Amigos - ¿para siempre?

¿Están los amigos para siempre?

¿Están los amigos para la vida?

 

Are friends for always?

Are friends for life?

 

I’ve always wondered to what extent a friend can be a friend.

We always find friends wherever we go. We have them at home.

Our family is first and foremost our circle of friends. We have them at work.

We have them in the community, be they our neighbors, or folks who have

the same hobby as us, or people who have the same interests, or simply

anybody we find ourselves comfortable with.

 

So what are friends? And to what extent are they our friends?

 

We’d always choose to have a special friend out of the multitude.

And this special friend know more of us than the rest. And vice versa.

But again, up to what level, both sides?

 

I’ve always admired my wife’s ability to sense extreme closeness,

and to introduce a certain gap and distance. Her reason? Shouldn’t be.

 

I understand. I also do the same, to be honest. I can be the closest of friends.

But I can’t lose my identity. I am still me. Or that my other close friend is still the other person.

In the process of time, yes, there will be assimilation and imitation to a certain degree.

But this cannot be a complete and final process. To me, each person is unique,

and no matter what closeness we enjoy with our friends, we remain the unique person

that we are. Our individualism should and need to be preserved.

 

So to what extent should our closeness be?

 

Who knows?

 

But this simple test I know works: if you cannot make decisions on your own anymore,

then tell your friend to “back off!”. If you cannot make plans without having to consult

your friends, wake up. If you go to a place and the first thing you look for are those close to you,

better make up your mind. Especially if the people you look for are not your family members.

Beware.

 

Why?

 

At any point in time, you can be separated from your friends, perhaps for good.

But not from your family. You may go to a foreign country and be separated from your family,

but only for a while. You’ll return to them, or they follow you. Not always the case with your friends.

As you move around places, you always make new friends, like the way you suit up your clothes

from place to place.

 

Most importantly, at the worst times of your life, when you hit big problems,

the most affected people are not your friends, no! It would be your family members!

And who would extend the most help? Not your friends – definitely not! It would be

your family members. They will stick with you through thick and thin, wealth and want.

 

¿Amigos para siempre?

 

Yes! My family! Yes!

 

¿Amigos para vida?

 

You bet!

And don’t get me wrong. Make and have as many friends as you can, get close to them.

But make your family your best friends – para siempre, para vida.

 

¡Gracias!

Logic - how it applies in military training

I just happen to remember this quirky way of how folks in the military do their training for secondary students. Or maybe just a particular person who happen to be doing the training, not really something of military origin.

 

In a classroom, the guy starts shooting down one student after the other with all sorts of questions.

 

Come to a point, he’d ask one fearful volunteer, “produce water!”

 

In fear, or plain necessity, or seemingly equal stupidity (stupid answer to a stupid question), the poor boy would either do

1. spit up on the ground (spit believed to be once water that was earlier drank),
2. go to a corner and piss on a can (also believed to be once water that was earlier drank)
3. etc., etc.

 

Now comes the more stupid question: “Can you drink water?”

 

If you answer no, you won’t be drinking for the whole period of initiation.

 

If you answer yes… hmm?

Words - just what are they?

There’s always been the mystery and wonder how people in all places and localities got to have their particular language and vernacular. And although we find similarities in the different language and dialects, it is the differences that make each one peculiar and unique.

 

My Irish friend complained about losing the differences – which, to him, is tantamount to losing his peculiarity and uniqueness as an Irish. He’d live and die being an Irish; he is very proud of it.

 

I am, too. Not that I am an Irish, but by every right, a Filipino, am very proud to be my own unique race in the SEA continent. But I do find that the local discrimination is disturbing, that you are despised, naturally, if you are not a Manileño, but a probinsiyano. If you are a GI (genuine Ilocano) or an FBI (bull-blooded Ilonggo), or from anywhere else other than the city of Manila, you tend to get all the cruel look and contempt from these city people. Not that I am affected by these inconsiderate behaviours, but I pity those who actually think they are better, when in fact, that remains, and always remain, to require proof.

 

Don’t get me wrong; there are those who rise above the rest, from all parts of the country, from all corners of the nation, and they bring great honor to the Pinoy race as a whole, and the credit goes to them all, not just the favored few. It is actually more on the problem of those who contribute nothing, or a small bit, if there is any, and that seems to bring on the excess air in the head, and causes them to lose grip of reality – they’d think they are better than anybody else.

 

What was I talking about? I’ve digressed very far…

 

I’m supposed to be walking a bit about words. This, I find, also to be a bit tricky. We’ve had problems with words for those who have been advocating and developing and pioneering research and projects, and what-have-you, on the filed of AI – artificial intelligence. You see, this language faculty that has been matured and fully-developed by and for humans, they are trying to mimic and put into robots, or into programs. For example, if I would learn a new language, I’d have to be proficient in it. I’d have to understand it, in order to be able to speak and write it. It becomes a part of me. They say otherwise. A program doesn’t need to know anything about languages to be able to translate one into the other. I take this chunkful of letter, feed it into the program, then the program throws out a dataful of squiggles and squoggles – not a thing left inside that could have been meaningful in the process – both to the computer and the program itself. ‘What question can you ask a human that you can’t ask a computer?’ they say. Or, ‘Will there be a difference in the answer from a human and from a computer?’ they’d argue.

 

When the time comes, I think that there is one way to find out if you are talking to a pure human or a computerized human: ask the same question. The computerized program will definitely give you an answer that is 100% the same from the first time you start asking to the time you stop. The case will be different for a human. Human intelligence is more or less affected by man’s emotions and inclinations – which is what separates him from other beings, manmade or otherwise.

 

Having now given my very long introduction, I’d throw in my question. Why is it that people can go back on their words? Just when you think that they’d die keeping their promise, or do all that they can to keep a word to a friend, or fulfill their words even to their own hurt, even more it is easier to simply fail keeping up to their words? Going back on their words is just as easy as when saying them. Why?

 

To me, this is even more a deeper mystery… think so?

 

Ordinary Day, Ordinary Life

Ever wonder why sometimes days are simply non-vibrant, and simply dull?

And just some days, everyone place just seems to be a madhouse, no exception?

 

Well, it is the somethings in the ordinary plus the somethings in the not so ordinary

plus all the other things in all the different and varied colors and hues of life that make it

extraordinary. To live in either extremes, all excitement and hurriedness only results to

a tired and exhausted life; to live also with no challenge and movement causes no growth.

 

I’ve learned to welcome rest when the dull days come, and to face up to the task when the

challenges arise. And in-between, I try not to hurry out, or to pull strings for the next plot.

And only when it is necessary, then I’d create my own diversion – either a sudden burst of activity,

or hibernation. But only then, to be ready for the next extraordinary event in my life.

 

A bit of Phil history

Here’s a bit of Phil history, lifted from an existing website.

 

Click here.

 

Mi Ultimo Adios - English translation by Charles Derbyshire

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Here is the other English translation of “Mi Ulitmo Adios” which I’ve come to know earlier, and like better.

My Final Farewell

Farewell, dear Fatherland, clime of the sun caress'd
Pearl of the Orient seas, our Eden lost!
Gladly now I go to give thee this faded life's best,
And were it brighter, fresher, or more blest
Still would I give it thee, nor count the cost.

On the field of battle, 'mid the frenzy of fight,
Others have given their lives, without doubt or heed;
The place matters not-cypress or laurel or lily white,
Scaffold or open plain, combat or martyrdom's plight,
T is ever the same, to serve our home and country's need.

I die just when I see the dawn break,
Through the gloom of night, to herald the day;
And if color is lacking my blood thou shalt take,
Pour'd out at need for thy dear sake
To dye with its crimson the waking ray.

My dreams, when life first opened to me,
My dreams, when the hopes of youth beat high,
Were to see thy lov'd face, O gem of the Orient sea
From gloom and grief, from care and sorrow free;
No blush on thy brow, no tear in thine eye.

Dream of my life, my living and burning desire,
All hail ! cries the soul that is now to take flight;
All hail ! And sweet it is for thee to expire ;
To die for thy sake, that thou mayst aspire;
And sleep in thy bosom eternity's long night.

If over my grave some day thou seest grow,
In the grassy sod, a humble flower,
Draw it to thy lips and kiss my soul so,
While I may feel on my brow in the cold tomb below
The touch of thy tenderness, thy breath's warm power.

Let the moon beam over me soft and serene,
Let the dawn shed over me its radiant flashes,
Let the wind with sad lament over me keen ;
And if on my cross a bird should be seen,
Let it trill there its hymn of peace to my ashes.
Let the sun draw the vapors up to the sky,
And heavenward in purity bear my tardy protest
Let some kind soul o 'er my untimely fate sigh,
And in the still evening a prayer be lifted on high
From thee, 0 my country, that in God I may rest.

Pray for all those that hapless have died,
For all who have suffered the unmeasur'd pain;
For our mothers that bitterly their woes have cried,
For widows and orphans, for captives by torture tried
And then for thyself that redemption thou mayst gain.

And when the dark night wraps the graveyard around
With only the dead in their vigil to see
Break not my repose or the mystery profound
And perchance thou mayst hear a sad hymn resound
'T is I, O my country, raising a song unto thee.

And even my grave is remembered no more
Unmark'd by never a cross nor a stone
Let the plow sweep through it, the spade turn it o'er
That my ashes may carpet earthly floor,
Before into nothingness at last they are blown.

Then will oblivion bring to me no care
As over thy vales and plains I sweep;
Throbbing and cleansed in thy space and air
With color and light, with song and lament I fare,
Ever repeating the faith that I keep.

My Fatherland ador'd, that sadness to my sorrow lends
Beloved Filipinas, hear now my last good-by!
I give thee all: parents and kindred and friends
For I go where no slave before the oppressor bends,
Where faith can never kill, and God reigns e'er on high!

Farewell to you all, from my soul torn away,
Friends of my childhood in the home dispossessed !
Give thanks that I rest from the wearisome day !
Farewell to thee, too, sweet friend that lightened my way;
Beloved creatures all, farewell! In death there is rest!


(This is the 1911 translation by Charles Derbyshire of the Spanish original of José Rizal's poem, Mi Ultimo Adiós)

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My Last Farewell - the English translation

My Last Farewell

Farewell, beloved Country, treasured region of the sun,
Pearl of the sea of the Orient, our lost Eden!
To you eagerly I surrender this sad and gloomy life;
And were it brighter, fresher, more florid,
Even then I’d give it to you, for your sake alone.

In fields of battle, deliriously fighting,
Others give you their lives, without doubt, without regret;
The place matters not: where there’s cypress, laurel or lily,
On a plank or open field, in combat or cruel martyrdom,
It’s all the same if the home or country asks.

I die when I see the sky has unfurled its colors
And at last after a cloak of darkness announces the day;
If you need scarlet to tint your dawn,
Shed my blood, pour it as the moment comes,
And may it be gilded by a reflection of the heaven’s newly-born light.

My dreams, when scarcely an adolescent,
My dreams, when a young man already full of life,
Were to see you one day, jewel of the sea of the Orient,
Dry those eyes of black, that forehead high,
Without frown, without wrinkles, without stains of shame.

My lifelong dream, my deep burning desire,
This soul that will soon depart cries out: Salud!
To your health! Oh how beautiful to fall to give you flight,
To die to give you life, to die under your sky,
And in your enchanted land eternally sleep.

If upon my grave one day you see appear,
Amidst the dense grass, a simple humble flower,
Place it near your lips and my soul you’ll kiss,
And on my brow may I feel, under the cold tomb,
The gentle blow of your tenderness, the warmth of your breath.

Let the moon see me in a soft and tranquil light,
Let the dawn send its fleeting radiance,
Let the wind moan with its low murmur,
And should a bird descend and rest on my cross,
Let it sing its canticle of peace.

Let the burning sun evaporate the rains,
And with my clamor behind, towards the sky may they turn pure;
Let a friend mourn my early demise,
And in the serene afternoons, when someone prays for me,
O Country, pray to God also for my rest!

Pray for all the unfortunate ones who died,
For all who suffered torments unequaled,
For our poor mothers who in their grief and bitterness cry,
For orphans and widows, for prisoners in torture,
And for yourself pray that your final redemption you’ll see.

And when the cemetery is enveloped in dark night,
And there, alone, only those who have gone remain in vigil,
Disturb not their rest, nor the mystery,
And should you hear chords from a zither or psaltery,
It is I, beloved Country, singing to you.

And when my grave, then by all forgotten,
has not a cross nor stone to mark its place,
Let men plow and with a spade scatter it,
And before my ashes return to nothing,
May they be the dust that carpets your fields.

Then nothing matters, cast me in oblivion.
Your atmosphere, your space and valleys I’ll cross.
I will be a vibrant and clear note to your ears,
Aroma, light, colors, murmur, moan, and song,
Constantly repeating the essence of my faith.

My idolized country, sorrow of my sorrows,
Beloved Filipinas, hear my last good-bye.
There I leave you all, my parents, my loves.
I’ll go where there are no slaves, hangmen nor oppressors,
Where faith doesn’t kill, where the one who reigns is God.

Goodbye, dear parents, brother and sisters, fragments of my soul,
Childhood friends in the home now lost,
Give thanks that I rest from this wearisome day;
Goodbye, sweet foreigner, my friend, my joy;
Farewell, loved ones, to die is to rest.

José Rizal, 1896

(Modern English translation by Edwin Agustín Lozada)

Lifted from this website.

 

Mi Ultimo Adios - por Jose Rizal

Mi Ultimo Adios

por Jose Rizal y Alonso
 
 

 Adios, Patria adorada, region del sol querida,
 Perla del Mar de Oriente, nuestra perdido Eden!
 A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida,
 Y fuera mas brillante, mas fresca, mas florida,
 Tambien por ti la diera, la diera por tu bien.
 
 En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio
 Otros te dan sus vida sin dudas, sin pesar;
 El sitio nada importa, cipres, laurel o lirio,
 Cadalso o campo abierto, combate o cruel martirio,
 Lo mismo es si lo piden La Patria y el hogar.
 
 Yo muero cuando veo que el cielo se colora
 Y al fin anuncia el dia tras lobrego capuz;
 Si grana necesitas para tenir tu aurora,
 Vierte la sangre mia, derramala en buen hora
 Y dorela un reflejo de su naciente luz
 
 Mis suenos cuando apenas muchaco adolescente,
 Mis suenos cuando joven ya lleno de vigor,
 Fueron el verte un dia, joya del Mar de Oriente
 Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente,
 Sin ceno, sin arrugas, sin mancha de rubor.
 
 Ensueno de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo,
 Salud te grita el alma que pronto va a partir!
 Salud! ah, que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo,
 Morir por darte vidda, morir bajo tu cielo,
 Y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir.
 
 Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar un dia
 Entre la espesa yerba sencilla, humilde flor,
 Acercala a tus labios y besa el alma mia,
 Y sienta yo en mi frente bajo la tumba fria
 De tu ternura el soplo, de tu halito el calor.
 
 Deja la luna verme con luz tranquila y suave;
 Deja que el alba envie su resplandor fugaz,
 Deja gemir al viento con su murmullo grave,
 Y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave
 Deja que el ave entone su cantico de paz.
 
 Deja que el sol ardiendo las lluvias evapore
 Y al cielo tornen puras con mi clamor en pos,
 Deja que un ser amigo mi fin temprano llore
 Y en las serenas tardes cuando por mi alguien ore
 Ora tambien, Oh Patria, por mi descanso a Dios!
 
 Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura,
 Por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual,
 Por nuestros pobres madres que gimen su amargura;
 Por huerfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura
 Y ora por ti que veas tu redencion final.
 
 Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el cementerio
 Y solos solo muertos quedan velando alli
 No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio
 Tal vez acordes oigas de citara o salterio,
 Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto a ti.
 
 Y cuando ya mi tumba de todos olvidada
 No tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar,
 Deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada,
 Y mis cenizas antes que vuelvan a nada,
 El polvo de tu alfombra que vayan a formar.
 
 Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido,
 Tu atmosfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzare,
 Vibrante y limpia nota sere para tu oido,
 Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido
 Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fe.
 
 Mi Patria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores,
 Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adios.
 Ahi, te dejo todo, mis padres, mis amores.
 Voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores,
 Donde la fe no mata, donde el que reina es Dios.
 
 Adios, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mia;
 Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar,
 Dad gracias que descanso del fatigoso dia.
 Adios, dulce extranjera, mi amiga, mi alegria!
 Adios, queridos seres. Morir es descansar.

                                           José Rizal

 

Other poems by Rizal in Spanish, click here.

 

Monday, June 18, 2007

Once saved, always saved?

Here’s another one, again a very old question, but is still relevant, even today.

 

 

Once saved, always saved?

 

Predestination and Election - age-old question

I’ve come across this booklet while doing some routine surfing.

Turned out to be valuable.

 

Read on.

 

Predestination or Election?

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