Bar Exam Memoirs

Just recently, my nephew unintentionally broke my pink 14″ Hanabishi electric fan.  The fan is eight years old and has undergone three repairs to date.  And while people could convince me to discard it and get a new one, I just don’t have the heart.  Who would have thought that an ordinary electric fan has sentimental value.  But it does.  It was the electric fan I used to survive the heat, eight summers ago, while I was reviewing for the bar exams. That time in my life was momentous.  It was like all roads led to those fateful four Sundays in September 2000 and that pink electric fan kept me company through six months of rigorous and nerve-wrecking preparations.     So do forgive me if I can’t let go.  Not yet.

It’s every law graduate’s dream to pass the bar because honestly, your law degree is basically useless unless you become a lawyer.  Perhaps no one can really fully grasp the pain and difficulty of taking the bar exams except a fellow examinee.  To say it was difficult is actually an understatement.  You invest blood, sweat and tears with all the studying you have to do.  Include heavy doses of anxiety and all theother shit and you find yourself on the brink of a nervous breakdown.

The waiting will equally kill you especially in the weeks leading to the release of the results.  Good thing I was employed at that time, at least, I was able to immerse myself in work.   For my batch of bar examinees, the results came at the skirts of Edsa II.  I remember I was a wreck around March but by the end of April, I hardly cared what the results were.  All the waiting made me numb.   

The release of the results after Labor Day was expected but still felt like a surprise.  Weeks before, rumors were spreading of a 25% passing rate.  During my time 4,698 took the bar exams.   A 25% passing rate  would mean 1,174 would pass.  As a graduate of one of the top law schools, I did the math and concluded that I had a good chance of passing. 

May 2 came.  There I  was going about my business, working on a contract review, when a former classmate SMS-ed me.  I remember the message on my Nokia 5110 quite well:  SC en banc deliberations done.  20% passing rate (It turned out it was 20.84%).  Decoding started.  My hope dwindled a little but nevertheless there was a part of me that kept the faith.  I still felt I belonged to those 900 or so successful examinees. 

I remember clocking out around 7:00 pm and walking from my office to my friend Marivic’s office at Robinson’s Corporate Tower where she was working overtime, hoping to access the results from the SC Website on her computer.  I did not have the guts to go to the Supreme Court and hustle my way through a crowd of examinees.  I tried to convince myself that with the Internet who needs to go to Padre Faura? But who was I kidding?  I was simply too scared to let my classmates see me in case I failed.

It was already past 8 pm and still no results were posted on the website.  I was a nervous wreck, not to mention so hungry since I haven’t eaten anything since I forcefully fed myself during lunch.  Marivic convinced me to have dinner at Jollibee,Galleria.  I remember ordering Chickenjoy and tried to eat but the food tasted like paper in my mouth even if in reality Chickenjoy is supposed to taste like heaven.  In the midst of trying to finish the meal, my trusty Nokia 5110 beeped. It was an SMS from my friend and schoolmate, who was a batch below me.  Since he was not classmate, I was oblivious of what his message would be.  Without warning, I pressed the button to reveal the mesage.  The message had three words.  Three words that changed my life forever.

Pumasa ka, congrats.  

I let out a shriek and showed the text to Marivic.  She screamed as well and we hug one another as we both jumped up and down.  The people at Jollibee were looking at us curiously but I didn’t care. I just passed the bar exams.  

I called up the bearer of good news.  It turned out he was at the Supreme Court and he had a copy of the list in his freakin’ hand.  I asked him to repeat my name over and over again. It sounded like sheer poetry.

Miraculously, the Chickenjoy never tasted so good.  After the meal, Marivic and I went to her office so I could call my family.  It was my dad who answered the phone. He was so relaxed in hearing the good news.  My mom, on the other hand, was so emotional, I could hear her crying.

Although I knew I already passed, I just had to see my name for myself.  I took a cab ride to the Supreme Court.  It was already pass 9 pm but still a lot of people were still there. I saw a lot of my classmates who also passed and we hugged and cried in that magical moment of triumph.   That was indeed one of the happiest moments of my life.  

I remember seeing a classmate who landed on the top ten.  We hugged one another in joy after which we joined three other classmates and chatted away.  A photographer then approached us and asked if my classmate was one of the bar topnnotchers.  My classmate nodded in reply.  The photographer then asked if he could take our picture and like excited ninnies, we gamely posed.  He asked us to make the number one sign with our fingers and he took the snapshot with his trusted Canon camera.  I remember looking at the man’s ID and saw the words “Western Police Dsitrict”, indicating that the man had a police beat.  I even kidded him if our picture would appear on those “WANTED” posters.   

Our picture ended up on the backcover of an afternoon tabloid.  One of my classmates, who appeared in the photo with me (there were five of us in all), SMS-ed me: Yung mga mukha natin nasa People’s Tonight.  I immediately went outside my office,  walked to a nearby corner and bought a copy from a sidewalk vendor.  I glanced at the back story and saw our picture gracing the page.  How’s that for posterity?  I even called up another classmate who was in the photo too but talked to the maid.  As my classmate was asleep, I just left a message for him to buy the newspaper.  The maid informed me that her Kuya already bought twenty copies of it.  Lol.

Those were indeed happy memories. Seven years have passed and I still remember those moments quite well. 

I just read in the Supreme Court website that the results of the 2007 Bar Exams is slated to be released tomorrow, March 28, 2008 or on Saturday, March 29.  I have an inkling that it will be tomorrow.  Call it women’s intuition.  I am hoping that a close friend of mine will pass.  Oh please God.  He really derserves it.  He’s a good man, Lord.  I’m also rooting for a fellow officemate.   I hope they would get to experience the joy of passing.  The joy in being the person of the moment.  The poignant emotion of being truly blessed.

Passing the bar is not just the culmination of the journey of becoming a lawyer. It’s more than that.  It’s the triumph of those who dreamed, believed in that dream, and who worked hard to reach it.  It’s a testimony of diligence and faith.

It’s actually, A TRIUMPH OF THE SPIRIT.   

Darkly Dreaming of Dexter

I have to confess I have this certain fascination for fictional serial killers.  I remember being quite awed by Hannibal Lecter in the movie Silence of the Lambs. The way he stared at Agent Starling sent chills up my spine. Also,  I was quite enamored with Francis Dolarhyde in Red Dragon, more so because Ralph Fiennes acted out Dolarhyde’s torment between falling in love and his homicidal nature so well that I too was torn whether to sympathize with him or be afraid.  

Thus it was not surprising when my younger sister told me about a serial killer who murders serial killers.  A light bulb of interest instantly lit, my eyes widening and my lips pursed as I say "Oooooh!"  I took a mental note to find a copy on DVD and indulge in a Dexter marathon.

Dexter was  based on the novels Darkly Dreaming Dexter and Dearly Devoted Dexter by Jeff Lindsay.  It tells the story of a blood spatter analyst for the Miami police who has a secret life as a serial killer.  His victims are primarily serial killers and like the usual serialist, he keeps trophies of his victims in the form of glass slides with a drop of blood of each victim. How cool is that: handy, creative although risky, DNA-wise.  I would not spoil those who want to watch the series. All I can say, it is truly worthy of your time especially to those who enjoy murder and suspense. 

The series is dark. Dexter is dark.  The first season will take you into the depths of  Dexter’s mind as he struggles between his need to kill and trying to achieve some sense of normalcy in his life.  He is brilliant, deceptive, precise, calculating and unbelievably charming.   I feel quite drawn to Dexter. Owe it to Michael C. Hall’s amazing portrayal of this character.  My fascination is further heightened by the fact that Michael C. Hall has a boyish, handsome look to die for and piercing eyes, which he uses quite remarkably in conveying the intricacies that is Dexter Morgan. 

After finishing the first season, I’m beginning to develop an affection for Dexter.   His story conveys how one comes to terms with his own dark side and accept it as part of human nature.  While I can’t say my dark side goes to the extent of having homicidal tendencies, nevertheless, Dexter  makes me examine the dark parts of my soul.  Dark tendencies which, like Dexter, we try to hide, to keep buried but they sometimes surface like a monster needing to be fed.  I find myself riding along his escapades, feeling relief when his need to kill is fulfilled and when he escapes getting caught.  I silently root for him but thanking at the same time that this is all fiction.  I mean, if Dexter were a real person, I might suddenly question my moral fiber. Lol.

I ‘m sure I’m not the only person out there who’s in love with Dexter. Any fan would admit that they’re dreaming about him and those enigmatic, menacing eyes. Is he sexy or what! He has that air of sexiness about him that you find yourself wanting to be with him, even if it means getting killed.  Again, thank goodness this is fiction! I wouldn’t dare have the hots for, let’s say, Jack the Ripper.  That’s plain sick.

I’m hooked! Time to get my hands on Season 2 before Dexter premieres its third season this September.  Until then, I’ll be watching reruns on my iPod, read Jeff Lindsay’s first Dexter novel and in the twisted recesses of my mind…

I’ll be darkly dreaming of him.  

Horizontally-Challenged

I stopped reading the  blog. While I still feel for the poor guy being swindled of his life savings by a former lover and sincerely hope and pray, he would get his money back, I have no taste for the hate that is festering in that blog.  I must admit I was quite entertained reading all the dirt about the elite at first but now I find myself cringing at the unpalatable insults and hateful words propagating in it.  It’s like finding yourself in front of a sea of hate, the waves touching the tips of your toes.  You feel a burning sensation making you cringe and wish you didn’t go near the shore in the first place.  

I was actually waiting for more dirt but was quite disappointed when he started slewing insults against one of his antagonists who is quite horizontally-challeged. He called her an "elephant", "wanted her roasted over an outdoor spit", among other things.  People at the comments section called her "baboy", "pig" and the f-word "fat".  

Ay, I don’t like na. 

Thumbs down people for hitting her for her looks. She may be the most hated person but insulting her size is a low blow and is a disservice to people who are overweight.  Great! Propagate the hate and the discrimination a little more, will you? Make us chubby people feel more inadequate in a world that glorifies the svelte frame. 

It’s at these times that I channel Miss Piggy,  that fabulous muppet with the gorgeous eyes, the shiny mane,  the classy demeanor and that all too powerful karate chop.  She makes her presence known and makes no apologies for the fact that she’s not thin.  She is beautiful in her own right.

I despise people who have called us horizontally-challenged vile names in the past.  I feel these people have  pea-sized hearts.   

Not to mention pea-sized brains.

Curse my actions, curse my guts and curse my morals. 

But leave my lovehandles out of it.  

Screwed

I’ve been staying up late since yesterday following a blog that’s been creating waves in the Internet. It’s a blog created by an Australian named Brian Gorrell who apparently was the former lover of a certain Filipino guy. I don’t know who the hell this person is, but from what I gathered from the blog, he is allegedly an unsuccesful restauranteur, a social climber, writer for the Philippine Star (which I don’t read) and who allegedly swindled $70,000 dollars from Brian, who is, by the way, HIV-positive. Allegedly involved in this infamous mayhem is a Filipnia socialite, who I barely remember. I’m sure people from the upper echeleons of Manila society and Embassy-trotting kids know them but if you’re from the government-legal-suburban -middle class world where I belong, you just raise your brow and shrug "Who the hell?". 

But the blog is akin Gossip Girl, only this is real, very real.  And like the typical Filipino, I can’t help but make "usisyoso", finding myself entertained by this tell-all blog.  Talk about airing dirty linen in cyberspace. Reading the blog is so irresistible.  It’s like taking a glimpse of Manila’s high society only to find out that they’re very much fucked up. Come to think of it, describing them as part of "high society" is very apt because allegedly they’re always "high" on coccaine and from the looks of it, so "high" on themselves too.  My favorite entry thus far is the one about how Brian always treats the ex-lover to lunch at Fridays.  Fridays is quite expensive ha, but when Brian suggested to go to Andok’s or Inasal, DJ refused, saying "He can’t be seen there". WHATTHEFUCKIN"HELL! Makes me want to laugh at all that superiority complex for an utter nobody.  

But seriously, if all what the blog is saying is true, then it just confirms that money can’t really buy happiness, decency or good breeding. It also teaches us a lesson that even the so-called stylish people can be swindlers and complete airheads. That wealth does not necessarily make you a better human being.  

It’s 2:00 am, still awake and trying to access the site for updates.  Tsk. Blogspot is down. I want more of this minor scandal (it’s not big as the NBN-ZTE) and the juicy infamy that goes with it.  It makes me a little thankful really, since after all, even if I’m quite poor by their standards…

I’m not as screwed  as they are.