DRIVING TEST

WENDY: There's a red light.

JASON: Fantastic! Let's have a Chinese fire drill. You can jump in the driver's seat if you like.

WENDY: No, Jason. I'd have to mark that as a dangerous fault, which would mean instant failure. Let's stay in the car and wait patiently for the lights to change.

JASON: Boring.

WENDY: Oh my God, that's exactly what Lizzy says about me too. I've become a clone of my mum!

(OLD LADY sits in rear of vehicle.)

OLD LADY: Take me to the bingo hall immediately, driver! I'm feeling lucky.

WENDY: This is a driving test not a taxi.

OLD LADY: Really? I'm terribly sorry... Can you take me to the library then?

JASON: I think there's a pensioner in the car!

WENDY: Keep calm, Jason. (To Old Lady.)I'm sorry, you'll have to leave the car.

OLD LADY: You certainly won't be getting a tip from me if this is your attitude.(Clutching head.) Oh, the pain! It's my heart.

WENDY: You're clutching your head.

OLD LADY: The pain is travelling quickly all around my body. You wouldn't kick a seriously ill elderly lady out into the cold, would you?

CRIME IN THE AREA

Crime in urban communities is quite a persistent issue, especially in regards to

the multicultural neighborhoods in Los Angeles. The present paper aims to study the

problem of crime in a particular community, and how the subculture approach can be

served as means of identification of this notion. In our case, crime in Los Angeles can

be explicitly demonstrated by Boyle Heights, the community which consists mostly of

Latin Americans.

The subculture theory, which has been developed by Cohen in 1955 is an

attempt to examine youth subcultures, manifesting their protest against the dominant

culture.

The subcultures emerge in the slums of some nation’s largest cities, often

rooted in class differentials, parental aspirations and school standards.

Cohen notes that the position of one’s family in the social structure

determines some problems which a child might face later in his life. Thus,

they will experience status frustration and strain and adapt into either a

corner boy, college boy, or a delinquent boy. (Eve, 1978, p. 116)

Corner boys are conventional in terms of lifestyle and, therefore, they receive

considerable support in group activities. Such individuals often fail to meet academic

standards and, thus receive poor education, which doesn’t allow them to penetrate to

the middle-class environment (Paulsen & Robinson, 2004).

Delinquent boys, on the contrary, form bands and gangs as an attempt to define

social and group positions. They do not possess some specific aim; their disobedience

and criminal behavior can be seen as purposeless to some extend, but, in fact, such

young people steal in order to establish themselves as personalities and support their

hedonistic lifestyles. Again, the latter purpose is of less significance, compared to the

manifestation of subculture identity. Moreover, corner boys can participate in theft and

robbery to attain peer support, whereas most delinquent boys show subconsciously

their “scorn” for middle-class values by means of stealing.

Residential patterns in Los Angeles refer to traditions, rather than models of

communities, but Boyle Heights is an exception from the common rule. Initially this area

was seized by Jewish Americans, and in 1980s they became replaced by Hispanic and

Latino Americans. The community profile is nowadays depicted in quite pessimistic

outlook, since it frequently endures funding deficiencies, high unemployment rates, as

well as problems with universal access to public education. Therefore, using the

framework, prepared by Paulsen and Robinson (2004) one can assume that the public

space lacks safety patterns, taking into consideration the fact that the neighborhood has

been substantially impoverished after the withdrawal of Jewish Americans, whose

culture normally implies the development of domestic infrastructure (Vincent, 2008). The

recent housing project, designed to address the needs of citizens dwelling in The Flats,

or the poorest part of the neighborhood, failed not a long ago owing to the collapse of

the American commercial sector supporting the long-term housing program.

According to Vincent (2008), “In 80s, he [the respondent] said, drug dealers

trolled the neighborhood, drunks stumbled about and young gang members shot it out.

One of his sons was assaulted once and his car was shot up one day” (p. 4). In these

times, the criminality rate in this neighborhood is 30 per cent higher than the average

Los Angeles index; this fact certainly causes the concerns of law enforcement agencies,

but the efforts, ordered at the level of the city government, have appeared to be

insufficient, as the local police officers also belong to the specified community and often

originate from the same circles as gang members (Vincent, 2008). Therefore, it is

possible to speak about subculture identity in the given case; moreover, the criminal unit

is vast in Boyle Heights and surprisingly covers the groups of non-delinquent profile

(e.g. qualified workers, who remain unemployed, and are able to successfully earn their

living).

The two major dimensions, the delinquent subculture is cultivated from are local

schools and local construction sites. It needs to be noted, however, that the latter

dimension reflects in some way the former one, as both actually depend on two

undermining tendencies, which are the spread of unsound leisure practices and the

inhibition of leadership inclinations in the majority of subculture members.

As the teachers of the community school suggest, it is not “fashionable” in Boyle

Heights to have high academic achievement; on the contrary, the local leisure culture

existing among school students, implies constant search for adventures till the late

night. Therefore, underage community members simply have no opportunity to behave

like “college boys”, as they normally fail to prepare their home assignments given the

above described leisure culture. As mentioned above, the neighborhood has quite poor

infrastructure that includes a number of abandoned shops or accommodations that

served various “civilized” purposes in the past, but nowadays can be found half-ruined.

These are major places of interest attributed to local young males, as insufficient

budgeting has reduced the local educators’ motivation for arranging more useful and

healthy leisure activities for students. According to Weisburd and Lum (2005),

minimization of opportunities for the commitment of transgression is amongst the most

mportant components of crime prevention; in this sense, the abundance of uncontrolled
places in Boyle Heights becomes a determinative factor is the persistence of the
pathological identity.
Furthermore, the strength of the criminal subculture is increased by the size of
the group of corner boys, described as the main “executors” in the gang, due to their
compliance with the internal norms. Leadership skills are normally nurtured in families
and classrooms; but the profile of the average community member (manual worker,
non-management) points to the fact that the patterns of cognitive and emotional
independence are not popular in the community; moreover, the lack of educational
initiatives aims at raising students’ self-awareness, and determines schools failure to
fully address the issue of leadership. The “college boy” identity is the major object of
school students’ bullying, which might refer to the antagonism between the broad lowermiddle
class and relatively underrepresented class of white collars (upper-middle). The
intensity of group pressure has already been depicted above: those whose lifestyles
have been “intellectualized” and who have upgraded their socioeconomic background
are often physically assaulted and their property becomes the target of vandalism (e.g.
car destruction). These are the main reasons why the criminal subculture actually
dominates in Boyle Heights.

The Cost

The Deputy Assistant has died for an analogy. Some will recall four years ago his boss, the Minister of Health and Family Welfare, boldly revived the discredited effort to eradicate polio from the provinces west and south of the capital—bold because several children had been paralyzed by the vaccine given to protect them. Those precious souls with their bent frames were the statistical necessity of a cure for the world, but they were pathetic, and no matter what the Deputy Assistant said, their parents were impossible to answer. For several seasons after that, whole provinces of five-year-olds had closed their mouths against the disreputable sugar cube. An ambivalent man might have been daunted; instead, the Minister wept for an audience at the new sanitation plant, but warned that an excess of love for the stricken few unfortunates would cripple thousands of children. His Deputy was moved as well but understood the numbers better. Only one child would be stricken for every three million successfully dosed. “It is as if,” he told the Minister, and the comment has cost him his life, “to banish the scourge to oblivion, you sacrificed your three sons.” The details of how he fulfilled his accidental prophecy are appalling, and there is evidence he tried to sabotage it, but the clarity of the plan is as strict as a gem. In the capital today, the Deputy Assistant has eaten a phosphine tablet and died. The job is two-thirds done now, new cases are rare, and the Minister’s third son travels with him to the regions of greatest concern, where skepticism of the vaccine might nullify the nation’s triumph over disease. The boy stands straight and tall alongside his brothers in their chairs, and the locals decide for themselves the extent of the Minister’s nerve.

Welcome Back to School

“Dear students, the summer has ended.
The school year at last has begun.
But this year is totally different.
I promise we’ll only have fun.




“We won’t study any mathematics,
and recess will last all day long.
Instead of the Pledge of Allegiance,
we’ll belt out a rock ’n’ roll song.


“We’ll only play games in the classroom.
You’re welcome to bring in your toys.
It’s okay to run in the hallways.
It’s great if you make lots of noise.


“For homework, you’ll play your Nintendo.
You’ll have to watch lots of TV.
For field trips we’ll go to the movies
and get lots of candy for free.


“The lunchroom will only serve chocolate
and Triple-Fudge Sundaes Supreme.”
Yes, that’s what I heard from my teacher
before I woke up from my dream.

THE SUMMER I LEARNED TO BIKE

I WAS around ten years old when the Americans liberated Manila. Years of hardship under the Japanese regime were finally coming to an end. Though the air that morning was no different from two days earlier when the Japanese soldiers left, there was some tension, a hurry-up kind of tension intensified by crowd noise--the sound of running footsteps and of people yelling for others to hurry up. Looking out through the iron grill of our living room window down the looban, I could see our neighbors, young and old, rushing past the rickety wooden bridge to Surbaran Street and farther on.

There was Mang Enteng without his fighting cock. He was in his usual faded undershirt with a black cigarette hanging from his lips, running like there was no tomorrow. Not far behind was Aling Isyang, our local gossip, dragging her wooden bakya and pulling up her skirt to run faster and keep pace with the crowd that was now becoming a mob. There was also Conrad, the handsome college basketball player and craze of the loobanwomen. He too was running. It wasn't long before my good buddy Pitoy came and called me to join him.

"Madali ka, may luting sa Azcarraga," he yelled above the noise of the crowd.

"What looting?" I yelled back.

"Just come. Maybe we can get ourselves something. A bike maybe." Pitoy was firm. Living on the edge of the Tondo slums, we sometimes fantasized about owning bikes so we can go around like the rich boys of Santa Cruz and Binondo. We could even bike all the way to Santa Mesa to see those big houses we had only heard about.

"Okay," I yelled again and by way of taking leave, hollered to Inay and Ate Panching who were in the kitchen, "There's looting, they say."

I then headed for the door. Since my father's death, Inay had been very liberal about letting us kids come and go as we please. She set a curfew of ten o'clock, which we followed, give or take five minutes. My older sister was stricter in demanding that we tell her where we were going and what we were going to do. Inay said something I didn't catch. So did Ate Panching but I only heard the last part which sounded like "lipstick."

I left in a hurry in my undershirt, raggedy shorts and bare feet. My puny, lethargic body got into gear. There we were--two skinny boys, barely four feet tall, rushing to where everybody was heading, half-running, half-walking. As we turned the corner of O'Donnell and Surbaran, we saw more people heading for Azcarraga. In the bedlam, I lost sight of Pitoy who until then had been running next to me.

When I got to Azcarraga near Avenida Rizal, I saw men carting away all kinds of goods--clothes, radio, small appliances, and bikes--from the Chinese department stores that lined the streets. One man had a small bike in one hand, a frying pan in the other, and dresses draped over his shoulder. Someone asked where he got the bike. He pointed with his lips towards a store and said, "Duon." He continued on his way without losing a step. I knew he was going to leave them at home and come back for more.

I went straight to the store the man pointed to. I was deterred from joining the looters partly because of my Catholic upbringing but mostly out of fear of getting hurt or getting caught. The latter, of course, was almost impossible as there was no longer law and order but I didn't know that. To minimize my guilt, I went into the store after most of the looters had left. There was broken glass, furniture and garbage all over the place. Most of the merchandise was gone except for some broken and torn stuff. There was a loose bike wheel but somebody grabbed it before I could get it.

Being barefoot, I had to carefully pick my way to look around. I have been cut by a shard of glass before and it took forever to heal. In a corner behind the counter, I saw a stack of new calendars lying untouched. After some hesitation, I grabbed an armful and went out. At the next store, it was the same thing--ransacked, empty, broken glass and garbage all over, but nothing worthwhile to pick up. So I decided to go home with my calendars.

When I brought my loot home, Ate Panching blew her top. "Gago, why didn't you get something we could use?"

We could use these calendars, why not, I thought. We could have one in the living room, one in the bedroom where all five of us slept on the straw mat wall to wall, one in the kitchen and even one in the bathroom. Besides, the color picture of the nipa hut near the rice field was really nice, I said to myself. I didn't answer as she rattled off a list of things I should have picked up--the pots and pans Inay mentioned and the cosmetics she wanted.

I quickly took off for Azcarraga again. I knew I could do better this time. It was a good twenty minutes of half-run and half-walk. There were still a good number of people going my way and I blended in with them. By this time, the looters had picked up almost everything and had moved up several blocks along Avenida Rizal. As I scrounged around the nearly empty shelves of once glorious stores, I found more clutter and garbage than usable goods. There were piles of stationery I could use in school but they were not on Ate Panching's list.

I caught up with the main crowd and saw a few things that would have pleased her. But looters were fighting and grabbing the goods from each other. I saw cosmetics strewn about but was afraid of getting hurt so I stayed away. When the place cleared out, I picked up a lipstick and a small powder case, put them in my pocket and moved on. At another store, I saw a pile of toilet paper rolls. I wanted to string them up but there was no string so I gathered as many in my small arms as I could to take home.

As I got closer to home, it felt like my arms were about to fall off. Toilet paper wasn't heavy but it was bulky and made my arms stretch awkwardly during the long walk home. Even from afar, I could already see Ate Panching by our door with her arms akimbo. She didn't blow her top this time. When I got within earshot, she said, "Toilet paper lang? You better quit your looting before you get killed." I was grounded for the rest of the day. I wanted to give her the compact and lipstick bulging in my pocket but she was so mean to me.

"What will I do with these?" I said to myself as I fingered the cosmetics in my pocket. So I slowly dropped them on the floor and kicked them under the aparador. All the while I wondered how Pitoy did. I didn't see him the next day although there was looting still going on. Two days later, he came to our apartment and yelled for me under our grilled window. He showed off his spanking new bike.

"What? You got it!" I said as I looked in disbelief. I eyed the cross bar where I could sit to hitch a ride with him.

"Yeah, got it yesterday."

"How? I don't believe it. Are there any more? Can you show me where?"

"Sure. But you can't hitch a ride with me yet because I'm still learning how to ride it. Let's leave it at my home and we can go."

After walking briskly for some ten minutes, Pitoy turned to me and with a broad grin said, "Nah, it was Conrad who got it and gave it to me."

Now that really got me wondering. Although Conrad was popular in thelooban, he was no philanthropist. I had seen him give a bag of mangoes to our neighbor Clarita once before but that was because he was courting her. At another time, he handed a bunch of hibiscus he picked from the bush to pretty Sonya. But a bike to Pitoy? I didn't believe it.

Pitoy and I walked back to our regular haunt behind the rickety Surbaran bridge. It was a clear spot covered by a discarded galvanized iron sheet. We sat on the broken benches and Pitoy told me how it happened.

"Remember last Christmas when I was delivering pyembreras of food for Aling Maria?" Indeed, he was. Aling Maria was in my opinion the best cook in our looban. I especially liked her dinuguan and her ginataan.

Several of our neighbors had their meals catered by her. There was Mrs. Malacon who was always in poor health and couldn't be bothered to cook for her husband and two kids. There was Aling Conching, the seamstress, who was advised not to wet her hands after working long hours with the sewing machine. Then there was young Mrs. Garcia who wouldn't let kitchen work ruin her beautiful hands, Cutex on her nails and all. We heard she didn't want kids because they would ruin her figure and that was why Mr. Garcia, who was an assistant manager at Tiger Store, spent more and more time at the store.

"Yeah, I know you made a lot of money then."

"Nah, that was only ten centavos a delivery in Japanese money and now it's worth nothing."

"So what happened?"

"You know when I deliver pyembreras to the houses, people usually left the payment on their kitchen table for me to pick up."

"So?"

"This time at Mrs. Garcia's house, there was no money. I thought she probably forgot so I walked to the bedroom where I heard some noise. The door was slightly open and I was going to call her when I heard heavy breathing. I peeked in and saw Conrad half-naked on top of Mrs. Garcia. They didn't see me but I knew they were doing you know what."

"Yay! Why didn't you tell me that before?"

"I couldn't."

"And where was Mr. Garcia?"

"You know he was at the store and wouldn't be home till late that night."

"Did you stay and watch? What did you do?"

"I was scared. I tip-toed softly back to the kitchen, took the pyembrera and went back out. I then knocked loudly on the apartment door and called out, 'Mrs. Garcia, here's your pyembrera. Will you bring me the money? I am late.' I had to wait a few minutes before she came to the door in her bathrobe."

"What did she say?"

"She said she was in the bathroom. I tell you, Tony. She is the most beautiful woman I ever saw." Pitoy then told me how he pretended to hurry but went to hide a few doors down the street and waited for Conrad to come out. When he finally did fifteen minutes later, Pitoy sauntered towards him and asked how he liked the bistek, the beef steak in soy sauce, Pitoy had just delivered to Mrs. Garcia.

"What do you mean?" Conrad asked, his face a little flushed.

"Oh, I just delivered the pyembrera to Mrs. Garcia. I brought it to the kitchen but took it out again when I saw you were busy in the bedroom. You heard me yell from the door, didn't you?"

Conrad, though proud of his sexual conquests, hated it when caught red-handed. He grabbed Pitoy by the collar and threatened to kill him if he ever repeated to anyone what he had just said. He quickly let go when he saw Aling Isyang some distance in the looban. He glared at Pitoy. When he cooled down, he promised Pitoy a reward if he kept his mouth shut.

"So that's why he gave you the bike?"

"In a way, yes. You see when you and I got separated at O'Donnell I just kept going to Avenida Rizal and up towards Times Cinema. I was almost all the way to the bike shop on Carriedo Street when I saw Conrad coming out of the store with a big radio in one hand and steering a bike out with his other hand. I ran to him and asked if there were any more bikes left. He said yes but that I wouldn't be able to get one because I wasn't strong and big enough."

"So how did you get it?"

"I begged him to go back in and get even a small one while I kept an eye on his radio and his bike. I also reminded him I hadn't said anything to anyone about what happened at Mrs. Garcia's home. Since that had been so long ago, he smiled, winked at me and agreed. He got me this smaller bike."

"Great. But now that you've told me what happened last Christmas, won't he be upset and take the bike back, or worse beat you up?"

"Tony! How will he know? Are you gonna tell him?" Pitoy was suddenly angry and screaming at me. "This is supposed to be a secret and you are not to tell anyone. Not even your brothers or your Ate Panching," he yelled.

"Of course, not. We're friends, are we not?" When I saw how agitated he had become, I added, "Wait, I have a new calendar for you. Maybe you can teach me how to bike once you get the hang of it. It's a nice bike." I was going to give him a roll of toilet paper too but Ate Panching had locked them away in the footlocker. (Hah, I knew I got something useful.)

Pitoy gave me a worried look, scratched his head and mumbled, "Putang 'na, you have to keep my secret." Though I was never one to squeal on a friend, I realized I had something on him. I knew I could now twirl him around in my fingers as I wished. From that time on, Pitoy began to give in more and more whenever we argued. He also began to say "putang 'na"more and more when he got upset.

That was a great summer for me. I learned to ride a bike. Pitoy and I took turns pedaling while the other hitched a ride. It was almost as if I was part owner of the bike. We biked all around our neighborhood and even ventured to Binondo and Santa Cruz. We became the best of friends and we told no one about our little secret.

Epic Stories

Centuries before the first Spanish ship set sail on Philippine shores, the country was already steeped in cultural traditions, folklore, myths and epic stories. Usually in the form of poetry, these pre-colonial Philippine epic stories were tales of adventure, love, heroism, magic and origin passed on through story-telling.

Early Spanish records from historians like Antonio Pigafetta record the existence of the incredibly imaginative, vivid and colorful stories from the natives. In fact, it is said that when Miguel Lopez de Legaspi arrived in Philippine shores in 1565, the natives performed a dramatic play for him.

These Philippine epic stories, which were usually named after the hero of the story, were usually performed on special occasions and events like feasts or rituals. They were usually about the life of a native hero, his relationship with the native gods, battles and victories, feats of bravery and adventures.

A lot of people think that the arrival of the Spaniards and their successful propagation of their faith and culture erased all traces of the epic stories that told so much of pre-colonial culture, beliefs and traditions of the Filipinos. In fact, the common story is that the Spaniards destroyed all old records of the natives in an effort to fully colonize them.

Fortunately, however, this is not fully true. Though perhaps the colonizers did destroy some of the records of the natives upon their arrival, we still have records of Philippine epic stories to give us a glimpse into the lives of our ancestors and how they lived.

The Importance of Philippine Epic Stories

Why must we read the epic stories of our ancestors? What significance can they have in our modern and increasingly global world?

It was Jose Rizal, the Philippine National Hero and one of the nation’s greatest writers who said that the person who is incapable of looking back at his past will never reach his future (“Kung sino ang hindi marunong tumingin sa pinanggagalingan ay hindi makararating sa pinaroroonan.”).

The Philippine epic stories allow us to get to know we came from, what we were like, before the colonizers. In order to understand the Filipino identity, we must look back at the musty pages of the past and see who we were, before we can find out who we are.

And what better way to do so than through literature? Literature for every culture and civilization, first and foremost, is a record of the times, the eras in which the writers lived in. The reason why we pass on stories to each other is so that we can somehow chronicle the culture, society, beliefs, plights and victories of an era – so the future generations can remember and learn from it.

Reading Filipino epic stories enables the reader to discover a lost culture rich in splendor, magnificence, magic and bravery.

Examples of Philippine Epic Stories

Bicol Epic Poetry: The Ibalon – An origin tale, the Ibalon tries to explain how man came to be. Much like the story of Adam and Eve; it follows the tale of the first man and woman in the regions Aslon and Ibalon (now Camarines, Sorsogon, Catanduanes and Albay).

It also narrates the adventures of the heroes of Ibalon and how they fought against monsters before establishing their own village and learning to farm. The Ibalon also has an account reminiscent of the flood story, where rains poured for days and almost destroyed the whole land.

Visayan Epic Poetry: The Maragtas Chronicles of Panay – This epic attempts to explain the origins of the Filipinos and tells the story of 10 Datus or chieftains from Borneo that sail across the oceans to escape the cruel reign of the Sultan Makatunaw. Upon arrival on Panay islands, the datus meet a tribe of natives called the Aetas. The Aetas eventually sell a piece of their land to the datus and they live side by side in harmony.

Old rules of conduct are also sometimes told in epic poetry form. The Haraya, also from the Visayas, is a collection of moral conduct stories told in the form of heroic tales.

Mindanao Epic Poetry – Epic stories from Mindanao were only very recently put into writing. Known locally as “Darangan”, these poems are very much like Greek mythology. The Darangan tells the romantic adventures of noble warriors from Mindanao. A lot of the stories focus on one warrior-prince, Bantugan, who owned magic shield and was protected by divine spirits.

A lot of the stories revolved around war and love, much like Homer’s Trojan War. But what makes the Darangan extra special is that it is sung, instead of just said, in twenty-five beautiful chapters.

Igorot Epic Poetry: Aliguyon – The Aliguyon follows the life of the hero after which the story is named, who is gifted with great powers (he can travel to far places without resting or eating and has never been beaten in a battle). He embarks on a series of fights with his arch-rival, Pumbakhayon, the only warrior with skills that match his.

The duel lasts 3 years without anyone winning. So, in order to end things, Aliguyon decides to marry Pumbakhayon’s sister, thus unifying their tribes.

Ilokano Epic Poetry: Lam-ang – This tale follows the unusual life of a boy who could talk and right after he was born. At nine months old, he embarked on a journey to avenge his father’s death, accompanied by his pets, a rooster and a dog. In one of his adventures, he is eaten by a sea monster but comes back to life.

He then goes on a quest to win the heart of the famed beauty, Ines Kannoyan. When he arrives, Ines’ house is filled with suitors. But with the help of his pet rooster who knocks the whole house down and builds it up again with a flap of his wings, he eventually wins her heart.