Kwentong Atty. Amurao

This post is a tribute to my most favorite law professor, Atty. Amurao. He passed away last Thursday. Atty. Amurao was well-known for being one of the most -- if not the most --  feared professor in San Beda Law. He is also one of the most loved and respected. 

Photo Credit: LSG San Beda Law Mendiola

Unlike the others, I’m not going to say that Atty. Amurao taught me how to persevere nor would I say that he instilled in me the discipline needed to study and love the law. He didn’t inculcate in me the importance of getting back up after failing. I already knew all those before I had him as my Criminal Law 2 professor. 

But why do I respect him so much? And why do I feel so heartbroken that he would no longer walk the halls of San Beda? Because I idolize him. He didn’t compromise. From the very first meeting to the last, he was consistent with his ethics and professionalism. His dedication to teaching is immeasurable.

***

Lahat naman ng recit sa law school, nakakakaba, pero iba talaga yung kaba sa klase ng isang Atty. Amurao. Yung puso ko parang lalabas sa dibdib ko sa sobrang tibok. At hindi yun nawala. Usually, masasanay ka sa prof at magiging kampante, pero kay Atty. Amurao, hindi. Hanggang huling araw ng klase, malala pa rin yung pagkabog ng puso ko.

Kahit matanda na sya, palagi syang pumapasok. Hindi sya na-late ng more than 15 minutes. Nagbibigay sya ng grade as low as 60, pero kung tuloy-tuloy ang recit mo at wala kang sinabing mali, hindi nya ipagkakait ang 100. Ilang taon na rin akong nasa law school. Marami na kong recit na nakita na sobrang galing pero hanggang 85 lang ang binibigay na highest ng professor. Hindi ganun si Atty. Amurao. Kung deserve mo ang perfect score, yun ang isusulat nya sa classcard mo.

Kahit may Amurao Notes, tadtad pa rin ng 65, 70 at 75 ang recit grades ko. Nakalimang sunod-sunod na bokyang recit ako sa kanya bago ko nakatikim ng 100. Bago yun, naisip kong di ko kaya. Nagalit ako sa kanya. Pero nung nakatikim ako ng una kong 100, sobrang saya ko! Eventually, na-realize ko na kaya ko. Naintindihan ko na gusto nya lang akong matuto.

Matututo ka talaga sa kanya. Kanina nga, nagbibigay ng eulogy yung isa sa mga Beda profs at nabanggit nya yung Art. 247 ng Revised Penal Code. Alam mo yung article number pa lang, naalala ko na agad yung lessons namin. Kasi sobrang tatatak talaga yung mga recitations sa kanya. Syempre marami na kong nakalimutan, pero sa subject nya talaga ko pinakamaraming naaalala.

Sa ibang prof, swerte na yung matawag ka ng 3 beses sa buong semester. Kay Atty. Amurao, 3 beses bawat meeting. Sa ibang prof, pwede kang magbasa ng libro, maghabol ng aral habang nagkla-klase. Kay Atty. Amurao, kelangan makinig ka sa kanya. Hindi sya umuulit kapag nasabi na nya yung tanong. Kelangan din mabilis ka sumagot kasi huminto ka lang ng mga 3 segundo, magtatawag na sya ng sunod na estudyante.

Madalas nilang sabihing malupit sya, pero kung tutuusin, hindi naman eh. Hindi sya sumisigaw. Hindi sya namamahiya. Reasonable ang mga tanong nya sa recit at sa exam. Kaya lang talaga, pag mali ka sa recit, upo ka kaagad. Pag di maayos ang sagot mo sa essay sa exam, 2 over 10 ang score mo. At least may partial points! Minsan nga sa iba wala.

Malupit ba kung nage-expect ang prof na ibigay mo sa kanya yung tamang sagot sa tanong nya? Mabait si sir. Mahirap lang talaga magtanong. Mataas lang ang standard. At yun ang dahilan kung bakit maraming takot at umiiwas sa klase nya.

Sa totoo lang, hindi ko ma-imagine ang law school life ko nang hindi ko naging prof si Atty. Amurao. The Amurao Experience, so far, is the best part of my law school years. It was the most trying and the most fulfilling time. I am very honored to have passed his subject -- one of the only two students in our class who did -- and be called an Amurao Baby.

I would never forget our small encounter in the hallway. I would never forget that smile. Hindi sya ngumingiti sa loob ng classroom kaya sobrang pinapahalagahan naming mga naging estudyante nya yung simpleng ngiti nya sa labas.

I know he was old, but I can’t shake the feeling that he was gone too soon. Wala man lang kaming picture together. Hindi ko man lang sa kanya mapagmamalaki yung grade ko sa Criminal Law sa Bar Exam. Alam ko magiging maayos ang score ko sa Criminal Law. I was taught by the best.

Sir, more than anything, thank you for tearing my confidence down so it had nowhere else to go but up. Thank you for reminding me how to turn fear to inspiration, frustration to hardwork. You are one of my heroes. I’ll keep you in my heart. I feel so privileged to have been under your tutelage. Thank you, sir. Rest in His loving arms. 

Phone Conversation with Dugo-Dugo Gang

2:30 pm, today, our landline phone rang and nobody was around to answer it. I took the call and a man answered the phone asking, “Andyan ba si mama mo?” I didn’t find this unusual since (1) almost all calls that our phone receives are for mama and (2) some of them usually just ask the same question.

I told the guy she’s not around and asked for a name. He said, “Hindi…andito si mama mo…” And he mumbled about mama being in a hospital and that I had to wait to talk to somebody else. I was alarmed at this point because (1) I did not clearly hear what he said; (2) mama might really be in the hospital; and (3) I’ve heard of this on TV and this might be a Dugo-Dugo gang modus operandi. I was immediately vigilant. But of course I had to be entirely sure.

So I asked again, “Sino ho sila?”

He asked me back, “Ilang taon ka na? May iba bang pwedeng makausap dyan?”

I innocently said, “Wala pong ibang tao."

He said, “Parang 10 years old ka lang? Ilang taon ka na?”

Well my voice could really sound younger at times. But ten? really? I doubted. I was thinking that I answered the phone with my mature voice. I brushed it off though. Still, I gave my real age, I said, “22 po.” I thought it won’t do any harm. They were making sure I was alone and (maybe) that I was young.

Then he mumbled again about mama being in the hospital and that I needed to talk to someone. My knees were shaking at this point. I don’t know if from nerves or I was anxious of what I’d be hearing and doing next.

Then, a woman talked to me. She said a name I didn’t catch. She said – this time, clearly – mama had an accident and was in the hospital. Then she asked for my name and she said they’ll get my mama to talk to me. So I got the impression that this must be or she’s pretending to be from the hospital. I said my name, Pauline, and she heard it wrong. She said “Coreen?” I didn’t bother correct her. If mama was really with them, which that time I was sure was not the case, she would know that she doesn’t have a child named Coreen.

There was some babbling on the other line that seemed like they were getting my mother so I could talk to her. I grabbed the chance to ask the female voice again.

I asked, “Sino po ulit ‘to?”  

She said, “Catherine Chua. Sa police station ‘to.”

I asked, “Anong police station?”

I was under the impression that they were trying to make an impression that they were in a hospital. So why were they in a police station?

She said, “Manila”

I asked again, “Anong police station sa Manila?”

She did not answer and prattled again about talking to my mother.

Then I said the smartest thing I could say.

With the most sarcastic tone I could muster, I said, “Really?”

Then I shouted (and I was thinking I should do this just like how I see it in the movies), “ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?”

Then she started cursing me saying, “Ano? Putang ina nito. Anong sabi mong tanga-tanga ka? …”  I forgot the rest but they were filled with curses and her voice was breaking which filled me with immense satisfaction. Then she hung up the phone. 

Tick Tock Life Clock

Photo from buzzle.com

When we are students, our clocks work like a COUNTDOWN, counting days before end of classes, before graduation. After graduation, our life clocks zero in: 00:00:00. 

2010 was remarkable because it was the year I finally felt that the real LIFE CLOCK is finally ticking. It scares me but it makes me resolve to make every second, every year count.

* * *

During my pre-graduation days, I remember wanting for the clocks to stop working, just for a day or two. I needed time to (forgive the emo term) grieve but could not afford it because of my academic and extracurricular activities. I realized then that time stops for no one. With a clock that works like a countdown, pausing is detrimental. Time would catch up on you no matter what.

After school days, things became a lot different. Pausing became a valid option. Consequences may or may not be disadvantageous depending on whether you really need it and depending on what you do with it and what you do after.

Unlike in the life of a student, in the real world, you dictate your pace. Just be ready anytime to deal with the consequences of your actions because the real life clock doesn't work  like a countdown. There's no definite deadline; there's no "3,2,1 STOP!" You just have to put it in good fate that you're ready when it stops.

* * *

Nothing is as far away as one minute ago. 
-Jim Bishop

First Love Never Dies

I watch almost all dance shows on TV. They fill the hole in my heart caused by extreme longing to go back to the dance floor.  Dancing is my first love, my happy place.

My mother said I was four-month old when a band passed by our house and I moved my head to the beat of the music. The first picture I had dancing was when I was four years old. I started performing in almost all school programs when I was in Grade 3. I started competing when I was in highschool. I experienced dancing on different stages, including Aliw Theater and CCP. I stopped dancing when I was in highschool too. I had too much on my plate. The hiatus I thought I was giving then to dancing turned out to be its conclusion.

Second Year College, I attempted to go back. I passed UP Streetdance Club prestigious audition for membership. I attended the first day of training, I did not return for the second. I had a lot of excuses. I did not have a valid reason however. I remember having a hard time deciding if I was going to quit or not. My final decision was made when I saw one vandalism in the ladies room in UP saying, "Things worth quitting are not worth fighting for". That day, this made sense to me. Today, it's just plain fallacious. Maybe somehow it still makes sense but not as potent as before.

I still have the groove, it's innate. It's the crowd I miss, and the competition, and the co-dancers who share the same passion and, most of all, the sensation of dancing on stage. On stage, I feel beautiful, admired, strong, and infallible. I feel that people who I acquainted with after my heyday of dancing will never really know me. Most of the swag I got going from time to time actually came from my experiences in hip-hop competitions.

Today, I wish I did not quit. There are a lot of things I regret in my life, but nothing as haunting as this. If I think of the word "regret", I think of this. They say someday in our deathbed - if we get the chance - we will think of the things we did not do rather than those we did.

Damage done. I still have the talent, but after 6 years of stopping, I no longer have the skills. I always think of going back, but I guess I won't be able to anymore. I have to accept the fact that there are some things I must give up because I don't have the luxury of time. Most of all, the time of dance competition has passed. 20-something people always feel old because there are things we are old enough to do. I guess this is one of mine.

A Story

I would like to tell you a story
This is no fairytale
This is no love story
A story with love, maybe
Definitely


This is more of a tragedy
But this is no sad story
Though it makes me so sad
I am not the lead character
But I would really love to tell you this story


This story is a microcosm of a greater story
This isn’t a part of its beginning
This could’ve been a part of the middle
This maybe a part of the ending
A never-ending ending…


It’s a story you might not like to hear
But it was a story of two people nonetheless


It’s the one story I thought will never be written
Then became a story I feared to be written
But it was written anyway
And I would like to tell it


It’s a story one might have forgotten
It’s a story the other one promised to forget
It’s a story that may never be told
But it’s a good story
A good story I remember in vivid
It’s a story that today I remember in every heartbeat


Even if every heartbeat kills
And that’s sad
Because it’s a great story
A great story that reason may condemn
Because reason is afraid of defeat (~Paulo Coelho)


It’s a story that may pain me now
It’s a story that may pain me for all time
But I’d take all the pain
Because it’s such a great story two people shared
But meant differently to each


It’s a story one might have forgotten
But the other one  never will
It’s a story that may never be told
But that doesn’t matter


It’s a story I would like to hear for myself
It’s a story I would like to tell you
But I can’t
No one can
And I understand
Because it was such a great story
It’s my greatest story thus far
And the most painful one
Not because of the story
But because of everything else in between


It’s a story they would let go
For other greater better stories


I won’t deny I’m happy it had been written
But the story has ended
The greater story behind it will soon end too
It should’ve ended long time ago


Both stories had been great.
But this is the end of the story.
This is the end of both stories.
The author is tired of writing.
At last, the author is tired of writing.

EXPECTATIONS

We are expected to be beautiful.

We are expected to be knowledgeable.

We are expected to be loved.

We are expected to be sane.

We are expected to be successful.

We are expected to be good.

We are expected to be happy.

The world has a lot of expectations. You can succumb to pressure… or take control.

But then again…

We are expected to be strong.