My Father: Some Poignant Recollections

After I completed elementary grades, my father left farming and worked at a timber company in Bayugan, some 60 kilometers south of Cabadbaran. The timber company provided free housing for its employees and soon my mother and my siblings moved to Bayugan to be with my father. I was left behind to pursue my high school education in Cabadbaran. I stayed with my aunt who owned a store in the public market. We agreed that when I’m not in school, I have to help her tend the store in exchange for board and lodging.                                                              

                          

A few years later, when I was already in college, my father got wind of a farm lot for sale in the vicinity of the company’s housing compound. My father got interested and bought that piece of land out of his meager savings. He resigned from the timber company and became a farmer once again. We vacated the company housing and moved to a farmhouse which was part of the purchase. As we gave up our housing privilege, we also encountered new kinds of problems like our mobility in transporting our farm products to the market or buying our groceries.

 

As I wrote in my piece, My Mother’s Ordeal, “…in those days, no public transport reached our place for the road was owned by the timber company and only company vehicles were allowed to use it. But the mobility problem of the farmer residents was somehow eased by the generosity of the company drivers who gave rides to people they pass by hiking on the side of the road or waiting at some designated areas.” But not always, depending on the mood of the driver or the company guards manning the checkpoints.

                                   

One day, I accompanied my father to town to sell our farm produce. On our way back home, as the usual practice, together with the other farming families and company workers, we hitched on an empty dump truck that would pass by our house bound for the forested area where the company were cutting the trees.  All went well until we passed a company checkpoint about a kilometer away from the town proper.

 

The truck was stopped and the guard started inspecting. The guard must be having a bad day that day. He decided that the truck was so overloaded and that some of the hitchriders have to get down to lighten the load. Then he made the announcement: “Those who are not company workers should get down from the truck. Nobody moved. My father was  a former company worker, the guard was his friend, we were neighbors in the housing compound and he was hoping that the announcement was not meant for him. Still nobody got down. Then the guard shouted: “Herbolingo!, you are not a company worker anymore, get down.” I was shocked. I could feel the humiliation my father felt of being singled out.  We started to get down without saying a word. As soon as my father and I  got off the truck, other hitchriders followed. As the truck started moving toward its destination without us, we carried our groceries on our back and started hiking the 10-kilometer distance towards our house.

 

Many years later,  I graduated from college and started working. A friend of mine, offered to sell his car to me--- a 1989 Mitsubishi Mirage. It was a compact car but the TV ad guaranteed that it could accommodate 4 giants (meaning, Sumo Wrestlers). It was in good running condition---good enough for my regular commuting to and from the university campus in Marawi where I was teaching and residing and a number of industrial companies in Iligan City who hired me as consultant. Came Christmas time, I called my father (we had cellphones already that time but still the bulky ones) and told him that we are coming home for Christmas. I also learned that my brother Joey who was working in Davao would also be spending Christmas with his family at home. What a family reunion would that be!

During this time, the timber company had already ceased its operations and the logging road which was our only connection to the town of Bayugan was turned over to the government. But the government had its hands full with a budget shortfall for road repairs and the road was not properly maintained.

 

A few days before Christmas, we were already on our way. As we were a few kilometers short of reaching our home, the road was muddy and my compact car with low chassis stuck. I called my father for help and he assured me that help is on the way. In less than an hour, he arrived hiking. My father positioned himself at the back of the car, I revved the engine and my father pushed,  the tires turned and turned and we made a slow but steady progress. After our car was extricated from that muddy pool, I turned to my father to thank him, I saw his entire body and clothing covered with mud but he was beaming with smiles seeing his eldest son back.

 

When we arrived home, Joey’s family was already there ahead of us. The muddy road was no match for his jeep-type vehicle with high chassis and probably with a 4-wheel drive. That was the time that I saw my father the happiest. Our neighbors came by gawking and admiring at the two vehicles parked in our yard. My father was proudly telling our neighbors that his two sons were at home showing off the vehicles which he knew our neighbors could own only in their dreams.

 

The next time we had family reunion, my brother asked his son, Juztin, about me, “Teng, do you remember who he is?” Juztin, who was just a toddler when we first met promptly replied,” That’s Uncle Shem---his car got stuck in the mud!”

How Old Is The Earth?

James Ussher, was Archbishop of Armagh, Northern Ireland. In 1650, he calculated when was the world created based on his studies of the Old Testament and some ancient Egyptian and Hebrew texts. He came up with a date. He concluded that the world was created on the evening before October 23, 4004 BC. Another scholar named John Lightfoot made a similar research based on the Bible, Egyptian and Jewish chronologies and came up with a more precise calculation: the world was created on October 23, 4004 BC at exactly 9:00 a.m. Very precise, indeed! Or is it? 

The scientific community thought that the earth is much, much older but until the early part of the 20th century they lack a more reliable tool to measure the age of the earth. In 1862, Lord Kelvin, the inventor of the international system of absolute temperature that bears his name, calculated how long Earth might have taken to cool from its original molten state. He concluded that the Earth was born 20 to 400 million years ago. Today’s scientists believe that that answer is incorrect, but Kelvin’s calculations were scientific being based on logical thinking and mathematical calculation. 

The discovery of isotopes and radioactivity in the late 19th century and the realization that it can be used to measure eons of time gave scientists the right tool to begin tinkering on objects around them. Armed with this toolkit, scientists have spent decades scouring the planet for its oldest rocks. Some of them are in our own backyard. The oldest known materials on Earth are the zircon crystals in the Jack Hills of Western Australia that formed 4.4 billion years ago, not long after the formation of Earth itself. In 1956 Clair Cameron Patterson determined the age of the earth to be 4.55 billion years plus or minus 70 million using uranium-lead isotope dating on some rocks. 

 But there’s a problem: we know that rocks are continuously recycling, being formed, reformed and destroyed on an epic geological timescale, thanks to patterns of volcanism and erosion on our dynamic, atmosphere-shrouded planet. So how can we be sure that our oldest rocks really are our oldest rocks? How do we know that an even older rock hasn’t simply ground down to dust somewhere, or been subducted beneath a neighboring continent? 

 

To get around this problem, scientists have also dated lumps of space rock-specifically meteorites including the moon rocks that Neil Armstrong and company brought home to Earth. The results are strikingly aligned; our neighborly space debris can be dated to the same 4.5 billion-year window. We can date Earth with such a degree of precision because we have multiple lines of evidence pointing to the same window of time.

My Childhood Recollections

I was born and raised in a farm at the outskirts of the village of Calamba in the town of Cabadbaran, Philippines. My father was a farmer and my mother took care of us children, while helping our father in any way she could to augment our family income. Being the eldest, my mother would request me to look after my siblings while she tended her vegetable garden at the backyard or wash our laundry in a nearby creek. Being in a rural area, there were no kindergarten schools where the kids could go to school early. Children would have to wait until they reach seven years of age before they could start grade school.

When I was six, my father and I had a heart-to-heart talk. It was a now-or-never scenario. My father was trying to convince me that it was time for me to go to school. As if, when I missed going to school that year, there was no more next year to start school and I would be illiterate for the rest of my life.

The following Monday morning, my mother accompanied me to school and talked to the Grade 1 teacher, Miss Elealiva A. Pia, that I would be admitted to her class. Miss Pia was not enthusiastic to admit me in her class because of my tender age and small physique aside from the fact that classes had already started a month before. When she requested me to raise my right arm and touch my left ear over my head, I could not reach it---that was the first physical indicator that I was not yet ready for school. But my mother was persistent. We went to see the school principal, Mr. Angel M. Morrondoz, for reconsideration. Mr. Morrondoz was my mother’s teacher when she was a grade school pupil herself. Mr. Morrondoz was very accommodating and suggested to  Miss Pia to admit me on a temporary status.

That’s how I started school. The lesson at that time was learning how read and write letters of the alphabet and to write our names on a pad paper. I already knew the alphabet and mastered to write my long name a few months earlier. So I wrote down my name on my pad paper and started teaching my seatmate and neighbors to write theirs. That’s how I became the teacher’s assistant that year. I finished the first grade fourth place from the top.

Fast forward to the fourth grade, our teacher was Mrs. Nenita L. Balsicas. The whole class mastered the geography subject also known as social studies. Well, if we did not master it, at least, we know and memorized so many places and locations in the Philippine map and the world map. Someone started it and it became a regular game during recess and break time. Everyone had the chance to select a place which is very hard to find and then asked everyone to look for it in the entire map. The first one to find it won.  Even now, if I see a world map where places and countries are not named, I can identify the places. 

It was also in fourth grade when my classmates conferred on me the title “Baby Judge.” “Baby” because I was the youngest and the smallest in the class but the title “Judge” had some story behind it. One time when our teacher was away, two of my bigger classmates had an altercation that almost resulted to a fistfight. I intervened, pacified the two and resolved their conflict. Since then, if there was any potential conflict between my classmates, they would bring the case to me for resolution. There was an unwritten agreement that both parties would have to abide by the decision of the baby judge.

On the lighter side, we had a classmate who earned a moniker “Lake Lanao” to his dislike as everyone would laugh. Lake Lanao is the second biggest lake in the Philippines situated in Central Mindanao. One time when Mrs. Balsicas was conducting the class, our classmates found out that the pants of this boy was wet in the groin area. This pupil urinated in his pants while listening to our teacher’s interesting lecture. That’s how he got the unflattering moniker. See, how effectively we applied our knowledge in geography?

I was 11 years old when I finished elementary school. My parents were hoping that I would finish  at the top of the class but I landed only on the third place. That’s the best that you could expect when you send your child to school under-aged. Nena, our valedictorian was one year and a half older than me and Danilo, our salutatorian was a year older. 

Like other villages around Cabadbaran, we had no high school in Calamba. To attend high school, the students from these villages had to converge in Cabadbaran where the 5 high schools and a college were situated. I wanted to study at a trade school named Northern Mindanao School of Arts and Trades (NMSAT). NMSAT is a secondary vocational school which provides the students secondary education in preparation for college but also offered additional trade courses so that if the student could not afford to go to college, these students could start working on a trade that one was trained for. NMSAT offered 4 trade courses for boys: automotive mechanic, building construction, furniture & cabinet-making and industrial electricity; and two courses for girls: dressmaking and food technology. 

Came enrollment time. When I presented myself to the NMSAT enrollment officer, he outright rejected my application form. I was too small physically to become a trade school student. NMSAT was my only high school of choice so I had no other recourse but to stay at home and wait for the next year. My parents suddenly found a responsible and willing babysitter of their younger children while they devoted more time to earn additional incomes for the family. When I was not babysitting, I also took care of our only carabao (water buffalo) bringing it to the river to drink and bathe and posting it on shady grassy lands so that it had enough vegetation to eat.

The following year, Nena and Danilo were already on their second year in another high school in town when I was finally admitted in NMSAT as freshman. My trade course choice was Industrial Electricity. It was a productive 4 years of my life. On my first year, our English teacher, Mr. Modesto R. Sacote Jr. who was also the adviser of our school paper, The Timberland, recruited me to the editorial staff as reporter. That’s how I started writing short articles for publication. He also accompanied me to a national press conference of student writers held in Cebu City. On my senior year, Mr. Sacote promoted me as the Editor-in-Chief.

Our batch was the last one to take the curricular requirement for boys called Preparatory Military Training (PMT) similar to ROTC in college. The following year, it was replaced with Citizens Military Training (CMT) which is now a requirement for all students, boys and girls alike.  My smallness in stature disqualified me outright  to become a PMT Officer---not even a platoon leader. Our PMT commandant, Mr. Ancheta, designated me as the attendance checker of the entire battalion with a rank of Sergeant-Major. I graduated valedictorian of Class 1973.

Top 5, Boys' Trade, Class 1973. From left to right: Cristito Dingal (3rd Honorable Mention), Jaime Ondoy (1st Honorable Mention), Hermes Herbolingo (Valedictorian), Miss Nieves K. Mora (Adviser), Rogelio Luspo (Salutatorian) and Eugene Cagampang (2nd Honorable Mention)

During our senior year, a number of us took the yearly collegiate scholarship exam offered by the Mindanao State University. I passed the exam as full scholar. Some of my classmates got partial scholarships. In retrospect, I realized that had I not bagged that scholarship, perhaps, I could not have gone to college since my family was very poor. My father had his hands already full supporting my younger siblings in their elementary and high school education. That realization made me promise to myself that once I finish college and get a job, I would help my parents send my brothers and sisters to school. After 5 years of study, I finished a bachelor’s degree in Electrical Engineering. After graduation, the University hired me as faculty member of the College of Engineering.

After a few years of teaching in the University, I received a handwritten letter from Mr. Morrondoz inviting me to be the graduation speaker of my beloved alma mater that year. It was a good homecoming occasion considering that I have not visited my place of birth for a long time. My family moved to another town after I finished elementary.  

Before my commencement address, Mr. Morrondoz made a kind introduction of me by telling a story: Around the time when I finished high school, he felt so proud everytime he passed by the town high schools with head raised high thinking that his three best pupils in a small rural school made good in the bigger schools in town. Nena and Danilo were the valedictorian and salutatorian in the high school that they graduated while I finished valedictorian in another school the following year.

Life has its own way of keeping us all busy. It was only when I started writing down this piece that I began to wonder what happened to the people that molded us during the formative years of our lives. So I messaged Victor, Mr. Morrondoz’s son, asking for updates about his father. He responded to me telling me that Mr. Morrondoz passed away last May 5, 1987 at the ripe old age of 80. To most of us in my generation in our village, Mr. Morrondoz was the only school principal that we knew of. The school graduation in which I was the commencement speaker was the last time that I met him. I’m sure that he died feeling satisfied that he has done his job well.                                                         

                                       

                                

                

A Great Man

April 25, 2021 --- During the early 80s, my colleagues in the university established a computer consulting firm in Iligan City. Computrade Philippines, Incorporated  was the first and the only computer firm in Iligan at that time. Upon my return in 1985, after completing my masteral studies in Manila, I was invited to join them as member of the board in-charge of software development projects. One of our clients is Mr. Henry T. Siao, a big-time businessman owning several establishments. That is how I first met him. Our business relationship gradually blossomed into a personal friendship up to a point where I am almost considered a member of his family. I could come to his house anytime on short notice and share a meal with them. He even reserved me a guest room so that I could spend a night there if I wanted to. During my wedding in March 1992, he was one of my principal sponsors.

Henry is an active member of the Rotary Club of Iligan. At one time, he was  the club president and in the words of another senior club member, he was the best district governor that they never had. He recruited me to Rotary in a somewhat elaborate way. The Rotary organization is involved in many worthwhile projects throughout the world. One of these projects is the district-to-district Group Study Exchange (GSE).  GSE is a program consisting of a team of four or five non-Rotarians to be led by a seasoned Rotarian in the district  to visit another district as ambassadors of goodwill. 

Just a few months after my wedding, he recommended me to the GSE program. On the strength of his recommendation alone, I was accepted and became a member of the GSE Team for that year. Our leader was the venerable Judge Celing Velez of the regional trial court of Cagayan de Oro. Our destination: South Texas, USA. Our other members were: Gary Pantanosas, now a successful businessman based in Orange County, California; Rommie Burlat, now an internationally known, multi-awarded movie director; the third one is Hernani “Nonoy” Chua of Cotabato City but  I have no news about him since our GSE days. The fourth member was Joel Maglunob who worked at the office of the governor of the autonomous region. After our GSE trip, he transferred to the DSWD where he rose to become the Assistant Regional Director in Cotabato. On March 11, 2003, two suspected hired killers gunned him down in front of his house.

I emigrated to the United States in 2001. When I returned to Iligan in 2016, Mr. Siao was the first person that I visited. He was now frail and sickly and lying on his bed most of the time. When he saw me, he smiled and sat up on his bed so that we can have our pictures taken. 

I write about him today because he is celebrating his birthday. So I join with his wife and sons, Ninang Nene, Congressman Frederick, Robinson and Sherjack by wishing him “Happy 83rd birthday, Ninong Henry. May you live to be a hundred and more!”

Cataleya

 

She is my youngest niece. So young that many of my other siblings’ grandchildren are even older than her. I write about her today because I am simply impressed by her wit and intelligence. This morning, she showed me the two videos that she uploaded to You Tube.  And she did it by her own ingenuity---nobody taught her. The links are:

 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bUc0o_axyII and  

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rznlDhkU7IA.  

After I saw her videos, I promised to help her promote those videos so that she will have more viewers and subscribers. Her ambition is to become a vlogger and a veterinarian, too, because she loves animals. She named their adopted dog, Rover (her nanny calls him Roberto) and she considers him her brother.  

One time I helped her organize a picture album in her FB and when I included her baptismal picture showing her being carried by Duterte, she cautioned me, “Uncle Shem, people might think that I am bragging that the President is my ninong (“godfather”). I assured her that it’s okey to brag sometimes, after all that’s the truth.  

She celebrated her 7^th birthday last October at a resort in Sorsogon. When she was asked, what is her birthday wish, she said, she wish that this Covid will already be gone so that the children can play again freely. Cataleya sings very well, friendly, can get along with others, and funny too.

A Shooting Encounter

 

After finishing college, my brother Joey joined his older brother Chito in Davao City  where they both worked in Radio Station DXMF, popularly known as Radyo Bombo.  Chito was assigned in radio patrol roaming the city streets  reporting the news as they saw it happened. Joey, on the other hand, worked as anchorman doing news analysis and broadcast commentaries.  

As I wrote about that era in another piece titled Too Young To Die, “… in the mid 80’s, Davao was a city in turmoil. The entire city became the battleground of a typical urban guerrilla warfare like what you see on TV in other parts of the world. There was a semblance of normalcy during the day. By dusk, commercial establishments were already closed. At night, under cover of darkness, armed communist forces roamed the streets ready to eliminate any perceived enemies. The government forces returned in kind. Dozens of killings perpetrated by both sides happened during the night while some occurred even in broad daylight.”

In an effort to solve the worsening peace-and-order problem, “Lt. Col. Franco Calida, head of the military’s Metropolitan District Command (Metrodiscom), organized the Alsa Masa (literally, “People’s Uprising” against the communists). My brothers Chito and Joey, together with radiomen Jun Pala of DXOW and Leo Palo of DXRA were very much involved in this undertaking from the time of its inception. While Calida was directing the military operations, the Alsa Masa members became the eyes and ears of the military pinpointing and reporting the locations and hideouts of the communists. The four radiomen were the mouthpiece of incessant psychological propaganda on the airwaves exposing the communists’ atrocities. Their involvement was not without peril.”

 

 On 17 January 1987, a 4-man team Sparrow Unit, the notorious hit squad of the communist New People’s Army barged into the announcer’s booth of Radyo Bombo where Joey was broadcasting. They strafed the announcer’s booth with bullets and lobbed a fragmentation grenade before leaving the place. Joey was badly wounded but survived the attack. I wrote about this incident with more details, in another piece titled My Brothers And A Grenade Explosion.

 

As a social experiment, the Alsa Masa Movement was a stunning success. When Rodrigo Duterte became mayor, the communists have practically vanished in the city.  But Joey’s life as a radioman continued to be in danger not by the communists this time but by some politically powerful people who were at the receiving end of Joey’s harsh commentaries and criticisms. As a precaution, Mayor Duterte assigned one of his security details to act as Joey’s personal bodyguard. His name is Pfc Roberto Gucila, an army man.

 

On May 18, 1990, Gucila’s commanding officer, Major Mario Monsanto, together with his deputy, Lt. Adrian Seivert arrived from SouthCom headquarters in Zamboanga. As such Pfc. Gucila accompanied them to the mayor’s office to pay a courtesy call. But the mayor was out of the country at that time and the military guests were entertained by the mayor’s Private Secretary, Mr. Cesar Damaso and the mayor’s technical Assistant, Mr. Henry Adriano. That evening, they treated the guests to a dinner in a restaurant located at the ground floor of Hotel Maguindanao which is owned by the family of City Councilor Cesar “Abog” Robillo. They also invited Joey, who was still broadcasting at that time to join them later. Unknown to Joey, Councilor Robillo was one of those people who were offended and got irked by Joey’s fearless commentaries and bore some grudges against him.

 

When Joey arrived at the restaurant to join the military guests, Robillo was seating in one of the adjacent tables drinking with his security guards. He was unhappy to see Joey enter the restaurant and ordered one of his guards to physically remove Joey from the premises of the hotel which he owned. But a restaurant is a public place and every customer has the right to be there as long as he is not breaking any law.

 

When the guards failed to remove Joey out because he was in the company of the military men, the visibly drunk Robillo approached and poured beer over Joey’s head. Joey responded by punching Robillo in the face. Everyone was shocked by the unexpected turn of events. Instantly,  Mr. Adriano and Mr. Damaso intervened trying to pacify Robillo. When things calmed down a bit, Robillo’s guards succeeded in escorting him away from Joey’s group and everyone breathed a sigh of relief. But in just a couple of seconds, Robillo rushed back with a gun, pointing the same at Joey and shot him in the midsection of his body.  A melee ensued and gunshots were heard from different directions. When the smoke cleared,  Joey was slumped on the table bleeding while Robillo was sprawled on the floor. 

 

The military men rushed Joey to Davao Doctors’ Hospital where the doctors performed surgical operations right away. The guards also brought Robillo to the same hospital but was declared dead on arrival.

My Brothers And A Grenade Explosion

     In my earlier piece, Too Young To Die, I wrote,“… in the mid 80’s, Davao was a city in turmoil. The entire city became the battleground of a typical urban guerrilla warfare like what you see on TV in other parts of the world. There was a semblance of normalcy during the day. After sunset, commercial establishments were already closed. At night, under the cover of darkness, armed communist forces roam the streets ready to eliminate any perceived enemies. The government forces returned in kind. Dozens of killings perpetrated by both sides happened during the night while some occurred even in broad daylight.”                                          

    This was the situation my brothers Chito and Joey were into. My brothers were working as  radio broadcasters of Radio Bombo. Chito was in Radyo Patrol  with a codename of  Apollo Uno roaming around the city reporting news on the spot. Joey, on the other hand, worked as an anchorman and news commentator.

     Because of the rampant lawlessness, Lt. Col Franco Calida, the chief of the military’s Metropolitan District Command (Metrodiscom), my brothers, together with 2 other radiomen Jun Pala of station DXOW and Leo Palo of DXRA with the political backing of then Vice Mayor Rodrigo Duterte organized the Alsa Masa (literally, “People’s Uprising”) against the communists. While Calida was directing the military operations, the four radiomen were the mouthpiece of incessant psychological propaganda on the airwaves exposing the communists’ atrocities. The Alsa Masa members became the eyes and ears of the military.  Their involvement was not without peril.

     On the early evening of January 17, 1987, Chito, his day’s assignment done, was having dinner at the food canteen beside the radio station when he saw three strange-looking men approaching. Chito’s gut instinct immediately alerted him: communist hitmen!  The men  entered the canteen and  asked the uniformed security guard of where Chito Herbolingo was. Without waiting for the guard to point at him, he told the men to go up the second floor because Chito was in the announcer’s booth thus giving him time to escape. The men left hurriedly, but he regretted immediately what he told the men because, he realized, it was his brother Joey who was in the announcer’s booth that time. Frantically, he looked for a phone so that he could call them and warn them, but before he could speak to the technician, he heard gunfires followed by a loud explosion.

     From the announcer’s booth, Joey saw the three men coming with guns drawn. As they fired at him, he dove under the table. As the men peppered the announcer’s booth with bullets, the broadcast was on-air so that the gunfires were heard over the radio After a round of gunfires, one of the men tossed a fragmentation grenade into the booth through the broken glass openings created by the gunfires and the  men hurriedly left. Luckily, the grenade was snagged between the double glass walls and exploded from there. The explosion was so powerful that the ceiling above the booth caved in and the manual Olympia typewriter was thrown off the table. The explosion was heard on the radio before the station ceased broadcasting.    

     Finally Chito got hold of the lady technician who told him over the phone: “Chito, binaril nila si Joey, at tinapunan pa nila ng granada ang booth. Lahat kami tinamaan. Si Joey, patay na!”.  (“Chito, they shot Joey and tossed a grenade into the booth. We are all wounded here. Joey is already dead!”) But Joey answered from his extension line: “Dong, (Chito’s monicker), buhay pa ako…may mga tama nga lang.” (“Dong, I’m hit but I’m still alive.”)

     Moments later, the police arrived. The police and Chito brought Joey and two other wounded station personnel to the hospital. The doctors extracted 15 shrapnel pieces from Joey’s body.  

 

Isotopes And Half-lives

 

    

    In our earlier discussion, we know that everything in the universe is composed of atoms as proposed by Democritus centuries ago. Further research showed that the atom is not as unbreakable as initially thought of,  but rather composed of still smaller particles---protons and electrons. The early model of the atom consisted of a positively charged protons inside a nucleus surrounded by a cloud of negatively charged electrons. They reasoned correctly that for these atoms to continue to exist, the positive nucleus must have the same amount of electrical charge as the cloud of negative electrons orbiting around it, otherwise these atoms disintegrated long time ago. 

     Different configurations of these particles differentiate one element from another. They assigned these elements symbols and atomic numbers. The atomic symbol is a one- or two- alphabetic characters and the number corresponds to the number of protons which is also the same as the number of electrons. Scientists started constructing the Periodic Table, a 2-dimensional array consisting of cubicles where to place the atomic symbols relative to each other.

    The smallest and the lightest element is the hydrogen (symbol: H). It has an atomic number 1 because it has only one proton and one electron orbiting around it. The electron is so tiny that its mass is almost negligible and the mass of the atom is mostly due to the nucleus. The heaviest naturally occurring element is uranium (symbol: U). It is assigned atomic number 92 because it has 92 protons in its nucleus and 92 electrons around it.

     The next lightest element is helium (symbol: He) with 2 protons in its nucleus and 2 electrons orbiting around it. In the periodic table, they assigned helium an atomic number 2. Because it has 2 protons, they assumed that helium atom is twice as heavy as hydrogen. But when they compared the two elements, they found out that helium is 4 times heavier than hydrogen! It means that helium has 4 proton-like particles inside the nucleus but only two have positive charges to balance the two negatively charged electrons! That is how neutrons were discovered. The neutron is a particle as heavy as the proton but without electrical charge. The scientists assign a new number to describe an element. They call it atomic mass unit (amu). Hydrogen has an atomic number of 1 and an amu of 1. Helium has atomic number 2 and an amu of 4 (2 protons plus two neutrons). The natural uranium has an atomic number of 92 and an amu of 238 because it has 92 protons and 146 neutrons.

     The universe is indeed a dynamic place. Billions of stars are continuously burning themselves, their nuclear furnaces spewing out charged and uncharged particles and rays of energies in all directions. In this pretty busy place, an atom or a group of atoms may catch extra neutrons or lose some.  So it is not unusual that atoms of the same element may not have the same neutrons in their nuclei. Atoms of the same element but don’t have the same number of neutrons are called isotopes. Every element found in the periodic table has isotopes. Isotopes of an element are described by the atomic symbol and the amu which is slightly higher or lower than the amu of the natural element. For example, natural carbon atom has 6 protons and 6 neutrons and is usually referred to as C-12. But some carbon atoms hold 2 more neutrons and it is referred to as C-14. Another good example is hydrogen. Some hydrogen atoms contain an exra neutron and are designated 2H while some contain 2 neutrons and are designated 3H. Hydrogen isotopes are given special names. Thus 2H is called deuterium and 3H is called tritium.

     Most isotopes are unstable. As such, they try to eject excess particles and radiate energies until they return to a stable state. The  process of ejecting those excess particles and energies is called radioactivity.

    The transformation from being an unstable isotope to a stable substance  is called a decay. The time it takes for a radioactive element to decay to half of its original amount is called half-life. The half life of a radioactive isotope is constant regardless of what the original amount was and is a distinct characteristic of that particular isotope. For example, Iodine 131 has a half-life of 8 days. If at the start you have 2 grams, 8 days later, what is left is 1 gram, another 8 days, one-half gram is left, another 8 days later, one-fourth gram is left, and so on… Radium 226, on the other hand has a half-life of 1,600  years!

     Radioisotopes have many uses in our modern world. The half-life of an isotope in a substance can be used to measure long periods of time that help our scientists determine events that happened thousands or even millions of years ago.

The Birthday Girl In The Land Of Roses

 

    Sat, 03 Mar 2007 10:38:40 -0500--- Last Sunday, the 25^th of February, we were invited to a party at Agnes’ home in celebration of her nth birthday. That was my first time to reach that part of Alabama which is situated midway between Ashville and Rainbow City. Her home, the seventh in a row on the right from the main gate, is simply beautiful and cozy. It was not a grand celebration. True to her style, she just invited a few friends for a small get-together. Having known her for only about a year, I felt honored to be invited to her home and probably being considered now as belonging to her inner circle. The food was plentiful and we never ran out of eager karaoke singers.

     I first met Agnes during one gathering at our home more than a year ago. Being new in Alabama at the time, I tried to meet and greet every guest while trying to memorize their names and the faces. Agnes was sitting on a chair  in the dining area and when I approached her, she introduced herself to me as someone from Zamboanga City. We met several times after that on various occasions.

     Last August 25, she sent me a “smile” in my friendster site with a request that I add her to my roster of friendster friends. That I obliged right away and gladly. From that time on I know more about her personality and her thoughts through reading her blogs.

     Today, Agnes, whose friendster name is Annette, is one of the most prolific bloggers in Friendster that I know of. Considering that English is not her native tongue--- it’s her fourth language, actually--- she wrote with such fluidity and mastery that I will not be surprised if one of these days, she will become a syndicated columnist or a novel writer. Casting all future possibilities aside, Annette is a true friend. Someone who makes you feel comfortable and at ease in her presence.        

 

 

A Relaxing Week

June 25, 2007. Moody, Alabama --- I had a very relaxing week. An elderly couple friend of mine gave me an advanced birthday gift --- a 5-day stay at their beachfront condominium unit in Orange Beach. But in spite on the abundance of the sun and the fun, something was missing in my life--- no Internet! I brought with me my laptop with a roaming capability. But when I got there, there was no WiFi  in the vicinity and I wondered how come all those people who were there were only interested in swimming and water surfing and sunbathing.

 I did not know that Alabama has beautiful beaches down there along the Gulf of Mexico. I initially thought that Alabama is a landlock state. But a simple peruse of the map would show that it has a very short strip of shoreline squeezed between Florida and Mississippi. And that short strip happens to be a very beautiful shoreline. I had to see it to believe it. And the sand, oh my! It was as white as the sands in Boracay.

 It was also my first time to dip in the blue-green waters of the Atlantic. The first time that I stepped on the shores of the  Gulf of Mexico was way back in 1992 when we had a 5-week tour in South Texas, courtesy of Rotary International. The high point of that tour was our one-week R & R at the resort island of South Padre. The first thing that I noticed then was that the color of the water in Atlantic was greenish while Pacific Ocean is pure blue. Maybe it has something to do with the kind of algae and other microorganisms that thrive in each ocean.

 Six years ago this week, I was at the opposite end of the US mainland. Together with Shinar, Manang Vi, Shinar’s sister Pilar and Shinar’s nephew Svend, we drove for about 12 hours from Shinar’s place in Missouri before we reached the northernmost tip of Michigan where you can see four of the five great lakes stretched out in different directions. Canada was just a bridge apart. I wrote about that experience and  posted it in My Notes titled “At The GreatLakes On The First Day of Summer 20001. ”

 Time passed by so swiftly. All I did was riding the waves if not backstroking in the swimming pool and it was time to go home. I did not even find time to use my fishing gear. Seashells were very abundant and we have gathered quiet a large collection. By Thursday, we left the place for another 5 hour drive back to our home in Birmingham.                                                    

From the Land of the Amish to the Lake of the Ozarks and other exotic places

 

    July 1, 2001. Bridgewood, CT.  My one-month stint in Shinar‘s place brought me to places I never dreamed to set foot on, many of them I only read in books and magazines.

     On my first Sabbath in the Midwest, we attended a camp meeting held at the campus of Graceland University in the town of Lamoni situated on the state boundary between Missouri and Iowa. A camp meeting is similar to our association rally in the Philippines except that ours is done by district while theirs is conference-wide. The principal speaker was the President of the North American Division. In the afternoon, we took a side trip to visit Jamesport---an Amish country. That was my first time to see the Amish with all their primitive way of life---no electricity, no motorized vehicles, no TV, no nothing. Previously, my Amish knowledge consisted only of occasional articles I read from newspapers and magazines and the movie, The Witness, starring Harrison Ford.

    On Sunday of the following week we made a 3-hour drive to Saint Louis, a city known for its magnificent Gateway Arch. This is also the home of the first aviator to cross the Atlantic, Charles Lindberg---his plane, Spirit of St. Louis, was named after the patron saint of this city. St. Louis lie along the Mississippi River on the boundary of Illinois. From the summit of the Arch you can see the entire St. Louis on the west and a large portion of Illinois on the east. Beneath the ground level of the arch is the Museum of Westward Expansion. From there we went to St. Louis Science Center and the Purina Farms. On our way home, we made a stopover at the tomb of that famous American pioneer Daniel Boone in Marthasville.

    Last June 13 we went to the legendary Lake of the Ozarks. It was the most scenic place in Missouri. We made a stop-over at one 5-star resort hotel, loitered in their spacious terrace then went to the marina and took turns feeding those gigantic carps and catfish with the remnants of hand-baked breads we bought at an Amish bakery the week before. Before reaching the Ozarks, we made a brief stopover at the Harry S. Truman Dam

    The Truman Lake is one of the tributaries to the Lake of the Ozarks before it empties its waters to the snake-winding Missouri River. I learned that President Truman, one of the greatest personalities that Missouri has ever produced was born in Independence a city not far from Kansas.

    On our way back from our Great Lakes Escapades we made a 2-day stopover at the Saldias in Berrien Springs. In the afternoon of June 23 we made a side trip to the Amish Acres, another amish colony in Northern Indiana. We were rather quite a big group consisting of Amy and her 2 kids: Amythst and Don, Shinar, Manang Vi, Shinar’s sister Pilar and Danish nephew Svend together with Pilar’s childhood friends from Chicago, Nenett and Twoots and her son Dwaine.

    Leaving Berrien Springs on our way home to Sweet Springs last Sunday (June 24) we made a brief stopover at Springfield, the state capital of Illinois and the birthplace of President Abraham Lincoln. Shinar’s 11-year old Danish nephew, Svend, contended that that was the place of the Simpson Family (one popular carton series) but considering that there are so many Springfields in the US, we reserved our judgment on the validity of his contention. We posed for some photos with the statue of the 6th US president.

     Reaching Missouri using the northern route we made a stopover at Hannibal, that sleepy little town by the Mississippi which was put on the map of world literature by its most famous resident by the name of Mark Twain. Samuel Clemens in real life, Twain created the two famous fictional characters Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn in his book The Adventures of Tom Sawyer. All the fictional characters in that book were based on real people living in Hannibal during his time. We joined the guided tour inside the historical Mark Twain Cave which was a maze of passageways and cracks. What an experience that was!