You can actually measure the distance you have walked by knowing your pace factor.

By Abe V Rotor

The idea is to count the number of steps you make and multiply it with your pace factor, which is determined by this simple method.

On a concrete pavement, take ten (10) steps at normal stride, marking the starting point and end. Measure and record the distance you made with a meter stick or tape. This is Trial 1. Now repeat the same procedure for Trials 2, 3 and 4. This formula will give you your pace factor.

Trials 1+ 2 + 3 +4
Pace Factor (m) = ------------------------- divided by 10
4

By knowing your pace factor, all you need to do is to jot down the total steps you made for a certain distance and multiply it with your pace factor. Compute for the number of kilometers you walk during the whole day. You may not need to exercise. One thing though to remember is that, the topography, kind of road surface, and kind of shoes you wear are likely to affect your pace factor. It is then necessary to re-compute it as the condition requires.

Reference: Living with Folk Wisdom, by AV Rotor, UST Press 2008

A Job Amidst Us

By Abe V Rotor

Eternity it seemed through the years,
Until the clock stopped,
Dark clouds hid the tears,
Heads bowed, uncapped.

To many patients grown and young,
Her short life she gave,
Her healing hands unsung -
Countless at her grave.

In Job's shadow she found peace,
For victory isn't only for the fit,
The spirit soars, the pain to ease...
Only Heaven's the limit

Make haste while the essence
Of Job is fresh memory trove;
She lives with urgent sense -
In suffering, sweeter is love.

x x x

Emptiness

Painting and Verse by Abe V Rotor


A piece of rock,
a patch of green
the mountains mock;

A waterfall
by thunderstorm
in summer dies;

Memories old
on benches live
in sun and rain;

Waves rush and die
against a cliff
or plain shore;

Breeze passing by
bids in its sound
of rustling leaves;

Without the chill,
and sound of sea
the shore is still.

x x x

Return

Painting and Verse by Abe V Rotor

I seek not the Tree of Knowledge, oh God,
To whose fruits man had fallen;
Neither would I ask for another Flood,
To put him back to Eden.

x x x

Music Bridge

By Abe V Rotor

You’re silent while the soloist takes the stand,
When the flute shrills and stills the air;
In unison you play your part with the band,
Li’l known, unassuming, without flair.

When the crowd goes home, bare is the ground,
Save footprints, trash and the chilly air;
You record the event before it is gone,
Keeping its memory in your lair.

Years after, children in some lonely place
Come to hear you play the tune of old;
Music of war and of peace, music of grace,
Of thunder and the gods all told.

Music not words, the tongue of all nations,
The band is now gone and you’re alone,
The bridge you built links the generations.
To bring back heritage to its throne.
x x x

Tree at the Foot of a Bridge

Painting and Verse by Dr. Abe V. Rotor

Who speaks better – a tree or a ruin -
Of your state that has gone wrong?
Yes, water flows and whispers beneath you
And your posts and planks are strong.

Life’s is like this, and we may not know,
Until our world ends before its time;
And a single tree stands to confirm
Our uselessness in our prime.

x x x

"Too many cooks spoil the broth."

Adapted from a popular story by Dr Abe V Rotor

A teenage son bought a pair of pants too long for him by two inches, he had to have it cut and sewed. Not having the skill to do it, and even if he did, some one can always accede to his request - he is the bunso (youngest) child in the family and the center of attention and service.

But on this particular day, on this particular hour, every one he approached to shorten his pants said, “Later, after I have finished what I am doing.”

His sister was cooking, his mother ironing clothes, his grandmother feeding the chicken. And when each one had finished her work, it was siesta time.

But remembering her grandson's request, the grandmother took the scissor and cut the pants two inches off, sewed it and left for siesta.

Next, the mother remembered her son's request, took the scissor and cut two inches off, sewed it, then took a nap. The sister suddenly remembered her brother’s request, took the scissor and cut two inches off and sewed. When the teenage son woke up, he tried his new pants, now repaired to his expectation.

But alas, his pair of pants has become into a porontong (half-short half-pants)!

What is the moral of the story?

x x x