Ah, Women!
In all ages woman has been the source of all that is pure, unselfish, and heroic, in the spirit and life of man. It was for love that Anthony lost a world. It was for love that Jacob worked for seven long years, and for seven more; and I have often wondered what must have been these emotions when on the morning of the homely, scrawny, bony Leah instead of the lovely and beautiful presence of his beloved Rachel.
A distinguished French philosopher answered the narrative of every event with the question, “Who was she?” Helen conquered Troy, plunged all the nations of antiquity to war. And gave the earliest, as it is still the greatest, epic which has come down through all time.
Poetry and fiction are based upon woman’s love, and the movements of history are mainly due to the sentiments or ambitions she has inspired. There is no aspiration which any man entertains, no achievement he seeks to accomplish, no great and honorable ambition he desires to gratify, which is not directly related to either or both a mother and a wife. From the hearth some around which linger the recollections of our mother, from the fireside where our wife awaits us, come all the purity, all the hope and all the courage with which we fight the battle of life. The man who is not thus inspired, who labors into so much to secure the applause of the world accomplishes little of good for others or of honor for himself. I hope that each of us may always have near us: A perfect woman nobly planned, to warm, to comfort, and command, and yet a spirit still, and bright with something of an angel light.
Ipinapakita ang mga post na may etiketa na Oratorical. Ipakita ang lahat ng mga post
Ipinapakita ang mga post na may etiketa na Oratorical. Ipakita ang lahat ng mga post
Lunes, Setyembre 13, 2010
Believe You Can Succeed And You Will
Believe You Can Succeed And You Will
Success means many wonderful, positive things. Success means personal prosperity: a fine home, vacations, travel, new things, financial security, giving your children maximum advantages, etc… Success means winning admiration, leadership, being looked up to by people in your business and social life. Success means freedom: freedom from worries, fears, frustrations, and failure. Success means self-respect, continually finding more real happiness and satisfaction from life, being able to do more for those who depend on you.
Success means winning!
Success-achievement is the goal of life!
Every human being wants success. Everybody wants the best this life can deliver. Nobody enjoys crawling, living in mediocrity. No one likes feeling second-class and feeling forced to go that way.
Some of the most practical success-building wisdom is found in that Biblical quotation stating that ‘faith can move mountains.’ Believe, really believe, that you can move a mountain and you can! Not many people believe that they can move mountains. So, as a result, not many people do.
On some occasion you’ve probably heard some say something like, “it’s nonsense to think you can make a mountain, move away.’ It’s simply impossible.”
People who think this way have belief confused with wishful thinking. And true enough, you can’t wish away a mountain. You can’t wish yourself into an executive suite. Nor can you wish yourself into a five-bedroom, three-bath house or the high-income brackets. You can’t wish yourself into a position of leadership.
But you can move a mountain with belief. You can win success by believing you can succeed. There is nothing neither magical nor mystical about the power of belief.
Belief works this way. Belief, the “I’m positive-I-can” attitude, generates the power, skill, and energy needed to do. When you believe I-can-do-it, the how-to-do-it develops.
Everyday all over the world, young people start working in new jobs. Each of them “wishes” that someday he could enjoy the success that goes by reaching the top. But the majority of these young people simply don’t have the belief that it takes the top rungs. And they don’t reach the top. Believing it’s impossible to climb high, they do not discover the steps that lead to great heights. Their behavior remains that of the “average” person.
But a small number of these young people really believe they will succeed. They approach their work with the “I’m going-to-the-top” attitude. And with substantial belief they reach the top. Believing they will succeed – and that it’s not impossible – these folks study and observe the behavior of senior executives. They learn how successful people approach problems and make decisions. They observe the attitudes of successful people.
Those who believe they can move mountains, do. Those who believe that they can’t, cannot. Belief triggers the power to do. Belief in great results is the driving force, the power behind all great books, plays, scientific discoveries. Belief in success is behind every successful business, church, and political organization. Belief in success is the one basic, absolutely essential ingredient in successful people.
Believe, really believe, you can succeed and you will!
Success means many wonderful, positive things. Success means personal prosperity: a fine home, vacations, travel, new things, financial security, giving your children maximum advantages, etc… Success means winning admiration, leadership, being looked up to by people in your business and social life. Success means freedom: freedom from worries, fears, frustrations, and failure. Success means self-respect, continually finding more real happiness and satisfaction from life, being able to do more for those who depend on you.
Success means winning!
Success-achievement is the goal of life!
Every human being wants success. Everybody wants the best this life can deliver. Nobody enjoys crawling, living in mediocrity. No one likes feeling second-class and feeling forced to go that way.
Some of the most practical success-building wisdom is found in that Biblical quotation stating that ‘faith can move mountains.’ Believe, really believe, that you can move a mountain and you can! Not many people believe that they can move mountains. So, as a result, not many people do.
On some occasion you’ve probably heard some say something like, “it’s nonsense to think you can make a mountain, move away.’ It’s simply impossible.”
People who think this way have belief confused with wishful thinking. And true enough, you can’t wish away a mountain. You can’t wish yourself into an executive suite. Nor can you wish yourself into a five-bedroom, three-bath house or the high-income brackets. You can’t wish yourself into a position of leadership.
But you can move a mountain with belief. You can win success by believing you can succeed. There is nothing neither magical nor mystical about the power of belief.
Belief works this way. Belief, the “I’m positive-I-can” attitude, generates the power, skill, and energy needed to do. When you believe I-can-do-it, the how-to-do-it develops.
Everyday all over the world, young people start working in new jobs. Each of them “wishes” that someday he could enjoy the success that goes by reaching the top. But the majority of these young people simply don’t have the belief that it takes the top rungs. And they don’t reach the top. Believing it’s impossible to climb high, they do not discover the steps that lead to great heights. Their behavior remains that of the “average” person.
But a small number of these young people really believe they will succeed. They approach their work with the “I’m going-to-the-top” attitude. And with substantial belief they reach the top. Believing they will succeed – and that it’s not impossible – these folks study and observe the behavior of senior executives. They learn how successful people approach problems and make decisions. They observe the attitudes of successful people.
Those who believe they can move mountains, do. Those who believe that they can’t, cannot. Belief triggers the power to do. Belief in great results is the driving force, the power behind all great books, plays, scientific discoveries. Belief in success is behind every successful business, church, and political organization. Belief in success is the one basic, absolutely essential ingredient in successful people.
Believe, really believe, you can succeed and you will!
Dirty Hands
Dirty Hands
by John P. Delaney S.J.
I’m proud of my dirty hands. Yes, they are dirty. And they are rough and knobby and calloused. And I’m proud of the dirt and the knobs and the calluses. I didn’t get them that way by playing bridge or drinking afternoon tea out of dainty cups, or playing the well-advertised Good Samaritan at charity balls.
I got them that way by working with them, and I’m proud of the work and the dirt. Why shouldn’t I feel proud of the work they do – these dirty hands of mine?
My hands are the hands of plumbers, of truck drivers and street cleaners; of carpenters; engineers, machinists and workers in steel.
They are not pretty hands, they are dirty and knobby and calloused. But they are strong hands, hands that make so much that the world must have or die.
Someday, I think, the world should go down on its knees and kiss all the dirty hands of the working world, as in the days long past, armored knights would kiss the hands of ladies fair. I’m proud of my dirty hands. The world has kissed such hands. The world will always kiss such hands. Men and women put reverent lips to the hands of Him who held the hammer and the saw and the plane. His weren’t pretty hands either when they chopped trees, dragged rough lumber, and wielded carpenter’s tools. They were workingman’s hands – strong, capable proud hands. And weren’t pretty hands when the executioners got through them. They were torn right clean through by ugly nails, and the blood was running from them, and the edges of the wounds were raw and dirty and swollen; and the joints were crooked and the fingers were horribly bent in a mute appeal for love.
They weren’t pretty hands then, but, Oh God, they were beautiful – those hands of the Savior. I’m proud of those dirty hands, hands of my Savior, hands of God.
And I’m proud of my hands too, dirty hands, like the hands of my Savior, the Hands of my God!
by John P. Delaney S.J.
I’m proud of my dirty hands. Yes, they are dirty. And they are rough and knobby and calloused. And I’m proud of the dirt and the knobs and the calluses. I didn’t get them that way by playing bridge or drinking afternoon tea out of dainty cups, or playing the well-advertised Good Samaritan at charity balls.
I got them that way by working with them, and I’m proud of the work and the dirt. Why shouldn’t I feel proud of the work they do – these dirty hands of mine?
My hands are the hands of plumbers, of truck drivers and street cleaners; of carpenters; engineers, machinists and workers in steel.
They are not pretty hands, they are dirty and knobby and calloused. But they are strong hands, hands that make so much that the world must have or die.
Someday, I think, the world should go down on its knees and kiss all the dirty hands of the working world, as in the days long past, armored knights would kiss the hands of ladies fair. I’m proud of my dirty hands. The world has kissed such hands. The world will always kiss such hands. Men and women put reverent lips to the hands of Him who held the hammer and the saw and the plane. His weren’t pretty hands either when they chopped trees, dragged rough lumber, and wielded carpenter’s tools. They were workingman’s hands – strong, capable proud hands. And weren’t pretty hands when the executioners got through them. They were torn right clean through by ugly nails, and the blood was running from them, and the edges of the wounds were raw and dirty and swollen; and the joints were crooked and the fingers were horribly bent in a mute appeal for love.
They weren’t pretty hands then, but, Oh God, they were beautiful – those hands of the Savior. I’m proud of those dirty hands, hands of my Savior, hands of God.
And I’m proud of my hands too, dirty hands, like the hands of my Savior, the Hands of my God!
Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death
Give Me Liberty Or Give Me Death
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this
gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry has been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrance have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free– if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending–if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained–we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us!
They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable–and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.
It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace– but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the conduct of the British ministry for the last ten years to justify those hopes with which gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House. Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, sir; it will prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss. Ask yourselves how this
gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and reconciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the implements of war and subjugation; the last arguments to which kings resort. I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy, in this quarter of the world, to call for all this accumulation of navies and armies? No, sir, she has none. They are meant for us: they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British ministry has been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrance have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free– if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending–if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained–we must fight! I repeat it, sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of hosts is all that is left us!
They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. The millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable–and let it come! I repeat it, sir, let it come.
It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, Peace, Peace– but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!
Hold Your Tongue
Hold Your Tongue
Some people say that their heads are right on top of their stomachs and when anything goes wrong with their stomachs they cannot sleep. An equally serious condition is one in which words are always on the tip’s of people’s tongue, so that reason never intervenes to stop their utterances. This advice was once given to those whose speech is an intemperate; “Think before you speak; then talk to yourself,” ruling of the most difficult of all tasks. For that reason, the ancient Persians taught their youth’s two things: to be secret, and to tell the truth.
Those who abuse speech are divided into three general classes: The first are those who are always “putting people in their place” as if they were ordained by God and the Constitution to “tell off” everybody for what they call “their own good.” The second class is those who detract from the merit of others by criticizing, finding fault or putting an evil interpretation on all they say or do. They go to an art museum and criticize every picture for not being hung properly, but they never see that the pictures in their own homes are all upside down. A critical spirit is born of wrong behavior. There is not a critical person in the world that is not in need of criticism. Criticism of others is an escape from necessary self-criticism. The third is made up of just plain liars. Conscious of their own littleness and insignificance or by creating a mythical world, which is built according to their own specifications.
Socrates said: “Speak that I may see thee.” Speech is the index of the mind, and the summation of a soul, all that the person has been, is, and will be. We can say: “He is an ignorant man,” “He is a proud man,” “He is a kind man,” “He is a cruel man.”
The whirlwind on the tongue is the sign of the tempest in the soul. If there is envy in the heart, it will show in the tone of the voice; if there is love in the heart even the words share the glow. But a skunk in the cellar soon smells up the whole house. It is a physical and a psychological impossibility to develop the art of a good and humble heart out of which comes out words. The power of edifying speech increases with the improvement in morals. Many of the suggestions are in reality nothing else than the art of deceit and amount to “How to disguise you feeling,” “How to praise when you want to damn,” “How to compliment when you want to condemn,” “How to influence people when you hate them.”
Some people say that their heads are right on top of their stomachs and when anything goes wrong with their stomachs they cannot sleep. An equally serious condition is one in which words are always on the tip’s of people’s tongue, so that reason never intervenes to stop their utterances. This advice was once given to those whose speech is an intemperate; “Think before you speak; then talk to yourself,” ruling of the most difficult of all tasks. For that reason, the ancient Persians taught their youth’s two things: to be secret, and to tell the truth.
Those who abuse speech are divided into three general classes: The first are those who are always “putting people in their place” as if they were ordained by God and the Constitution to “tell off” everybody for what they call “their own good.” The second class is those who detract from the merit of others by criticizing, finding fault or putting an evil interpretation on all they say or do. They go to an art museum and criticize every picture for not being hung properly, but they never see that the pictures in their own homes are all upside down. A critical spirit is born of wrong behavior. There is not a critical person in the world that is not in need of criticism. Criticism of others is an escape from necessary self-criticism. The third is made up of just plain liars. Conscious of their own littleness and insignificance or by creating a mythical world, which is built according to their own specifications.
Socrates said: “Speak that I may see thee.” Speech is the index of the mind, and the summation of a soul, all that the person has been, is, and will be. We can say: “He is an ignorant man,” “He is a proud man,” “He is a kind man,” “He is a cruel man.”
The whirlwind on the tongue is the sign of the tempest in the soul. If there is envy in the heart, it will show in the tone of the voice; if there is love in the heart even the words share the glow. But a skunk in the cellar soon smells up the whole house. It is a physical and a psychological impossibility to develop the art of a good and humble heart out of which comes out words. The power of edifying speech increases with the improvement in morals. Many of the suggestions are in reality nothing else than the art of deceit and amount to “How to disguise you feeling,” “How to praise when you want to damn,” “How to compliment when you want to condemn,” “How to influence people when you hate them.”
I Accuse...
I Accuse...
Whether you like it or not, you are sitting atop a time bomb. Worst, you are taking lightly the inescapable reality that it exist – all because you have been lulled all these years into a belief that everything is fine, just fine, thanks to a captive, intimidated and prostituted media.
So, on with that false sense of security, the serenity with which you have accepted the things around you. “It’s such a lovely landscape,” you say, “Join me, let’s bask under the sun.” before it explodes you don’t say!
In the meantime, the timing device ticks on, ticking off the seconds from the hour, until, with the final countdown to zero, it is too late to avoid the explosion – to elude the ugly truth, that we have been gullible idiots all along, playing into the hands of sweet-talking demagogues with their ready answers and empty promises.
But the signs could not have escaped you – they are so starkly real to be ignored, so intimately linked with everyday life, yours and mine – ours. You could not have failed to notice them, or while they bluntly portray the present, they are just as inseparably a part of your future and the future of your children.
Thus, before you, is a wide panoramic view of the suffering – from want, from neglect, from the indifference of those in whom the welfare of the people has been entrusted. One wonders how you can be so blind.
While no relief is in sight nor had been attempted in all seriousness and dedication, now here comes again Mr. X with tongue in cheek, unabashed, and with all the theatrics at his command, beguiling the electorate once more with his artifice, offering himself for another tenure of incompetence, poor performance, and untrustworthiness in public office. God! What have we done that we should be visited by such a blight!
There really are people who simply do not know how much we endure them!
Meanwhile, the time-bomb ticks on and unless defused on time, we shall all be blown to smithereens!
Just what is ailing us today?
Mr. X’s entry into the picture is illustrative of the callousness, the daring, and the atrocious impudence of phonies, so thick-faced they are insensitive to the public condemnation of their crimes and misdeeds. These are the kinds who prey on a credulous electorate, then, before the ink dries on their oaths of office, the kind who immediately maps out measures to the feast of public funds!
Let us beware of such candidate, such kind of public servant, in the same way that one avoids a plague! Voting for him is simply calamitous for beneath that benign and smiling face is a scheming mind bent on devious ways to enrich himself in office. An octopus in human form has tentacles reach deep into the farthest and tiniest crevices where the last centavo may be heard to tingle, for there is nothing to satiate his avarice, there is nothing to satisfy his inordinate greed. It is time too, to realize that the hoary arms of this monster, fondling an armalite, cast a shadow over our lives, our present and our future and those of our successors. It is time, therefore, that this candidate who begs for our votes should stand an accounting for his omissions, his dubious accomplishments or the manner by which he conducted himself while in office – or in committing his crimes.
Unhappily, the measure of a public official should be one at par with Caesar’s wife – above suspicion. I say, “unhappily” because Mr. X could hardly measure up to pur barest expectations. In fact, if he has any decency left in him, he should never have shown his face in public for the shame and the ignominy he had placed on his name, and the ill-repute to which his town had been made to bear, all because of a single scoundrel.
For once, let us vote for integrity in office, for performance and deportment beyond reproach, for the honor of this town we all love.
For once let us join hands to vote for Mr. Y, and thus let prosperity be with us once more. And in one decisive stroke of rallying behind his leadership, let the time-bomb of disaster be dismantled, with law and order, peace and progress restored under a benevolent God, supreme once more over our land and fortunes!
Whether you like it or not, you are sitting atop a time bomb. Worst, you are taking lightly the inescapable reality that it exist – all because you have been lulled all these years into a belief that everything is fine, just fine, thanks to a captive, intimidated and prostituted media.
So, on with that false sense of security, the serenity with which you have accepted the things around you. “It’s such a lovely landscape,” you say, “Join me, let’s bask under the sun.” before it explodes you don’t say!
In the meantime, the timing device ticks on, ticking off the seconds from the hour, until, with the final countdown to zero, it is too late to avoid the explosion – to elude the ugly truth, that we have been gullible idiots all along, playing into the hands of sweet-talking demagogues with their ready answers and empty promises.
But the signs could not have escaped you – they are so starkly real to be ignored, so intimately linked with everyday life, yours and mine – ours. You could not have failed to notice them, or while they bluntly portray the present, they are just as inseparably a part of your future and the future of your children.
Thus, before you, is a wide panoramic view of the suffering – from want, from neglect, from the indifference of those in whom the welfare of the people has been entrusted. One wonders how you can be so blind.
While no relief is in sight nor had been attempted in all seriousness and dedication, now here comes again Mr. X with tongue in cheek, unabashed, and with all the theatrics at his command, beguiling the electorate once more with his artifice, offering himself for another tenure of incompetence, poor performance, and untrustworthiness in public office. God! What have we done that we should be visited by such a blight!
There really are people who simply do not know how much we endure them!
Meanwhile, the time-bomb ticks on and unless defused on time, we shall all be blown to smithereens!
Just what is ailing us today?
Mr. X’s entry into the picture is illustrative of the callousness, the daring, and the atrocious impudence of phonies, so thick-faced they are insensitive to the public condemnation of their crimes and misdeeds. These are the kinds who prey on a credulous electorate, then, before the ink dries on their oaths of office, the kind who immediately maps out measures to the feast of public funds!
Let us beware of such candidate, such kind of public servant, in the same way that one avoids a plague! Voting for him is simply calamitous for beneath that benign and smiling face is a scheming mind bent on devious ways to enrich himself in office. An octopus in human form has tentacles reach deep into the farthest and tiniest crevices where the last centavo may be heard to tingle, for there is nothing to satiate his avarice, there is nothing to satisfy his inordinate greed. It is time too, to realize that the hoary arms of this monster, fondling an armalite, cast a shadow over our lives, our present and our future and those of our successors. It is time, therefore, that this candidate who begs for our votes should stand an accounting for his omissions, his dubious accomplishments or the manner by which he conducted himself while in office – or in committing his crimes.
Unhappily, the measure of a public official should be one at par with Caesar’s wife – above suspicion. I say, “unhappily” because Mr. X could hardly measure up to pur barest expectations. In fact, if he has any decency left in him, he should never have shown his face in public for the shame and the ignominy he had placed on his name, and the ill-repute to which his town had been made to bear, all because of a single scoundrel.
For once, let us vote for integrity in office, for performance and deportment beyond reproach, for the honor of this town we all love.
For once let us join hands to vote for Mr. Y, and thus let prosperity be with us once more. And in one decisive stroke of rallying behind his leadership, let the time-bomb of disaster be dismantled, with law and order, peace and progress restored under a benevolent God, supreme once more over our land and fortunes!
I Am a Filipino
I Am a Filipino
I am a Filipino – inheritor of a glorious past, hostage to the uncertain future. As such I must prove equal to a two-fold task- the task of meeting my responsibility to the past, and the task of performing my obligation to the future. I sprung from a hardy race – child of many generations removed of ancient Malayan pioneers. Across the centuries, the memory comes rushing back to me: of brown-skinned men putting out to sea in ships that were as frail as their hearts were stout. Over the sea I see them come, borne upon the billowing wave and the whistling wind, carried upon the mighty swell of hope- hope in the free abundance of new land that was to be their home and their children’s forever.
This is the land they sought and found. Every inch of shore that their eyes first set upon, every hill and mountain that beckoned to them with a green and purple invitation, every mile of rolling plain that their view encompassed, every river and lake that promise a plentiful living and the fruitfulness of commerce, is a hollowed spot to me.
By the strength of their hearts and hands, by every right of law, human and divine, this land and all the appurtenances thereof – the black and fertile soil, the seas and lakes and rivers teeming with fish, the forests with their inexhaustible wealth in wild life and timber, the mountains with their bowels swollen with minerals – the whole of this rich and happy land has been, for centuries without number, the land of my fathers. This land I received in trust from them and in trust will pass it to my children, and so on until the world no more.
I am a Filipino. In my blood runs the immortal seed of heroes – seed that flowered down the centuries in deeds of courage and defiance. In my veins yet pulses the same hot blood that sent Lapulapu to battle against the alien foe that drove Diego Silang and Dagohoy into rebellion against the foreign oppressor.
That seed is immortal. It is the self-same seed that flowered in the heart of Jose Rizal that morning in Bagumbayan when a volley of shots put an end to all that was mortal of him and made his spirit deathless forever; the same that flowered in the hearts of Bonifacio in Balintawak, of Gergorio del Pilar at Tirad Pass, of Antonio Luna at Calumpit; that bloomed in flowers of frustration in the sad heart of Emilio Aguinaldo at Palanan, and yet burst fourth royally again in the proud heart of Manuel L. Quezon when he stood at last on the threshold of ancient Malacañang Palace, in the symbolic act of possession and racial vindication.
The seed I bear within me is an immortal seed. It is the mark of my manhood, the symbol of dignity as a human being. Like the seeds that were once buried in the tomb of Tutankhamen many thousand years ago, it shall grow and flower and bear fruit again. It is the insigne of my race, and my generation is but a stage in the unending search of my people for freedom and happiness.
I am a Filipino, child of the marriage of the East and the West. The East, with its languor and mysticism, its passivity and endurance, was my mother, and my sire was the West that came thundering across the seas with the Cross and Sword and the Machine. I am of the East, an eager participant in its struggles for liberation from the imperialist yoke. But I also know that the East must awake from its centuried sleep, shape of the lethargy that has bound his limbs, and start moving where destiny awaits.
For, I, too, am of the West, and the vigorous peoples of the West have destroyed forever the peace and quiet that once were ours. I can no longer live, being apart from those world now trembles to the roar of bomb and cannon shot. For no man and no nation is an island, but a part of the main, there is no longer any East and West – only individuals and nations making those momentous choices that are hinges upon which history resolves.
At the vanguard of progress in this part of the world I stand – a forlorn figure in the eyes of some, but not one defeated and lost. For through the thick, interlacing branches of habit and custom above me I have seen the light of the sun, and I know that it is good. I have seen the light of justice and equality and freedom and my heart has been lifted by the vision of democracy, and I shall not rest until my land and my people shall have been blessed by these, beyond the power of any man or nation to subvert or destroy.
I am a Filipino, and this is my inheritance. What pledge shall I give that I may prove worthy of my inheritance? I shall give the pledge that has come ringing down the corridors of the centuries, and it shall be compounded of the joyous cries of my Malayan forebears when they first saw the contours of this land loom before their eyes, of the battle cries that have resounded in every field of combat from Mactan to Tirad pass, of the voices of my people when they sing:
Land of the Morning,Child of the sun returning…Ne’er shall invaders trample thy sacred shore.
Out of the lush green of these seven thousand isles, out of the heartstrings of sixteen million people all vibrating to one song, I shall weave the mighty fabric of my pledge. Out of the songs of the farmers at sunrise when they go to labor in the fields; out of the sweat of the hard-bitten pioneers in Mal-ig and Koronadal; out of the silent endurance of stevedores at the piers and the ominous grumbling of peasants Pampanga; out of the first cries of babies newly born and the lullabies that mothers sing; out of the crashing of gears and the whine of turbines in the factories; out of the crunch of ploughs upturning the earth; out of the limitless patience of teachers in the classrooms and doctors in the clinics; out of the tramp of soldiers marching, I shall make the pattern of my pledge:
"I am a Filipino born of freedom and I shall not rest until freedom shall have been added unto my inheritance – for myself and my children’s children – forever.
I am a Filipino – inheritor of a glorious past, hostage to the uncertain future. As such I must prove equal to a two-fold task- the task of meeting my responsibility to the past, and the task of performing my obligation to the future. I sprung from a hardy race – child of many generations removed of ancient Malayan pioneers. Across the centuries, the memory comes rushing back to me: of brown-skinned men putting out to sea in ships that were as frail as their hearts were stout. Over the sea I see them come, borne upon the billowing wave and the whistling wind, carried upon the mighty swell of hope- hope in the free abundance of new land that was to be their home and their children’s forever.
This is the land they sought and found. Every inch of shore that their eyes first set upon, every hill and mountain that beckoned to them with a green and purple invitation, every mile of rolling plain that their view encompassed, every river and lake that promise a plentiful living and the fruitfulness of commerce, is a hollowed spot to me.
By the strength of their hearts and hands, by every right of law, human and divine, this land and all the appurtenances thereof – the black and fertile soil, the seas and lakes and rivers teeming with fish, the forests with their inexhaustible wealth in wild life and timber, the mountains with their bowels swollen with minerals – the whole of this rich and happy land has been, for centuries without number, the land of my fathers. This land I received in trust from them and in trust will pass it to my children, and so on until the world no more.
I am a Filipino. In my blood runs the immortal seed of heroes – seed that flowered down the centuries in deeds of courage and defiance. In my veins yet pulses the same hot blood that sent Lapulapu to battle against the alien foe that drove Diego Silang and Dagohoy into rebellion against the foreign oppressor.
That seed is immortal. It is the self-same seed that flowered in the heart of Jose Rizal that morning in Bagumbayan when a volley of shots put an end to all that was mortal of him and made his spirit deathless forever; the same that flowered in the hearts of Bonifacio in Balintawak, of Gergorio del Pilar at Tirad Pass, of Antonio Luna at Calumpit; that bloomed in flowers of frustration in the sad heart of Emilio Aguinaldo at Palanan, and yet burst fourth royally again in the proud heart of Manuel L. Quezon when he stood at last on the threshold of ancient Malacañang Palace, in the symbolic act of possession and racial vindication.
The seed I bear within me is an immortal seed. It is the mark of my manhood, the symbol of dignity as a human being. Like the seeds that were once buried in the tomb of Tutankhamen many thousand years ago, it shall grow and flower and bear fruit again. It is the insigne of my race, and my generation is but a stage in the unending search of my people for freedom and happiness.
I am a Filipino, child of the marriage of the East and the West. The East, with its languor and mysticism, its passivity and endurance, was my mother, and my sire was the West that came thundering across the seas with the Cross and Sword and the Machine. I am of the East, an eager participant in its struggles for liberation from the imperialist yoke. But I also know that the East must awake from its centuried sleep, shape of the lethargy that has bound his limbs, and start moving where destiny awaits.
For, I, too, am of the West, and the vigorous peoples of the West have destroyed forever the peace and quiet that once were ours. I can no longer live, being apart from those world now trembles to the roar of bomb and cannon shot. For no man and no nation is an island, but a part of the main, there is no longer any East and West – only individuals and nations making those momentous choices that are hinges upon which history resolves.
At the vanguard of progress in this part of the world I stand – a forlorn figure in the eyes of some, but not one defeated and lost. For through the thick, interlacing branches of habit and custom above me I have seen the light of the sun, and I know that it is good. I have seen the light of justice and equality and freedom and my heart has been lifted by the vision of democracy, and I shall not rest until my land and my people shall have been blessed by these, beyond the power of any man or nation to subvert or destroy.
I am a Filipino, and this is my inheritance. What pledge shall I give that I may prove worthy of my inheritance? I shall give the pledge that has come ringing down the corridors of the centuries, and it shall be compounded of the joyous cries of my Malayan forebears when they first saw the contours of this land loom before their eyes, of the battle cries that have resounded in every field of combat from Mactan to Tirad pass, of the voices of my people when they sing:
Land of the Morning,Child of the sun returning…Ne’er shall invaders trample thy sacred shore.
Out of the lush green of these seven thousand isles, out of the heartstrings of sixteen million people all vibrating to one song, I shall weave the mighty fabric of my pledge. Out of the songs of the farmers at sunrise when they go to labor in the fields; out of the sweat of the hard-bitten pioneers in Mal-ig and Koronadal; out of the silent endurance of stevedores at the piers and the ominous grumbling of peasants Pampanga; out of the first cries of babies newly born and the lullabies that mothers sing; out of the crashing of gears and the whine of turbines in the factories; out of the crunch of ploughs upturning the earth; out of the limitless patience of teachers in the classrooms and doctors in the clinics; out of the tramp of soldiers marching, I shall make the pattern of my pledge:
"I am a Filipino born of freedom and I shall not rest until freedom shall have been added unto my inheritance – for myself and my children’s children – forever.
I Have a Dream
I Have a Dream
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity. But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free.
One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land.
So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition. In a sense we have come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.
This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation.
So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God’s children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights.
The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. we must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.
The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.
We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" we can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal." I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor’s lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania! Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado! Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California! But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia! Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee! Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand signed the Emancipation Proclamation. This momentous decree came as a great beacon light of hope to millions of Negro slaves who had been seared in the flames of withering injustice. It came as a joyous daybreak to end the long night of captivity. But one hundred years later, we must face the tragic fact that the Negro is still not free.
One hundred years later, the life of the Negro is still sadly crippled by the manacles of segregation and the chains of discrimination. One hundred years later, the Negro lives on a lonely island of poverty in the midst of a vast ocean of material prosperity. One hundred years later, the Negro is still languishing in the corners of American society and finds himself an exile in his own land.
So we have come here today to dramatize an appalling condition. In a sense we have come to our nation’s capital to cash a check. When the architects of our republic wrote the magnificent words of the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence, they were signing a promissory note to which every American was to fall heir.
This note was a promise that all men would be guaranteed the inalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred obligation, America has given the Negro people a bad check which has come back marked "insufficient funds." But we refuse to believe that the bank of justice is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are insufficient funds in the great vaults of opportunity of this nation.
So we have come to cash this check — a check that will give us upon demand the riches of freedom and the security of justice. We have also come to this hallowed spot to remind America of the fierce urgency of now. This is no time to engage in the luxury of cooling off or to take the tranquilizing drug of gradualism. Now is the time to rise from the dark and desolate valley of segregation to the sunlit path of racial justice. Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God’s children. Now is the time to lift our nation from the quick sands of racial injustice to the solid rock of brotherhood.
It would be fatal for the nation to overlook the urgency of the moment and to underestimate the determination of the Negro. This sweltering summer of the Negro’s legitimate discontent will not pass until there is an invigorating autumn of freedom and equality. Nineteen sixty-three is not an end, but a beginning. Those who hope that the Negro needed to blow off steam and will now be content will have a rude awakening if the nation returns to business as usual. There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the Negro is granted his citizenship rights.
The whirlwinds of revolt will continue to shake the foundations of our nation until the bright day of justice emerges. But there is something that I must say to my people who stand on the warm threshold which leads into the palace of justice. In the process of gaining our rightful place we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. we must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force.
The marvelous new militancy which has engulfed the Negro community must not lead us to distrust of all white people, for many of our white brothers, as evidenced by their presence here today, have come to realize that their destiny is tied up with our destiny and their freedom is inextricably bound to our freedom.
We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. There are those who are asking the devotees of civil rights, "When will you be satisfied?" we can never be satisfied as long as our bodies, heavy with the fatigue of travel, cannot gain lodging in the motels of the highways and the hotels of the cities. We cannot be satisfied as long as the Negro’s basic mobility is from a smaller ghetto to a larger one. We can never be satisfied as long as a Negro in Mississippi cannot vote and a Negro in New York believes he has nothing for which to vote. No, no, we are not satisfied, and we will not be satisfied until justice rolls down like waters and righteousness like a mighty stream.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations. Some of you have come fresh from narrow cells. Some of you have come from areas where your quest for freedom left you battered by the storms of persecution and staggered by the winds of police brutality. You have been the veterans of creative suffering. Continue to work with the faith that unearned suffering is redemptive.
Go back to Mississippi, go back to Alabama, go back to Georgia, go back to Louisiana, go back to the slums and ghettos of our northern cities, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed. Let us not wallow in the valley of despair. I say to you today, my friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal." I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at a table of brotherhood. I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a desert state, sweltering with the heat of injustice and oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice. I have a dream that my four children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day the state of Alabama, whose governor’s lips are presently dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, will be transformed into a situation where little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls and walk together as sisters and brothers. I have a dream today. I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together. This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to the South. With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood. With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day.
This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with a new meaning, "My country, ’tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing. Land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride, from every mountainside, let freedom ring." And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true. So let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire. Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York. Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania! Let freedom ring from the snowcapped Rockies of Colorado! Let freedom ring from the curvaceous peaks of California! But not only that; let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia! Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee! Let freedom ring from every hill and every molehill of Mississippi. From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
When we let freedom ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual, "Free at last! free at last! thank God Almighty, we are free at last!"
I am a Juan dela Cruz
I am a Juan dela Cruz
I am a Juan dela Cruz. I am a fighter by blood and a believer by heart. I live in a free country. Although I may have a small voice, I have a big dream—a dream to master the art of spear.
To our distinguished members of the board of judges, to my equally competent contenders, to all our keen visitors, ladies and gentlemen, good morning. To live in a multi-faceted and vast word of globally competent people is to let a Juan dela Cruz abide by the rule of the jungle that is the survival of the fittest and the elimination of the unfit.
In order to survive, Juan must master the art of spear—the spear that will make him invincible, the spear that will help him emerge as king, the spear that is known today as English Proficiency.
But what is English Proficiency? What does it do to help Juan in this crisis-laden world? Ladies and gentlemen, this is the skill in using the English language. This will bring Juan closer to excellence—excellence in quenching his thirst for global competitiveness, excellence in responding his own hullabaloos and excellence in proving his worth.
Furthermore, we might ask, why would Juan dream of this excellence? Let us not shut our eyes to the tragic reality that Juan dela Cruz is left behind, that Juan is amidst political feuds, religious warfare and illiteracy battle in using the lingua franca, English.
This tragic reality is greatly manifested in the March 2006 Social Weather Survey showing 5% Filipino adults making full use of the English Language; 35% making fair use of the said language; 27% making partial use of the language; 19% making almost no use of the language and 14% not being competent in any way when it comes to the said language.
This shows that there had been a huge decline in all aspects of English Proficiency among the Filipinos compared to December 1993 and September 2003 results. Another manifestation, ladies and gentlemen, in a recent study by the Call Center Association of the Philippines where cal centers hire less that 5% of 100 Filipino applicants due to their poor English skills.
Moreover, according to the Department of Education, only 7% of graduating high school students had mastered English and had scored at least 75% in nationwide tests. This then threw back the blame to the quality of instruction in schools and had been even proven when it had been said in the 2000 Philippine Human Development Report of the United Nations that would-be-teachers have poor English language skills and scored lowest in English of all subjects in their licensure exam.
Friends, if this decline continues, to what direction shall Juan move? Let Juan be equipped with the English skill, let his voice be raised to a higher decibel that it reaches out to others and from there, it will reverberate to constantly remind us that we are the main instruments in responding to our own struggle and efforts to eradicate all forms of discrimination. In doing so we must evidently speak our mind but in such a way that foreign people may understand us and eventually join us in our battle. From there comes the edge of being erudite in the English language. If only we could beat this English Proficiency crisis, we could penetrate through foreign conversations and we could survive in the global market.
Though English may be another language, it doesn’t mean that we are depriving Juan of his native tongue but letting him see the purpose of speaking so, as Luis Teodoro , a newspaper columnist and journalism professor at the University of the Philippines, said, “learning another language is a specialized and voluntary process. It can’t be forced on people who don’t see any use of it in their daily lives.”
We should not let Juan paddle in the opposite direction when all other Asian people ride the Third wave just because of the fear that the wave will engulf him. Many people may know the language but few are great. If Juan will be one of those few, it would be such an immense deal of honor and pride. If he would prove his worth, he shall see himself invincible and unconquerable. That even if he is in the middle of the jungle he shall be ready and brave to take on challenges – the mastering of the art of spear.
I am a Juan dela Cruz. I am a fighter by blood and a believer by heart. I live in a free country. Although I may have a small voice, I have a big dream—a dream to master the art of spear. Good morning!
I am a Juan dela Cruz. I am a fighter by blood and a believer by heart. I live in a free country. Although I may have a small voice, I have a big dream—a dream to master the art of spear.
To our distinguished members of the board of judges, to my equally competent contenders, to all our keen visitors, ladies and gentlemen, good morning. To live in a multi-faceted and vast word of globally competent people is to let a Juan dela Cruz abide by the rule of the jungle that is the survival of the fittest and the elimination of the unfit.
In order to survive, Juan must master the art of spear—the spear that will make him invincible, the spear that will help him emerge as king, the spear that is known today as English Proficiency.
But what is English Proficiency? What does it do to help Juan in this crisis-laden world? Ladies and gentlemen, this is the skill in using the English language. This will bring Juan closer to excellence—excellence in quenching his thirst for global competitiveness, excellence in responding his own hullabaloos and excellence in proving his worth.
Furthermore, we might ask, why would Juan dream of this excellence? Let us not shut our eyes to the tragic reality that Juan dela Cruz is left behind, that Juan is amidst political feuds, religious warfare and illiteracy battle in using the lingua franca, English.
This tragic reality is greatly manifested in the March 2006 Social Weather Survey showing 5% Filipino adults making full use of the English Language; 35% making fair use of the said language; 27% making partial use of the language; 19% making almost no use of the language and 14% not being competent in any way when it comes to the said language.
This shows that there had been a huge decline in all aspects of English Proficiency among the Filipinos compared to December 1993 and September 2003 results. Another manifestation, ladies and gentlemen, in a recent study by the Call Center Association of the Philippines where cal centers hire less that 5% of 100 Filipino applicants due to their poor English skills.
Moreover, according to the Department of Education, only 7% of graduating high school students had mastered English and had scored at least 75% in nationwide tests. This then threw back the blame to the quality of instruction in schools and had been even proven when it had been said in the 2000 Philippine Human Development Report of the United Nations that would-be-teachers have poor English language skills and scored lowest in English of all subjects in their licensure exam.
Friends, if this decline continues, to what direction shall Juan move? Let Juan be equipped with the English skill, let his voice be raised to a higher decibel that it reaches out to others and from there, it will reverberate to constantly remind us that we are the main instruments in responding to our own struggle and efforts to eradicate all forms of discrimination. In doing so we must evidently speak our mind but in such a way that foreign people may understand us and eventually join us in our battle. From there comes the edge of being erudite in the English language. If only we could beat this English Proficiency crisis, we could penetrate through foreign conversations and we could survive in the global market.
Though English may be another language, it doesn’t mean that we are depriving Juan of his native tongue but letting him see the purpose of speaking so, as Luis Teodoro , a newspaper columnist and journalism professor at the University of the Philippines, said, “learning another language is a specialized and voluntary process. It can’t be forced on people who don’t see any use of it in their daily lives.”
We should not let Juan paddle in the opposite direction when all other Asian people ride the Third wave just because of the fear that the wave will engulf him. Many people may know the language but few are great. If Juan will be one of those few, it would be such an immense deal of honor and pride. If he would prove his worth, he shall see himself invincible and unconquerable. That even if he is in the middle of the jungle he shall be ready and brave to take on challenges – the mastering of the art of spear.
I am a Juan dela Cruz. I am a fighter by blood and a believer by heart. I live in a free country. Although I may have a small voice, I have a big dream—a dream to master the art of spear. Good morning!
Passionate Filipino Sentiments!
Passionate Filipino Sentiments!
Jm Benavidez Estoque
From whence shall we trust? No one… but from ourselves! From whence shall we stand upon? No one… but from our very own feet!
My dear fellow brethren… when would be the time for us to be strong! … To be independent among to ourselves! When would be this right time when I see… when I see within ourselves, fellow brothers, uniting for a common dream! … And sharing for a common goal!
Are we not tired enough to see our Filipino pride, that was once so called Pearl of the Orient, being trampled, crushed and trodden? In our own very heart, is it not enough to see our beloved nation?- the flesh of our flesh whose fervent desires runs our passions that had long been sleeping for centuries; a sacred dignity … being just disgraced by ourselves? Whose from our pride blood stained with lies, corruption and deception?!
When is the time for us to change?! When would be this proper time for us to soar again amidst the greatness of our forefathers?!
Where are those bright minds? Where are those passionate hearts? Where are those who in their lives we could see the love for one’s nation?!
Where are those, the youth? …The so-called bright morrows of our nation? Where are those brave hearts whose deep in their veins lies the fervent honor and nationalism?! Where are you?! I’ve long been waiting for you?!
How long can we endure, these deprived sentiments?... the burdens of our soul, the sorrows of the heart?!
How long can we bear, this stains that hath long been mortifying our passionate desires?! …The dream of our dreams?
How long can we keep deep within our chaotic minds and long can we buried it in our confused hearts, the laments, the mourning and the sufferings of our mother land?!
Oh! Rise ye nation! I pray thee! You must rise again! You are a child of Eden! In your blood runs the cradle of noble heroes!
Oh rise thee, beloved mother! For long have you been suffered and enslaved, now must be the time… for you to rise again! …and to soar again long of the deep bright clouds that long you’d been yearning!
Jm Benavidez Estoque
From whence shall we trust? No one… but from ourselves! From whence shall we stand upon? No one… but from our very own feet!
My dear fellow brethren… when would be the time for us to be strong! … To be independent among to ourselves! When would be this right time when I see… when I see within ourselves, fellow brothers, uniting for a common dream! … And sharing for a common goal!
Are we not tired enough to see our Filipino pride, that was once so called Pearl of the Orient, being trampled, crushed and trodden? In our own very heart, is it not enough to see our beloved nation?- the flesh of our flesh whose fervent desires runs our passions that had long been sleeping for centuries; a sacred dignity … being just disgraced by ourselves? Whose from our pride blood stained with lies, corruption and deception?!
When is the time for us to change?! When would be this proper time for us to soar again amidst the greatness of our forefathers?!
Where are those bright minds? Where are those passionate hearts? Where are those who in their lives we could see the love for one’s nation?!
Where are those, the youth? …The so-called bright morrows of our nation? Where are those brave hearts whose deep in their veins lies the fervent honor and nationalism?! Where are you?! I’ve long been waiting for you?!
How long can we endure, these deprived sentiments?... the burdens of our soul, the sorrows of the heart?!
How long can we bear, this stains that hath long been mortifying our passionate desires?! …The dream of our dreams?
How long can we keep deep within our chaotic minds and long can we buried it in our confused hearts, the laments, the mourning and the sufferings of our mother land?!
Oh! Rise ye nation! I pray thee! You must rise again! You are a child of Eden! In your blood runs the cradle of noble heroes!
Oh rise thee, beloved mother! For long have you been suffered and enslaved, now must be the time… for you to rise again! …and to soar again long of the deep bright clouds that long you’d been yearning!
Killing Myself!
Killing Myself!
Diverse people from diverse places have once come to colonize our country. Literatures and pictures stand as a witness of how we endure, struggle and fight that yields forth of what we regard today as history.
At the heart of our country carves an era that manifolds through the regimes of Spanish occupation, Japanese conquistadors, American colonialism onwards to the Birth of World Wars. And the fruit of these all is my unique individuality. I am the child of the west and east combined.
I am a product of so many revolutions. For a time, I was blinded from what is real. For centuries I was enslaved by people of different blood, color and race.
Spanish colonizers use religion as an excuse to earn the hearts of my race. They taught me to embrace poverty as a virtue and exposed me to learn gambling and even cock-fighting.
The blond, tall Americans poisoned our way through education. The whites instilled in me to follow “adversial” communication hitting my country badly. Their tactic of “dividing and rule” has resulted to the regionalistic division we still have today.
The arrival of Japanese has even caused tremendous fears, hardships and pain.
For a time, I have seen the harsh realities filled with chaos, propaganda, hatred, vengeance, wars, hidden agenda, corruption, greed, lust and every devilish deeds. But Lo and behold, a new one has come.
I am killing myself. Killing the old Filipino. Within me, came rushing out the stinking blood of every devilish deeds. My heart has stopped pumping the music of deception. My lungs has totally exhaled every waste I have inside.
I am a new Filipino. I am bound to make a living history beyond a legend and a real history in the making that will continue to unfold through time.
The new revolution has given me true victory, a victory by which I am longing for long and the solution is not through war. This revolution has not been fought in the streets. It will be fought in hearts of men.
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided. Knowing the present would mean understanding the past.
I am a new Filipino gaining wisdom from the past. Gone is the Filipino Indolence, beholding to erase the crab mentality, further eradicating my colonial mentality.
A new Filipino I am. In my blood runs the infitisimal seed of heroic deeds for the sake of the heavenly and for the benefit of the majority. The seed that drive away the oppressors and the seed that will further cleanse the filthiness of this country.
I will search the unkown. I will continue to dream my dreams wishing upon the stars and will never say never. I will continue to move on, to rise up towards the direction of a glorious tomorrow.
To look on the present onwards the future and to scale how my new country will develop will serve as an inspiration that is worth and is bound to be followed.
What the people today endures, struggles, and fight towards progress will continually mold a state of a new history –a bright history that is enough to urge individuals to continue to endure, struggle and fight for action and be a winner in running the race that is set before us, worthy to be repetitively told and retold. A transparent history free from thwarted truths.
Out of me are the voices of the unheard, the pictures of the unseen, the cries of the deaf and the truth that is ignored. I am but a dream but will stand to prove that this dream is becoming a reality.
I am killing myself. Killing the old Filipino. Killing the old me, building a new identity, erasing the undesirable assimilation from my past, picking the best experience I have before. A new Filipino I am, worthy to behold.
My eyes have been opened and I can see better now. I am a product of bloodshed, A new Filipino --free indeed, dreamer and the inheritor of a fruitful tomorrow. To live is to die. Thus, I am killing myself!
Diverse people from diverse places have once come to colonize our country. Literatures and pictures stand as a witness of how we endure, struggle and fight that yields forth of what we regard today as history.
At the heart of our country carves an era that manifolds through the regimes of Spanish occupation, Japanese conquistadors, American colonialism onwards to the Birth of World Wars. And the fruit of these all is my unique individuality. I am the child of the west and east combined.
I am a product of so many revolutions. For a time, I was blinded from what is real. For centuries I was enslaved by people of different blood, color and race.
Spanish colonizers use religion as an excuse to earn the hearts of my race. They taught me to embrace poverty as a virtue and exposed me to learn gambling and even cock-fighting.
The blond, tall Americans poisoned our way through education. The whites instilled in me to follow “adversial” communication hitting my country badly. Their tactic of “dividing and rule” has resulted to the regionalistic division we still have today.
The arrival of Japanese has even caused tremendous fears, hardships and pain.
For a time, I have seen the harsh realities filled with chaos, propaganda, hatred, vengeance, wars, hidden agenda, corruption, greed, lust and every devilish deeds. But Lo and behold, a new one has come.
I am killing myself. Killing the old Filipino. Within me, came rushing out the stinking blood of every devilish deeds. My heart has stopped pumping the music of deception. My lungs has totally exhaled every waste I have inside.
I am a new Filipino. I am bound to make a living history beyond a legend and a real history in the making that will continue to unfold through time.
The new revolution has given me true victory, a victory by which I am longing for long and the solution is not through war. This revolution has not been fought in the streets. It will be fought in hearts of men.
I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided. Knowing the present would mean understanding the past.
I am a new Filipino gaining wisdom from the past. Gone is the Filipino Indolence, beholding to erase the crab mentality, further eradicating my colonial mentality.
A new Filipino I am. In my blood runs the infitisimal seed of heroic deeds for the sake of the heavenly and for the benefit of the majority. The seed that drive away the oppressors and the seed that will further cleanse the filthiness of this country.
I will search the unkown. I will continue to dream my dreams wishing upon the stars and will never say never. I will continue to move on, to rise up towards the direction of a glorious tomorrow.
To look on the present onwards the future and to scale how my new country will develop will serve as an inspiration that is worth and is bound to be followed.
What the people today endures, struggles, and fight towards progress will continually mold a state of a new history –a bright history that is enough to urge individuals to continue to endure, struggle and fight for action and be a winner in running the race that is set before us, worthy to be repetitively told and retold. A transparent history free from thwarted truths.
Out of me are the voices of the unheard, the pictures of the unseen, the cries of the deaf and the truth that is ignored. I am but a dream but will stand to prove that this dream is becoming a reality.
I am killing myself. Killing the old Filipino. Killing the old me, building a new identity, erasing the undesirable assimilation from my past, picking the best experience I have before. A new Filipino I am, worthy to behold.
My eyes have been opened and I can see better now. I am a product of bloodshed, A new Filipino --free indeed, dreamer and the inheritor of a fruitful tomorrow. To live is to die. Thus, I am killing myself!
Despair of Judas
Despair of Judas
I will rest here, awhile. His face! His face! Not comely now. There is no beauty in it. It is scarred into my heart. It is burned into my soul and never will it lift from me until I die. Die? Will death quench the flames which consume me? Traitor, not endless years in hell can even pay the crime of murdering the son of God.
And last night, he dealt with me so gently. He washed my feet. He bade me to put my hand into the cup with his, while in my purse there jingled the coins which bought his blood. It was better for that man that he had never been born. Who? Who but I, who but I, I who betrayed him!
“What you do, do it quickly.” He knew, and kept my sin a secret.
“Friend, where unto have you come, Judas, Judas, do you betray the Son of God with a kiss?”
Friend! Friend! He called me his friend. The man I betrayed called me his friend. How hell must have laughed. Why did not the mountains fall on me?
Why did not the earth gape and swallow me up? Why did not the sea overwhelm me? Friend. Ha! Ha! Friend. Ha! Ha! Ha! The world will know Judas as the friend.
The world will point to Judas as a by word, and as a pledge of broken faith!
Do you think Judas you can hide from the father of your friend Jesus? Not even in hell can I escape. Not in the grave for the earth will spurn my corpse. Not in the heavens for Jesus the friend is there.
What hope for Judas? What hope for Judas? Not even in hell can I escape for he called me devil, and devils cried out: torment us not, Jesus, Judas, faithless friend, devil, one of whom it would have been better not to have been born. There is no hope for you, no hope, no hope…
I will rest here, awhile. His face! His face! Not comely now. There is no beauty in it. It is scarred into my heart. It is burned into my soul and never will it lift from me until I die. Die? Will death quench the flames which consume me? Traitor, not endless years in hell can even pay the crime of murdering the son of God.
And last night, he dealt with me so gently. He washed my feet. He bade me to put my hand into the cup with his, while in my purse there jingled the coins which bought his blood. It was better for that man that he had never been born. Who? Who but I, who but I, I who betrayed him!
“What you do, do it quickly.” He knew, and kept my sin a secret.
“Friend, where unto have you come, Judas, Judas, do you betray the Son of God with a kiss?”
Friend! Friend! He called me his friend. The man I betrayed called me his friend. How hell must have laughed. Why did not the mountains fall on me?
Why did not the earth gape and swallow me up? Why did not the sea overwhelm me? Friend. Ha! Ha! Friend. Ha! Ha! Ha! The world will know Judas as the friend.
The world will point to Judas as a by word, and as a pledge of broken faith!
Do you think Judas you can hide from the father of your friend Jesus? Not even in hell can I escape. Not in the grave for the earth will spurn my corpse. Not in the heavens for Jesus the friend is there.
What hope for Judas? What hope for Judas? Not even in hell can I escape for he called me devil, and devils cried out: torment us not, Jesus, Judas, faithless friend, devil, one of whom it would have been better not to have been born. There is no hope for you, no hope, no hope…
Mag-subscribe sa:
Mga Post (Atom)
PARAMIHIN
PAUNTIIN