assigned a column in a magazine which deals about self esteem is a joy and at the same time a plague. I am neither a relative of Dr. Phil nor a reader who memorized the book “The Secret.’ So here I am, anxious on what to submit for next month’s issue. I am aware that writers need to research too on their topic so off I went to my favorite bookstore to immerse myself on the positive aura of self help books.

I expected that I would find these titles in the section.1. Chicken Soup for the Soul
1. Chicken Soup for the Soul Serving 2 until 100
3. Chicken Soup for the Soul for Single Women
4. Chicken Soup for the Soul for Divorced People
5. Chicken Soup for the SOul for Dog Lovers (this should be read by Paris Hilton and Britney Spears after her VMA performance bombed)
6. Chicken Soup for Golf Lovers
I got sick of all these servings so I proceeded to find other titles. Much to my dismay, I walked out of the store empty handed and MORE CONFUSED.

Here is a video that will attest how sick I got browsing the self help books in the market.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ts_pxJ62RsM

www.youtube.com/filteany
…for now I will grab another slice of New York Pizza for my Damned Soul

OFW Filteany Documentary

A student from De La Salle University requested that I make a documentary on living and working in another country.  I was hesitant at first since;

A. I am not sure how to do a documentary (much less about myself)
B. The student cannot interview me in person. How can a documentary suffice without this premise?
C. My editor was breathing on my neck because I have yet to pass my column  for the next issue.
D. Writer’s block has plagued me for lack of intellectual attachment.
E. I was experiencing “back to work” jitters (adjusting my sleep pattern to no avail)

After numerous correspondences through email and a yahoo conference, I happily obliged. George also pointed out the reason he needed this project- as requirement for his Finals. Now,  upon hearing this; I completely understood the guy. I had my share of beating the deadline before my Finals.
However, I suddenly developed “vlogger fright. “There was neither a warning or an explanation. We had to re- shoot the documentary in Times Square. Originally, we filmed in the east end park but I looked like R2D2. I kept on fumbling for words and was having a fight with my director already.

Out of exasperation, we agreed to re- shoot  the documentary in Times Square. Amidst the bustling crowd of tourists, I peek at the questions he sent which I wrote on a paper napkin. I tried my best, he and his groupmates tried their best and we came up with this short documentary/interview.
I hope all of you would like it.

Most importantly, I reach out to his professor that he would grant an A+ for a job excellently done. I smile more knowing that there are young Filipinos who are cognizant of social issues. It makes me hopeful that not all have fallen for the “Pied Piper of Complacence”, otherwise known as  the pathetic bandwagon of patronizing noontime game shows and brain cell reducing reality shows.

*** I am one of the OFWs whom George and his groupmates interviewed for their project. They have sent me the final cut and when I viewed it, my eyes turn watery as I gaze upon the countless faces of FIlipinos yearning for a better life. To my fellow Pinoys in the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, you have my utmost respect and together; we wait for the day that the next generation would have better opportunities in our own country.

 Enjoy and share these videos.

Part 1

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_VjQrSri2gw

Part 2

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zvMNfZ_7eAE