HERE’S A NEW CEMENTING MATERIAL INSPIRED BY THE ROMAN EMPIRE’S ANCIENT CONCRETE

 HERE’S A NEW CEMENTING MATERIAL INSPIRED BY THE ROMAN EMPIRE’S ANCIENT CONCRETE

Who says that if a technology is already old, then it’s obsolete? The truth is, some “old” technologies are timeless. They endure because they were born of necessity, perfected by experience, and rooted in natural wisdom. Sometimes, it’s not about reinventing the wheel — it’s about rediscovering how the ancients made it roll so smoothly.

One of history’s most enduring technologies comes from the mighty Roman Empire — its ancient concrete. Consider this: the Pantheon in Rome, built nearly 2,000 years ago, still stands with the world’s largest unreinforced concrete dome, while many modern structures crack and crumble in less than a century. That’s not just impressive; it’s humbling.

Recently, a company in British Columbia called Progressive Planet announced it has developed a new material called Gladiator SCM (Supplementary Cementing Material), inspired by the strength and longevity of Roman concrete. They even filed for a U.S. patent for its composition. Their scientists combined PozGlass, a recycled-glass additive, with other natural materials to create a cementing blend that promises high durability and low carbon emissions — a perfect example of ancient wisdom meeting modern sustainability.

The company’s press release proudly notes that the name “Gladiator” pays tribute to Roman resilience. It’s also symbolic — a battle cry in the global fight against climate change and poor construction practices.

Now here’s my question: why can’t we in the Philippines pursue something similar?

Cement, Corruption, and Crumbling Roads

It’s no secret that many public works projects in the Philippines have been plagued by substandard materials and construction shortcuts — often victims of corruption and negligence. Every typhoon season, we see newly built roads washed out, bridges collapsing, and school buildings reduced to rubble.

In contrast, Roman roads, aqueducts, and ports — built without modern machines — have survived earthquakes and erosion for millennia. Their secret was a volcanic ingredient called pozzolana, which chemically reacted with lime and seawater to make their concrete self-healing. Today, Progressive Planet’s Gladiator SCM uses similar chemistry, but enhanced by recycled glass and scientific precision.

If we could bring such materials here, imagine how much stronger and greener our infrastructure could be. Why not require sustainable SCMs in public construction? This could reduce carbon emissions, improve longevity, and cut down on maintenance costs.

According to the International Energy Agency, cement production accounts for around 8% of global CO₂ emissions — more than aviation fuel. Using SCMs like Gladiator could cut that by up to 40%, depending on the mix. That’s a big deal for climate adaptation in a country like ours, where rising sea levels and stronger typhoons are becoming the new normal.

Rediscovering the Past to Build the Future

What fascinates me most about this development is how science keeps circling back to history. The Romans didn’t have advanced laboratories or AI-driven modeling — they simply observed nature and built with it, not against it. They mixed volcanic ash with lime and seawater, unknowingly creating a “living” material that grew stronger over time.

Modern scientists, through X-ray diffraction and electron microscopy, are now finding out why Roman concrete was so resilient. When cracks formed, the unreacted lime particles would dissolve in rainwater and recrystallize, effectively sealing the cracks — an early form of self-healing cement.

Progressive Planet’s Gladiator SCM takes that same idea — durability through chemistry — and pushes it into the sustainability age. They’ve even brought in Dr. Gerhard Albrecht, a world-renowned polymer scientist formerly with BASF, to perfect the formula. If that’s not a fusion of old and new genius, I don’t know what is.

A Call to Build Smarter, Not Just Faster

Here in the Philippines, our obsession with fast construction often comes at the expense of quality. We rush to meet project deadlines, pour concrete in the rain, skip curing times, and use the cheapest materials available. Then we spend twice as much repairing the damage later.

It’s time to rethink our approach. Instead of cutting corners, let’s cut carbon. Instead of pouring more cement, let’s pour smarter cement.

Imagine if DPWH or local governments partnered with universities and companies like Progressive Planet to pilot SCM-based materials in public works — starting with schools, barangay halls, or flood control systems. It could create jobs, attract green investment, and most importantly, save taxpayer money in the long run.

If ancient Rome could build monuments that outlast empires, surely a modern republic like ours can build roads that last more than a few rainy seasons.

In the End, the Lesson is Simple

Not all progress means abandoning the past. Sometimes, progress means looking back with humility and saying, “They got it right.”

The Romans built for eternity; we are building for election cycles. It’s time to change that. Let’s take inspiration from Gladiator SCM — and from the ancients who knew that real strength doesn’t just come from power, but from patience, precision, and purpose.

Because in the end, it’s not just about cementing structures — it’s about cementing values: honesty, sustainability, and respect for the future.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/03-08-2026

NEGLIGENCE AND OTHER SINS OF OMISSION

 NEGLIGENCE AND OTHER SINS OF OMISSION

Nothing in what I am going to write in this essay is going to mean anything if you do not believe in God, no matter what religion you belong to.

To be clear, negligence is not a sin in the secular context. At best, it could either be an administrative or a criminal offense, depending on what country and what laws there are in each country.

In the Christian context, there are sins of commission and there are sins of omission, the interpretation of which could depend on what tradition of Christianity is involved, and who interprets it. In short: doing wrong and failing to do what is right. The two are distinct, but both are serious.

Suffice it to say however, that in the context of this essay, I am referring to Christian believers or supposed believers—when we neglect to do something or omit an action that we should have done, we could be committing sins. In the Christian teaching there is a clear distinction between what is considered a sin, and what is considered a wrongdoing. Regardless of what religion one belongs to, it could generally be said that graft and corruption is definitely a wrongdoing, even if some violators would not consider it a sin. Perhaps in any religion, thievery or stealing is a wrongdoing—and so there it is, we do not have to complicate that. If you steal, you are committing either sin or wrongdoing, and that makes you corrupt. It is as simple as that, if I may say so.

That phrase — “Negligence and Other Sins of Omission”—is evocative, layered, and ripe for exploration. Let me unpack it; then I’ll share why I think it matters deeply in our faith, our civic life, and our inner reflection.

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What the Terms Mean

Negligence typically refers to a failure to exercise appropriate care or responsibility—often with legal or moral consequences. Sins of omission, in contrast, are not about what we do, but what we fail to do—the silence, the inaction, the bystander effect. In Christian theology, a sin of omission is “to one who knows the right thing to do and does not do it, to him it is sin.” 

Put together, the phrase suggests a powerful indictment of passive harm—the damage caused not by malice, but by indifference, avoidance, or systemic neglect.

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Why it Matters for Believers

For Christian believers, the idea of sin is not just breaking rules—it is about failing to live the kind of life God calls us to. According to one teaching: if you refuse to act when you should act, even though you know better, that is a sin of omission. 

This is not hair-splitting. It forces believers to ask: What have I not done that I could and should have done? It’s a mirror to our complacency. For example: refusing to share one’s faith, neglecting the neighbor in need, avoiding prayer when conscience prompts us. 

If all we do is avoid the obvious sins, but we never step in to help, to speak up, to live courageously—then, according to this tradition, we still fall short.

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Some Real-World Implications

Let’s bring this into real life—faith meeting the world. Consider governance, public service, and sound leadership. It is easy to focus on the overt corruption (sins of commission): the stolen funds, the bribes, the rights abused. All wrong and in need of condemnation. But what about the sins of omission? Where no scandal breaks—but people suffer nonetheless?

Where systems fail to act. Where policies are not enforced. Where the poor are left unprotected, the environment unguarded, the weak unheard.

Believers must ask: What have we not done? What voices have we ignored? What needs went unmet? The omission may be less visible, but its damage is deep.

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My Suggestions & Questions

• If you believe in God—and your faith calls you to act—then ask yourself: What am I leaving undone today?
  
  

• In your community: identify not just the active wrongs, but the gaps. Who is being left behind? What are we failing to build?
  
  

• For leaders (churches, groups, governments): adopt an “omission audit.” Not only: what did we do wrong? But also: what didn’t we do at all?
  
  

And I pose a question: If someone is faithful, morally upright in public, avoids obvious wrongs—but neglects the weak, overlooks the poor, never intervenes where they could—are they still ‘safe’? The Christian tradition warns us: yes, there is peril even in inaction. 

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A Final Word

In many circles, negligence might be written off as “not my fault” or “too busy” or “someone else’s job.” But if you believe in God, then your life is bigger than your convenience. Your faith is not just in staying clean—it’s in doing good actively. Avoiding wrongdoing is not enough; active love and service is demanded.

So: beware the sin of omission. Recognize it. Resist it. And live in such a way that you are known not just for what you didn’t do badly, but for what you did bravely and lovingly.

The damage done by what we fail to do can often outstrip the harm of what we simply do wrong. Let’s, in faith, step into that gap. Let us act. Let us serve. Let us respond.

Because negligence—even without malice—is a betrayal of our calling.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/03-07-2026

DONATE A SCHOOL HOUSE PROGRAM

DONATE A SCHOOL HOUSE PROGRAM

In the Philippines today, the cry for “more classrooms” is not just a slogan—it’s a symptom of a deeper crisis. According to the Department of Education (DepEd), our country is facing a classroom backlog of approximately 165,000 rooms nationwide.

Add to that a projected enrollment of 27.6 million learners for School Year 2025-2026. The numbers alone are staggering—and behind them are real children walking long distances, teachers slipping into fatigue, classrooms so full they border on chaos.

Into that gap steps the proposal for the Donate A School House (DASH) Program, submitted to DepEd by myself, Mr. Jorge Malig, and Mr. Dodi Limjuco. At first glance it may appear yet another infrastructure plan—but I believe it carries far more potential: to reshape how we conceive education in underserved, remote, and disaster-prone areas.

What makes DASH different?
Most classroom initiatives deal with one floor, one building, one set of desks. DASH imagines a four-storey “school-house”—classrooms on the first two floors, a common third floor (kitchen, canteen, lounge), dormitories on the fourth floor for students, teachers, and staff, plus a rooftop with solar panels, rainwater harvesting and internet connectivity. The design is eco-friendly, disaster resilient, prefabricated for faster construction, and explicitly targets places where students and teachers alike lack safe living spaces.

Here’s why this matters: if children walk hours to reach school, or if a teacher must travel an hour each day and worry about safe lodging overnight, learning suffers. Absenteeism grows. Time is lost. Motivation fades. DASH’s concept responds to that reality. It says: let’s build a home within or adjacent to the school. Let’s eliminate the travel-worry-weariness cycle.

Public-private partnerships, local funds and CSR
DASH is designed to operate under the existing legal and policy frameworks: the Adopt-A-School Program (ASP) and the Special Education Fund (SEF) of Local Government Units (LGUs). Private corporations can sponsor these school-houses through CSR initiatives, donation-in-kind, or full funding, taking advantage of tax incentives under Republic Act 8525 (“Adopt-a‐School Act of 1998”) where donors can claim up to 150% of their contributions as tax deduction.

This mix of funding — from GAA allocations of DepEd, IRAs/SEFs of LGUs, and private-sector CSR dollars — is smart. Because simply relying on the national budget or on DepEd’s annual infra allocation won’t close the gap. As one report notes, “at the current pace, it will take 55 years to eliminate the backlog.” We cannot wait 55 years.

My questions and suggestions
But of course there are questions, and ways to refine the idea:

1. Site selection and land tenure – The concept wisely gives options: existing DepEd land, LGU-donated land, or private donations. But in many remote areas, the stumbling block is legal titles, zoning, and access roads. The authors should include a pre-assessment checklist: is the land safe from flooding/typhoons, does it have utilities access, is the soil stable? A dashboard of ready lands per region would accelerate rollout.
   
   

2. Sustainability of operation – Building the structure is only one part; running the dormitory and utilities cost money. Who pays for electricity (even if solar panels are installed)? The internet connectivity? The clean-water supply? The MOA among DepEd, LGU and partners must clearly allocate recurring costs and maintenance responsibilities.
   
   

3. Community buy-in and culture – A dormitory in a school may raise concerns (especially in some cultural contexts) about supervision, safety, gender-segregation, and boarding behaviours. The program should involve local stakeholders (barangays, parents, teachers) in the design and rules for dorm life.
   
   

4. Data-driven targeting – We know the classroom shortage is worst in places like NCR, CALABARZON, Soccsksargen and BARMM. But the boarding concept is particularly suited to remote islands, mountainous regions, or areas with indigenous communities. The program might prioritize those first—where the “walk hours” problem is acute.
   
   

5. Replication and modularity – Because the design is prefabricated and CKD (completely knocked down), as the proposal rightly says, there’s scalability built in. But we should also pilot one or two modules first, evaluate cost-per-student, maintenance over 3 years, and then refine.
   
   

Why this matters now
Because children cannot wait. Because teachers cannot open class while worrying about how to get home. Because a classroom is more than four walls—it is stability, dignity, hope. The world expects us to deliver not just some infrastructure, but the right kind. One that respects people, environment, and disaster-risk realities.

If the DASH programme succeeds, it could become a model: not just building more rooms, but building better lives. And if we don’t try now—given the backlog and mounting pressures—we risk leaving hundreds of thousands of learners behind.

In the end, it’s about more than capacity. It’s about commitment. Let’s turn every “classroom shortage” statistic into a “home for learning” milestone.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/03-06-2026

FROM FALLEN LEAVES TO PAPER BAGS

 FROM FALLEN LEAVES TO PAPER BAGS

I have always felt bad every time I see people burning fallen leaves, or worse, putting them into plastic bags to be hauled off to landfills. It’s a sad picture of waste upon waste — organic matter that could have gone back to the soil, sealed inside synthetic plastic that will never decompose.

For so many years now, I have been looking for new ways to make useful products from mangrove trees — but of course, we cannot cut them down because they are protected by law. Then one day, I came across a story that made me think: perhaps this is the product I’ve been looking for all along — paper products made from mangrove leaves, or from all fallen leaves for that matter.

In Ukraine, a young inventor named Valentyn Frechka discovered a method to turn fallen leaves into eco-friendly paper bags. His company, Releaf Paper, collects dry leaves from city streets and processes them into natural fibers that replace wood pulp. The resulting paper decomposes within 30 days — a perfect example of circular economy in action. No trees are cut, no carbon is burned, and no plastic is wasted. European cities now partner with his company to recycle their autumn leaves into shopping bags and packaging.

That simple phrase — “from fallen leaves to paper bags” — carries a powerful message. It represents what the world now calls biowaste valorization, or the transformation of natural waste into valuable resources. It’s also a perfect metaphor for what we Filipinos should be doing: turning waste into wealth, and problems into opportunities.

Why couldn’t we do the same here?

We have fallen leaves everywhere — from city streets to barangay parks, from coconut farms to mango orchards. We have thousands of youth volunteers, waste pickers, and cooperatives who could easily collect and sort them. The leaves could be cleaned, pulped, and molded into sheets using low-cost, low-tech equipment — even solar dryers and manual presses would do. From there, they could be cut, folded, and glued into paper bags that could replace the plastic ones banned in many LGUs.

Imagine every barangay having its own mini paper factory, producing eco-bags for local stores, markets, and tourism fairs. It’s not only environmentally sound — it’s also economically smart. Barangays could earn income, young people could find green jobs, and communities could become more self-sustaining.

Which government agencies could make this happen? Obviously, the Department of Science and Technology (DOST) would be the lead agency, especially its Industrial Technology Development Institute (ITDI) and Forest Products Research and Development Institute (FPRDI). These agencies already have expertise in pulp and paper research, biomass utilization, and material innovation.

The Department of Environment and Natural Resources (DENR) could also support this initiative under its solid waste management and circular economy programs. The Department of Trade and Industry (DTI) could help cooperatives and MSMEs bring these paper products to market. The Department of Agriculture (DA) might even see value in promoting leaf collection as a by-product of farm maintenance, while the Technical Education and Skills Development Authority (TESDA) could provide livelihood training on paper-making.

In short, this could be a multi-agency collaboration — one that blends science, livelihood, and sustainability in a truly Filipino way.

According to DOST-FPRDI studies, the Philippines generates over 35 million tons of biodegradable waste every year, much of it coming from agricultural residues and urban leaf litter. If even a fraction of that could be turned into paper pulp, the potential is enormous — not just for paper bags, but for packaging materials, seed paper, and eco-friendly stationery.

We already have local precedents. In some parts of Mindanao, communities make paper from abaca and banana fibers. In Palawan, artisans use rice husks and coconut coir to make notebooks and souvenirs. The technology is not foreign to us — it just needs scaling, coordination, and investment.

I also see a symbolic connection between mangroves and this idea. Mangroves, after all, protect our coastlines and nurture marine life. If we could also use their fallen leaves to make paper products — without harming the trees — we would be honoring their ecological role in yet another way. That would be true circularity: nature helping itself, with human creativity as the bridge.

So, instead of burning fallen leaves, why not turn them into business and beauty? Instead of treating them as waste, why not see them as wealth waiting to be repurposed?

Every barangay could pilot this — a small shed, a few vats, a set of molds, and the right know-how. The result could be a line of proudly Filipino-made paper bags and crafts labeled: “From Fallen Leaves — For a Greener Philippines.”

In the end, the idea is simple: let nature recycle itself, with our help. From fallen leaves to paper bags — from waste to worth — from neglect to innovation. That is the kind of transformation our country needs: one that starts small, grows locally, and heals globally.

Ramon Ike V. Seneres, www.facebook.com/ike.seneres

iseneres@yahoo.com, senseneres.blogspot.com 09088877282/03-05-2026