Older? Sleep more.

Tossing and turning a lot at night don’t mean you've had enough of sleep and don’t require more. This is true especially if you’re about a decade or two late of being a member of the baby boomer generation.

Senior adults need a greater quantity of snooze, this is what researchers in the University of California are saying. Rather than deep ones, older folks need longer hours of slumber that can help improve mental health and other cognitive processing activities. The absolute minutes of sleep that they get has considerable impact on how they perform during their waking moments.

In contrast, young adults can do a lot better if they have quality or deeper zzzs, which can result to better memory and brain functions.

***

“My brain’s totally dried up,” Tio Jee smiled as he extended the makeshift trundle of his favorite rattan daybed. “If what you say is true, then I think I should lie down for a while. Maybe I’ll remember some of the adventures we’ve had when we were younger.”

“We were never young,” Brother Juan laughed. “And what adventures are you talking about?”

“I was, once. But you, and the rest of you,” Tio Jee motioned with his hands, “were born old.”

“Partly true.  We were Gilgamesh, rushing to build the great Uruk walls at the age of 30 because...”

“Because life's too short?" Tio Jee frowned.

Juan smiled, sat down in a corner and grabbed a dusty Damman guitar.

“Young acting like old, now old still acting old---” said Tio Jee. “Naknampopok! You were just like those doddering fools you read in books.”

“Most beautiful mistake.”Juan adjusted some strings. “I don’t regret doing it  a bit even now that I see oldness as a natural function of age rather than a notion of being.  

“So much in a hurry to grow old and make a literary compression of life, so much in a hurry...”

Juan played a few lines of Recuerdos de la Alhambra. He stopped suddenly, remembering something, and said, “If there’s one thing that wasn’t compromised with all those years of acting old was our viri-- Tio Jee, Tio…?”

The old man was sleeping like baby.

Root memory

How can we improve memory and help us remember the many passwords we use in several social networking platforms, emails and other online accounts? This was asked by a reader who was so spooked by the recent spate of hacking.

The friary brothers came up with a list of many mental health tips and exercises to boost brain prowess, some of which I plan to share in future posts. I intend to discuss first a mnemonic device that I hope would be enough to address the current need, which is to retain crucial information for logging in and out of your Web accounts.

The ideal online password, we’re told by experts, should combine at least 14 letters and numbers. This alphanumeric code must not be similar to the user ID or email address, or personal information such as names, birthdays, or driver’s license or passport numbers. It should not form a dictionary word of any language, or come in repeated characters or in any recognizable pattern.

The advice is very practical, and you should do it. However, it may only work perfectly when you have a single Internet account to maintain. The trouble begins when you have several Web accounts, have dates and appointments to attend to, mull over the boo-boo you just made today in the office meeting, and daydream on the speech you're gonna give when receiving the Nobel Prize for Economics.

That is what our brain does all day long. Some of us may process several things together and still remember birthdates and phone numbers in an instant. But what if your cerebral acumen is not what it was 10, 15 years ago? Just how can you keep in mind sundry items plus passwords without writing them down on sticky notes or on whatever wall you face each day?

***

Brother Amir, the friary’s chef supreme, called me to the kitchen today asking for help.  He has been cursing all morning and the brothers have been advised not to expect a delicious supper, not even dessert.

“Naknampok,” Amir cursed loudly and jabbed a knife on the chopping board. Slices of blue ginger flew here and there. “Damn it, I’ve had it!” 

“Whoa! Easy there,” I smiled wanly. “Need any help?”

“He can’t open his e-mails,” snickered Brother Juan. “He can’t remember his passwords.”

“All three!” Amir said despondently.

“Sheesh, you’ve got a serious a problem, brother.” 

Amir glared, squinting at Brother Je. “No Tom Yam tonight.”

Tio Jee laughed as he passed a pipe to Amir.

“There’s the problem,” I said. “Poor short term memory may be caused by pot, sleeplessness, hot flashes…”

Amir inhaled deeply. “Yadayada… can you retrieve-?”   

“I don’t know.” I turned to Brother Goy and said, “He’s good with that.”

Goy shrugged.

“Hah! No fried newlook too if you people can’t open them.” Amir grabbed a basket. “I’m off to market.”

Mumbles filled the room as the cook went out with his pipe still a-glowing.

***

The friary uses a simple method for creating password. The Purest Joy developed this mnemonic trick, which has worked for me so far. Some of the brothers and baby boomer visitors use this technique. I often have to remind them to regularly update the password though.

The method may work or not. Feel  free to try it. Tell us if it does or you can offer another method.  

***

“Is the root, LLAP!?”

“He’s no trekker, Tio Jee,” said Je. “And if he is, it should be TTAT.”

“He likes Fisher, he cooks, it’s gotta be WBKAF.” I sliced some coriander and tried to finish the soup. “C’mon, think hard. We have to figure out the root so he can remember the rest of it.”

“TIAB. He likes Disney cartoons” Juan placed diced cuttlefish on the pot of boiling chicken stock.

“No.” Goy scrolled and clicked on the laptop. “At least he got the same question for all accounts.”

“What question?”           

“You know, the private question you got to answer in case something just like this happen.”

“What question?!”

“Umm, sword of omens?”

We looked at each other and smiled. A loud “Ho!” echoed in the walls of the friary.

***

First off, think of a phrase that you really can’t forget and just use the initials of each word in it. For instance, “In the beginning was the Word” can be shortened to ITBWTW.

Next, add your birthday. Say, ITBWTW22977. The result will serve as your base password for all accounts.

Last, add the abbreviated name of the app or program at the end of the root password. For example, ITBWTW22977 now becomes ITBWTW22977FB for Facebook or ITBWTW22977GOGL for all Google accounts or ITBWTW22977TWIT for Twitter.

For good measure, you can lengthen by adding a time marker.  This will help remind you to update regularly . A brother uses months as extension, e.g. ITBWTW22977TWITJUL. I change mine every quarter, thus ITBWTW22977TWIT2Q.

You can put the birthdate before the phrase or place the month in the front. Mix them up but make sure you know the root.

After creating your password, don’t share it with others. Change immediately if you think someone has obtained it.

***

Nuckmann was unloading baskets of produce from the truck when he heard the shout. He looked at Brother Amir, “What the-!”

“That’s it, I know what the root is!” yelled Amir. He ran up the stairs while chanting “G-M-S-B-S” all the way to the kitchen.

Nuckmann, feeling helpless with many crates to unload, shouted after him, “Frakkin' institution! You forgot your keys, idiot!”

Ibalong (excerpt)

This script is a retelling of Ibalong, a story of three mythical heroes in the pre-Hispanic Bikol peninsula in southern Luzon. The tale was said to have been told by a wandering bard to a Franciscan missionary. The extant manuscript consisted of 60 stanzas and was originally included in a treatise on the region as "un pequeño fragmento inedito en verso." 

Because of its fragmentary nature, Ibalong's place among the Philippines famous epics such as Lam-ang and Labaw Donggon has been disputed by scholars. Nonetheless, it remains close to the Bikolano's heart and has been a source of pride to people in the Camarines and Albay provinces.


In presenting the tale, I have taken great liberties in making the Ibalong a bit Hollywood. The complete formatted script is also available in epub format and can be ordered upon request. The original Spanish text with English translation can be viewed here. 

***

EXT. Tropical rainforest – ca. 1500 (pre-Hispanic Philippines)

MANTONG and his man Friday, GAPON, are slowly inching their way to a wookie hole, where the last of the Tandayags* sleeps. In their mouths are bone whistles that imitate bird sounds.

GAPON

What if the cursed beast is not sleeping? Taking a light nap? Or sharpening its tusks on some volcanic stone…

MANTONG

Ssssshhhhhhhh--

GAPON

Maybe there are two of them, po-on**? Or three…

MANTONG

Stop your yakking, you're sure going to wake the damned beast!

Mantong continues to move stealthily but stops and looks back at Gapon.

MANTONG (Cont'd)

It devoured all the linsa+ last night. It should be full and tired and sleeping at this time.

GAPON

(Whispering)

You think monsters need rest?

Mantong sighs like he regrets tagging along the rotund Gapon.

GAPON (Cont’d)

Alright…

The two creep closer to the cave, moving laboriously to avoid making any sound.

GAPON

You sure it’s asleep-

MANTONG

(Annoyed)

Gapon!

GAPON

What if it's just waiting for us and…

Mantong turns around and is about to smack him.

GAPON (Cont'd)

…free lunch!

(Shouting)

Watch out, Mantong!

A tandayag rushes out of the cave and heads directly to them. The two get up and clutch their weapons tightly. The boar stops about five meters in front of them, then with dazed eyes, it runs again toward the pair.

Mantong steps on the base of his spear and points the shaft to the rushing boar.

The tandayag continues to run towards them, then incredibly jumps over the hunters’ heads. It maintains a berserk pace away from them and into the heart of the forest.

MANTONG

You’re not plump enough Gapon!

Mantong throws down all his accoutrements, except for a knife and a spear.

MANTONG (Cont'd)

Follow me!

Mantong runs after the boar. Gapon tries hard to keep up as he gets slapped by branches and leaves that Mantong pushes thoughtlessly aside.

The boar heads to a clearing.  Mantong stops at the forest’s edge and is surprised to see the boar trots obliviously in front of a waiting HANDYONG.

Gapon catches up a few seconds later.

GAPON

You ki…

Mantong pulls down Gapon behind the bushes. He raises a finger to his lips to silence Gapon, and points to the boar and Handyong.

The boar grunts at Handyong but seems hypnotized and unable to attack.

HANDYONG

Great swine, you are the last of your kind. You have lived long enough. Now I and Death have called you to join your hideous kin.

The boar snarls as if the fight has already begun. It twists and turns.  It shivers and shudders wildly as if trying to shake off an invisible rope or net around its body.

HANDYONG

Do not fight it.

He goes to the pig’s side and heaves a massive spear thrust. He runs the spike through the pig’s ribs. Blood spurts to Handyong’s face and body but he doesn’t let go of the javelin until the pig snorts a last bubbly, bloody breath. 

Handyong takes a few steps back and sighs.  Mantong and Gapon step out of the shadow. Handyong was taken aback. But before he can speak, a horde of tattooed SIMARON warriors enters the clearing, whooping and heehawing.

SIMARON 1

Long live Handyong!

The Simarons repeat the cry, again and again.

A bewildered Mantong looks at Handyong. The latter meets his gaze, his stare unapologetic as he wipes the blood off his face.

The crowd gather around Handyong and lift him back to the village. Others pick up the pig and leave. The cheers never cease. Mantong and Gapon are left standing in the clearing.

MANTONG

Is it possible to command a beast to its death?

GAPON

Or bid Death to do a task not her own?

Mantong walks to where the boar fell. He touches the blood-moist earth.

GAPON (Cont'd)

Well , that's one less monster. Do not be troubled by such a spectacle, po-on. They say he carries his fearlessness like a talisman.

Mantong stares blankly at Gapon, trying to fathom what the latter has just said. At that very moment, they hear a faint woman’s laugh that sounded like a million suikinkutsu.++

MANTONG

Wise they call you Gapon, now tell me what kind of bird is that?

GAPON

Ahhh, they wouldn’t call me Cadungong if I do not know when to walk away from danger.

Beat.

GAPON (Cont'd)

(Grinning)

Come my po-on, for the lovely ILING waits for you.

<end of excerpt> 

---------------------

* Tandayags are giant wild boars

** Lord, liege, father, forefather, source, etc. The term is traditionally used as a polite word. It is commonly used in talking with an elder or to an authority figure. Po and opo originated probably from such use.

+ Yam

++ A buried jar that creates tinkiling echoes of water droplet sounds. 

Counting sleep

The metabolic cost of a late-night bender could be steep. Clinical experiments conducted in the University of Colorado demonstrated that an average person could lose or save at least 135 calories for staying awake or sleeping eight hours at night.  Laboratory tests also showed that when wakefulness was extended to 24 hours, the energy expenditure further increased 7 percent. This loss, however, slowed down by about 5 percent during recovery episodes—which included 16 hours of wakefulness after an entire sleep-denied night, then eight hours of snooze.

In other words, the total displaced or stored amount of calories is equivalent to walking two miles, half an hour of shoveling or bike ride, a 12oz can of soda or a three-egg omelette.  Anyone who has been in the battle of the bulge would know the significance of 135 to 150 calories, and that sleeplessness could be an appealing slimming option.

Sleep deprivation, mind you, compromises your physiological and mental health and not the best method of shedding extra weight. Chronic sleep loss leads to impaired cognition and motor skills, and this fact, I am sure, does not require any further investigation. Some acquaintances of mine who often  render extra office hours tend to become forgetful of online passwords and keys, or on how to button blouses and shirts properly. Further, some are even apt to eat more during the day to compensate for lack of vigor.

The study, however, did not elucidate how sleeping can be non-fattening too. The researchers surmised that stored energy is diverted into other physiological functions.

-----------------------------

“I’ve reached my goal this early in the year,” remarked Brother Goy. One of the deepest dozers in the friary, he can switch on and off anytime his body surrenders to gravity. And he always gets seven hours.

“Good for us, brother,” said Nuckmunn, the friary’s watchman. "How’d you stop snoring?”

“Oh that?  No, no, no—I’m down from 250 pounds!”

“Okay...”

“The mat work and the new mantra worked!”

“I didn’t know you even had a mantra.” An intrigued Nuckmann whispered, “But it must be divine revelation- tell me, what is it?”


Goy stepped back and said emphatically, “I can 210!”

The guard frowned at him. “Say what?”

“I can two-ten!” said Goy.

“I can 210?”

“I can 210!”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

-----------------------------

Researchers have conjectured that the energy wastage could be much higher to those with sleep disorders. I think the study could serve as a baseline guide for those suffering insomnia and apnea, and allow them cautionary measures to offset the lethargic effects via catnaps or by rebooting the sleep cycle completely.

There are probably a hundred ways to go straight to dreamland. A $20 billion industry already addresses such need—from OTC and prescriptive drugs to mattresses and pillows, and from binaural recordings to sleep rental centers.

The friary does not have the best prescription to help anyone catch some Zs. What works for most of us is exceedingly idiosyncratic.  Brother Je, for instance, cannot snooze peacefully without a cutout polyester mosquito net wound around his feet.  Brother Juan can drop off anywhere but he fancies rooms that smell of books and old mattresses with deep body indentations.  Musty, smelly blankets lull Tio Jee to dreams.

Some guests of the monastery have shared their bedtime eccentricities too. One visiting old-timer is severely afraid of going to bed without a black cloth draped over his head. He says the fabric will hide him if Death passes by. Another rags-to-rich caller prefers beach towel than the most expensive blanket in the planet.

-----

Sue, a vegan, was once sent to a little island in the West Philippine Sea for some community development work.

“The days in the beach were swell,” she sighed, “but the nights were another thing.”

“What do you mean?”

“A lady staying alone in a room, no matter how safe and beautiful, is just dicey.”

“So how’d you sleep every night?”

“I always made sure I go around the neighborhood, called on good folks and bid them good night. I made them  feel I’m one of them so no harm would come to me.”

“That simple?"

“Of course, I have to say my prayers every night.”

“And you slept like a babe?”

“Oh well, a pistol and whip under the pillow aren’t much comfort, but you get used to them.”


-----
REFERENCE: Sleep mode: The energy cost of sleep deprivation, http://www.physorg.com/news/2011-01-mode-energy-deprivation.html

App for the New Age

Sifting through the cultural flotsam of the past year, the friary came across a novel software that could revitalize the nonreligious spiritual community.

Available for Android devices, the user-friendly program called Sky Map is being touted by New Agers as the latest tool to carry the Piscean Age to its crest and usher in the Aquarian era. The application developed by Google is a basic interactive starmap that lets users gaze at the heavenly bodies and flick through layers of constellations. It functions basically as a virtual galactic viewfinder by leveraging the device’s internal compass and accelerometer. Point the tablet up and see the stellar chart any time of the day, point down and peek right through Earth and glimpse what people on the opposite side of the globe are seeing.

-----                    

"It is a digital telescope,” said the Purest Joy. “Wherever you point the tablet at, the screen displays the corresponding star field.”

“Nifty,” I said, “But just what is this thing good for?”

“Open your mind, my child,” the master enthused. “Take the tablet and this package, meditate on them.

The Enlightened One handed me a moldy tome, smiled, and retired to the inner chamber. “Power to the people,” he bellowed inside the holy room.

I opened the book and muttered under my breath, “Linda Goodman’s Love Signs.”

-----

Visiting a few New Age stragglers in my neighborhood, I found out that Google’s Sky Map could be an empowering tool. The program allows users to construct portents of their own. 

According to a horoscope columnist, one has to simply click the widget, note the present locations of heavenly bodies and superimpose the findings with the astrological charts found all over the Internet. 

I accessed the application and was delighted to see the magnificence of the heavens laid out upon my hands. I searched for my zodiac sign and found several planets hovering near my constellation.  I started constructing my fate based on the notes given me.

According to my source, the celestial bodies are the sole dynamic components in astrology. They can liven up the zodiac signs by generating activity. This is because most astrologers believe that the planets are mirrors of basic organizing principles in the universe and that they reflect the ebb and flow of basic human impulses.  Others say that, similar with other corporeal objects, these massive cosmic matters exert their influence directly through gravitational or other Newtonian physical force.

Planet	Characteristic/areas	Duration
Sun	basic drive, self-identity, ego	1 year
Moon	emotions, longing, memory, maternal instincts	1 month
Mercury	curiosity, communication, transportation, education	1 year
Venus	affection, relationship skills, social values	1 year
Mars	aggression	2 years
Jupiter	luck, philosophy	12 years
Saturn	duty, responsibility, organizational skills	29 years
Uranus	contemplation, rebellion, individuality	84 years
Neptune	fantasy, dreams, visions	164 years
Pluto	catharsis, destiny, power	248 years

The table above shows what forces the planets bring and how long their influences last.  

Next is to match the zodiac and the planetary positions to the astrological houses. Finding the sequence of the houses, I was told, is easy. The next table lists them and the areas in your life that destiny is going to meddle with. Also, there are various websites that will do the calculations for free. Once they are set in order, the interpretation would be easy as ABC. One can go analog, loony or malicious—the stars wouldn't mind.

House	Areas
First (birth sign)	identity, self-projection, physical characteristics, temperament
Second	money, material assets, and attitude towards emotional/financial security
Third	communication, transportation; siblings, cousins and neighbors
Fourth	home, hearth, family, beginnings and endings
Fifth	creative self-expression, pleasures, risks, children, flings
Sixth	health, well-being, pets, daily routine
Seventh	love, marriage, business partnership, networking, alliances
Eighth	rebirth and regeneration, sex, insurance, taxes, death
Ninth	long-distance travel, higher education, new endeavors
Tenth	ambition, career, reputation and status
Eleventh	hopes, wishes, dreams
Twelfth	the psyche and spirituality, secrets, blind spots

One more thing, since the formulation of the astrological system is Earth-centric, some planets will seem to travel backward in the sky. This movement is called retrograde and its effect is a feeble suppression of spontaneous energies.

-----

“A what?” Brother Juan scratched his beard.

“A mercury retrograde is due in the next few days.”

“So?”

“It means don’t buy that new iPad?

“No. I mean, what’s the futility of your research?”

“To please the Purest Joy,” I whispered. “I ain’t even sure it’s accurate.”

“Oh brother, you’re way off again,” he said. “So what’s your reading today?”

“Nada, I still haven’t factored in the 13th sign.”

“Which one?”

“Ophuckus.”

Some apocalypse

One of life’s poignant tragedies is the dissolution of false memory, especially the kind that has innocuously lasted a lifetime.  

A few friends—not chronic confabulists like me—have been carrying exquisite and delightful fibs that sprouted from odd childhood experiences. Unlike those that evolved from traumatic events, my pals’ impaired recollections stemmed from juvenile adventures and raw imaginings. Theirs were neither urban or folkloric legends, nor fantastical errors due to gross deficiencies in fact-checking. They were not planted or indoctrinated during an era of misinformation, which was enabled by a military government and an escapist art scene.

----------------------------

“One way or another, all cities will go under water and sand,” said Tio Jee as he handed me another cerveza negra.

“The remote please.  I’ve lost count of how many times the words tragic and tsunami were mentioned.”

“No, you gotta watch this. How can you tell the complete story to your kid someday? “

“Their robonanny will do that or they can watch it in their e-textbooks.”

“Some wiseass must have said the same thing when the Cagsawa chapel was being buried by Mayon’s lava.”

“It was a church, it wasn’t buried. Please change the channel”

-----------------------------

We all indulge and coddle simulated reminiscences of events to a certain degree. Research tells us that our memories are fluid and changing over time. Recollection is usually prejudiced to circumstances of the past episode and the present moment. Further discussion with another person often leads to some distortion. Thus, bits are surely altered when filed back into the recesses of the brain. 

------------------------------

“Nope, not switching channel. Now, what do you mean not buried?

“The main church was flat-out destroyed,”  I answered.

“Hah, you are most definitely wrong.  Ask your Tio Ver, we went there when we were kids and I swear that that ground where the campanilla stands now is as hollow as--”

“No church. Change the channel.”

“We’ve seen passages going down. Go there, drop a sizable rock to the ground and listen to the echoes. I hope you hear the ghoulish voices of the whole unfortunate town.”

“No, half a town only. Change the channel.”

------------------------------

Many memory-challenged acquaintances of mine recall experiences that are utterly detached from their actual lives. Their tales are impressive that I always feel obliged to indulge in them and be glamoured.

Most of them are quite thankful to have their errors pointed out. A few incorrigible ones, however, undergo a mini-crisis and would come back with skewed poise.

------------------------------

“Oh my, why Japan? Why not China?”

“Sheesh, why not us… oh never mind.”

“Just look at that debris coming inland!”

“Alright… To have a belfry atop a baroque church like that required a technology unavailable in the colony then. Similar to that of Paoay and other baroque churches of the time, the bell tower was erected adjacent to the main church, not on top.  Around  the time of the eruption, new towns have been established nearby and many residents would have already relocated as Cagsawa suffered constantly from heavy water flows.”

I emptied my bottle and opened another one.

“Discovery or National Geographic?” said Tio Jee as he pointed the remote control to the TV.

“America's Next Top Model.”

The last bite

The last mouthful of a good meal is akin to a self-indulgent envoi of an epicure’s gustatory ballade.  Setting it up is similar to reining musical chords into a crescendo and closing them out a piacere. It is, pardon me, the last pop before the breakup.


Crucial in every repast, this culmination is a personal experience that is distinct from the satisfaction derived from the whole served fare. The act can actually intensify the overall quality of the food, while a non-occurrence could dampen the rest of one’s day.

The process, nonetheless, is merely an attempt to imprint residual flavors to the taste buds and the mind. Hit or miss, it remains essential and has frivolously become procedural.

 ------------------------------

“All these because of a tentacle of a grilled calamaro?”

“Mantle, not tentacle,”

“A mantecle?”

“Oh c’mon! You took the last slice and it’s part of my last bite.”

 Beat.

“Oh my gosh! Are you mad?”

------------------------------

The last bite can be typically divided into four phases: the reveal, the jamboree, the drum roll, and the pledge or the deed itself. (The first step was probably called a reveille but my source insists it is not.)

The reveal begins during the windup of the meal or when the plate is half-empty. At this stage, the remaining contents are taken into account to approximate the size of the last spoonful and the balance of the possible combination of flavors. For instance, there should be just the right amount of sauce to cover the last slice of meat, or enough steamed rice or bread to absorb the extra zing of a complementing dish.

-----------------------------

“Could be half-full?”

“That glass conjecture doesn’t apply now.”

“Why not?”

“One, this is a not a case of perception.”

“It is! It may not be about determining optimism …”

“Two, when I reach three you won’t hear the rest of it”

“or pessimism. But in all intents and purposes……”

“Two and a half--”

------------------------------

The jamboree and the drum roll follow after the survey of what will be ultimately consumed is completed.

All the pieces are readied for one dig during the jamboree. The food is carefully set on the side of the plate and is loaded onto the spoon.

The drum roll is when a moment is taken to compose the self to relish the experience.  

-----

“Too trivial. You’re crazy.”

“Everyone does this.”

“On every meal?”

"Some make the sign of the cross 'fore eating without actually imagining the crucifixion."

------------------------------

The dominant school of thought claims that the last bite should always be a good honest mouthful. Others contend it is one teaspoonful more.

------------------------------

“I wish I could take a picture of you now. That look on your face is priceless”

“It’s not funny. I’ve programmed my mind to that last bite!”

“Hahaha, oh you’re so easy. “

“Not funny.”

Beat.

“Here it is, pet. It’s still here on my plate.”

Another beat.

“Nah, you can have it.”

“Hmm, take it pet, you know I won't ruin it for you."

"Ok, thanks."

"I’ve just emptied your soda glass anyway.”

------------------------------

Finally, the pledge.