hot topic: Suicide and UP

I ought to apologize for my recent status message which was very insensitive to the recent tragedy of a UP student killing herself over unpaid tuition fees.  Each life is unique. It’s always downright unreasonable to comment on the plight of others when it is not your own. 

I have to maintain though UP cannot be blamed for this tragedy and it does not deserve the bashing it is receiving now. We don’t have to hold anybody responsible for this. The situation can be better. There could be room for improvement for UP but that’s not equal to discrimination, oppression or repression. We have to admit at this point that it cannot help all the students who need its assistance. This is not the best situation but let’s not kid ourselves.  It’s true. If this were a math problem to be solved, we can safely consider this as one of the givens.

There is nothing romantic about poverty. When it comes to money, there are three questions to be asked: How do you get it? How much do you have? And how do you spend it? Don’t even bother asking yourself how much you really need. The answer will only upset you and the number tends to grow.

One way for UP to get money is to raise its tuition fees. It should. Because unlike UP high school which screens applicants on the basis family income, UP (the university) only requires that you pass the entrance exam. So regardless of financial status, students are welcome to study in (forgive my bias) the best place to learn everything you need to know about how to make a difference in the world. It is worth what it charges.

But it has taken upon itself a greater task which is to socialize education and make it more accessible to those who otherwise cannot afford college education. This is a task as large as the problem of poverty itself not just for this one student but for the rest of the Philippines. UP is not the only university calling out for greater support. In fact, if it were up to me, I will not make UP the priority in budgeting. I might decide to allocate more funds to impoverished public elementary and high schools, state universities in far flung areas and other state universities which for the longest time have been sitting quietly in the shadow of UP. Realistically, budgeting involves trade-offs.  It’s a tough balancing act. When deciding to give to one or to the other, there is always a point when it becomes mutually exclusive.

(There is by the way no need to react strongly if you disagree with me on this. I’ll never be president.)

What I’m trying to say is to achieve its goals and to satisfy our great expectations, UP also has to work with several givens including lack of funds for different priorities: facilities, teacher training, teacher compensation, infrastructure and tuition fee subsidies.  We have to go easy on the institution a little bit.

The tragedy has brought to the floor the issue of tuition fee subsidy, which is a good thing. Is UP doing it right? I do agree that in light of this recent event, the university ought to revisit its methods in assessing how much subsidy one student deserves and how much flexibility it can afford (yes, the word is afford) in terms of payment schedules.

I think when it comes to the issues of making education more accessible, people aren’t exactly disagreeing that this merits utmost attention. But we have to be realistic in identifying what is within our means and how much we actually can do. There really is nothing romantic about poverty.

Sleep to dream

It’s three in the morning. I am about to give up on the idea of sleep. I’ve been trying for the past few hours now to no avail. Before I decided to get up and write just whatever nonsense comes to mind, I felt the earth under my bed sort of shifting almost as if there was an earthquake. But I’m pretty sure the ground wasn't shaking. Must be stress. Tomorrow happens to be a Monday.

This is entirely my fault. I seriously lack foresight. I’ve been in bed for most of the day reading and I would drift off to sleep in between chapters. And dream the oddest dreams too.

I once had a friend who said he never dreamt or maybe he couldn’t remember them after he woke. I thought that was seriously strange because I dream the most vivid of scenes so often that trying to understand them has in fact become an integral part of my decision making process.

I think my dreams are messages from a) my subconscious b) my father and c) the universe. I can see my greatest fears and deepest wishes in full color after I close my eyes. Sometimes, I think I can even see things that I know but didn’t think I knew, which is seriously very freaky.

When I was a kid, I used to be afraid of being left alone when I sleep but my mother did that to me all the time.  She would trick me into believing that she’d gone to bed too. So one time, she did exactly that but later sneaked over to the neighbor’s house to play majong. I dreamt that I was trapped in a really large web, where I couldn't move and I was looking for her but she wasn’t anywhere to be found. My yaya heard me calling for her in my sleep and came to my rescue.

My cousin is even freakier because she could almost see the future in her dreams. She used to warn me about leaving the window open before we slept but I did that all the time without her knowing it. In her sleep, she would see a lady standing by the window. One night, I stayed up a little later than she did and noticed a man move in the shadows. Our room was at the second floor of a series of houses. Apparently, one of our pervert neighbors would climb up to the roof to watch us at night. For a while, we agreed not to travel because she’d constantly dream about a boat and would be overcome by a feeling of sadness. Years later, she married someone who works in a ship and let’s just say that that didn't exactly turn out to be a fairy tale.

A few years ago, this same cousin called me (we live far from each other now) to inform me that I am about to date someone, who would treat me like a princess. And it turns out she was right at least in the sense that he didn’t let me pay on dates. Given that I am me, I can’t really be picky. That’s princess enough.

There was a time too when she called to ask if I was pregnant because she dreamt that my father (who had already passed) was holding a baby in his arms, his grandchild it seemed. He looked really happy. I wasn’t pregnant but because we both truly believe in this dreams-mean-something philosophy, we tried to figure it out. My cousin had had a miscarriage so perhaps, that wasn't my baby and it was something she really needed to see.

My mother complains with a bit of jealousy that she never dreams about my father because once in a while, I do. Sometimes, they don’t make sense but sometimes, they are so clear. Some time last year, I had trouble making ends meet. I dreamt that I was hearing mass and the priest suddenly decided to charge everyone for the food the church served, which I voraciously consumed because I was hungry. But I didn’t have any money and was beginning to feel embarrassed about not being able to pay the fee. Suddenly, my father appeared at the corner of the church smiling. So I ran to him and I said with so much desperation, “Please give me money.” And he extracted a wad of cash from his pocket. When my mother and I fight, sometimes I dream about him just standing there, not smiling.

Dreaming is my grand moment of realization and utter surrender. I broke up with the first boy I ever dated because I dreamt that I was at one of them college house parties and there were two of them there. One was bad, wearing a black shirt and one was good, of course wearing a white shirt. I stopped seeing him a few days after that and since we remain friends, the question of what happened to us has popped up in one or two light and funny conversations. He would whack me with a stick now if he found out what led to my decision.

When people get cheated on in a small way or in a big way, there is always a period of denial. For both parties. But my dreams would never let me get away with such a dangerous thing as denial. I’ve stayed years in questionable setups too because of dreams.

Once, this boy I was dating said he dreamt that when came down the stairs from his room, he found me sitting at the living room of their house, watching TV with everyone else. “What happened next?” I asked him. Nothing special happened, he said. We just left because apparently we had some place to go. He said it was odd that he didn't find it at all odd that I was there.

Another boy also mentioned that he dreamt about me (yes, I am a bit of a slut). This time, I was pregnant but he wasn't sure if it was his child. He was really mad at me. I had to ask him of course why he would ever think that it wasn't his child. He said that in his dream, we hit a rough patch and we had stopped seeing each other for a while. But then he said there was suddenly an earthquake, tremendous perhaps, and he found himself frantically looking for me or something like that. I can’t remember exactly. There are suggestions in this dream though which are rather interesting to note.

There was a time when I dreamt about babies a lot but not recently, not anymore. I dream about being in some kind of post grad class usually in a kind of panic. I dream that I am getting ready to leave, usually changing, but never quite finish and always running late. I dream too that someone is running after me trying to catch me or kill me. They always catch me at the end of the chase but they never actually kill me.

Sometimes, I dream of ghosts, just scary spirits who want to harass people. I usually dream of ghosts when in my sleep I can’t actually move. I can hear them – sometimes one, sometimes many – just frolicking about in the room. I’ve gotten quite accustomed to this over the years that I often dismiss it as just another bad dream which it most probably is. One of them nights though, I heard a lady whisper in my ears just seconds before I woke, “I know you can hear me.” I packed all my toys and slept at my mother’s room.

I had one such dream not too long ago too.  There were so many ghosts in my room, and I couldn't move at all. A lady was pressing her hand down my forehead. What a nightmare. For the record though, I do not believe in ghosts. And I don’t think these nightmares mean anything. There’s just no getting rid of senseless awfulness in dreams and anywhere else.

These past few days, I dreamt about my father once. Nothing eventful.  We were on board a jeepney on the way to some place to meet my mother. He is issuing a reminder to my mom and me because knowing us both, we might forget his death anniversary this April. I dreamt too that I was singing in a kind of open mike place and one of the boys I used to see came by to say hello because he was there too with some friends. I asked him when he was getting married and he replied with a kind of sheepish smile that the date has been set on the 16^th of February (of the following year I suppose) so I wished him the best of luck. And then I dreamt that I had two furry dogs, which ate dogs. That seriously freaked me out but everyone was very nonchalant about it as though it was the world’s most normal thing. I kept asking whether they fought in the process and people said no. The “food dogs” just allow themselves to be meal because they were born to be “food dogs.” I was perplexed as hell. What a waste of a life if you were destined to be just a “food dog” even in a dog eat dog world. And I dreamt that another boy I used to see was in my house where there seemed to be an event of some sort. I couldn't see his face. I never really bumped into him in the midst of the crowd but I could hear his voice talking to some people and a particular girl I think. In my dream, I didn't find that at all odd.

There are a couple of people whom I think I might like. A little bit. A fraction of a little bit. But I haven’t dreamt about them yet so I really don’t know exactly how I feel about these possibilities. Fractions of possibilities.

If I had been able to sleep, I wonder what I would have dreamt about. I’m pretty sure it would have been something profound though.

Bullying

So a 14-year old boy in Batangas locks himself inside his room one ordinary Monday afternoon and shoots himself in the head with a .45 caliber pistol.  The investigation which ensued after they found his body sprawled dead in his room revealed that the teenager was being bullied at school. I found this story on the front page of a newspaper today, not on my Facebook, which might mean it hasn't yet caused a stir.

This incident follows a recent suicide by a UP student who downed silver cleaner to end her own life. That first suicide generated such strong reactions that it caught the attention of lawmakers who are now promising 100 million pesos in assistance to struggling university students. (Reactive, as usual, but I suppose it will have to do).

A couple of days ago, I attended a brief program at a public elementary school, in which one of the speakers mentioned that the school had an anti-bullying program, proof that the international call to stop bullying in schools has reached even the far flung areas of the Philippines.

It troubles me a little bit though that the suicide of this 14-year-old boy from Batangas doesn’t quite generate the same level of reaction as the first incident.

Even with the Anti-Bullying Act of 2012, the call for greater empathy among people doesn't seem loud enough to make a ripple of change. Or perhaps not bold enough. Not systematic enough? I don’t know. I just know it’s not enough. It will never be enough until we all admit to ourselves that we are capable of being a bully, unimaginable as that may seem to the self-righteous parts of ourselves.

For one thing, we think it’s funny. And we think it’s fun. We only really stop until we sense that some damage has been inflicted (i.e, target starts to cry) and our guilt starts to kick in. Nobody wants to be the bad guy. Unless we fully realize what we are doing though, we are likely to do it again.

Bullying is characterized by repeated attempts to diminish another person either through physical intimidation or through ridiculing, mockery or another extremely entertaining variation of that.  The damage it causes can be irrevocable. Worse, it is very often subconsciously done, which is probably the reason it is so prevalent.

This is how it works, I think. People in general tend to believe that they are how others treat them. If you get laughed at all the time, you start think that you are an odd ball and you deserve the treatment you are getting. If people push you around as though you are weak, you start to think that you are in fact made of lesser stuff.  So if kids gang up on one and call him something derogatory like stupid, he will grow up believing this to be true. And because he believes it to be true, it will be true. We must never underestimate the power of a thousand voices (even just one) repeatedly speaking the same nasty message.

Bullying eats away a person’s self-esteem, dignity and happiness.  Those who do not experience this are either padded by layers of denial and defenses (they become bullies themselves) or are truly self-confident and strong. The latter group is very tiny in number.  I've lived long enough and interestingly enough to form the conclusion that very few people possess an unyielding inner sunshine.

I am a bit of a bully myself sometimes just because I can be.  There is one specific incident that I can’t get out of my head until now. Way back in college, I was with some friends, one of whom was excitedly talking about something. I said just out of nowhere, “Ganyan ba talaga kaingay yan.” It was totally uncalled for and I don’t even know why I did that. I suppose it made me feel cool.

I have also been bullied just like everyone else. A part of me honestly thinks I have it coming because I am easily the oddest person within a hundred meters or more. A friend of mine warns me that I tend to be complicit to bullying by allowing it to be done to me, which is true and admittedly wrong. It is difficult but ideally, we should have significant control over our reactions to mockery, insults and so on.  But I have been down this road enough to know that when you hit someone because they hit you first, you’re still going to find your ass sitting in the principal’s office enduring a long lecture on moral values and right conduct. You will later be asked to squat in front of the school grotto with a statue of a very meek-looking Mother Mary who is by the way squishing an evil serpent with her bare foot. Knees bent and arms raised, you will be made to squat that way until your limbs shake. All the while, you contemplate the meaning of the image before you. Your thoughts jump from: “What lesson is Sister trying to impart this time?” “Was I bad?” “But the SOB hit me first?!” “Religion will be my lowest subject again.” If you get into fights a lot, this kind of thing will happen to you over and over and over and over again especially if the other party decides to cry.  Our culture systematically encourages us to be meek even in the face of hostility.

Bullying in its more subtle refined forms is prevalent even in many work places so this is not a case of kids not knowing any better. The bigger the group, the more confident they seem to be that they can get away with name calling, rumor spreading, back biting, ridiculing and all those clever peer-diminishing  tactics that allow the whole gang to feel cooler, more powerful and more superior.

The 14-year old boy who shot himself was called many things including slow, stinky and gay -- all in all dictionary definition of a loser. He was constantly rejected by the girls he liked and they laughed at him when that happened. They mocked him too when he failed school. Allegedly, the boy told his teachers but they stood by and watched it happen probably because it was just a bunch of kids being funny and it didn't exactly rise to the level of a fist fight. 

When that UP student died, I asked my friend what her stand on the whole thing was. She said, “Sayang ang buhay niya.” When he pulled the trigger, this 14-year old boy probably didn't think there was anything in him at all that was “sayang.”