Diaspora

o Diaspora |dī aspərə| (from Greek Ōɩαơпорá, "scattering, dispersion”

o Diaspora is the movement or migration of a group of people, such as those sharing a national and/or ethnic
identity, away from an established or ancestral homeland.

"International migration of skilled persons has assumed increased importance in recent years reflecting the
impact of globalization and revival of growth in the world economy."

The Philippines is estimated to have a population of 94 million. A surprising phenomenon, called the Philippine
Diaspora, shows that the population is declining significantly with each year of growth. The major concern, however, is
that the increasing trend of migrant workers signifies a large-scale human capital flight, also known as a Brain Drain,
which would greatly affect the progress and development of the Philippines. What is to become of the country when all
the brightest individuals leave?

Approximately twelve percent of the total population of the Philippines live overseas. Over the past years, the
figures have been rising. Every hour, around 950 migrant workers leave the Philippines according to a statistic by the
Philippine Commission on Population. They primarily migrate in search of better job opportunities and better life
conditions. Often leaving behind their families and relatives in the Philippines, in the hopes of sending back remittances
to better their economic and social status and one day finding a way to help them migrate abroad too.

Many overseas Filipino workers, commonly denoted as OFWs, have assimilated into their respective countries.
They’ve successfully improved not only their quality of life but also that of their family back home. However, not all are
so lucky. Some overseas Filipino workers, especially women, are underemployed, mistreated and exploited by their
foreign employers.

The diaspora, particularly the migration of workers and labor, is not unique to the Philippines. It is a trend
among residents of a developing country to leave for better prospects in a more developed country. It is a result of
modern globalization.

Patricia Evangelista
o She was born in Manila and graduated CUM LAUDE from the University of the Philippines-Diliman with a
Bachelor of Arts degree in Speech Communications.
o Patricia is a journalist who has worked across a range of platforms including television production, documentary
film and multi-platform collaborative projects focused on human rights, conflict, disaster, development and
public interest issues. She is a videographer, editor and producer.

At 18, she became the first Filipino to win the London-based annual International Public Speaking
Championships. At 19, she began writing for the Philippine Daily Inquirer's opinion section. Her column ran for eight
years. She has written for Rogue and UNO, and was writer-at-large for Esquire Philippines Magazine.

WHEN I was little, I wanted what many Filipino children all over She wants to
the country wanted. I wanted to be blonde, blue-eyed and white. become a foreigner
I thought if I just wish hard enough and was good enough, I'd wake
up on Christmas morning with SNOWY outside my window and
freckles across nose my nose. Other country
 Ruled by other countries

More than four centuries under western domination can do that

Better Life to you. I have 16 cousins. In a couple of years, there will just be Migration
five of us left in the Philippines, the rest will have gone abroad in
search of "greener pastures." It's not an anomaly; it's a trend; the
Migration Filipino diaspora. Today, about eight million Filipinos are scattered
around the world.

Disagree

There are those who disapprove of Filipinos who choose to leave.

I used to. Maybe this is a natural reaction of someone who was
Abandonment left behind, smiling for family pictures that get emptier with each
succeeding year. Desertion, I called it. My country is a land that
has perpetually fought for the freedom to be itself. Our heroes
offered their lives in the struggle against the Spanish, the
Japanese, the Americans. To pack up and deny that identity is
Colonization Love
tantamount to spitting on that sacrifice.

Change of Perspective

Or is it? I don't think so. Not anymore.

True, there is no denying this phenomenon, aided by the fact that Advancement of
what was once the other side of the world is now a 12-hour technology
plane ride away. But this is a borderless world, where no
Extension of individual can claim to be purely from where he is now. My
identity mother is of Chinese descent, my father is a quarter Spanish, and
I call myself a pure Filipino – a hybrid of sorts resulting from a Mixture of
combination of cultures. different Culture

Each square mile anywhere in the world is made up of people of Group of different
different ethnicities, with national identities and individual human beings
personalities. Because of this, each square mile is already a
miniature microcosm of the world. In as much as this blessed spot that is
England is the world, so is my neighborhood back home.

Something bad might happen

Seen this way, the Filipino Diaspora, or any sort of dispersal of Spreading or
populations, is not as ominous as so many claims. It must be increasing
Ruled by one
understood. I come from a Third World country, one that is still
person
trying mightily to get back on its feet after many years of
dictatorship. But we shall make it, given more time. Especially
A lot of now, when we have thousands of eager young minds who
professionals = graduate from college every year. They have skills. They need
limited job offers jobs. We cannot absorb them all.
 A borderless world presents a bigger opportunity, yet one that is
not so much abandonment but an extension of identity. Even as
we take, we give back. We are the 40,000 skilled nurses who
support the United Kingdom's National Health Service. We are the
quarter-of-a-million seafarers manning most of the world's
commercial ships. We are your software engineers in Ireland,
Proud your construction workers in the Middle East, your doctors and
caregivers in North America, and, your musical artists in London's
West End.

Nationalism isn't bound by time or place. People from other Wherever you
nations migrate to create new nations, yet still remain essentially are, you need to
who they are. British society is itself an example of a multi-cultural be proud
nation, a melting pot of races, religions, arts and cultures. We are,
indeed, in a borderless world!
A small but
beautiful and Leaving sometimes isn't a matter of choice. It's coming back that
fruitful Land, is. The Hobbits of the shire travelled all over Middle-Earth, but
beloved by its they chose to come home, richer in every sense of the word. We
inhabitants. call people like these balikbayans or the "returnees" - those who
followed their dream, yet choose to return and share their mature
talents and good fortune.

In a few years, I may take advantage of whatever opportunities

that come my way. But I will come home. A borderless world
doesn't preclude the idea of a home. I'm a Filipino, and I'll always
be one. It isn't about geography; it isn't about boundaries. It's
about giving back to the country that shaped me. And that's going
to be more important to me than seeing snow outside my window
on a bright Christmas morning. Mabuhay and thank you.

Speech Analysis

There are many reasons why people, especially Filipinos, migrate to other countries. One of them is poverty.
Most Filipinos think that if they go to other countries, they will have a happy and comfortable life. Many Filipinos are
working abroad instead of working in the Philippines, their own country. There are a lot of Overseas Filipino Workers
(OFWS) especially in the Middle East. There are also others serving as domestic helpers, caregivers, nurses, etc. The main
cause for this is probably because the salary offered in other countries is higher compared to that in the Philippines.

In spite of these, there are also Filipinos who became successful in other countries that are still here in the
Philippines. Some may have been famous in the field of science and sports. Others may have been popular singers and
actors or actresses. It is important to learn how to appreciate and be contented of oneself. Learn to love and be used of
the country's traditions and beliefs. Be proud to be a Filipino, and be a true Filipino at heart.

A borderless world presents a bigger opportunity, yet one that is not so much abandonment but an extension of
identity. Even as we take, we give back. Nationalism isn't bound by time or place. People from other nations migrate to
create new nations, yet still remain essentially who they are. British society is itself an example of a multicultural nation,
a melting pot of races, religions, arts and cultures. We are, indeed, in a borderless world!

“Life will lead you to different destinations but make sure to come back to the place where you really belong.”
Life and Background of the Author

A novelist, short story writer, poet, and activist. Santos's early writers were in the English language he learned at
school, Tondo (the language of his mother's songs at home), and Tagalog (the native language of the Philippines). In
1932, he earned a B.A. from the University of Philippines. Under the Philippine Pensionado program (a continuation of
the U.S. one begun in 1903), Santos came to the University of Illinois for a master's degree in English. Later he studied at
Harvard, Columbia, and, as a Rockefeller Foundation fellow, at the University of Iowa.

His first two novels, Villa Magdalena and The Volcano, were published in the Philippines in 1965. Santos
became an American citizen in 1976. One year later, the Marcos regime banned his novel about government corruption,
The Praying Man, and he and his wife remained in San Francisco. Scent of Apples (1980), his only book to be published
in the United States, won the American Book Award from the Before Columbus Foundation. He wrote more than a
dozen books about exiles in both of his adopted countries, including the short story collections including You Lovely
People (1955) and Brother, My Brother (1960).

The Day the Dancers Came

Bienvenido Santos

As soon as Fil woke up, he noticed a whiteness outside, quite unusual for the November mornings they had been
having. That fall, Chicago was sandman’s town, sleepy valley, drowsy gray, slumberous mistiness from sunup till noon
when the clouds drifted away in cauliflower clusters and suddenly it was evening. The lights shone on the avenues like
soiled lamps centuries old and the skyscrapers became monsters with a thousand sore eyes. Now there was a brightness
in the air land Fil knew what it was and he shouted, “Snow! It’s snowing!”
Tony, who slept in the adjoining room, was awakened.
“What’s that?” he asked.
“It’s snowing,” Fil said, smiling to himself as if he had ordered this and was satisfied with the prompt delivery. “Oh,
they’ll love this, they’ll love this.”
“Who’ll love that?” Tony asked, his voice raised in annoyance.
“The dancers, of course,” Fil answered. “They’re arriving today. Maybe they’ve already arrived. They’ll walk in the
snow and love it. Their first snow, I’m sure.”
“How do you know it wasn’t snowing in New York while they were there?” Tony asked.
“Snow in New York in early November?” Fil said. “Are you crazy?”
“Who’s crazy?” Tony replied. “Ever since you heard of those dancers from the Philippines, you’ve been acting nuts.
Loco. As if they’re coming here just for you.
Tony chuckled. Hearing him, Fil blushed, realizing that he had, indeed, been acting too eager, but Tony had said it.
It felt that way–as if the dancers were coming here only for him.
Filemon Acayan, Filipino, was fifty, a U.S., citizen. He was a corporal in the U.S. Army, training at San Luis Obispo,
on the day he was discharged honorably, in 1945. A few months later, he got his citizenship papers. Thousands of them,
smart and small in their uniforms, stood at attention in drill formation, in the scalding sun, and pledged allegiance to the
flat and the republic for which it stands. Soon after he got back to work. To a new citizen, work meant many places and
many ways: factories and hotels, waiter and cook. A timeless drifting: once he tended a rose garden and took care of a
hundred-year-old veteran of a border war. As a menial in a hospital in Cook Country, all day he handled filth and gore.
He came home smelling of surgical soap and disinfectant. In the hospital, he took charge of row of bottles on a shelf,
each bottle containing a stage of the human embryo in preservatives, from the lizard-like fetus of a few days, through
the newly born infant, with its position unchanged, cold and cowering and afraid. He had nightmares through the years
of himself inside a bottle. l That was long ago. Now he had a more pleasant job as special policemen in the post office.
 He was a few years younger than Tony-Antonio Bataller, a retired pullman porter but he looked older in spite of
the fact that Tony had been bedridden most of the time for the last two years, suffering from a kind of wasting disease
that had frustrated doctors. All over Tony’s body, a gradual peeling was taking place. l at first, he thought it was merely
tiniaflava, a skin disease common among adolescent in the Philippines. It had started around the neck and had spread to
his extremities. His face looked as if it was healing from sever burns. Nevertheless, it was a young face much younger
than Fil’s, which had never looked young.
“I’m becoming a white man,” Tony had said once, chuckling softly.
It was the same chuckle Fil seemed to have heard now, only this time it sounded derisive, insulting.
Fil said, “I know who’s nuts. It’s the sick guy with the sick thoughts. You don’t care for nothing but your pain, your
imaginary pain.”
“You’re the imagining fellow. I got the real thing,” Tony shouted from the room. He believed he had something
worse than the whiteness spreading on his skin. There was a pain in his insides, like dull scissors scraping his intestines.
Angrily he added, “What for I got retired?”
“You’re old, man, old, that’s what, and sick, yes, but not cancer,” Fil said turning towards the snow-filled sky. He
pressed his faced against the glass window. There’s about an inch now on the ground, he thought, maybe more.
Tony came out of his room looking as if he had not slept all night. “I know what I got,” he said, as if it were an
honor and a privilege to die of cancer and Fill was trying to deprive him of it. “Never a pain like this. One day, I’m just
gonna die.”
“Naturally. Who says you won’t?” Fil argued, thinking how wonderful it would be if he could join the company of
dancers from the Philippines, show them around walk with them in the snow, watch their eyes as they stared about
them, answer their questions, tell them everything they wanted to know about the changing seasons in this strange
land. They would pick up fistfuls of snow, crunch it in their fingers or shove it into their mouths. He had done just that
the first time, long, long ago, and it had reminded him of the grated ice the Chinese sold near the town plaza where he
had played tatching with an older brother who later drowned in a squall. How his mother had grieved over that death,
she who has not cried too much when his father died, a broken man. Now they were all gone, quick death after a storm,
or lingeringly, in a season of drought, all, all of them he had loved.
He continued, “All of us will die. One day. A medium bomb marked Chicago and this whole dump is tapus, finished.
Who’ll escape then?”
“Maybe your dancers will,” Fil answered, now watching the snow himself.
“Of course, they will,” Fil retorted, his voice sounding like a big assurance that all the dancers would be safe in his
care. “The bombs won’t be falling on this night. And when the dancers are back in the Philippines…”
He paused, as if he was no longer sure of what he was going to say. “But maybe, even in the Philippines the bombs
gonna fall, no?” he said, gazing sadly at the falling snow.
“What’s that to you?” Tony replied. “You got no more folks over ‘der right? I know it’s nothing to me. I’ll be dead
before that.”
“Let’s talk about something nice,” Fil said, the sadness spreading on his face as he tried to smile. “Tell me, how will
I talk, how am I gonna introduce myself?”
He would go ahead with his plans, introduce himself to the dancers and volunteer to take them sight-seeing. His
car was clean and ready for his guests. He had soaped the ashtrays, dusted off the floor boards and thrown away the old
mats, replacing them with new plastic throw rugs. He had got himself soaking wet while spraying the car, humming, as
he worked, faintly-remembered tunes from the old country.
Fill shook his head as he waited for Tony to say something. “Gosh, I wish I had your looks, even with those white
spots, then I could face everyone of them,” he said, “but this mug.”
“That’s the important thing, you mug. It’s your calling card. It says, Filipino. Countrymen,” Tony said.
 “You’re not fooling me, friend,” Fil said. “This mug says, Ugly Filipino. It says, old-timer, muchacho. It says Pinoy,
bejo.”
For Fil, time was the villain. In the beginning, the words he often heard were: too young, too young; but all of a
sudden, too young became too old, too late. What happened in between, a mist covering all things. You don’t have to
look at your face in a mirror to know that you are old, suddenly old, grown useless for a lot of things land too late for all
the dreams you had wrapped up well against a day of need.
“It also says sucker,” Fil answered, “but who wants a palace when they can have the most delicious adobo here
ands the best stuffed chicken… yum…yum…”
Tony was angry, “Yum, yum, you’re nuts,” he said, “plain and simple loco. What for you want to spend? You’ve
been living on loose change all your life and now on dancing kids who don’t know you and won’t even send you a card
afterwards.”
“Never mind the cards,” Fil answered. “Who wants cards? But don’t you see, they’ll be happy; and then, you know
what? I’m going to keep their voices, their words and their singing and their laughter in my magic sound mirror.”
He had a portable tape recorder and a stack of recordings, patiently labeled, songs and speeches. The songs were
in English, but most of the speeches were in the dialect, debates between him and Tony. It was evident Tony was the
better speaker of the two in English, but in the dialect, Fil showed greater mastery. His style, however, was florid,
sentimental, poetic.
Without telling Tony, he had experimented on recording sounds, like the way a bed creaked, doors opening and
closing, rain or sleet tapping on the window panes, footsteps through the corridor. He was beginning to think that they
did. He was learning to identify each of the sounds with a particular mood or fact. Sometimes, like today, he wished that
there was a way of keeping a record of silence because it was to him the richest sound, like snow falling. He wondered
as he watched the snow blowing in the wind, what took care of that moment if memory didn’t. Like time, memory was
often a villain, a betrayer.
“Fall, snow, fall,” he murmured and, turning to Tony, said, “As soon as they accept my invitation, I’ll call you up.
No, you don’t have to do anything, but I’d want to be here to meet them.”
“I’m going out myself,” Tony said. “And I don’t know what time I’ll be back.” Then he added. “You’re not working
today. Are you on leave?”
“For two days. While the dancers are here.” Fil said.
“It still don’t make sense to me,” Tony said. “But good luck, any way.”
“Aren’t you going to see them tonight? Our reserved seats are right out in front, you know.”
“I know. But I’m not sure I can come.”
“What? You’re not sure?”
Fil could not believe it. Tony was indifferent. Something must be wrong with him. He looked at him closely, saying
nothing.
“I want to, but I’m sick Fil. I tell you, I’m not feeling so good. My doctor will know today. He’ll tell me.” Tony said.
“What will he tell you?”
“How do I know?”
“I mean, what’s he trying to find out?”
“If it’s cancer,” Tony said. l Without saying another word, he went straight back to is room.
Fil remembered those times, at night, when Tony kept him awake with his moaning. When he called out to him,
asking, “Tony, what’s the matter?” his sighs ceased for a while, but afterwards, Tony screamed, deadening his cries with
a pillow against his mouth. When Fill rushed to his side, Tony dove him about the previous night, he would reply, “I was
dying,” but it sounded more like disgust overt a nameless annoyance.
Fil has misgivings, too, about the whiteness spreading on Tony’s skin. He had heard of leprosy. Every time he
thought of that dreaded disease, he felt tears in his eyes. In all the years he had been in America, he had not has a friend
until he meet Tony whom he liked immediately and, in a way, worshipped, for all the things the man had which Fil knew
he himself lacked.
They had shared a lot together. They made merry on Christmas, sometimes got drunk and became loud. Fil recited
poems in the dialect and praised himself. Tony fell to giggling and cursed all the railroad companies of America. But last
Christmas, they hadn’t gotten drunk. They hadn’t even talked to each other on Christmas day. Soon, it would be
Christmas again.
The snow was still falling.
“Well, I’ll be seeing you,” Fil said, getting ready to leave. “Try to be home on time. I shall invites the dancers for
luncheon or dinner maybe, tomorrow. But tonight, let’s go to the theater together, ha?”
“I’ll try,” Tony answered. He didn’t need boots. He loved to walk in the snow.
The air outside felt good. Fil lifted his face to the sky and closed his eyes as the snow and a wet wind drench his
face. He stood that way for some time, crying, more, more to himself, drunk with snow and coolness. His car was parked
a block away. As he walked towards it, he plowed into the snow with one foot and studied the scar he made, a hideous
shape among perfect footmarks. He felt strong as his lungs filled with the cold air, as if just now it did not matter too
much that he was the way he looked and his English way the way it was. But perhaps, he could talk to the dancers in his
dialect. Why not?
A heavy frosting of snow covered his car and as he wiped it off with his bare hands, he felt light and young, like a
child at play, and once again, he raised his face to the sky and licked the flakes, cold and tasteless on his tongue.
When Fil arrived at the Hamilton, it seemed to him the Philippine dancers had taken over the hotel. They were all over
the lobby on the mezzanine, talking in groups animatedly, their teeth sparkling as they laughed, their eyes disappearing
in mere slits of light. Some of the girls wore their black hair long. For a moment, the sight seemed too much for him who
had but all forgotten how beautiful Philippine girls were. He wanted to look away, but their loveliness held him. He must
do something, close his eyes perhaps. As he did so, their laughter came to him like a breeze murmurous with sounds
native to his land.
Later, he tried to relax, to appear inconspicuous. True, they were all very young, but there were a few elderly men
and women who must have been their chaperons or well-wishers like him. He would smile at everyone who happened
to look his way. Most of them smiled back, or rather, seemed to smile, but it was quick, without recognition, and might
not have been for him but for someone else near or behind him.
His lips formed the words he was trying to phrase in his mind: Ilocano ka? Bicol? Ano na, paisano? Comusta? Or
should he introduce himself—How? For what he wanted to say, the words didn’t come too easily, they were unfamiliar,
they stumbled and broke on his lips into a jumble of incoherence.
Suddenly, he felt as if he was in the center of a group where he was not welcome. All the things he had been trying
to hide now showed: the age in his face, his horny hands. He knew it the instant he wanted to shake hands with the first
boy who had drawn close to him, smiling and friendly. Fil put his hands in his pocket.
Now he wished Tony had been with him. Tony would know what to do. He would harm these young people with
his smile and his learned words. Fil wanted to leave, but he seemed caught up in the tangle of moving bodies that
merged and broke in a fluid strangle hold. Everybody was talking, mostly in English. Once in a while he heard
exclamations in the dialect right out of the past, conjuring up playtime, long shadows of evening on the plaza, barrio
fiestas, misa de gallo.
Time was passing and he had yet to talk to someone. Suppose he stood on a chair and addressed them in the
manner of his flamboyant speeches recorded in his magic sound mirror?
 “Beloved countrymen, lovely children of the Pearl of the Orient Seas, listen to me. I’m Fil Acayan. I’ve come to
volunteer my services. I’m yours to command. Your servant. Tell me where you wish to go, what you want to see in
Chicago. I know every foot of the lakeshore drive, all the gardens and the parks, the museums, the huge department
stores, the planetarium. Let me be your guide. That’s what I’m offering you, a free tour of Chicago, and finally, dinner at
my apartment on West Sheridan Road–pork adobo and chicken relleno, name your dish. How about it, paisanos?”
No. That would be a foolish thing to do. They would laugh at him. He felt a dryness in his throat. He was sweating.
As he wiped his face with a handkerchief, he bumped against a slim, short girl who quite gracefully, stepped aside, and
for a moment he thought he would swoon in the perfume that enveloped him. It was fragrance, essence of camia, of
ilang-ilang, and dama de noche.
Two boys with sleek, pomaded hair were sitting near an empty chair. He sat down and said in the dialect, “May I
invite you to my apartment?” The boys stood up, saying, “Excuse us, please,” and walked away. He mopped his brow,
but instead of getting discouraged, he grew bolder as though he hand moved one step beyond shame. Approaching
another group, he repeated his invitation, and a girl with a mole on her upper lip, said, “Thank you, but we have no
time.” As he turned towards another group, he felt their eyes on his back. Another boy drifted towards him, but as soon
as he began to speak, the boy said, “Pardon, please,” and moved away.
They were always moving away. As if by common consent, they had decided to avoid him, ignore his presence.
Perhaps it was not their fault. They must have been instructed to do so. Or was it his looks that kept them away? The
though was a sharpness inside him.
After a while, as he wandered about the mezzanine, among the dancers, but alone, he noticed that they had
begun to leave. Some had crowded noisily into the two elevators. He followed the others going down the stairs. Through
the glass doors, he saw them getting into a bus parked beside the subway entrance on Dearborn.
The snow had stopped falling; it was melting fast in the sun and turning into slush.
As he moved about aimlessly, he felt someone touch him on the sleeve. It was one of the dancers, a mere boy, tall
and thin, who was saying, “Excuse, please.” Fil realized he was in the way between another boy with a camera and a
group posing in front of the hotel.
“Sorry,” Fill said, jumping away awkwardly.
The crowd burst out laughing.
Then everything became a blur in his eyes, a moving picture out of focus, but gradually, the figure cleared, there
was mud on the pavement on which the dancers stood posing, and the sun throw shadows at their feet.
Let them have fun, he said to himself, they’re young and away from home. I have no business up their schedule,
forcing my company on them.
He watched the dancers till the last of them was on the bus. The voices came to him, above the traffic sounds.
They waved their hands and smiled towards him as the bus started. Fil raised his hand to wave back, but stopped
quickly, aborting the gesture. He turned to look behind him at whomever the dancers were waving their hands to. There
was no one there except his own reflection in the glass door, a double exposure of himself and a giant plant with its
thorny branches around him like arms in a loving embrace.
Even before he opened the door to their apartment, Fil knew that Tony had not yet arrived. There were no boots
outside on the landing. Somehow he felt relieved, for until then he did not know how he was going to explain his failure.
From the hotel, he had driven around, cruised by the lakeshore drive, hoping he could see the dancers
somewhere, in a park perhaps, taking pictures of the mist over the lake and the last gold on the trees now wet with
melted snow, or on some picnic grounds, near a bubbling fountain. Still taking pictures of themselves against a
background of Chicago’s gray and dirty skyscrapers. He slowed down every time he saw a crowd, but the dancers were
nowhere along his way. Perhaps they had gone to the theater to rehearse. He turned back before reaching Evanston.
He felt weak, not hungry. Just the same, he ate, warming up some left-over food. The rice was cold, but the soup
was hot and tasty. While he ate, he listened for footfalls.
 Afterwards, he lay down on the sofa and a weariness came over him, but he tried hard not to sleep. As he stared
at the ceiling, he felt like floating away, but he kept his eyes open, willing himself hard to remain awake. He wanted to
explain everything to Tony when he arrived. But soon his eyes closed against a weary will too tired and weak to fight
back sleep–and then there were voices. Tony was in the room, eager to tell his own bit of news.
“I’ve discovered a new way of keeping afloat,” he was saying.
“Who wants to keep afloat?” Fil asked.
“Just in case. In a shipwreck, for example,” Tony said.
“Never mind shipwrecks. I must tell you about the dancers,” Fil said.
“But this is important,” Tony insisted. “This way, you can keep floating indefinitely.”
“What for indefinitely?” Fil asked.
“Say in a ship… I mean, in an emergency, you’re stranded without help in the middle of the Pacific or the Atlantic,
you must keep floating till help comes…” Tony explained.
“More better,” Fil said, “find a way to reach shore before the sharks smells you. You discover that.”
“I will,” Tony said, without eagerness, as though certain that there was no such way, that, after all, his discovery
was worthless.
“Now you listen to me,” Fil said, sitting up abruptly. As he talked in the dialect, Tony listened with increasing
apathy.
“There they were,” Fil began, his tone taking on the orator’s pitch, “Who could have been my children if I had not
left home– or yours, Tony. They gazed around them with wonder, smiling at me, answering my questions, but
grudgingly, edging away as if to be near me were wrong, a violation in their rule book. But it could be that every time I
opened my mouth, I gave myself away. I talked in the dialect, Ilocano, Tagalog, Bicol, but no one listened. They avoided
me. They had been briefed too well: Do not talk to strangers. Ignore their invitations. Be extra careful in the big cities
like New York and Chicago, beware of the old-timers, the Pinoys. Most of them are bums. Keep away; from them. Be on
the safe side–stick together, entertain only those who have been introduced to you properly.
“I’m sure they had such instructions, safety measures, they must have called them. What then could I have done,
scream out my good intentions, prove my harmlessness and my love for them by beating my breast? Oh, but I loved
them. You see, I was like them once. I, too, was nimble with my feet, graceful with my hands; and I had the tongue of a
poet. Ask the village girls and the envious boys from the city–but first you have to find them. After these many years, it
won’t be easy. You’ll have to search every suffering pace in the village gloom for a hint of youth and beauty or go where
the grave-yards are and the tombs under the lime trees. One such face…oh, God, what am I saying…
“All I wanted was to talk to them, guide them around Chicago, spend money on them so that they would have
something special to remember about us here when they return to our country. They would tell their folks: We melt a
kind, old man, who took us to his apartment. It was not much of a place. It was old-like him. When we sat on the sofa in
the living room, the bottom sank heavily, the broken springs touching the floor. But what a cook that man was! And how
kind! We never thought that rice and adobo could be that delicious. And the chicken relleno! When someone asked
what the stuffing was–we had never tasted anything like it, he smiled saying, ‘From heaven’s supermarket’ touching his
head and pressing his heart like a clown as if heaven were there. He had his tape recorder which he called a magic sound
mirror, and he had all of us record our voices. Say anything in the dialect, sing, if you please, our kundiman, please, he
said, his eyes pleading, too. Oh, we had fun listening to the playback. When you’re gone, the old man said, I shall listen
to your voices with my eyes closed and you’ll be here again and I won’t ever be alone, no, not anymore, after this. We
wanted to cry, but he looked very funny, so we laughed and he laughed with us.
“But, Tony, they would not come. They thanked me, but they said they had no time. Others said nothing. They
looked through me. I didn’t exist. Or worse, I was unclean. Basura. Garbage. They were ashamed me. How could I be
Filipino?”
 The memory, distinctly recalled, was a rock on his breast. He grasped for breath.
“Now, let me teach you how to keep afloat,” Tony said, but is was not Tony’s voice.
Fil was alone and gasping for air. His eyes opened slowly till he began to breathe more easily. The sky outside was
gray. He looked at his watch–a quarter past five. The show would begin at eight. There was time. Perhaps Tony would be
home soon.
The apartment was warming up. The radiators sounded full of scampering rats. He had a recording of that in his
sound mirror.
Fil smiled. He had an idea. He would take the sound mirror to the theater, take his seat close to the stage, and
make tape recordings of the singing and the dances.
Now he was wide-awake and somehow pleased with himself. The more he thought of the idea, the better he felt.
If Tony showed up now… He sat up, listening. The radiators were quiet. There were no footfalls, no sound of a key
turning.
Late that night, back from the theater, Fill knew at once that Tony was back. The boots were outside the door. He, too,
must be tired, and should not be disturb.
He was careful not to make any noise. As he turned on the floor lamp, he thought that perhaps Tony was awake
and waiting for him. They would listen together to a playback of the dances and songs Tony had missed. Then he would
tell Tony what happened that day, repeating part of the dream.
From Tony’s bedroom came the regular breathing of a man sound asleep. To be sure, he looked into the room and
in the half-darkness, Tony’s head showed darkly, deep in a pillow, on its side, his knees bent, almost touching the
clasped hands under his chin, an oversized fetus in the last bottle. Fill shut the door between them and went over to the
portable. Now. He turned it on to low. At first nothing but static and odd sounds came through, but soon after there was
the patter of feet to the rhythm of a familiar melody.
All the beautiful boys and girls were in the room now, dancing and singing. A boy and a girl sat on the floor holding
two bamboo poles by their ends flat on floor, clapping them together, then apart, and pounding them on the boards,
while dancers swayed and balanced their lithe forms, dipping their bare brown legs in and out of the clapping bamboos,
the pace gradually increasing into a fury of wood on wood in a counterpoint of panic among the dancers and in a
harmonious flurry of toes and ankles escaping certain pain–crushed bones, and bruised flesh, and humiliation. Other
dances followed, accompanied by songs and live with the sounds of life and death in the old country; I go rot natives in
G-strings walking down a mountainside; peasants climbing up a hill on a rainy day; neighbors moving a house, their
sturdy legs showing under a moving roof; a distant gong sounding off a summons either to a feast for a wake. And
finally, prolonged ovation, thunderous, wave upon wave…
“Turn that thing off!” Tony’s voice was sharp above the echoes of the gongs and the applause settling into silence.
Fil switched off the dial and in the sudden stillness, the voices turned into faces, familiar and near, like gesture and
touch that stayed on even as the memory withdrew, bowing out, as it were, in a graceful exit, saying, thank you, thank
you, before a ghostly audience that clapped hands in silence and stomped their feet in a such emptiness. He wanted to
join the finale, such as it was, pretend that the curtain call included him, and attempt a shamefaced imitation of a
graceful adieu, but he was stiff and old, incapable of grace; but he said, thank you, thank you, his voice sincere and
contrite, grateful for the other voices and the sound of singing and the memory.
“Oh, my God…” the man in the other room cried, followed by a moan of such anguish that Fil fell on his knees,
covering the sound mirror with his hands to muffle the sounds that had started again, it seemed to him, even after he
had turned it off.
Then he remembered.
“Tony, what did the doctor say? What did he say?” he shouted and listened, holding his breath, no longer able to
tell at the moment who had truly waited all day for the final sentence.
 There was no answer. Meanwhile, under his hands, there was Tony saying? That was his voice, no? Fil wanted to
hear, he must know. He switched dials on and off, again and again, pressing buttons. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to
do. The spool were live, they kept turning. His arms went around the machine, his chest pressing down on the spools. In
the quick silence, Tony’s voice came clear.
“So they didn’t come after all?”
“Tony, what did the doctor say?” Fil asked, straining hard to hear.
“I knew they wouldn’t come. But that’s okay. The apartment is old anyhow. And it smells of death.”
“How you talk. In this country, there’s a cure for everything.”
“I guess we can’t complain. We had it good here all the time. Most of the time, anyway.”
“I wish, though, they had come. I could…”
“Yes, they could have. They didn’t have to see me, but I could have seen them. I have seen their pictures, but what
do they really look like?”
“Tony, they’re beautiful, all of them, but especially the girls. Their complexion, their grace, their eyes, they were
what we call talking eyes, they say, things to you. And the scent of them!”
There was a sigh from the room soft, hardly like a sigh. A louder, grating sound, almost under his hands that had
relaxed their hold, called his attention. The sound mirror had kept going, the tape was fast unraveling.
“Oh, no! he screamed, noticing that somehow, he had pushed the eraser.
Frantically, he tried to rewind and play back the sounds and the music, but there was nothing now but the full
creaking of the tape on the spool and meaningless sounds that somehow had not been erased, the thud of dancing feet,
a quick clapping of hands, alien voices and words: in this country… everything… all of them… talking eyes… and the
scent… a fading away into nothingness, till about the end when there was a screaming, senseless kind of finale detached
from the body of a song in the background, drums and sticks and the tolling of a bell.
“Tony! Tony!” Fil cried, looking towards the sick man’s room, “I’ve lost them all.”
Biting his lips, Fil turned towards the window, startled by the first light of the dawn. He hadn’t realized till then the
long night was over.

Summary of the Story

o Fil and Tony were both old Filipino men living in Chicago ever since World War II ended. Fil described himself as
an ugly old man and described Tony as a good-looking gentleman that looked younger than he really was.
o The story was basically about how a group of Philippine dancers were arriving in Chicago that day and Fil
thought that it would be an excellent idea if he took the dancers around the city, showed them the sights and
invite them back to his place for some adobo and chicken relleno. For the first part of the story, Fil constantly
talked about the dancers to his friend and roommate Tony. Fil and Tony have been friends pretty much ever
since they moved to the US and the entire time, Tony had been suffering from a disease that frustrated many
doctors in which caused gradual peeling all over his body.
o When Tony left for the doctor, Fil left a little later to meet the dancers at the hotel. When he got there and saw
all the dancers, he completely forgot what he wanted to say and lost all train of thought. So when he finally
managed to gather up all the confidence he had left to invite them to his house, they would just move away or
say, "No, thanks, we're too busy." Later that night, he ended up going to the show alone since Tony hadn't yet
returned from the doctor. Despite the disappointment he had earlier that day, Fil contemplated that if he would
just record the show on his tape recorder, he would have the sounds with him to help him remember the
dancers, the show and bring back past memories.
o When he got home, he noticed that Tony was back. Tony commented that the dancers weren't with him and
that he knew they never would've came home him in the first place. Fil then started to listen to his tape
recorder and his failure from earlier that day no longer mattered to him because his recording had brought him
a certain feeling and it just filled him up with different memories and emotions. While he listened, Tony was
yelling from his room telling him to shut his recorder off. When he asked Tony what the doctors had to say, Tony
wouldn't answer. Tony then asked what the dancers were like and Fil told him that they were really beautiful,
young and graceful. He heard Tony let out a sigh but as he looked down to the tape recorder he held in his
hands, he noticed that the spools were spinning and he finally realized that he had pressed erase. When he tried
to play it back, there was nothing except for a screaming part of the finale with drums and the tolling of the bell.
When he looked outside, it was already morning.
Types of Essays

Effectively writing different types of essays has become critical to academic success. Essay writing is a common
school assignment and a part of standardized test. Often on tests, choosing the correct type of essay to write in
response to a writing prompt is key to getting the question right. Clearly, students can't afford to remain confused about
types of essays.

There are over a dozen types of essays, so it's easy to get confused. However, rest assured, the number is
actually more manageable. Essentially there are four major types of essays, with the variations making up the
remainder.

What is an Essay?
o A short academic composition
o derived from a French word "essai" or "essayer," which mean "trail."
o A piece of non-fiction writing that talks or discusses a specific topic.

An essay is a focused piece of writing designed to inform or persuade. There are many different types of essays, but
they are often defined in four categories: argumentative, expository, narrative, and descriptive essays.

Argumentative and expository essays are focused on conveying information and making clear points, while
narrative and descriptive essays are about exercising creativity and writing in an interesting way. At university level,
argumentative essays are the most common type.

In high school and college, you will also often have to write textual analysis essays, which test your skills in close
reading and interpretation.

Argumentative Essay

In an argumentative essay, the writer is trying to convince the reader of something. He or she will demonstrate
the validity or falsity of a topic. The writer's position will be backed up with evidence, including statistics or the opinion
of experts. In these essays, the writer isn't merely offering an opinion, but making an argument for or against something,
and supporting that argument with data.

Argumentative essays test your ability to research and present your own position on a topic. This is the most
common type of essay at college level-most papers you write will involve
some kind of argumentation.

Argumentative essay example Paragraph

A common frustration for teachers is students' use of Wikipedia as a source in their writing. Its prevalence
among students is not exaggerated; a survey found that the vast majority of the students surveyed used Wikipedia
(Head & Eisenberg, 2010). An article in The Guardian stresses a common objection to its use: "a reliance on Wikipedia
can discourage students from engaging with genuine academic writing" (Coomer, 2013). Teachers are clearly not
mistaken in viewing Wikipedia usage as ubiquitous among their students: but the claim that it discourages engagement
with academic sources requires further investigation. This point is treated as self-evident by many teachers, but
Wikipedia itself explicitly encourages students to look into other sources. Its articles often provide references to
academic publications and include warning notes where citations are missing: the site's own guidelines for research
make clear that it should be used asa starting point. emphasizing that users should always "read the references and
check whether they really do support what the article says" ("Wikipedia: Researching with Wikipedia." 2020). Indeed, for
many students, Wikipedia is their first encounter with the concepts of citation and referencing. The use of Wikipedia
therefore has a positive side that merits deeper consideration than it often receives.

The essay is divided into an introduction, body, and conclusion:

o The introduction provides your topic and thesis statement
o The body presents your evidence and arguments
o The conclusion summarizes your argument and emphasizes its importance

Expository Essay

An expository essay provides a clear, focused explanation of a topic. It doesn't require an original argument, just
a balanced and well-organized view of the topic. Expository essays compare, explore, and discuss problems. While
there's a bit of a story telling element to them, their purpose is greater than that. It's always to explain some integral
concept to the reader. As such, they inform, describe, and explain.
 The introduction of an expository essay states your topic and provides some general background, the body
presents the details, and the conclusion summarizes the information presented.
When writing an expository essay, the text needs to:
o Be concise and easy to understand.
o Offer different views on a subject.
o Report on a situation or event.
o Explain something that may be difficult to understand.

A typical body paragraph from an expository essay about the invention of the printing press is shown below.
Study it to learn more.

Expository Essay example Paragraph

The invention of the printing press in 1440 changed this situation dramatically. Johannes Gutenberg, who had
worked as a goldsmith, used his knowledge of metals in the design of the press. He made his type from an alloy of lead,
tin, and antimony, whose durability allowed for the reliable production of high-quality books. This new technology
allowed texts to be reproduced and disseminated on a much larger scale than was previously possible. The Gutenberg
Bible appeared in the 14505, and a large number of printing presses sprang up across the continent in the following
decades. Gutenberg's invention rapidly transformed cultural production in Europe; among other things, it would lead to
the Protestant Reformation.

NARRATIVE ESSAY

Narration means you're telling a story from a certain viewpoint, and there is usually a reason for the telling. This
is usually a story about a personal experience you had, but it may also be an imaginative exploration of something you
have not experienced. All narrative essays have characters, setting, a climax, and most importantly, a plot.

A narrative essay isn't strictly divided into introduction, body, and conclusion, but it should still begin by setting
up the narrative and finish by expressing the point of the story-what you learned from your experience, or why it made
an impression on you.

When writing a narrative essay, remember to:

o Include sensory and emotional details, so the reader will experience the story, not just read about it.
o Allow the story to support the point you're making, and make reference to that point in the first sentence.
o Write in the first or third person.
 Study the example below, a short narrative essay responding to the prompt "Write about an experience where
you learned something about yourself," to explore its structure.

Narrative essay example

Since elementary school, I have always favored subjects like science and math over the humanities. My instinct
was always to think of these subjects as more solid and serious than classes like English. If there was no right answer, I
thought, why bother? But recently I had an experience that taught me my academic interests are more flexible than I
had thought: I took my first philosophy class.

Before I entered the classroom, I was skeptical. I waited outside with the other students and wondered what
exactly philosophy would involve-I really had no idea. I imagined something pretty abstract: long, stilted conversations
pondering the meaning of life. But what I got was something quite different.

A young man in jeans, Mr. Jones-"but you can call me Rob"-was far from the white-haired, buttoned-up old man
I had half-expected. And rather than pulling us into pedantic arguments about obscure philosophical points, Rob
engaged us on our level. To talk free will, we looked at our own choices. To talk ethics, we looked at dilemmas we had
faced ourselves. By the end of class, I'd discovered that questions with no right answer can turn out to be the most
interesting ones.

The experience has taught me to look at things a little more "philosophically"-and not just because it was a
philosophy class! I learned that if I let go of my preconceptions, I can actually get a lot out of subjects I was previously
dismissive of. The class taught me-in more ways than one-to look at things with an open mind.

DESCRIPTIVE ESSAY

Descriptive essays describe the traits and characteristics of people, objects, events, and feelings in intricate
detail. What's being described will be thoroughly examined. For example, if you were describing roses, you might want
to detail:

Their origin Their appearance Their color Their fragrance

When you write a descriptive essay, you want to involve the reader's senses and emotions. For example, you
could say, "I got sleepy." Or, you could write, "While I waited for Santa, my eyelids grew heavy, the lights on the tree
began to blur, and my head began to droop." The second excerpt provides vivid detail, allowing readers to feel like
they're there.
 A descriptive essay can be quite loosely structured, though it should usually begin by introducing the object of
your description and end by drawing an overall picture of it. The important thing is to use careful word choices and
figurative language to create an original description of your object. Study the example below, a response to the prompt
"Describe a place you love to spend time in," to learn more about descriptive essays.

Descriptive essay example

On Sunday afternoons I like to spend my time in the garden behind my house. The garden is narrow but long, a
corridor of green extending from the back of the house, and I sit on a lawn chair at the far end to read and relax. I am in
my small peaceful paradise: the shade of the tree, the feel of the grass on my feet, the gentle activity of the fish in the
pond beside me.

My cat crosses the garden nimbly and leaps onto the fence to survey it from above. From his perch he can watch
over his little kingdom and keep an eye on the neighbors. He does this until the barking of next door's dog scares him
from his post and he bolts for the cat flap to govern from the safety of the kitchen.

With that, I am left alone with the fish, whose whole world is the pond by my feet. The fish explore the pond
every day as if for the first time. prodding and inspecting every stone. I sometimes feel the same about sitting here in the
garden; I know the place better than anyone, but whenever I return I still feel compelled to pay attention to all its details
and novelties-a new bird perched in the tree. the growth of the grass, and the movement of the insects it shelters.

Sitting out in the garden, I feel serene. I feel at home. And yet I always feel there is more to discover. The bounds
of my garden may be small, but there is a whole world contained within it, and it is one I will never get tired of
inhabiting.

In these trying times, people feel stressed or even depressed because of the unending miseries we experience.
How are you right now? Do you still have good mental health conditions? How do you deal with everyday life especially
in this kind of time? I hope that you are still feeling great amidst the problems around you.

For today, we will be discussing mental health awareness. Globally, the most vulnerable population is those
aged 15-29. Mental health-related deaths are also the second leading cause of fatalities in this age group. These
numbers illustrate the need for more conversations and programs that will break the stigma around mental health. Most
times, Filipinos do not feel comfortable sharing their mental health challenges for fear of alienation or prejudice.

Raising Mental Awareness (Manila Standard and Cecilia Labon)

"Yung depression gawa-gawa lang ng mga tao yan. Gawa nila sa sarili nila," said comedian and TV personality
Joey De Leon on the noontime entertainment show, Eat Bulaga.

While De Leon at the time meant for it as a joke, netizens did not take it lightly.

After the controversial statement of the host towards depression, numerous netizens quickly reacted and
criticized the host through social media, which prompted De Leon too, later on, apologize for his insensitive remarks.

Perhaps, this portrays the insufficiency and incompleteness of some Filipinos' knowledge towards mental health,
mainly because of their minimal knowledge about mental health and the lack of importance they accord to the
condition.

Though it is undeniably true that social media somehow paved the way on opening this sensitive matter to the
public. Many Filipinos seemed to disregard the seriousness of the issue and tend to avoid discussing it in their
community.

Albeit there are several seminars and forums that are held by the government and private institutions, it is still
not enough to educate most of the population on deeply understanding depression.

There is a wide range of mental health problems like anxiety, schizophrenia, substance abuse, post-traumatic
stress disorder (PTSD), and depression which are commonly known to diagnose many Filipinos. This condition makes
them unproductive and inefficient towards work and their relationship with other people.

However, many people still lack how to properly cater these disorders.

According to latest numbers of the World Health Organization (WHO), over 300 million people are known to be
suffering from depression worldwide. While here in the Philippines, over six million Filipinos live with anxiety and
depressive disorders.

There are also 2,558 recorded suicides in the country in 2012, where most were males diagnosed with mental
health disorders. The increasing rates of people diagnosed with mental health conditions urged some local support
groups to make a move.

Here in the Philippines, the Department of Health (DOH) together with Natasha Goubourn Foundation and WHO
launched 'Hopeline’, a24/7 suicide depression hotline.

Although this campaign may seem to help many patients, it wasn't able to cater some of the callers' bespoke
needs. Given the fact that some of the mental health facilities recommended by the operator were not always
accessible.

In 2017, the Senate of the Philippines approved Philippine Mental Health Bill (Senate Bill No. 1345), which
efficiently makes mental health services such as psychosocial, neurologic and psychiatric services available for common
people in both urban and rural areas. It only awaits the approval from the House of Representatives and President
Duterte's signature.

But even with all these campaigns and advanced treatments, many Filipinos still lack the knowledge on how to
treat and understand this invisible disease.
 Rehabilitation and psychiatric therapies aren't cheap, resulting in some people to keep the disease to
themselves rather than seeking professional hep.

According to the University of Michigan's University health service, here are the 10 things that would improve
someone's mental health:

1. Value yourself: Treat yourself with kindness and respect, and avoid self-ariticism. Make time for your hobbies
and favorite projects, or broaden your horizons.
2. Take care of your body: Taking care of yourself physically can improve your mental health.
3. Surround yourself with good people: People with strong family or social connections are generally healthier than
those who lack a support network.
4. Give yourself: Volunteer your time and energy to help someone else. You'll feel good about doing something
tangible to help someone in need–and it's a great way to meet new people.
5. Learn how to deal with stress: Like it or not, stress is a part of life. Practice good coping skills: Try One-Minute
Stress Strategies, do Tai Chi, exercise, take a nature walk, play with your pet or try journal writing as a stress
reducer.
6. Quiet your mind: Try meditating, Mindfulness and/or prayer. Relaxation exercises and prayer can improve your
state of mind and outlook on life.
7. Set realistic goals: Decide what you want to achieve academically, professionally and personally, and write down
the steps you need to realize your goals.
8. Break up the monotony: Although our routines make us more efficient and enhance our feelings of security and
safety, a little change of pace can perk up a tedious schedule.
9. Avoid alcohol and other drugs: Keep alcohol use to a minimum and avoid other drugs. Sometimes people use
alcohol and other drugs to "self-medicate" but in reality, alcohol and other drugs only aggravate problems.
10. Get help when you need it: Seeking help is a sign of strength- not a weakness. And it is important to remember
that treatment is effective. People who get appropriate care can recover from mental illness and addiction and
lead full, rewarding lives.

Aside from therapies, rehabilitation and other medical treatment, a simple conversation and understanding
from the society towards people who have mental health issues could contribute greatly to break this stigma.

But still, spreading awareness is not enough. It is the time that we, more than anyone else, fight the living
demons within ourselves. We are the one responsible for keeping and tracking our mental stability healthy, and the
people around us will only serve as our support system during this battle.

Though the government must still exert much effort on feeding the society the information and the services they
need in order to win the fight against mental illnesses. This is our chance to help people with their emotional necessities
and make the public comfortable discussing the sensitive matter.

This clearly reveals how we must be open and aware of talking about these problems and why we should not
take it lightly. It is a serious problem faced by Filipinos and an issue that must be given much importance.

This is a fight not only for people who are diagnosed with such diseases but also to people who will help them
get through it.

What Exactly is a MENTAL ILLWESS?

Amental illness is a physical illness of the brain that causes disturbances in thinking, behavior, energy or emotion
that make it difficult to cope with the ordinary demands of life. Research is starting to uncover the complicated causes of
these diseases which can include genetics, brain chemistry, brain structure, experiencing trauma and/or having another
medical condition, like heart disease.

The two most common mental health conditions are:

 o Anxiety Disorders-More than 18% of adults each year struggle with some type of anxiety disorder, including
post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), panic disorder (panic attacks),
generalized anxiety disorder and specific phobias.
o Mood Disorders-Mood disorders, such as depression and bipolar depression, affect nearly 10% of adults each
year and are characterized by difficulties in regulating one's mood.

SIGNS OF DEPRESSION (Source: healthline.com)

1. HOPELESS OUTLOOK

Major depression is a mood disorder that affects the way you feel about life in general. Having a hopeless or
helpless outlook on your life is the most common symptom of depression.

Other feelings may be worthlessness, self-hate, or inappropriate guilt. Common, recurring thoughts of
depression may be vocalized as, "It's all my fault," or "What's the point?"

2. LOST OF INTEREST

Depression can take the pleasure or enjoyment out of the things you love. A loss of interest or withdrawal
from activities that you once looked forward to–sports, hobbies, or going out with friends–is yet another telltale sign
of major depression.

Another area where you may lose interest is sex. Symptoms of major depression include A decreased sex
drive and even impotence.

3. INCREASED FATIGUE AND SLEEP PROBLEMS

Part of the reason you might stop doing things you enjoy is because you feel very tired. Depression often
comes with a lack of energy and an overwhelming feeling of fatigue, which can be among the most debilitating
symptoms of depression. This could lead to excessive sleeping.

Depression is also linked with insomnia, as one might lead to the other and vice versa. They can also make
each other worse. The lack of quality, restful sleep can also lead to anxiety.

4. ANXIETY

While depression hasn't been shown to cause anxiety, the two conditions often occur together. Symptoms
of anxiety can include:
o nervousness, restlessness, or feeling tense
o feelings of danger, panic, or dread
o rapid heart rate
o rapid breathing
o increased or heavy sweating
o trembling or muscle twitching
o trouble focusing or thinking dearly about anything other than the thing you're worried about

5. IRRITABILITY OF MEW

Depression can affect the sexes differently. Research shows that men with depression may have symptoms
such as irritability, escapist or risky behavior, substance abuse, or misplaced anger.

Men are also less likely than women to recognize depression or seek treatment for it.
6. CHANGES IW APPETITE AND WEIGHT

Weight and appetite can fluctuate for people with depression. This experience may be different for each
person. Some people will have an increased appetite and gain weight, while others won't be hungry and will lose
weight.
One indication of whether dietary changes are related to depression is if they're intentional or not. If they're
not, it may mean that they're caused by depression.

7. UKCONTROLLABLE EMOTIONS

One minute it's an outburst of anger. The next you're crying uncontrollably. Nothing outside of you
prompted the change, but your emotions are up and down at a moment's notice. Depression can cause mood
swings

8. LOOKING AI DEATH

Depression is sometimes connected with suicide. In 2013, more than 42,000 people died from suicide in the
United States, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.

People who die by suicide usually show symptoms first. Often people will talk about it or make a first
attempt before succeeding in ending their life. If you think someone is at immediate risk of self-harm or hurting
another person:
o call 911 or your local emergency number.
o Stay with the person until help arrives.
o Remove any guns, knives, medications, or other things that may cause harm.
o Listen, but don't judge, argue, threaten, or yell.

What you can do to Help?

 Mental Health Awareness 2016Athough the general perception of mental illness has improved over the past
decades, studies show that stigma against mental illness is still powerful, largely due to media stereotypes and lack of
education, and that people tend to attach negative stigmas to mental health conditions at a far higher rate than to other
diseases and disabilities, such as cancer, diabetes or heart disease.

Stigma affects not only the number seeking treatment, but also the number of resources available for proper
treatment. Stigma and misinformation can feel like overwhelming obstacles for someone who is struggling with a mental
health condition. Here a few powerful things you can do to help:
o Showing individuals respect and acceptance removes a significant barrier to successfully coping with their
illness. Having people see you as an individual and not as your illness can make the biggest difference for
someone who is struggling with their mental health.
o Advocating within our circles of influence helps ensure these individuals have the same rights and opportunities
as other members of your church, school and community.
o Learning more about mental health allows us to provide helpful support to those affected in our families and
communities.

SPREADING AWARENESS ACROSS THE WATION

Until mental health education is a mandatory aspect of all schools, teachers and administrators can work to
promote awareness with their students. Key elements to shine a light on include the concept of self-care and
responsibility for one's own mental health and wellness, with an emphasis on the fact that mental health is an integral
part of health, and the concept of recovery from mental illness.

Teachers and students should be provided with ways to recognize signs of developing mental health problems,
and there should be opportunities around the awareness and management of mental health crises, including the risk of
suicide or self-harm. Further, instruction should address the relationship between mental health, substance abuse, and
other negative coping behaviors, as well as the negative impact of stigma and cultural attitudes toward mental illness.

Receiving help is the most important thing anyone can do for themselves. But unfortunately, the stigma keeps
people from getting help. Mental illness should not be something to be ashamed about or thought of differently. When
mental illness is treated equally to other illnesses, more people will have the courage to get help and better their Ives.

"Remember that you don't need to find an answer, or even to completely understand why they feel the way they do.
Listening to what they have to say will at least let them know you care."