Bapa's Notes

Courtroom Animation

    I was sitting inside the courtroom, listening to lawyers’ eloquence during presentation of their arguments, their endless debates and rebuttal of witnesses was an amazing exercise. I was impressed with their brilliance in skillfully presenting their clients’ cause and interests before a receptive adjudicator, but I was also surprised to observe the strange timidity of some lawyers inside the courtroom. I wonder about the kind of disinterest and apathy some lawyers had displayed in defending and pursuing their clients’ interest, their unusual coldness seemed unthinkable.

    I was unnecessarily inclined to sketch my own analysis about those lawyers’ nonchalance, unknown and unlikely in comparison with their sacred duty which they have pledged to uphold before the Supreme Court of the land and the nation’s Constitution as well, after they took their oath.  Perhaps, these counsels were not satisfied with the professional fees they had collected from their clients. The fact that nowadays, becoming a lawyer entails unimaginable expenses, expenditures that involve both the money and the unquantifiable physical health of many students of law. The unbearable stresses caused by that strenous discipline exacted on the mind and body of many young aspirants should also considered as an expidenture, although unmonitized.

    I remember about some years ago, those freshman days in the university. I resided on a student dormitory. I had a couple of law student dormitory neighbors who during night time would audibly recite and memorize lengthy provisions of laws, until the wee hour of the night, while all of us in the dormitory were soundly sleeping. Their repetitive mutterings of those litany was sometimes disturbing to other occupants who were inclined to have their non verbal studies. Those neighbors read and recite their laws like a mantra served to awaken some distant and unimpressed gods. When the outdoor speaker mounted on the minaret of a  mosque near our dormitory would start airing the chanting of early morning prayers, those law student neighbors would politely gave way for the dominant resonance, only then would they take their less -than -an -hour sleep before they could attend to their regular class in the morning. After I left the school, I do not know what happened to them. If they had passed the bar exam, maybe they are now members of some elite law firms in the land, if they had flunked, they would be probably contented working as members of some team of legal researchers that worked on some law firms that are mushrooming in many cities these days.

    That long held idealism of voluntary public service as espoused by these noble advocates of law, that pro bono mythology has long been discarded to the dust bin of history. All these observations were the result of my three years stint as a quasi-court computer encoder. Just giving a glimpse on the intricacies and awesomeness of the lawyering profession as had been seen and observed by this ordinary citizen.

My Lord, My Righteousness

But there’s a voice of princely grace

Sounds from God’s holy Word;

Ho! Ye poor captive sinners, come,

And trust upon the Lord.

 

My soul obeys the sovereign call,

And runs to this relief;

I would believe thy promise, Lord,

Oh, help my unbelief.

 

To the blest fountain of thy blood,

Incarnate God, I fly,

To wash my soul from scarlet stains,

And sins of deepest dye.

 

A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,

Into thy hands I fall;

Thou art the Lord, my righteousness,

My savior, and my all.

 

By Isaac Watts

Lola's Fortunes

We were on a summer vacation, trying to earn money by harvesting rice. There were lots of jobs in the rice fields and it means more money to earn, and enough money to buy sweets which our youthful taste buds had craved then. Our fun time in lieu of siesta hour was sitting in circle on the slatted bamboo floor and listening altogether over our transistor radio, powered by three battery cells. We were brooding in silence as we all absorbed those action- packed broadcast play, which we familiarly called then as drama, it was a misnomer.

 

Those famous Bisayan plays in the noontime entitled Solomon Socoro, Fighting Feel, and Gabii na Kumander. And who could forget the immortal plays of Isteban Escudero (a screen name of Cebuano actor Julian D. Bacus) entitled Ang Manok ni San Pedro? What about the original rendition of todays TV Drama, Maalaala Mo Kaya? Who has failed to shed their tears on those emotive true-to-life stories in the play entitled Handumanan sa Usa ka Awit?

 

During daytime, we accompanied our cousins on their usual daily farming chores, we were from semi urban and we were novice to the monotonous rural living that my cousins were exposed to. And then, our usual hang out after lunch time up to three o’clock in the afternoon was the small hut where two hammocks made from polytwine ropes were hung and of course our priceless companion, the AM Band transistor radio.

 

At the attic, we found an old wooden trunk, our old folks erroneously called it cavan. After opening, we discovered some old worn books, story books with odd titles such as Pepe and Pilar, the Adventures of Tom Sawyer. They were hardbound books, published in the 50’s and distributed in public schools then. We all browsed on them.

 

Our youthful habit of listening to broadcast drama gradually waned. Today, my cousins and I, we all realized that our grandmother’s cavan was like a treasure chest that opened for us her grandchildren then, those gems, those priceless fortune, Lola’s old books and the fun of reading those old books had enriched us all and that habit of reading great books has been instilled on us even these days.

 

Listening to transistor radio was considered then as the poor man’s past time and book reading was the rich man’s leisure. However, this longtime class distinction is no longer true nowadays. There are many affordable and great literary works sold in many malls nowadays, these are original works and not illegal copies. Our long held myth, that cheaper books are exclusively sold in the black market is already an obselete  presumption. Just try to visit one local book store that sells slightly used books, mostly published in the US and Canada. One can find great pleasure of reading these slightly used books, just barely a year old from its year of publication. And book reading is no longer an exclusive enjoyment of the affluent few.  

 

Two things are certain, listening to transistor radio in the past and our present enjoyment of reading good books has been around for countless number of years. Both hobbies have enriched us, our youthful stamina to learn new things, those learnings carried by the airwaves from untold distances of radio stations and the learnings brought by the seemingly static printed words of my grandmothers worn out books, both means have equipped us against the tyranny of ignorance. It's not just books that fed us then with the very words I presently use in my blogging, but also the pleasant memories which that vintage transistor radio had fed us during childhood days, two learning experiences that are indispensable elements of our intellectual growth.

I was 5 years old then, when this musical scoring hit the airwaves and made a phenomenal fame to two Cebuano radio artists, Esteban Iscudero (screen name of Julian D. Bacus) and Goliath (screen name of Allan Nacorda). Welcome to the mysterious land called Nostalgia: