Getting a Driver's License: A Comedy of Errors

It's been four months since hubby bought me a car but I haven't really 'owned' it yet. You see, even with driving school education plus extra hours of driving lessons with my driver, I couldn't use it yet because I didn't have a driver's license.

I've heard of horror stories in getting a driver's license and know of countless people who have taken the 'easier way out' because of LTO's reported dismal licensing process. Here's an account of my experience:

1. Arrived at the LTO at 8:00 in the morning. Even before I could get out of the car, fixers were already 'greeting' me, like a pack of hungry wolves eager to attack their next prey. Caution: Do not let them bite you. 

2. I asked the guard stationed at the entrance as to the first step. He told me to get a medical exam and drug test first. Not knowing where the testing was, I asked him for directions. He called one of the fixers, an old woman, to take me to the testing center, which was right across the LTO.  I wondered whether the security guard was only trying to help me or is in cahoots with the fixer. That didn't seem right. 

3. The old woman led me to a small, dingy space with a tiny signboard that read 'LTO accredited physician'. There sat the doctor, who looked rather uncomfortable in her seat due to poor ventilation. It was still the old woman who measured my height and facilitated my Snellen eye test. How lovely. After paying Php100, the doctor accomplished the medical exam form without even asking me about my health issues or my medical history. A few scribbles, and then she handed me the form with the official receipt. On the form, the doctor indicated I was 54 kg. Well that was my weight before I got pregnant. Haha

3a. There, another woman whom I had mistaken for the doctor's secretary talked to me about getting a 'seamless transaction'. All I had to do was pay Php2800, which she secretly scribbled on a piece of paper. 'Ayaw kaguol ug sayop imo tubag sa written exam maam. Luto na na siya. Kaila man nako ang lecturer'. Oh wait, but I did study for the exam. Surely she didn't think I looked dumb and thought I was ill-prepared, did I? 

4. Adjacent to where I had my medical exam was the drug testing center, where I paid Php300. After submitting my urine sample and fingerprints, it took me about two hours to get my results. 

5. I went back to LTO to get my priority number. Transacting from one window to the next was relatively fast. After paying Php167.63 (application and computer fees), I was led to the lecture room cramped with examinees. The AC, which looked older than Bette Davis, was not even helping to cool the room at all. The written exams followed right after the lecture. Frankly, the  exam was too hard - too hard not to pass because the answers were just shown right in front of you. Haha!

6. I finished the exam just in time for lunch, after which we would come back for the results. After a quick bite at a nearby mall, I returned and waited for my name to be called for the practical exam. The ladies were first called in and led to a bus station right beside LTO. Because we didn't bring our own cars, we paid Php250 (with official receipt). After the LTO rep (whom I saw earlier transacting with the lady at the medical exam center) issued my receipt, I was told to go back to LTO for payment and releasing of my driver's license. The practical exam? It practically never happened. Haha again! 

7. After paying Php417.63 (license and computer fees), I waited a little more for my card to be released. Voila, I finally got my driver's license in shiny plastic. It took me about 6 hours to get everything done, and paid a total of Php1235.26 in standard fees. While waiting for my driver to pick me up, I thought to myself that if I had taken up on the lady's bribe, I would have paid four thousand bucks, and would only end up hurting not just my wallet, but my intelligence as well. 

Realization: Sadly, getting a driver's license here is a joke. You pay for something that's hardly ever there or even none at all. (think medical and practical exams). The process leans more towards granting you a driver's license just because you need it, and not because you earned it. (think medical, written and practical exams). The stark presence of fixers and their blatant ways, coupled by the seemingly embraced condonation and apathy purport a microcosm of something far worse than what is being observed. (think again medical, written, practical exams - the entire process, actually). 

I hurriedly left the LTO as soon as my driver arrived. Out of nowhere, a man approached me and asked 'Maam, magkuha ka non-prof? Tabangan tika maam, dili jud ka maglisod sa exam.'

Sighs. Tomorrow will be another day for that man.  

Love in the time of disaster

Nanay and Tatay

Their house badly damaged, my grandparents moved to safer ground camping out in a makeshift tent in a remote barrio in Maribojoc. My grandmother has never left my 92 year-old grandfather's side, who is still recovering from a stroke. She has been sleeping on a wooden plank for several nights now; and when the rain would pour in the night, she would curl up her knees to keep her feet from getting wet.

When I visited them for the first time since the earthquake, I found they were not given their relief goods because 'they could no longer vote'. 

I'm casting aside my outrage at this utter disrespect to my grandparents, senior citizens who deserve to be given utmost attention and courtesy especially at this time of need. 

 But if there's one thing I realized, it is that true love will always stand the test of time that not even the most terrible of tremors can shake, much less destroy.

Remembering Mama

There's a lady in the mirror whose reflection makes her caught up in a reverie of years long past; in bittersweet musings of what could have been if she were here. That lady is a spitting image of that one great woman - her mother.

Her nostalgia of that woman who has touched hearts because she loved them all, who was there for them when they needed her and gave what she had and her best, even if she didn't have much.

She, even to this day, has seen how people still remember her mother and have so many good words to say about her.

"I knew your mother. She was a good person."

"I was once a student of your mother. She was my favorite teacher. She was very good to her students."

"Your mother was so funny. We all loved her."

"I will never forget your mother. She helped me a lot".

It fills her still with so much joy that people's thoughts of her mother didn't just stop at her passing but have become fond memories, forever etchings of gratefulness for the things that she did and made them feel.

Thirteen years since she left and yet the longing still remains. Many a time she yearns to feel the warmth of her mother's embrace; to smell her familiar scent; to hear her infectious laughter; to listen and learn from her words of wisdom. 

The strong pining for a mother's love sometimes brings back the pain of losing her too soon. But when she looks at herself in the mirror, she smiles because she knows that even when she may be physically gone, she is with her. She has never left her side. 

She smiles because she knows that even when she is no longer around, her mother's love resonates through the people who love her and the person she has become.

I love you, Mama. I will forever miss you. And for all that I am and everything I will become, I hope I make you proud.

You will always live in me.

Remembering Mama

Make that twelve years ago when it would be the last time I'd see her. It would be the last time we'd talk, the last that I'd see her smile.

'Be good", that was what she told me, her voice frail, her breathing ragged. I'd listen to every word she said, although she no longer said much anymore.

She had some fight going in her. I saw it in the way she looked at me. She was trying to fight back. But somehow she had lost the fight. She succumbed to it.

That was twelve years ago when I lost my hero to breast cancer. That person was my mother.

There is never a day that I don't miss her. And each time I look at myself, the pain of missing her hurts even more because I've grown up to be a spitting image of her.

There is never a day that I don't long for her, wishing she was still here to celebrate with me in my happy, glorious days, even more so to back me up when I'm down in the rut. After all, she was the person I'd first run to whenever I had something great to share or whenever I needed help.

I miss saying the word 'Mama' and having someone to call that, because there is no one else that could ever take her place; no one who loved me more than she did. I still long to hear her infectious laughter, and the things she used to tell me are still fresh in my mind. But she was gone too soon.

She didn't get to put a medal around my neck with Papa when I got an award at my highschool graduation.

She didn't get to have me as a student in Economics in college, something which she really looked forward to.

She wasn't able to beam with so much pride when everyone else congratulated me for 'causing trouble' in school.

She didn't get to cheer me on when I got my first job and celebrate the sweet reapings of the first pay with me.

She never got to meet the guy whom she prayed would be right for me.

All that's left with me are joyful, lasting memories of her - the blessing of having her as my mother even though her physical presence may be shortlived. She may be smiling and looking on with pride for the good deeds I've done, or perhaps frowning upon the boo-boos I may have gotten myself into, because deep in my heart and mind, I know she is and will always be with me.

I love you, Ma.

Because nothing feels like it like Love Letters can

Love letters: stash 'em or trash 'em?

I have had my fair share of love letters in my lifetime.  I don’t clearly remember the very first time I got mine. All I know is that it was from a boy whom I really liked in fifth grade. It was scribbled in pencil on a piece of intermediate paper.

I recall with fondness how one cutesy love note bore more cutesy love notes which led to something cutesy – more popularly known as puppy love. Alas, my mother read all the letters stuffed in my school bag and crumpled them into a huge ball of rubbish. Unfortunately I was too young to know the importance of stashing these precious scraps away from queer eyes.

My first boyfriend also wrote me love letters, which he’d usually hand me to my surprise. His letters didn’t say much, but were enough to make me swoon and fall even more in love with him at that time. I still have them, hidden safely somewhere.

My second boyfriend, who was sweet in every way, used to write me love letters with so much passion and creativity. One he had smothered in his favorite perfume, another he had embellished with rose petals and tiny little beads - the works, never mind the bad poetry. (grins) I'd write him love letters too, with the hardest attempts at making mine more passionate and creative than the ones I received from him. I didn’t get to keep all love letters he had written for me, as I burned some of them after a bitter breakup.

I also keep letters from so-called 'admirers'. I hardly ever read these notes but on instances when I pore over them, it never fails to flatter me knowing I have, in a way, experienced what it’s like to be adored.

In a world where everything is just a click away, love letters are seemingly a thing of the past; its beauty nearing a halt. Hand-written confessions of love and affection are being conveniently replaced by email, text messaging and other techie means possible.

However, compared to these modern ways of expressing one’s feelings, the beauty of love letters lies in its surefire ability to draw emotional response. It can make you giggle, swoon, cry tears of joy or even embarrass you. There's always a big difference when you receive an "I love you" message from your significant other when it's handwritten than when it's typed in on a keyboard/keypad.

It's a good thing I got to keep some love letters for me. These documents of confessed passion are a stark reminder of how you became someone’s inspiration. It is a written record of someone who poured his time and effort to weave words out of pure emotion, nevermind if he's not a gifted writer.

I've learned of this  now, as I  happened to come across these letters.  I will always remember and be thankful that at some point in my life, somebody loved me; that I became special in his life and that I was once the apple of his eye -  even if the relationship is gone or the feeling had long fizzled out.

It's been a long, long  while since I last received a love letter. My boyfriend of three years, though sweet and one of a kind, has never written me one yet, ever. But in case he's reading this... :)

Would you believe me if I lied?

Reposting this from my Friendster blog. Just one of my older posts I dont cringe re-reading at all. 

I love the usual office chatter. It is, perhaps, the only breather i get from the gruesome work that i do in my little blue cubicle. There’s always witty banter involved, with lots of humor to boot. Anyone in the room can just bring up a topic or throw a question at anyone, and you have to think on your toes and come up with something that will them blow them away. 

Of course, that’s not expected of me, nor I am obliged to do so anyway. But between shutting them out of their wits and enjoying the amusement of being playfully picked on, you know what I’d go for.

The other day, one of my officemates asked a female colleague in the room at what age she lost her virginity. Without batting an eyelash, she answered, and the rest broke out in chorus. Then, they turned to me and asked the same question.

"Mel, how old were you when you did it?"

"Would you believe me if I lied?" I said.

For a second or two, the room went silent. Dinky, my trainer and the eldest in the team, broke the silence and said "Philosophical ang approach ni Mel, ah."

What am I trying to say? Whether or not i am a virgin, it’s none of their business. And even if it didn’t matter to them whether or not i am a virgin, it’s still not their business to know. Besides, being asked that kind of question from people i barely even know on a personal level is like being given lingerie by a boyfriend on our first date. You get the picture.

You don’t have to know. And i dont have to tell you.

image source: http://goo.gl/gkmPu

This Holy Week...

With my vacation leave approved and ticket to Bohol ready, I am now set for Holy Week. But no, it's not what you think. I don't intend to spend my Holy Week just like the many others who hit top vacation spots and spend some R&R (rest and recreation).

Just like the past Lenten Seasons, I am observing Holy Week with a different kind of R&R - reflection and recollection. During this time, making some sacrifices has always been a practice in my family.

I always hated Holy Week back when I was a kid. My mother would prepare unusually unappetizing dishes for our meals and we were forbidden to watch TV or listen to the radio. At home, we'd spend most of our time saying prayers or reading the Bible. My parents strongly emphasized the importance of going to church, most especially during the Lenten Season. In my young mind, I had never understood why I had to go through these things I thought were plain torture.

"Jesus died for us." was what my mother would say.

As I got older, I've learned to understand what mama had told me back then. Sure I may have agnostic leanings now, which describes why I'd find myself engaging in debates on the topic of religion or why I don't go to church anymore, but in my heart I believe there is a God.

The Lenten season is but the best kairos to truly discover who you really are and move forward. To many, Holy Week is a time to remember the sacrifices the Lord has made. To me, it is an opportune moment to renew and grow spiritually; to make some sacrifices I don't usually do to keep myself humbled and grateful knowing that my life is and has always been blessed.

So how are you spending your Holy Week?

image source: http://www.lcmstl.org