International Bazaar day

This was the scene at the International Bazaar at PICC last Sunday.

SUNDAY was International Bazaar day at the PICC. Fil and I arrived late so we found the venue pretty much filled to the brim, with a long line of patient shoppers still waiting to get in. Bumped into the late Enrique Zobel's right hand Joan Orendain, who looked very slim since I last saw her. She joked that she was wearing a whole pile of girdles underneath her slacks. Hahaha...but owww!

Joan was handling the publicity for the International Bazaar Foundation chaired by Lovely Romulo, spouse to Foreign Affairs Secretary Alberto Romulo, who, we heard, also arrived at the bazaar. She said media entrance was free but Fil and I had decided to each pay our P100 tickets considering the event was for charity. Btw, Joan is responsible for a number of books in my library as she loved to gift them to editors. We may have had our differences in the past but as you get older, you somehow learn to let go of a lot of old hurts and irritations.

Lovely Romulo (left) and Alice Favila

Inside, we met the Romulo children, Mons Tantoco, a columnist for Phil. Star, and Lupe Romulo, whom I knew because we both worked for Manila Standard under Jullie Yap Daza. Lupe said she had been away from the country for awhile and probably had about five years worth of columns to write. But she said she no longer has a taste for society writing, and I joked that maybe it's for the best, otherwise baka ma-Malu Fernandez pa sya! Of course, Lupe is not the insensitive sort like that ex-People Asia columnist.

Also filling her shopping basket to the brim was Tita Moonyeen Singson, the spritely wife of former Bangko Sentral ng Pilipinas Gov. Gabriel (aka "Lolo Gabby") Singson. Tita Moonyeen surely has endured a lot of trials in her life, and so Fil and I were glad that she looked so happy and healthy. She has such a joyful spirit that is so infectious, I cannot help but admire this woman.

Escorting Tita Moonyeen, was Alice Favila, also a member of the International Bazaar Foundation and wife to Trade and Industry Secretary Peter Favila. For those who were also at the bazaar on Sunday, Alice was the voice announcing raffle winners. Unfortunately for Fil and I, no amount of cajoling Alice could make her call out our names. Not far behind the Tita Moonyeen-Alice parade was a dressed-down Antonio Abacan, president of Metrobank whom I thought did a good job guarding the bank's onsite ATM and filling it up with lotsa cash hehehe! Geez, there sure were a lot of shoppers withdrawing that day!

My new kooky ring

Unfortunately, I wasn't able to buy a lot of goodies from the international embassies which had their booths that day. Aside from the throng of people which made it almost impossible to move through the corridors, the prices were outrageously expensive for some items. Like there was a nice embroidered blouse being sold at the Thai embassy booth which the sales clerks said was P1,200. Also there was a beautiful necklace of gems selling for P14,000. You and I have been to Bangkok. You know exactly how much these things cost especially if you go to their Divisoria-like areas. I quipped to a fellow shopper that it was probably cheaper to fly to Bangkok and buy the stuff there than at the booth, to which she answered "Korek!"

At the Spanish embassy booth, there were also the usual baby colognes...but selling at least P50 more than what they go for at the Watson in SM. And the can of fabada which my mom and I only bought at Landmark grocery at Trinoma the day before, cost P120. At Landmark it was only P111. Same deal with the olives, olive oil, and other food stuff, Too bad there were no espadrilles being sold – last year they were a real steal at P250 a pair.

The wines at the New Zealand booth were also ridiculously expensive...selling for the same prices at Santi's! I love NZ wines (Villa Maria Estate's pinot noirs are especially excellent, and its sauvignon blancs are constant awardees in international wine competitions) but I was there to shop for bargains not support the entire government of PM Helen Clark! The only inexpensive wine I found was at the Chilean embassy booth, about P420, although it wasn't the year and the variety I was looking for. What I wanted to buy at the NZ embassy was lamb chops but due to our late arrival, were already all gone. Darn.

Yummy empanada from Polland bakery.

And yes, the U.S. Embassy was absent again this year, although Fil quipped it was probably because there was really no more "made in the USA" goods to speak of. I guess it's also because every month, the American Women's Bazaar is held at the World Trade Center, although I've been there a few times and have not seen many US goods/brands either. Geez, and to think California 2006 wines are especially superb this year and although I'm not a steak person, their certified Angus beef is still tops in my book.

But duh, what were "made in the Philippines" goods doing in the Korean booth?! You would think they would sell their beautiful leather bags and or at least DVDs of their hugely popular telenovelas! Buti pa ang Cuban embassy had CDs of their music on sale (pirated lang nga), and cigars. Of course since I don't smoke I didn't look at the boxes of Havanas on display.

Joyce's portabello mushroom dip in extra virgin olive oil with melba toast on the side. Fab dish for cocktails.

As usual, it was mostly food I brought home, infused with the local flavor and sweat of our fellow Pinoys, like the really delicious empanada of Polland bakery, the homemade Portabello mushroom dip of Joyce Aragon, some hummus from good old reliable Kashmir restaurant with some pita bread and an order of plain roti. Yummm.

I was also able to buy my pantulog – a pair of cotton shorts and top, and a night dress, for P200 each. There was also a long kurta-like gown from Turkey for P750 which I plan to shorten and hem in time for next summer's bathing suit season. (The bleached blonde tindera, however, was really kinda sungit though and absolutely refused to give me a discount for the box of baklavas she was selling for P800.) I also love my new weird ring which I bought for P250 from one of the charity organizations selling their wares at the bazaar. Thanks to Lupe for clueing me in on it, after I saw the cute thing on her finger.

All in all, it was a mildly productive shopping expedition. I just long for the good old days though when the ambassadors themselves were on hand to hawk their country's wares which could be had for reasonable prices. It was a different time in the world when shopping was still safe and diplomats could still mingle among the common folk unharmed. These days, it's all about X-ray machines and security checks at shopping venues. Tsk, tsk, tsk...

Ok, so I couldn't resist writing about it either...

Something Like Life
Sept. 7, 2007

BY now, I’m pretty sure all of you have the Malu Fernandez topic coming out of your mouths and ears. Don’t worry, I’m not going to add any more fuel to the fire and endorse any sort of “harpooning” of Ms. Fernandez, even if she did unwittingly ruffle the feathers of close to half of the population of the Philippines and their hundreds of relatives abroad. (Yes, I still give Ms. Fernandez the benefit of the doubt because I think no one in his right mind would deliberately insult another human being in print unless he is begging for a libel case. Of course, if she was channeling shock jock Howard Stern, then what she did was unforgivable.)

What I do want to address, however, are the realities of an overseas Filipino worker’s life, because once upon a time I was one of them, although my colleague Marvic and I would jokingly dub ourselves “expats.” Although I hardly contributed in boosting the country’s gross international reserves because I rarely remitted any monies to my parents here (honey, I needed it more than them), I only had to look at my colleagues and hear their sob stories to realize the difficulties of leaving one’s home and family to try to carve out a bright future they don’t think would ever have in the Philippines.

The opportunity to work in Saipan (the capital of the Northern Marianas, a tiny group of islands south of Guam) came up because of Marvic, who recommended me to her publisher. I was to be business editor of a daily newspaper (actually a community paper by our standards, where a victim of a hit and run could be the day’s biggest headline), and while the job did pay a lot more than I was receiving in my former paper back then, the attraction to me was actually the opportunity to live in another country and mingle with other nationalities. I also thought that Saipan being a mere three hours away from Manila, it wouldn’t make me so homesick, unlike the situation with OFWs who live in the Middle East, Europe or the US. I could always easily come home to Manila even for a weekend. So, actually, I was not your typical expat...er, OFW desperate to earn a higher wage to feed my entire family back home.

The first shock of any OFW upon landing in his new host country is always cultural. There are just too many new ways of behaving and thinking that our kababayans have to get used to. First of all, in a US-style country like the Northern Marianas, you had to follow the traffic rules. No tail-gating, no overtaking, no weaving in and out of traffic.

And while I could get away with wearing Bermuda shorts and a T-shirt to Sunday Mass once in a while, the Chamorros (the locals who live on Saipan) actually encourage churchgoers to don proper church attire, i.e., a modest clothes which do not show off one’s legs, bare arms, or cleavage. I also realized that Filipinos were more Western in thinking than the locals, as I would get flak for being outspoken and frank in discussing issues (although the mainland Americans living on Saipan appreciated the banter). Still, the Chamorros are a generous lot and will always invite anyone to their parties and fiestas, and basically share the good times, which is a trait they share with us Filipinos.

But more than the culture and traditions, I think the biggest shock for most OFWs is the realization that being away from their families means a lot of heartaches. I remember a young colleague, J, who I would always notice to be crying after every phone call with her mother. She told me her mother would always berate her for sending “so little” money for the family’s needs. (She was sending half of her monthly $700 salary, and her mother still thought this was still not enough?! That was close to P18,000 back then!) J was not even the eldest in the family but her mother was now relying on her daughter’s earnings for the family’s needs. J said she had, in fact, other siblings, none of whom were apparently working, and her parents were out of work as well.

As I began speaking to other colleagues and other kababayans over the year I was in Saipan, I realized that quite a number of them had relatives who became virtual mendicants, stopping work and just waiting for the usual monthly remittance. Like J, my heart bled for them because there they were working their asses off under a foreign boss who treated them sometimes rather poorly, and yet their difficulties were not even close to being appreciated by their families back home. Parents didn’t call their OFW children to ask how they were, but rather to ask when their next remittance would arrive. Children didn’t bother to write to their hardworking parents, or send them a card to say how much they were missed, but rather to make sure they were sent the newest PlayStation for their birthdays. I could only nod in understanding when an Ate started narrating her life’s travails.

And for all the “huge” salaries these fellow kababayans are supposed to be earning, their families don’t realize that they are also spending quite a tidy sum living in the host country. Sure, these OFWs are earning in dollars, but they are spending in dollars as well. An example: in Saipan, a Jollibee yumburger with cheese costs about $2 (almost P100 then), when it’s about P40 only here. The horror! A decent restaurant meal for one person, for example, would cost about $12 (P600) when here, the same could be had for probably P300 or less.

Aside from the food, there is also rent to pay (I used to pay about $400, or P20,000, a month for a one-bedroom apartment) and utilities ($150, or P7,500, a month) and clothes. By the end of the month, and after deducting all these “costs of living,” as well as half their salaries for the usual remittance to their families back home, my Ates and Kuyas were left with zilch. It is no wonder a number of them return home almost centavo-less and with very little savings to speak of. We Filipinos are so family-oriented, we rarely deny any requests from our relatives, even though we are already hard-up ourselves.

Some of them also told me that all the while they had been sending money to their spouses back home to put up a little sari-sari store, set up a carinderia, or make some home improvements, they find out that the money had all been spent by their spouses who have become prime candidates for Gamblers Anonymous.

Other than the financial issues, there are social issues that our kababayans have to contend with. A lot of my colleagues, pining away for their spouses or fiancées back home, have affairs with their co-workers. A number of them actually shack up with new lovers even if they have wives or husbands here and 10 children. Kuya D, for example, was already hard-pressed as it is to send money to his wife and children back home, but then he still managed to create a new family in Saipan (a lovely wife and two rambunctious boys). I don’t blame him. It can really get lonely overseas—none of the 120 channels on cable TV nor a thousand bars can ever ease that feeling. (On Saipan the six bars or so close at 10 pm…no wonder I was hardly inebriated while I was there.) On the other hand, if it wasn’t my Ate or Kuya playing around, it would be their spouses here at home doing the nasty.

So every time I would hear these stories from our kababayans, I would get depressed about their ordeal (which, by the way, actually starts at the hellish and very long queues at the POEA), only slowly to be enraged at our government which does very little in boosting economic opportunities here at home. Instead, it chooses to look for more ways to export our precious human capital to other countries, thus helping the latter to prosper. And while the government trumpets the 7.5-percent growth in the economy, I can only wonder if it is worth all the punishing choices our kababayan abroad have to make.

These are just some of the real issues plaguing our OFWs. So even if our kababayans choose to submerge themselves in a vat of Charlie, the incredible sacrifices they have to endure in the name of family and a better future are nothing to be sniffed at.

(My column, Something Like Life, is published every Friday in the Life section of the BusinessMirror. Photo courtesy BusinessMirror)

From 'Malou' Fernandez

‘DEAR Malu,

Sorry for taking the liberty to write you even though we’ve never met each other, or calling you by your first name. I just got accidentally caught up in your story because I, my relatives and colleagues at work had been getting inquiries, at the peak of the blogosphere obsession with your article on OFWs, on whether the editor in chief of BusinessMirror had written an article for People Asia or MST, or whether we were related. I blame the first query on some lazy PRs who, through the years, never bothered to find out my real nickname or presumed that my Christian name bore a “Maria” just because it’s Lourdes and therefore, called me occasionally “Malou Fernandez.”

That’s how I got curious about who you are and why they’re saying all those things about you. To be honest, I was shocked and upset like all the rest. But now, with the benefit of hindsight, and seeing how the OFWs are perfectly capable of defending themselves, my anger has turned to regret. Honest. I feel sorry that in one short plane trip you had ruined your ties with our kababayan. I regret that you didn’t have the chance to really know them through the years. But maybe there’s still time to make up.

After three decades in this work, I have met and written about Filipino workers in dozens of strange lands and how they’ve coped—some fail to, unfortunately—and how most of them are so prized in their host country I’ve come away each time feeling proud about being a Filipino.

After three decades in this work, I have met and written about Filipino workers in dozens of strange lands and how they’ve coped—some fail to, unfortunately—and how most of them are so prized in their host country I’ve come away each time feeling proud about being a Filipino.

I used to think, like most young people, especially journalists, that the ultimate high of traveling was in seeing up close all those postcard-pretty pictures one just read about in books or brochures. Always, on entering new territory, one’s heart would skip a beat, at that magical experience of “entering” a postcard, almost like Harry Potter when he first melted into the train station walls on his first trip to Hogwarts.

But many years and countless stories later, it’s really those encounters with OFWs—mostly by chance in the course of coverage or sightseeing—that have shaped the way I now look at and remember places.

Among the millions of Filipinos who have lived and worked in Saudi Arabia, I remember most the Filipino waiters at Riyadh Sheraton. Like most OFWs, they showed genuine happiness at seeing a group of kababayan in their hotel, and would find ingenious ways of being assigned to our table to make small talk. Most were Campampangan and had gone to Saudi to help families ravaged by lahar. There was a running joke with our group of newsmen that one of us had a birthday every day, so one fine day we got a surprise. As I stepped onto the lobby one afternoon, one waiter signaled to me to go over to the ground-floor restaurant. He then asked me to call my friends. As we sat down, another waiter who was supposed to be off came out, bearing a platter of maja blanca and palitaw. He smiled as he put it down, and explained that as it was his day off, he made some afternoon snacks for us, saying the native kakain go well with Arabic tea. Then he said he overheard us talking about how we liked palitaw.

As we left that day, they told us to advise them if there was something we wanted which they could cook in their free time. Between the food cooked by Filipinos and the stories shared in that fortnight, truly, we had a feast.

At one time in that fortnight, I was supposed to interview some people at the embassy but got caught up in another event. I didn’t know how to get to the embassy by taxi, so one Filipino IT guy I interviewed earlier offered to accompany me, but the hotel doorman advised me to be sure I had my abaya on, and to sit at the back and try to keep low-key. That got me worried, so I told the IT guy, hey, I know that even if you’re seated in front of the cab we could get in trouble if we get flagged down, so maybe I’ll just risk going there alone. I’m a foreign journalist, maybe I’ll just get deported, but you could get jailed. He brushed it off, and muttered something like he hoped his employer would bail him out of any trouble; or, he’s sure his employer would pull strings for him. I found out later the whiz kid had a sensitive position handling the computer networks of a very big bank in Saudi—imagine, I told myself, how can they dispense with someone like that—and risk having computers breaking down and their princely bank accounts getting stuck?

Still in the Middle East, two young, pretty Filipinas at the Dubai airport duty-free shop melted my heart once. We had about 15 minutes before boarding time en route home and, as a habit, I counted my remaining local currency, with plans of using this to buy pasalubong. I miscalculated. Because I bought a newspaper and several other items first, the money left for chocolates was off by several dirhams, so I asked if they’d accept US dollars. They said they’re not supposed to. She said they’d punched in the items and it’s okay, they’ll wait for me to come back because there is a money changer several meters away. Okay, I said, and ran, but the money-changer shop was closed that time, so I asked around. There was another one, much farther. I ran again, but the lines at the second one were long. I ran back to the two Pinays at the duty-free shop and said, I’m sorry, I’ll just offload the chocolates if you can’t take my dollars.

(Filipina domestic helpers at Statue Square, Central, Hong Kong - a favorite rendezvous on Sundays. Photo from Answers.com)

Both women simultaneously grabbed the chocolate and pressed it toward me. The second one dipped into her pocket and said don’t worry, she’ll pay for the balance. She said they couldn’t take my dollar bill because it was too big, the equivalent of what’s lacking with my dirhams was just about $3. “But I can’t take your money,” I protested. They smiled, and one asked, “You’re giving them to your children? No, nephews and nieces,” I replied. “Well then, please tell them the chocolates are from their titas in Dubai,” and flashed a smile. Just then there was an announcement of boarding time and they motioned me to hurry on. I left, overcome with gratitude but also shame. Luckily, a journalist friend passed by, also on her way to the boarding gate, so I asked if she had small dollar bills. Luckily, she had, so I borrowed $3 and ran back to the Pinays at the duty-free shop and plunked down the bills. They were surprised and refused at first to get it, but I insisted. I never imagined how even ordinary OFWs can be as gracious as these two.

One Mideast country I wanted, but failed to visit, is Israel. The late Philippine ambassador there, the former journalist Antonio C. Modena, used to tell us how organized the Filipino workers there are. One time there was an explosion in a busy public market, so I texted Tony for details, hoping to include a few paragraphs into the paper’s edition. He said he’d text back, and did so, after just 20 minutes. No Filipinos had died, he said, but one Pinay was slightly injured. They’re still tracking one more who was supposed to be in that area as well. I asked, how come you can get these details so quickly? Modena explained that the OFWs there are well-organized and have formed, with the embassy’s urging, a buddy system for verifying and monitoring each other. One OFW is supposed to check on the others in a certain district, all through the wonders of SMS.

Organized, intelligent, caring—that’s how Tony Modena described the OFWs he loved to serve. They’ll do you proud on any given day, he’d often say. He would have been proud to know Arlene (not her real name), a Filipino honor graduate of mechanical engineering, who, in four years, had been pirated by two multinational carmarkers in Japan.

I met her over dinner hosted by an elderly NGO leader in Hiroshima, and the two women kept laughing over a private joke, which I couldn’t help but pry open. Turns out that each time they meet, the Japanese lady would ask Arlene, “what club are you working in this time?” and Arlene would mention some club’s name at random, and they’d laugh together. Turns out that in her first months in Japan, Arlene always had an argument with taxi drivers, who’d ask her each time she rode a cab, “to what club?” When she’d say, “No, I don’t work in a club, I’m an engineer,” the taxi driver would chuckle and mutter what must surely be the Japanese equivalent of “Sure, tell me about it.”

It must have been strange for taxi drivers, this notion of a young Filipino engineer—a woman at that—working for a giant car manufacturer. When Arlene asked her NGO friend how to bridge that cultural abyss, the old lady good-naturedly advised her, so as to spare herself any aggravations even before she had started the day’s work, to “just name any club. Invent a name. Then they’ll shut up. Tell them the truth and they’d never believe you and you’ll end up arguing.”

Thus did it become the two women’s private joke for years. So, somewhere out there, a brilliant Filipina designs cars for THE world’s most popular carmakers, but goes to work each day pretending she works at a Japanese club—and is so self-assured she no longer feels insulted at the thought.

Arlene told me she didn’t really feel insulted because all of the Filipino entertainers she had met are decent and hardworking. And they care for their countrymen. As an aside, Filipinos are also very hygienic. In one quick tour many years ago, I stumbled on three women lugging their laundrybags to shore from a cruise ship, and they volunteered they’d be going to a public washing area “where we can handwash our clothes.” I asked why they weren’t doing their laundry in the ship’s humongous Laundromat, and they squealed, “yuck, and have our clothes mixed with those of the others?” So they went to the trouble of handwashing when the ship makes a port call.

Going back to Japan, Arlene said, you’d never hear stories here of Pinoys turning in fellow Pinoys to immigration if their only crime is overstaying just to have a job, unlike in the US, where such reports abound.

But it’s not just work, work, work for OFWs. Until a few years ago, the Filipinas in Paris who remitted money through PNB would “borrow” a small function room adjacent to the bank every other Friday night and have a typical Filipino sing-along. Some would bring the karaoke, others the food. They’d introduce newcomers to the community and swap stories. They were noisy, but happy. At least you know there won’t be candidates for suicide among the OFWs in the City of Light.

A similar happy disposition prevails among most OFWs in another European country, down south. They don’t call it sunny Spain for nothing, and it’s no exaggeration to say that Filipinos provide the metaphorical sun to their former mother country.

On my first trip there, the OFWs invited me to a modest center recently built with volunteers’ funds. Here they’d interact on weekends or when they’re off duty. The star of the show that Saturday was a very self-effacing Pinay whom everyone was eager to introduce because she brought along her two beautiful children—perfect products of an Asian-Caucasian blend. Turns out her señorito, the Spaniard son of her employers, had fallen in love with and married her. He was there at the center that day, joking and swapping stories with the OFWs. Marimar couldn’t have held a candle to that hardworking Pinay and her Cinderella story.

In other places I had deliberately sought out OFWs each time I’d look for a church for Sunday Mass. Sometimes, you don’t even have to ask them. The foreigners would often advise me to just “follow where they go.”

Some encounters are long, and allow me to mine stories or draw deep insight from kababayan which I’d never get from the intellectual pretenders back home. Other encounters are brief, but enough to warm one’s heart and make one’s day—as that Pinoy couple that once smuggled in their tiny dog in a picnic basket into the Paris commuter train, and spoke to me across the aisle plainly with their eyes, pleading for silence, when they noticed I kept staring at the basket, which was moving.

Sure, Pinoys abroad can be distractingly noisy. Sometimes their perfume can overwhelm one, but hey, we’re just passing through while they have to live and struggle there for years. Maybe the fleeting annoyances are bearable. In the overall equation, they are, like the biblical leaven to the bread, the ones who enrich us—literally but more important, spiritually. When people say nothing enriches a person more than travel, I agree. But only because, in that travel, whether in the oil fields of Nigeria or the deserts of Saudi Arabia, there’s a Filipino out there waiting to reach out to a kababayan.

A pity you missed that experience. But there’s still time to seek them out.

Sincerely,

Lourdes M. Fernandez*

*(Lourdes M. Fernandez, whom friends call 'Chuchay', not Malou/Malu...take note PR guys! is the editor-in-chief of BusinessMirror.)

Postscript: from the publisher of People Asia

The Malu Fernandez-OFW controversy

TAKIN’ CARE OF BUSINESS
By BABE ROMUALDEZ

As publisher of People Asia magazine, I had hoped I would not need to make any further comment about our former contributing columnist Malu Fernandez. Because of the “violent” reactions from people concerning the issue – perhaps it is better for me to put the entire issue into the right context. The column which came out in the June issue of the magazine talked about her experience in Boracay and her trip to Greece in a sardonic manner characteristic of Malu Fernandez.

Reactions (via text and email) were sent in by readers, two of which were selected and consequently printed in the August issue of the magazine, along with a note from the editors saying that while they may not agree with what Malu Fernandez had written, they recognize her right to say it. There is a fine print in the magazine’s staff box stating that the opinions and views expressed by writers are their own and not necessarily endorsed by the editors and the management.

The matter would have been settled with the magazine’s publication of those reactions. But unfortunately, Ms. Fernandez wrote a follow-up regarding the issue as well as her response to those who expressed disagreement with the said column in another publication – making it worse since it was written in an arrogant and condescending manner. Even I, together with some readers, felt that she made a mockery of those who did not share or understand her “acerbic” wit and humor.

(Medyo palusot pero pagbigyan na natin...read on at Postscript.)

Alternative realities

I was jolted out of my reverie during my two-week vacation (yes, folks, the reason I haven't updated my blog 'til today) by a friend who was ranting about the supposed insulting piece by yet another society columnist wanna-be, Malu Fernandez, on overseas Filipino workers. Malu Fernandez? Wasn't she a columnist of the Manila Standard Today? I have read her once or twice in the past, forgettable columns, or so I thought, until my friend brought up the society gal's take on OFWs. She said Ms. Fernandez's derogatory column appeared in the June edition of People Asia.

As my friend recounted what Ms. Fernandez had written supposedly about how our Bagong Bayanis smelled, especially after being cooped up in an airplane on a long flight from Dubai to Manila, I recalled having read a similar piece by the same columnist in her home paper. I remember the piece about favorite scents of some people breathing the same rarefied air as Ms. Fernandez, but she had taken off from the same dig at OFWs. (Read it here)

Now I didn't think too much of Ms. Fernandez's column then. I thought it was another feeble attempt at wit by yet another untalented hack. And I thought it was sad that for all the chi-chi-ness she tried to project, she flew economy on an international airline...ay pobrecita! I didn't know she had reprised that same train of thought on OFWs in her People Asia column until a few days ago. So I proceeded to read the piece over the weekend. This time around, the insult was more pointed and obscene. She said she was trying to be funny, but obviously she had failed miserably, not due to the lack of sense of humor on the reader's part, but her obvious lack of writing talent. Her piece had bombed, and she was now reaping the consequences of her poor choice of words and her, well, unfunniness (yes, folks there is such a word). She was blogged to death...the OFW community unleashing their vengeance like a tidal wave, calling for a boycott of both People Asia and MST. I can only say, ang tindi talaga ng Filipino bloggers! Wow!

Last I heard, Ms. Fernandez had submitted her resignation to both People Asia and MST editors. I don't know if this has been accepted. I suppose, in their aim for a wider readership, the editors thought the presence of Ms. Fernandez could help bring class to their publications. Too bad, all they got was poor taste. Well, we all make mistakes. Perhaps the editors of these publications can consider the feelings of our OFWs and let her go.

Ms. Fernandez has apologized (rather belatedly after trying to stand her ground during the first backlash), and as fellow human beings, we can only accept and forgive. Let's stop all this name calling and insulting comments about fat people and pigs, etc. because it's unproductive and you are being just as bigoted as Ms. Fernandez. Don't stoop to her level. Her weight is not the issue, it's her insensitivity and dull writing. (Oops!) Okay, tama na 'yan...let's get on with our lives.

Peace people!

P.S. Stay tuned for my vacation photos, guys!