The results of the Criminologist Licensure Examination given last April 6, 7 and 8 have been released today, April 26, 2011, by the Professional Regulation Commission or PRC.
Only 2,361 out of 10,943 examinees passed the Criminology Board Exam or that's equivalent to 21.58%, the lowest in the history of the said examination. This was attributed to the exam's very difficult questions.
Henry Gubalane Jr from the University of Manila topped the Criminology Board Examination with an 89.15 grade, followed by DAVE JAY PEREZ OLVENARIO from the University of Cebu with a close 88.75 score.
Here are the topnotchers of the April 2011 Criminology Board Examination:
1 HENRY JUSAY GUBALANE, JR UNIVERSITY OF MANILA 89.15
2 DAVE JAY PEREZ OLVENARIO UNIVERSITY OF CEBU 88.75
3 SHEILA LUMBICAN FABIAN UNIVERSITY OF THE CORDILLERAS (FOR.BAGUIO C.F.) 88.45
4 ROBERT JAYSON MEDIANA GATCHALIAN UNIVERSITY OF MANILA 87.95
5 ANTHONY BETARA PENID LIPA CITY COLLEGES 87.50
6 ARKHEMEDES CRUZ GARCIA UNIVERSITY OF LA SALETTESANTIAGO 87.40
7 ISMAEL VIRGIL OTOC GUNDAYA CAGAYAN DE ORO COLLEGE 87.15
8 VAN KIMBER GUMIDLI KITONG UNIVERSITY OF THE CORDILLERAS 86.65
9 SHERYLLE TABUYAN SUMALBAG ASIAN DEVELOPMENT FOUNDATION COLLEGE 86.60
10 CHARLOTTE PUSTA MANATAD UNIVERSITY OF MINDANAO-DAVAO CITY 86.55
Monday, May 16, 2011
Monday, October 26, 2009
I CAN ONLY DREAM OF YOU
I could barely reminisce enduring those painful nights sleeping with solitude and sorrow…slowly devouring me deep inside. When I had to turn on the other side of my bed just to ease the grief dominating my soul, when at the middle of the night, I just find myself dumbfounded…I was shedding tears all along.
When I was dreaming dancing with you endlessly in the moon azure, when I dreamed of having you beside me when I sleep, where I could cuddle the whole you like tomorrow doesn’t exist…a dream of happiness was all I can wish.
There in that infinite portal, I can be everything I wanted us to be. I can bring you in any place I go, have dinner with you every evening, ask you to prepare my breakfast before I go to work, and pamper my headache before we go to sleep. There, I can feel your warmth when I calmly lie down beside you, where I can freely touch your smooth face, smell your scented hair. And cover you with my shoulders till the dawn breaks, and tells me it’s over.
But in dreams, there also dwell the pain and fear…of losing the most beautiful girl of my life. For even in places I myself created comes the adversary of happiness…melancholy.
For in dreams I can see you sitting beside someone else, holding his hand as the two of you looked on me with taunting eyes. I was tongue-tied, can’t do even a single motion as I watch you two slowly leaving my world. I wish I could halt even a single step from your feet, but it seems you’re the powerful, I’m the powerless.
Dreams make me realize that I really wasn’t meant for you, that when I was born, not even a single letter from your name was written in my palm. But how I wish I wasn’t conceived, only to know that destiny didn’t plan us to convene. If only heavens above endowed me the clout to change my fate, I could have scribbled your whole name in my palm, so destiny would have no preference.
Knowing you was the least of my expectations. How would I know it was you in my dream, if even there, I can’t see your face? How I wish I could have said “no” when you came. But I fell in love with you alright. I could impossibly say “no” to a mesmerizing beauty as yours.
Why am I so mulish? Why can’t I accept the fate that lies before me…that the girl, whom all I can ever desire of, was not meant for me? That someone was made for her, to mind for her, and be with her even in the worst squalls and tempest of her life.
How I wish she could be my wife, when the two of us, after satisfying our respective college degrees, and land good paying jobs, decide to dwell together and live a simple yet happy family life. When everything I was dreaming could come to reality, where I could slumber with her at night, touch her smooth face, and feel her warmth as we share our love in innumerable intimate moments.
But it was completely late, knowing that the path I was walking through, with her hands holding mine tightly like she was never going to let me go, only leads to one same place…
IN MY DREAMS.
A PRICE TO PAY
(This was my column written on the 2008 Lakandiwa magazine titled “Ignotus”. This talks about one of the contemporary problems encountered by students of UC–the dropping of subjects. I didn’t directly find teachers culpable of this academic quagmire, since I also need to weigh both sides and factors equally.)
As she walked along the corridor, she took a glimpse on her grade sheet. Her face suddenly turned sad and portrayed the most dismayed figure I saw that day. I humbly approached her and asked what made her eyes look like a nimbus cloud. Before her tears rolled down her cheeks, she presented to me her grade slip. What I saw were numerical figures which stood like candles. Excellent, I thought.
But, there was one subject so distinct among the others. It was marked “DR”, which I knew stood for ‘dropped’. I realized that it must be the one that provoked her femme emotions. I then asked her why she dropped from the subject. She had a coy face and immediately wiped her tears with a pink handkerchief.
I then knew she didn’t like the way her Calculus teacher handled the class. She described her teacher as inefficient who also tried to impose Martial Law during class discussions. “If only I enrolled to an instructor other than he, I wouldn’t have dropped myself from the subject,” she quipped. This kind of scenario is no surprise because dropping of subjects has become a prevalent habit for some students. In every department, the number of students dropping from a subject is increasing. This sounds practical and one cannot deny that one of the major causes is the teacher.
So, why blame it on teachers?
It’s plain and simple. Students will have to spend five months with teachers, even those they don’t like. If the students don’t really like them for qualified reasons, then why endure the rest of the days murmuring? These students are then caught trapped or will find a way to escape from them.
One way of escapism is to drop from the subject and let the course of time tell what will happen next. Now, the burden of proof is on the students. One thing serious is that the student is paying for the subject until the semester ends. Also, it is a waste of time since students need to enroll in the same subject next semester. It is also alarming to see a “DR” mark in the Transcript of Records (TOR) particularly for those aiming to finish their course with flying colors.
Since it is the prerogative of the students (as they are the ones paying for the tuition fee) to have better teachers or teachers that they like, then it would not hurt to give them the option to choose their instructors.
With this, I suggest that every enrollment, instructors’ names should be posted beside the subjects they are going to handle. By doing so, students can have the idea whom to enroll, thus, giving them the freedom to choose their teachers. This would also test students’ trust to certain instructors whom they think are competent and can be better classroom managers and facilitators.
If this is materialized, students can now actually choose their instructors and cases of dropping subjects would possibly decrease. For students, they will be able to exercise their freedom of choice. For teachers, they shall feel good knowing that students have really chosen and trusted them to be their instructors. By doing this, some teachers will also feel pressured to do well in their profession. This time, if students don’t like them for valid reasons, then nobody would enroll under them. Worse, these teachers won’t get any load from their department. This will be a wake-up call for some teachers to be motivated in handling their students with due diligence and competence.
The only way to determine the positive consequence of this endeavor is through implementation. If the University Administrators find some instructors as a major cause of this educational loophole, then they must be meticulous enough in screening would-be college instructors.
I still have the fullest trust and confidence in this University. But the saddest thing is when this faith is marred by some teachers who keep on thinking that they have the fullest authority over their students — unquestionable and irrevocable. Pity those students who have to sacrifice a ‘DR” mark when they don’t really deserve that price. Still, students are the clients and they deserve to get their money’s due. After all, students pay the right price.
As she walked along the corridor, she took a glimpse on her grade sheet. Her face suddenly turned sad and portrayed the most dismayed figure I saw that day. I humbly approached her and asked what made her eyes look like a nimbus cloud. Before her tears rolled down her cheeks, she presented to me her grade slip. What I saw were numerical figures which stood like candles. Excellent, I thought.
But, there was one subject so distinct among the others. It was marked “DR”, which I knew stood for ‘dropped’. I realized that it must be the one that provoked her femme emotions. I then asked her why she dropped from the subject. She had a coy face and immediately wiped her tears with a pink handkerchief.
I then knew she didn’t like the way her Calculus teacher handled the class. She described her teacher as inefficient who also tried to impose Martial Law during class discussions. “If only I enrolled to an instructor other than he, I wouldn’t have dropped myself from the subject,” she quipped. This kind of scenario is no surprise because dropping of subjects has become a prevalent habit for some students. In every department, the number of students dropping from a subject is increasing. This sounds practical and one cannot deny that one of the major causes is the teacher.
So, why blame it on teachers?
It’s plain and simple. Students will have to spend five months with teachers, even those they don’t like. If the students don’t really like them for qualified reasons, then why endure the rest of the days murmuring? These students are then caught trapped or will find a way to escape from them.
One way of escapism is to drop from the subject and let the course of time tell what will happen next. Now, the burden of proof is on the students. One thing serious is that the student is paying for the subject until the semester ends. Also, it is a waste of time since students need to enroll in the same subject next semester. It is also alarming to see a “DR” mark in the Transcript of Records (TOR) particularly for those aiming to finish their course with flying colors.
Since it is the prerogative of the students (as they are the ones paying for the tuition fee) to have better teachers or teachers that they like, then it would not hurt to give them the option to choose their instructors.
With this, I suggest that every enrollment, instructors’ names should be posted beside the subjects they are going to handle. By doing so, students can have the idea whom to enroll, thus, giving them the freedom to choose their teachers. This would also test students’ trust to certain instructors whom they think are competent and can be better classroom managers and facilitators.
If this is materialized, students can now actually choose their instructors and cases of dropping subjects would possibly decrease. For students, they will be able to exercise their freedom of choice. For teachers, they shall feel good knowing that students have really chosen and trusted them to be their instructors. By doing this, some teachers will also feel pressured to do well in their profession. This time, if students don’t like them for valid reasons, then nobody would enroll under them. Worse, these teachers won’t get any load from their department. This will be a wake-up call for some teachers to be motivated in handling their students with due diligence and competence.
The only way to determine the positive consequence of this endeavor is through implementation. If the University Administrators find some instructors as a major cause of this educational loophole, then they must be meticulous enough in screening would-be college instructors.
I still have the fullest trust and confidence in this University. But the saddest thing is when this faith is marred by some teachers who keep on thinking that they have the fullest authority over their students — unquestionable and irrevocable. Pity those students who have to sacrifice a ‘DR” mark when they don’t really deserve that price. Still, students are the clients and they deserve to get their money’s due. After all, students pay the right price.
WHICH IS WHICH: HEART OR MIND?
Love has always made me naive in almost all aspects of humanity. Be it in coping with daily dilemmas up to dealing with matters so vast one can’t help but chew viand more than what he can swallow–love deprives me of my intellectual capacity.
In search of the right one is a difficult feat for an adolescent, yet also intricate to those who have surpassed adulthood with the survival laurels. It chills me down my spines, constraining me to search HER free from reluctance, that climbing mount Olympus would neither be an uphill slope, nor a voyage between Scylla and Charybdis. It would be easy as wiping my tears dry–pain would just pass by.
I had her, and I also had her, but who of them? I always have thought of this, that being torn between two lovers is not a sin that qualifies me to eternal damnation, rather a clear manifestation of how finite I am. Blame my imperfect heart.
Sanity has left me since that very day I started the search for my “one and only.” As if I was a hound in search of the moon meat, I crave for her…she who would nurture my self-proclaimed intellect, pamper my jeopardized heart, so to hasten its emotional anguish. She needs not to look like Cinderella in her glass shoes, or Snow White with her seven dwarves, she only needs to have these: understanding and candid looks (I don’t mean it actually).
But I always fail.
But who’s culpable? Who deserves the much feared sword held strong by Lady Justice? I guess it’s my mind. Had only mind interfered and gave guidance to every endeavor my heart has made, love could have been not that illogical–at least suffocating. In search of the right one could have been easy. “Wise judgment is my asset,” says the mind.
I guess it’s my heart that deserves the blame. Had heart intercepted with all of mind’s intellectual affairs–love could have been true. Cupid shoots the heart, not the meaty brain. Love makes our hearts beat, an evident signal to respond that love is genuine, not a mere fabricaton of fantasy and mysticism.
But either way, love is baffling. It’s like going on a detour where the right way is found not on the options provided, but hidden obscure somewhere else. It’s like navigating a ship without a compass–where you’d drift endlessly in the high seas, thinking no more about your destination, but the time of your death. It’s when you choose who to blame, when in fact you are the one who deserves it.
In search of the right one, which prevails: the heart which tells you to stick in a true love irrationally, or the mind, which tells you to be first witty and radical before you run in a love affair?
I guess I’ll consult a “manghuhula.” The answer could be just isolated inside that magical “bolang crystal,” far mystical than my imperfect thought.
In search of the right one is a difficult feat for an adolescent, yet also intricate to those who have surpassed adulthood with the survival laurels. It chills me down my spines, constraining me to search HER free from reluctance, that climbing mount Olympus would neither be an uphill slope, nor a voyage between Scylla and Charybdis. It would be easy as wiping my tears dry–pain would just pass by.
I had her, and I also had her, but who of them? I always have thought of this, that being torn between two lovers is not a sin that qualifies me to eternal damnation, rather a clear manifestation of how finite I am. Blame my imperfect heart.
Sanity has left me since that very day I started the search for my “one and only.” As if I was a hound in search of the moon meat, I crave for her…she who would nurture my self-proclaimed intellect, pamper my jeopardized heart, so to hasten its emotional anguish. She needs not to look like Cinderella in her glass shoes, or Snow White with her seven dwarves, she only needs to have these: understanding and candid looks (I don’t mean it actually).
But I always fail.
But who’s culpable? Who deserves the much feared sword held strong by Lady Justice? I guess it’s my mind. Had only mind interfered and gave guidance to every endeavor my heart has made, love could have been not that illogical–at least suffocating. In search of the right one could have been easy. “Wise judgment is my asset,” says the mind.
I guess it’s my heart that deserves the blame. Had heart intercepted with all of mind’s intellectual affairs–love could have been true. Cupid shoots the heart, not the meaty brain. Love makes our hearts beat, an evident signal to respond that love is genuine, not a mere fabricaton of fantasy and mysticism.
But either way, love is baffling. It’s like going on a detour where the right way is found not on the options provided, but hidden obscure somewhere else. It’s like navigating a ship without a compass–where you’d drift endlessly in the high seas, thinking no more about your destination, but the time of your death. It’s when you choose who to blame, when in fact you are the one who deserves it.
In search of the right one, which prevails: the heart which tells you to stick in a true love irrationally, or the mind, which tells you to be first witty and radical before you run in a love affair?
I guess I’ll consult a “manghuhula.” The answer could be just isolated inside that magical “bolang crystal,” far mystical than my imperfect thought.
WHEN LOVE HURTS, BOYS DO CRY
Whoever says crying is unmanly is a self-proclaimed hypocrite. His belief about shedding of tears is a disguised compliment to the masculinity afforded to men, yet a disgrace to the sanctity of our race.
Loving indeed hurts. It’s like learning to crave for something elusive in its deepest sense. It’s like planting a so naive-looking tulip beneath a shade, knowing it would just die and degrade in God’s time. It’s like holding a flower so tight despite the thorns surrounding its stem, and despite your hand bleeding profusely, grasping the precious flower that imprisoned your heart.
Love makes everybody blossom, yet when it speaks, everybody covers their ears. It shouts in mountains, in intersections, in synagogues, in parks where children run their imaginations free, or in any place where men lurk or walk endlessly.
Angels are silent witnesses, that when deities in heavens above created a very candid element named “Love”, they made sure something is in it that would test man’s faith, that which would cause man to harm his fellow man, and nation to rise and take arms against other nations.
Love gives color to the darkness of our fallen world, alms for the pitiful beggars, and lover for old spinsters. It even gives life to those inanimate yet deathless things in our hearts.
But in the bottom line, love begets nothing but pain, and jeopardy to man’s emotional stature. Why love when mayhem and tragedy are far lenient than engaging in a romantic affair. Your partner would surely demand glamour and figure.
Then it’s too late. When upon looking straight in the mirror, you just find yourself dumbfounded, when tears start to roll down your cheeks. Thus, for the common law of masculinity, crying is a scornful manifestation and should not be condoned even in the next realm.
But why won’t it stop? I simply want this volley of tears to halt falling before ‘Pa’ carrying his .45 caliber pistol notices me doing this unmanly feat. But would you condemn a poor man’s heart so vulnerable to the ups and downs of break ups…and breakups alone?
Love is indeed painful; it makes me cry now thinking of her who once condones my life tormented by solitude and melancholy. Why is loving painful? Why can’t men accept that crying is inevitable, and maybe the best remedy for a poisoned heart? And when will roses get rid of their thorns, so my hand would not bleed anymore?
Forevermore, love will surely dwell on what it was made for: “make all men happy, and make some men cry.”
CLIMBING UP FROM LITERARY INFERIORITY
Who would expect a mere Criminology student once tagged wordy in all his articles, despised with all sorts of sarcastic impressions and critiques, would climb up to that much coveted literary excellence?
This was the question bombarding me after knowing the new set of appointed writers of Lakandiwa. I almost fell down the silent ground after knowing I was promoted to a new position in the Editorial Board. Dumbfounded and not expecting, I felt that gratifying relief, a rejuvenating comfort slowly easing my anxious thought--for I might remain in my old position I know very contemptuous for my unconventional writing skills--those that are yet to morph in their exceptional forms.
I was appointed as the new "Senior Editor for Literary Folio" last June 2009, when we had our publication's 33rd Lakanvention in Bantayan Island. I won various awards from last time's press conference which I know formed basis for my appointment. At least I have something to rebut whenever someone questions the credibility of my promotion.
I was deeply satisfied knowing that the efforts I've made to improve my skills in writing (particularly those exhausting nights I spent reviewing journalism and reading all sorts of literary works) ended up not futile, but well paid with pots of gold and silver. I simply arrived in that point of contentment after a painstaking endurance--my sufferings were made with a purpose. Indeed, life is all about sacrificing one's pleasures (once in a while) if we aim to achieve our self-actualization state.
Hopefully, I will realize the objectives attached in my new position in the publication, disregarding the hazards those short-term goals pose on my so idealistic thought. But simply, with all those books I could read on, my colleagues whom I could lean on whenever I'm jeopardized, and the encouragement my family never fails to serve hot in a silver plate, I can fulfill all the expectations anyone would from a senior editor.
Thank you Lakandiwa, for the new fantastic journey you have set me forth. Expect the worst out of me, for through then, my best would go out written in my articles, and in the most unexpected way.
This was the question bombarding me after knowing the new set of appointed writers of Lakandiwa. I almost fell down the silent ground after knowing I was promoted to a new position in the Editorial Board. Dumbfounded and not expecting, I felt that gratifying relief, a rejuvenating comfort slowly easing my anxious thought--for I might remain in my old position I know very contemptuous for my unconventional writing skills--those that are yet to morph in their exceptional forms.
I was appointed as the new "Senior Editor for Literary Folio" last June 2009, when we had our publication's 33rd Lakanvention in Bantayan Island. I won various awards from last time's press conference which I know formed basis for my appointment. At least I have something to rebut whenever someone questions the credibility of my promotion.
I was deeply satisfied knowing that the efforts I've made to improve my skills in writing (particularly those exhausting nights I spent reviewing journalism and reading all sorts of literary works) ended up not futile, but well paid with pots of gold and silver. I simply arrived in that point of contentment after a painstaking endurance--my sufferings were made with a purpose. Indeed, life is all about sacrificing one's pleasures (once in a while) if we aim to achieve our self-actualization state.
Hopefully, I will realize the objectives attached in my new position in the publication, disregarding the hazards those short-term goals pose on my so idealistic thought. But simply, with all those books I could read on, my colleagues whom I could lean on whenever I'm jeopardized, and the encouragement my family never fails to serve hot in a silver plate, I can fulfill all the expectations anyone would from a senior editor.
Thank you Lakandiwa, for the new fantastic journey you have set me forth. Expect the worst out of me, for through then, my best would go out written in my articles, and in the most unexpected way.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
ABOUT DAVE JAY
(This piece was written by my colleagues in Lakandiwa, University of Cebu's official student publication. I hope you'll like it. But I'll still be writing more about myself (a brief autobiography would do), including matters that would reveal the inner thoughts of my self...within.)
DAVE JAY Perez OLVENARIO, who started as underdog among the publication’s trainees, is now a fulfilled Senior Editor for Literary Folio of Lakandiwa.
His aspirations are not out of his reach because he is an intelligent person by nature. He proved this by being the undisputed topnotcher of the College of Criminal Justice—University of Cebu (Main Campus), for two straight academic years. Perseverance is the word carved in his mind that is why he never loses passion for his studies and writing.
He has an average height of 5’6” and a weight of a lightweight boxing champ – 130 lbs. God sent him to this world through Amelita and Antonio. Aside from being a busy member of the publication, he is also the incumbent President of the Criminal Justice Society, the official student body of the University of Cebu--College of Criminal Justice, and also the Majority Floor Leader of the University Of Cebu Council Of Presidents. He also serves as the chief for administration in their school’s Intern’s Office. Also a religious person, he once served as Youth Director of Lighthouse Christian Fellowship. Dave is a serious type of person when it comes to his studies, yet he is a bit jokey when dealing with friends.
Dubbed as the publication’s “Word Digger”, he truly jots down hell-like depth words in his articles. That may be the upshot of his incessant appraisal of the book “Speed Well Voyage” and of the works of Manuel L. Quezon III. Dogs and cats are the animals he wants to give tender love and care with. For him, nothing could ever beat the ebony and ivory colors and the taste of sweet-and-sour curry pork.
CSI, Smallville and SOCO are his much-loved TV programs. He enjoys the movie The 300, and he fantasizes the perfect 36-24-36 figure of Jessica Alba. His favorite actors are Mark Dacascus and Jason Statham. His eardrums tingle every time he hears the song "Your Call," of the "Second Hand Serenade". He likes to pop the track and bring the house down with the “playas and da niggas” like 50 Cent and Jay Z.
Truly not a second-rate, he has sky-scraping dreams which are to top the Criminology Board Licensure Examination (CBLE) and to become the next chief of the Philippine National Police.
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